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hazel-writes · 3 years

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Summary: Strike three.

Word Count: 2,600

Warnings: canon-typical violence

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I begged of a star to throw me a beam or two

Wished on a star and asked for a dream or two

I looked for ev'ry loveliness, it all came true

I wished on the moon for you

• I Wished on the Moon - Frank Sinatra •

The five of you had split up the new assignment, each person responsible for a different part of the poster-making process. The poster itself consisted of the words: “Maintain Order - Join Us Today” written in dramatic red lettering, accompanied by a rendering of a caped stormtrooper. Akilah and Soren started by creating the outline. Takoda and Rilea focused on distribution strategies. You, as the only “experienced” artist, were put in charge of the colors and details.

“This looks good,” said Takoda, checking over the finished poster.

Rilea rolled her eyes. “Especially having finished this under the given time constraints.”

Soren piped up. “I still think the colors could’ve been a bit more accurate.”

You winced at the pointed jab towards your work.

“Sor…” Akilah gave him a pleading look.

He held up his hands defensively. “What, Kila? I’m just stating facts!”

She sighed and shook her head before you finally spoke up.

“I think we did the best we could with the time we had.” Taking a deep breath, you continued. “Now, I’m not sure about you all, but I could really use some sleep.”

Soren stood and began walking to the door. “Fine, go sleep… while you can, at least. We meet with Hux at 9. Don’t be late,” he said with a final glare.

You tried not to take his words to heart, after all, it was his angst-filled duty to speak in such a way. However, you also knew the importance of tomorrow’s meeting with Hux, and the consequences you were sure to face if anything went wrong.

The door shut, bringing you back to the present.

“Don’t mind him,” said Akilah, comfortingly. “He’s all bark and no bite.”

“Yeah, I know,” you replied. “I’m just a bit on edge. I’ll be fine.”

After saying goodnight to the rest of the crew, you headed back to your room. You realized you had forgotten to eat dinner, but your tired limbs didn’t have enough strength to walk to the cafeteria.

Lying in bed, you thought of Lothal, like you so often did. You remembered how your mom would always make you eat three balanced meals a day, even if you were feeling sick, tired, or sad. Though you may not have appreciated it at the time, you now missed her constant pestering and worried compulsions.

Here, no one knew you, not really. Even your new coworkers would probably only mourn for a day or two before moving on if anything ever happened to you.

You curled in on yourself, thinking that maybe physical comfort would eventually lead to mental comfort. It was one of those nights where you didn’t want to sleep because you knew that when you did, you would wake up and be forced to face the day. Despite your best efforts, your exhaustion from the day’s activities overpowered you, and your eyes began to feel heavy. Giving into sleep, you internally recited a lullaby your mother used to sing to you and your brother:

When the moon’s beneath, the sun you will meet

Who warms the ground beneath your feet

But starry skies will meet your eyes

Only in darkness before you rise.

Always with one, you need the other

Just as a sister is to a brother.

So lay your head in peaceful sleep

With the moon above and sun beneath…

As you lulled yourself into a dreamless sleep as your mother’s echo continued to meander through your troubled mind.

——————————————

You opened your eyes slowly, taking in the ceiling above your head. You flailed one arm around, attempting to shut off your alarm, only to realize you hadn’t been woken by one.

Kriff. Kriff, kriffity, kriffing, kriff.

You overslept. Of course you had. As if the universe felt it hadn’t screwed you over enough this week.

After another moment of staring at your ceiling with a sense of complete and utter dread, you brought yourself to look at the clock to see how much damage had been done. 8:57. It could be worse, you thought, but it also could be a whole lot better.

You raced to get dressed, brushed your teeth, and collected the materials you needed for your meeting with Hux. You grabbed your datapad to discover 15 unread messages. You opened the first few:

Sor: Where are you?!!

Koda: The meeting is about to start!

Kila: Are you okay??

Rilea: Please hurry...

You didn’t stop to read the rest and ran out the door, sprinting to Hux’s office.

———————————————

When you finally arrived, you didn’t know what time it was, but you knew you were late. Hux’s door was closed, but you could almost sense the anxiety emitting from the room. You stood there, unable to bring yourself to open the door, before feeling a dark presence behind you.

“Late, are we?” spoke a distorted voice.

You didn’t need to turn around to figure out who it was.

“No, Commander Ren. I mean- yes! Yes, I am. Sorry,” you rambled, terrified.

Despite this admittance, you still didn’t move.

Strange, you thought. But you didn’t. That wasn’t your own mind speaking — at least you didn’t think it was… Maybe you were going crazy. And as if you hadn’t embarrassed yourself enough, you found yourself speaking:

“Do you- do you know if we have to knock?” you squeaked.

The Commander merely stared at you through his mask, head tilted slightly to the side, before he waved his hand. The door slammed open, an invisible force pushing you through unceremoniously. The Commander followed behind, cape billowing, invisibly shutting the door as he did.

You looked up to see your four coworkers huddled in one corner of the room, and Hux’s flushed face seething in the other.

“I’m- I’m sorry I’m late, General. I thought I set my alarm, but because of all the work we did yesterday I was just so, so tired and- I guess I completely forgot.” You stared at your feet.

Silence ensued.

Akilah spoke up from the back of the room, attempting to distract Hux from your tardiness. “General, we completed the assignment as instructed.” She pulled out the finalized posters and hesitantly set them on the desk in front of her.

“Do you expect me to walk all the way across the room to retrieve those?!” he forced through clenched teeth. “Bring them to me, now!”

Akilah stood, frozen in terror, much like you had been just moments ago. To your surprise, Soren stepped forward, glancing at Akilah briefly, before grabbing the papers and handing them to Hux. Hux snatched the papers out of his hand and Soren silently turned to walk back towards the rest of the group. Akilah caught his glance, giving him a grateful smile, which he returned with a small nod before turning back to you, Hux, and the Commander.

Hux flipped through the papers violently. You didn’t know whether to move towards your friends or stay where you were. You had almost forgotten about the Commander’s presence behind you; he seemed calm compared to Hux's violent demeanor.

You decided to try and take a few subtle steps towards your coworkers while Hux was distracted, but he immediately saw your movement and stood, knocking over his chair in the process. You stopped in your tracks. He slowly walked towards you, knowing his pace was only escalating the terror you felt. You stood your ground, wanting more than anything to disappear.

Hux eyed you like he did in the hallway the other day. You saw Akilah tense up, as if preparing to come to your defence, but Rilea put an arm in front of her, holding her back. You were grateful — you didn’t want anyone else to get hurt because of your repeated trivial mistakes.

Hux reached his hand towards your face, making you flinch. He cupped your cheek roughly before grabbing your hair. You hadn’t remembered to put it up into a bun before you left your room, defying direct orders, again.

“I thought I told you to take care of this, ” he said, referencing your hair.

“Yes sir- General. I was going to, but then the alarm- and the running…” You could barely explain yourself through your chattering teeth. “I usually wear it like this on Lothal - I just wasn’t thinking…”

“You are not on Lothal anymore,” he spat, releasing his hold on your hair. “You may, however, come in handy when it comes to communicating with the scum there.”

You tensed at the reference of your friends and family as scum. Hux didn’t know anything about you or your planet. You knew he was just trying to get a rise out of you, and you hated yourself for letting him succeed.

“They’re not scum,” you replied, as calmly as you could. “They’re people with hard-earned jobs and families. They fought admirably to protect their planet; all they desire is peace.”

“Those sound like Resistance sentiments,” said Hux, threateningly.

More like basic human empathy, you thought.

The Commander, still hovering by the door, shifted slightly on his feet.

“No, no…” You attempted to tread more carefully. “I just think that maybe there is a way to unite the galaxy without using so much… violence,” you nervously suggested.

Hux eyed you intently. The room was silent except for the sound of your labored breathing.

“On Lothal,” he started, seemingly happy with what he was about to ask. “Who did you stay with?”

You were taken aback by the question. You didn’t want to give him too much information about your parents — you knew he had the power to eliminate them right then and there.

“Just my parents,” you replied, staring at the floor.

Hux smirked devilishly. “What are their names?”

“You wouldn’t know them. We were just common farmers. And my father is an artist — though he mostly focuses on abstract painting.”

“What. Are. Their. Names,” Hux asked again, impatiently, pausing after each word.

“Why do you need to know?” You began to panic. “I’m telling the truth. They didn’t do anything wrong!”

“That is for me to decide,” he continued. “Are they Resistance sympathizers?”

“No!” You were frantic at this point. “No, they’re good people, innocent! I swear to the stars!”

He crossed his arms. “I don’t believe you.”

“Please!” you begged. “I’m telling the truth!”

“We’ll see about that,” Hux said, pulling out a datapad.

“No, wait, please! What are you doing?” you pleaded. “They aren’t Resistance!”

“Why should I believe you?!” he growled, stepping towards you until your noses almost touched.

“Because the resistance killed my little brother!” you cried, losing your temper. Emotion flooded from you and you ran your hands through your hair, frustrated. “He was ten. He was only ten.”

Your voice faltered as angry tears began to fall from your face.

Hux was not sympathetic to your pain. “Stop your sob story, I’ve heard too many of those lately. Your brother should’ve known better than to have involved himself in matters that he couldn’t handle.”

And that was all you needed to explode.

“How dare you talk about him like that! You know don't know anything about me, or my family!” You brought your fist down on the table next to you, pain shooting up your arm.

Next thing you know, Hux was flying across the room, hitting the wall next to your coworkers with a thud, before crumpling to the ground. A few glasses of water and a nearby vase shattered into pieces. You searched the room, looking for an explanation, but somewhere, deep inside, you knew that you were the culprit.

You looked down at your hand, flexing and unflexing the muscles, confused. Nothing like this had ever happened to you before. You locked eyes with your coworkers, who stared back at you with open mouths. You were visibly shocked, shaking violently. How did I do that? you thought. Am I dreaming? Please, stars, let me be dreaming.

But your questions were crushed as Hux regained his composure, rubbing the back of his head, before turning his attention back on you. Fury burned in his eyes as you thought to yourself:

This is it.

He reached towards the back of his belt, withdrawing a blaster. You closed your eyes, knowing what was coming…

But nothing came.

You hesitantly opened one of your eyes, then the other, only to see a wall of black in front of you.

Am I dead?

No, a voice replied.

You looked up, confused, only to see none other than Commander Ren standing between you and Hux. His back was to you, leaving his cape and silver helmet to occupy your vision.

“Stop,” he ordered Hux, who still had his blaster pointed at you.

“Excuse me?!” Hux scowled. “And why exactly would I do that?”

The Commander waved a hand in front of Hux’s face.

“You will leave this room with the posters and forget this ever happened,” he spoke.

“I will leave this room with the posters and forget this ever happened,” Hux repeated.

The Commander turned towards your coworkers before telling them, “And you will do the same.”

“And we will do the same,” they mimicked, before leaving the room behind Hux. For a moment, you swore you saw Akilah glance at you with concerned eyes as she walked past. You shivered before turning around to face Commander Ren.

“You are strong with the Force,” he spoke, his low voice vibrating through his helmet.

“No, no, I’m normal!” You cringed at your choice of words. You basically insinuated that the Commander was not normal, which, he wasn’t, but-

“Being ‘normal’ has nothing to do with being one with the Force,” he stated, stalking towards you. “Who else knows of your abilities?”

“No one. I didn’t even know about my abilities until a few moments ago…” You stared at your hands, still in a state of disbelief.

“Don’t attempt to lie to me. It will not work,” he replied.

“I’m not lying,” you stated as firmly as your could.

“Let’s test that, shall we?”

You didn’t like where this was headed. He moved one of his hands towards your head and you flinched, backing into the wall behind you. His hand paused for a moment. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he said. You weren’t sure, but you swore you heard the smallest hint of regret in his voice.

And with that, you squeezed your eyes shut as you felt a foreign presence in your mind. It poked and prodded, winding its way through your thoughts and memories. You did your best to block the paths, seal the gateways, and close the doors he attempted to infiltrate, and luckily, you could tell that you were somewhat successful. The Commander was straining, his gloved hand shaking in concentration. Gaining confidence in your mental capabilities, you pushed harder, forcing out every invisible tendril of his mind until nothing remained.

You opened your eyes as the Commander stumbled backwards slightly, a distorted panting emanating from his visor. You took a few steps back, unsure of what his reaction would be to your blatant disobedience.

In two large strides he made his way back to you. You tripped over your own feet, landing on the shards of broken glass from the vase you broke moments earlier. You winced, continuing to stare directly into the abyss of black and silver that hid the face of Kylo Ren.

Without a word, he waved his hand in front of your face. You briefly heard the word sleep enter your mind, before closing your eyes and succumbing to the Force-induced darkness.

———————————

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thedemiurgickids · 6 years

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Breathe.

A Drabble Featuring Ormad & Winsome

Winsome didn’t visit the Negative Side because he was forced to; in fact, all of it was completely his choice. He liked the strange, mysterious, and gloomy atmosphere of the area, and he especially liked roaming around it with his gothic best friend.

It was...a bit pitiful, however. Ormad didn’t have anybody to really live with, besides Rudy, who wasn’t allowed to spend the night with him unless she really needed to from the confirmation of her grandparents. Otherwise, Ormad was completely alone. Winsome wished he could live with his dear friend, but Akilah needed someone to hang around with as well.

And it was good for Winsome to be around the man, to keep him company and comfortable. And to make sure that he’s doing all right.

A particular day in general really struck a nerve in the demon, however.

His ears twitched as he heard a furious growl from the other room, a sign of frustration from the man of negativity himself. Even though Ormad was known to be a cold, icy, and stoic figure, he had a dangerous temper that could break its bonds upon any second and any moment of any time. And it wasn’t pretty to watch.

The clown turned his head to the direction of the sound, pondering to himself if it would be best to check on Ormad in case he was struggling. It wasn’t much anyway, was it? He knew when was best.

But at the same time, Winsome felt a ping of worry. Ormad’s seething anger was sometimes silent, and he didn’t want to risk anything.

So reluctantly, he walked across the hall and to the door of the room, where he took one of his gloved hands and knocked on the door. Silence was his response.

“Maddy?” he called. “Are you okay?”

Still, there was no response. Of course he didn’t want to reply. He was simply too afraid of opening up his feelings for others to see.

“Maddy, I’m coming in there no matter how much you want me to go away. I want to know if you’re good or not.”

To his surprise, Ormad snapped behind the door, “Leave! There’s no use for you here!”

It stung. It really did. But Winsome knew better than to be hurt over it; the tired, exhausted man of negativity unleashed his anger onto others. So the clown simply rolled his eyes and said, “I’m coming in!” He turned the knob and swung the door open.

There Ormad was. Winsome didn’t even need to look twice to know that he was having an extremely rough day. The bags underneath his eyes were the darkest the clown had ever seen of him, and his expression was fuming. His eyebrows were furrowed ferociously downwards, revealing the intense anger that was resonating from the man himself.

His chest and shoulders were literally heaving up and down from his haggard pants, claws clenching and unclenching into tight fists. His glare caused Winsome to flinch.

“I told you,” he hissed. “I told you to leave me alone.”

“I...” Winsome pursed his lips. He could be burned alive from the heat of Ormad’s glower, scorched with holes in every area of his body. One little word could set him off to yet another destructive temper tantrum. And he was on the very edge of it, the demon could tell.

Before he could actually reply, Ormad huffed, turning around and causing the skirt of his robe to spread like a fan. He brought his hands to his temples, attempting to massage the excruciating ache that was thudding in his head, but it never really worked. Nor was it actually enough to calm him down. Especially when Winsome continued to talk to him.

“...I wanna make sure you’re okay,” Winsome managed to conclude. “You’re so stressed, Maddy, and I don’t wanna see you like this.”

“Well, then deal with it!” he shouted, snapping around to direct his searing gaze back on the clown. “You’re going to see this everyday from now on, so don’t be fucking surprised!”

Winsome cowered, taking a step away with his hands awkwardly folded behind his back. The roar of Ormad’s voice rang in his ears, leaving an irregular heartbeat inside the demon’s chest.

Ormad kept his glare still and fixed as well. He didn’t blink, but a muscle in his cheek twitched.

“...Ormad,” Winsome said. “Please. Calm down. Take--”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Winsome blinked. Then he sighed. Might as well forcefully calm him down, then. It was his only choice, after all.

He took a single step towards the Negative, which, upon reflex, caused the man to do the opposite and take a step backwards. A low growl came from his chest as he bared his white teeth. “Get away from me!” he snapped.

But the clown didn’t obey. Instead, he inched closer and closer. Ormad rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly, fidgeting with his hands in both anxiety and annoyance.

“Come on.” Winsome cautiously circled around his friend before stopping directly in front of him. “Just take a deep breath, señor.”

Ormad’s face curled into a nasty snarl. “I will not. I will not even--!”

Before he could continue to protest, the clown slipped his own gloved hands in the other’s, holding them gently but warmly. The Negative’s voice caught in his throat, and he broke the end of his sentence. Internally, Winsome smiled. He always knew that physical touch and affection were one of Ormad’s weaknesses.

Winsome took his thumbs and lightly pushed them down onto his friend’s bony palms. He could literally feel the beating of the pulse in his wrist, of how intense and aggressive it was from all the anger. Currently, his goal was to calm it down. To calm his friend down and take all that anger away.

“Just sit down, okay Maddy?” the clown crooned, a sweet tone to his honeyed voice. He guided the other to one of the chairs that accompanied the table, pushing him down softly and comfortably with ease. If it was anyone who could make anybody comfortable, it was ironically Winsome. “I’ll listen to ya.”

Ormad’s jaw clenched, as if he were trapping a dirty insult from flying out of his mouth. He did really want to let it go, but the sensation of Winsome’s hands in his was just...so comforting. What Winsome said about him was true: he did love physical affection.

As Ormad sat, Winsome stood standing. He stood behind Ormad, feeling strange how the taller man was now below his chin. He wasn’t used to being the one who loomed over others, especially other entities or creatures that were similar as he was.

“Now, do what I said. Take a deep breath, okay? A couple, if you need to. You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.”

The gloomy and angered man’s face was still alight with wrath, his lips curled into a scowl and his hands tightened into fists in his lap. But hesitantly, he managed to do what Winsome had suggested; he took deep breaths, stopping his several puffs of anger for a few moments.

Winsome placed his hands around the base of Ormad’s neck, and he began to massage the man’s stiff, tense muscles as he spoke. For some reason, it was something that actually did soothe him in a way, and it was unexpected to know that it was from the personification of negativity itself.

As the clown began to console with his words of comfort, Ormad’s aching, heaving shoulders began to relax, and his breathing came to a slow. He stared ahead, eye slightly twitching as he did so. “Winsome--” he began, but cut himself off to the easing kneads pressing against his neck.

The clown sighed. “Maddy...how can you put up with this so much? Can’t stay angry every single week, señor. Need to be a lil’ bit...calmer! You know what I’m saying?”

Ormad growled. “It’s not....easy.” He clenched his teeth together, doing his best to sound intimidating and cold. But the warmth against his collar argued. His voice began to lose its icy exterior, becoming more slurred and soft the longer he spoke. “I have to...deal with things. Not easy. And...you should try imagining yourself in my place.”

“Still, you overwork yourself, señor. You don’t ever sleep when you need to, and I don’t like seeing you faint.” He took his thumb and traced it along Ormad’s jawline. “You need rest. After this, go to sleep.”

“You know why I don’t sleep, Winsome,” the man muttered. “And you can’t force me to. It’s not...” He swallowed. “..it’s not something I can quite handle.”

“I know that, Maddy. But you have to at least rest. Close your eyes for a few moments or something like that.”

The man snickered, a snarky tone in his voice. “What? Do you really think that I....that....” He trailed off.

Winsome hands had suddenly moved down to the Negative’s rigid shoulders, thumbs pressing into his back, massaging the area with care. Ormad’s muscles were tense and hard underneath his black clothing, and the demon almost felt guilty. He couldn’t imagine holding a painful ache for days at a time, especially when he was always on the edge of a tantrum.

Ormad sighed, and ironically, he did what he just denied he would do. He closed his dark, tired eyelids, drowning himself in the warmth of his friend’s comfort for a few moments. His shoulders drooped, to the satisfaction of Winsome, and his head hunched over. Winsome could finally release the nervous breath that was caught up inside his chest, and a small smile crossed his lips.

“Promise me to get some rest from now on, okay señor?” He continued to massage Ormad’s rough shoulders. “I promise you’ll be okay.”

Fists finally unclenching, the Negative let out a hushed groan. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Fine, fine, fine.”

“And make sure that you treat yourself well--”

“I heard you, Winsome.” He opened his eyes, a more weary expression on his face. “I heard you.” Then he quietly hissed in pain; Winsome had rubbed onto a rather sore spot, and though it was relieving, it also hurt. He rose one of his own hands to caress the bruise, face in a slight grimace for a second or two.

Winsome wrapped his long arms around his friend’s shoulders, putting his chin on top of his head in an affectionate way. The both of them sighed, one of relief and one of satisfaction. For a few moments, they both just kept still, embracing each other.

Then Winsome finally let go, unbeknownst to Ormad’s dismay.

“Hey now, Maddy,” he said, turning the man’s head upwards so that they looked at each other. “Go to sleep.”

“Fine,” the Negative mumbled, already on the edge of falling asleep. “I will.”

Winsome smiled, before taking his hands off of Ormad’s face and frolicking away, leaving the Man of Gloom in a more sore but comfortable state.

#Just A Little Bit More About Us ( drabbles/writing )#A Wild Clown Who Messes Around ( Winsome )#Personification Of Negativity ( Ormad )#drabble #oc #original character #fluff

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gokul2181 · 4 years

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Hari Kondabolu : ‘Politically Re-Active’ will not be short on material this US election!

New Post has been published on https://jordarnews.in/hari-kondabolu-politically-re-active-will-not-be-short-on-material-this-us-election/

Hari Kondabolu : ‘Politically Re-Active’ will not be short on material this US election!

Co-creator Hari Kondabolu delves into the revival of their in-demand podcast after three years, why Donald Trump is ‘not a typical candidate’, and how being a new parent has affected his world view

The last time Hari Kondabolu was in Hyderabad, he fell in love with Irani chai. “They were some of the most delicious drinks I had in my life,” he laughs, “Especially the ones at the iconic older places in the city.” From a time of constant travel, the actor-comedian-podcaster is now creating content in a house-bound setting.

Over a video call from California, the 37-year-old says he and long-time friend W Kamau Bell are closely watching the US political landscape as the 2020 Presidential election campaigns and debates roll on.

Also Read: Get ‘First Day First Show’, our weekly newsletter from the world of cinema, in your inbox. You can subscribe for free here

Hari is co-creating content for the third season of Politically Re-Active (Topic Studios). The new season comes three years after the previous one, and for both Kamau and Hari, the timing and urgency called for a revival. The three-year absence did not go unnoticed; many fans of Hari and Kamau continually asked when they would return. Hari mentions that Kamau, who has won an Emmy for United Shades of America, was asked more about the podcast than about his television show, so “it’s clear people resonated with the podcast.”

The podcast, which kicked off in 2016, is not just another political science satire show. The second season’s episode on gerrymandering has been implemented in many US schools’ curriculum for its relevance and easy-to-understand approach to a complex topic. Hari looks back, “On a level, maybe we didn’t anticipate the ratings to be really good and that was cool.”

The early episodes certainly have stick, in that people are still listening to them, three years on, given they feature personalities such as Hasan Minhaj, Neil deGrasse Tyson, Van Jones, Lewis Black, Akilah Hughes and more.

The reason we went off the air, to begin with was, it was a well-done podcast; but that takes time and effort, tons of research, preparation and editing. Even with producers, we were doing some heavy lifting.” So season two came to a close, but Hari and Kamau stayed in touch: Kamau started United Shades of America and Hari released The Problem With Apu in November 2017, a documentary about Apu from The Simpsons.

Newfound urgencies

Then in 2020, COVID-19 struck; the world came to a stand-still and Kamau and Hari found their schedules to be more free. The third season was based “on a gradual acceptance that this was a popular thing that people loved, and on finding time to do it during an important election year.”

According to Hari, Trump is “not a typical candidate.” He elaborates, “Trump has been able to exploit cracks in the Constitution and the system. We can talk about what he’s done with immigration but we have a system that allows him to make choices; and we’re supposed to have a system of checks and balances but the fact that this man was not checked, tells you about that system.”

The third season launched with the first official episode on October 8. Episodes of Politically Re-Active are hot-off-the-mic, with Hari and Kamau recording weekly from their respective homes. Hari recalls recording the first episode, “Trump had just been tested positive for COVID-19 — so the chaos we are in now is certainly different than the chaos of pre-election. It is extreme now.” Certainly, this is like no other process largely due to the pandemic, explaining the way people are voting is changing, and how the debates look.

Seasoned guests for season 3 include:

Jon Lovett, former Obama speechwriter and co-host of Pod Save America

Cori Bush, a nurse and Black Lives Matter activist poised to be Missouri’s first black Congresswoman

Alexandra Rojas of Justice Democrats

Desmond Meade, who led the movement to get the vote for disenfranchised ex-felons in Florida

Actor-comedian-filmmaker Ilana Glazer (Broad City) who is working to empower young voters to participate in elections

To add value to the third season, Hari and Kamau will bring in a variety of political experts and activists, with whom they had engaged through their years in the industry. “It was a multi-fold process; we thought about who we would like to talk to in general — somebody with personality, is interesting and is engaged in political thinking or work.”

The newfound timeliness also comes from Hari becoming a new parent over the last month, and Kamau being a father of three.“There’s a degree of thinking about where this [country] is going, and what we have to look forward to. We think about systems and larger institutional things and we always have more than whatever the topic of the week is, so it’s important to keep the eyes on the prize.”

Though Hari’s new son is only a month old, parenthood has given him some new perspective. “In my most cynical times, when I think about the end of the world through environmental disaster or nuclear annihilation [laughs] there is this really dark part of me that thinks to myself ‘well, at least it’s done, human suffering is over because humanity’s over — it’ll be over with.’ [laughs]. I can’t have that thinking with a kid, right? I’m certainly thinking more about the future in that we must salvage things to create a future that’s livable. Optimism is valuable when you have a kid; you’re working towards their growth and for that to work, you have to value said future.”

Pulling it together

The episodes are meaty, each about an hour-long and there have been some challenges, he admits, chief among them being the global lockdown. “There is a general disconnect from people this year,” he says. “ Earlier when we did the podcast, the guest would be with me or Kamau, but this year, that is not there. I hate that everything is so distant, there isn’t a human connection!”

One of the most remarkable differences within the house-bound settings is that Hari and Kamau may not be as out and about; for the time being, their portal to the elections is largely screen-oriented. The Vice Presidential Debate on October 8 saw Hari and Kamau live-tweeting real-time responses and observations as a form of communication, and also, interestingly, some zen, “Both of us, being comedians, the instinct with these live events is to tweet, to find perspectives and jokes as a way to deal with the absurdity of it. We’re not going to short on material this election!”

But podcasts possess an inherent intimacy for both listener and creator, agrees Hari. “I love that we are learning with the listener, it’s more genuine when the audience knows it, too, because they seem themselves in you. I would rather be in that position than in a position of ‘preachiness’.”

Politically Re-Active can be streamed on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and Google Podcasts.

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writing-crocodiles · 7 years

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Oatmeal Cookies- Chapter 1

Fandom: Once Upon A Time

Rating: T

Summary: The boys all think that they are the catch of the century and the girls all think that there are no good men left on the planet. What's left to do? Bet on it, of course.

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Thoughts on Magic Alright, the fact of the matter is that time travel completely possible; but it’s an absolute nightmare to do. If you take the baby from the equation it gets easier, but only marginally. Is time travel something that should be made easier, though? Honestly, you don’t want every loony with magic to be able to travel back. Everything would get messed up. I’ll have to research it more before next Saturday. Not that we’re going to look at it then, but I can’t ask Dad about it at the dinner table, now can I. Dad says next week we’re going to look further into animal communication, as per Rosie’s request.

Thoughts in General Mom still thinks when Dad and Rosie and I go to the cabin we’re playing board games or another type of father-daughter-son bonding. Well, she isn’t wrong, technically, but you would think she would have caught on by now that he’s teaching us magic. I mean, Rosie and I have been doing magic in the house. It’s so weird. Maybe she notices and doesn’t care? Probably not with the way she railed against Dad’s magic, but who knows.

______ Gideon’s eyes narrowed and he flipped the sword over in his hands, realizing how much of an improvement cowhide gloves were to bare skin. He planted his feet, which were unfortunately still in sneakers since he left his boots at home, and squared off.

Neal stood across the clearing dressed fully in leather. Seeing Gideon was ready he raised his sword. The tip shone in the sunlight that was able to make it through the trees. They stood in this position an odd amount of time, but both secretly knew the other was envisioning some sort of video-game-style fight intro.

Camera panning around them, zooming in on each of their faces respectively, showing their weapons, and finally zooming out to show where they stood relatively to each other.

Neal’s intro was apparently shorter than Gideon’s because he lunged before the latter had finished. He stepped out of the prince’s way, recovering brilliantly. Neal was unable to stop himself and plowed into a tree; the sword lodged in the tough wood.

Neal swore and put a foot next to where the sword met the pine. He tugged on the hilt with more force than necessary and he flew back, landing in the dirt.

There was laughter from a log on the edge of the clearing. Thereupon sat Rose, Gideon’s sister, and Patton Herman. They were playing a game of chess and only half watching the duel, but Neal took the fact she was laughing at him as a personal insult. He stood, red faced, and turned to his opponent again.

Gideon extended his hand and flicked his wrist. The sword slipped from his friend’s hands and soared up into the branches of the tree. It sunk into a particularly thick appendage and Neal scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Roooooose!” He whined, “Isn’t that cheating? Didn’t we agree ‘no magic’?”

Rose looked up from her game. She and Patton shared a look over the board and then she went back to contemplating her next move as she spoke.

“Actually,” she picked up her rook, “I don’t think we’ve ever talked about the possibility of magic during duels.” She smiled and placed her chess piece, “Checkmate.”

Patton muttered something about chess being a “stupid game, anyway” and swung his leg over the log to stand, pulling out his cell phone as he walked off into the forest.

Neal, still peeved what he considered cheating, went into a deep knee bend before excellently launching upward. He managed to grab the lowest branch and drag himself up, starting a journey to retrieve his sword.

“Hey, guys!”

The two Golds, who were the only ones left in the clearing, turned half-heartedly to see Evan Jones, as smiley as always, run in. The blond slung his backpack off his shoulder and dropped it at his feet, crouching down and unzipping it. The contents, perked Rose’s attention, included several brown paper sacks bearing Granny’s logo.

“Hey, Evan,” Gideon said, pulling off his gloves. His sister echoed the greeting and waved her hand over the chess board, making it disappear.

“Okay,” Evan said, picking out one of the bags of food, “I’ve got a hamburger- no onions, no pickles, mustard, ketchup,” he wrinkled his nose, “mayonnaise.” His reaction earned him a laugh from Gideon, “But seriously, who puts mayonnaise on a burger?”

Patton came back from his phone call in time to hear the last part, “I do, stupid.”

“Right….” Evan said slowly, he held out the bag and Patton ran over to collect his order. “Next is a cheeseburger with pickles.”

“Mine,” Gideon said, jogging forward.

“Bro, could you get me the cheeseburger with ketchup and lettuce?” Rose said from the log. She had laid down and put a hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun.

Gideon looked to Evan and he fished through the backpack to find the second sack of food before handing them both to the older boy.

“Okay, then I’ve got a grilled cheese from me and another one for Neal. Then a thing of lasagna for Gilbert.” Evan said, standing up with the three bags and looking around the clearing, “Where are they anyway?”

Gideon put his sister’s food next to her log and unwrapped his own food, “Well, Neal’s currently in a tree.”

On cue, Neal dropped down from the branches, sword back in the sheath at his side, “Gil’s on a date,” he said, going to Evan to take his order.

“No way,” Rose said, sitting up and taking an interest, “With who?”

“I think with Brenna, if I remember our conversation correctly,” Neal said, plopping onto the forest floor.

“You’re kidding,” Rose said, grinning at Evan.

Evan spat a curse and zeroed in on Neal, “Brenna as in Brenna Jones as in my sister Brenna?”

“Yes?” Neal answered, unsure where this was going. Digging in his pocket, Evan glared at Rose’s grin. He pulled out a crumpled twenty dollar bill and threw it at her. She stretched it out, folded it nicely, then transferred it to her own pocket.

“It was so weird when he told me, too,” Neal said, biting into his sandwich, he then continued with his mouth full, “I’m the one who is the catch of the group.”

“Oh, yeah?” Gideon said, stifling a laugh, “That’s not what Alex said.”

Patton took notice at the mention of his sister, “Why, what did Alex say?”

“Yeah,” Neal swallowed, “What did she say?”

“She said that Evan is the nicest and therefore most likely to be the first ‘to get laid’ out of this group,” Rose piped up, on a surprised look from Evan she shrugged, “I was there. That’s how she said it.”

“Unfair!” Neal roared suddenly, jumping to his feet, “Why doesn’t she think it would be me? I’m the obvious choice. I’m a prince!”

Gideon snorted, “Oh, yeah, and when was the last time you had a date, your highness?”

Neal paled as he thought about it and he sunk back to the ground, “I’m going to be alone forever.”

Laughter erupted from the group and as Neal tried to refute his statement, they only found it funnier. ______________________________ MEANWHILE, Robin Mills lay on the floor of her room with an assortment of other Storybrooke girls. They had fallen into a lull, all of them quietly staring at the ceiling. They were waiting from their friend Brenna to get back from a date they had all advised against, especially Brenna’s younger sister Keely.

For the third time in the hour that Brenna had been gone Robin slammed her fists on the carpet at her sides with a frustrated sigh.

“Why are there no good men in this town?”

Alexandra Herman, who honestly preferred Alex, gave the same answer she did anytime someone asked that poignant question, “I. Don’t. Know.”

Now, this exchange had already happened, and the other two times the four friends just let the room settle back into silence.

However, third times are a charm and all that, and this time Keely Jones, who was stationed on the bed, rolled over to sit up.

“What about Gideon Gold?” She said innocently, “He’s kinda cute, isn’t he?”

Robin gave a disbelieving squeak of laughter and Alex found a pillow that had made its way to the floor to chuck at her friend’s head. Keely caught it.

“I’m serious,” she said, “Gideon’s, like, hot.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Alex said, “you do realize your dad would kill you if you got with a Gold, right?”

“I know….” Keely said, a girlish smile still in her eyes. She then turned to Akilah David, who had taken up in the windowsill. She didn’t seem to be paying attention and so Keely threw the pillow at her.

It was a good throw and nailed Akilah right in the back of the head. “Ow! What the hell, Keely?”

“What do you think?” Keely asked.

The girl in the windowsill blinked at the three pairs of eyes trained on her, “What do I think about what?”

Now Alex was curious, “What do you think about Gideon? As in a love interest type way.”

“Gideon? Emotionally thick. As dumb as a concrete wall,” Akilah said. Robin raised her eyebrows at her and she amended, “Don’t get me wrong, he’s very intelligent, but the poor guy is so stiff he wouldn’t know you were flirting with him even if you flat out told him that you were.”

Robin, Alex, and Keely shared a three-way look and Akilah caught it.

“What?” She snapped, “It’s true.”

“Are you willing to bet on it?” Robin asked.

Akilah scoffed, “Bet on what exactly?”

“We each try to get Gideon. The one who can earns twenty dollars a piece from the other three.”

“Robin, are you nuts?”

“Fifty.”

“Look, that doesn’t help,” Akilah said, amazed that Keely and Alex hadn’t protested yet.

“I’ll make that bet,” Keely said, “This will be super fun.”

So much for having friends back up her opinion, “This is ridiculous,” Akilah said, “this is a human being’s feelings we’re talking about.”

Robin pounced again, “One hundred dollars.”

“I’m in,” Alex said suddenly. All eyes were back on Akilah to make her decision.

She sighed and looked out the window, “Look, Robin, there has to be a time limit; if we go past… a month. If we go past a month then the bet is off.”

There was another three-way look.

“Deal,” Robin’s eyes were sparkling at the idea of this game.

Akilah took a second more to think and then, “And what does ‘get’ mean, exactly?”

“Let’s just say whoever he kisses first,” Keely said, “Just to make, like, a clear line.”

“Fair,” Alex said.

Another half a minute passed before Akilah caved.

“Fine. Deal.”

#ouat #Oatmeal Cookies #Next Generation #Storybrooke #Storybrooke AU #I have no idea what to tag this #ouat fic #gideon gold #robin mills #neal nolan

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thcpariiah · 7 years

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file : find_common_ground.docx

TAGGING __ // STUART TWOMBLY, SCOTT MCCALL LOCATION __// THE UNDERGROUND ( COMMONS AREA ) TIME _ FRAME ___// RECENTLY INPUT_SUMMARY…?__// Scott visits the Underground to check on Stuart -- bringing him fresh pastries. They talk a little in the Commons Area.

Scott: Scott shifted the box full of still warm cinnamon rolls and scanned the hallway. He was seventy-five percent sure the next turn would have him at-- Scott stopped. The two hallway choices were nearly identical to him. Scott bit his lip. Okay. It was closer to sixty-five percent now. He picked the noisier option. More people meant he was bound to run into someone who knew where they were going. Scott followed the voices and emerged into a wider room with people. Scott spotted a familiar figure. Scott smiled. He'd lost his way, but he'd found the person he'd been looking for. "Hey." He lifted the box. "Cinnamon roll?" The offer sounded better than the first word he'd come up with.

Stuart

Stuart had ventured out of his room for the first time in a few days because he needed coffee -- he needed to get his computer back online and pick back up where he left off. He needed to ignore the yellow-black bruises still against the canvas of his porcelain flesh and try to at least pretend to be comfortable in his own skin again -- hopeful that he wouldn't get stopped by a soul that was far too curious and asked again about what went down, like it was nothing but a fun story to be told of adventures that some of the Underground members would never see. Never mind the mental anguish that even thinking about that murky, cold cell brought about.

He was testing a small sip of his coffee was he was beginning to make his way out of the commons area when a voice jolted him back to his senses -- lowering his cup with a grunt as he closed his eyes fleetingly to lower his heart rate from the surprise, his body still on the wrong side of jumpy. It meshed away from surprised, to merely confused -- eyes finding the box in the alpha's hands. "I -- what?"

Scott

He hadn't meant to surprise him.Scott opened the box,"Cinnamon rolls. Freshly baked. Pair well with coffee." This was better anyway.If Stuart had been in his room, maybe Scott wouldn't have found him at all. He didn't know much about Stuart, but he did know what he'd ordered at the cafe. Personalized gifts were better than random shots in the dark. "Man can't live on coffee alone, right?"

It was a flimsy excuse, but they had to start somewhere. And Scott knew what it was like to have people suddenly unsure of how they should deal with you. He figured Stuart would appreciate something more normal.

Stuart

He blinked a few times blankly as Scott spoke again, eyes finding the sweets in the box as his brows furrowed inwards -- almost as if he was expecting something to jump out of the box at him. He wasn't typically so paranoid -- and he knew he didn't have anything to fear from Scott, after all, he vaguely remembered Scott being with the group who helped take him from the government facility. But his nerves were still frayed in places -- causing them to spark uneasily while he relearned his calm.

" -- ... you brought me cinnamon rolls?" he asked, almost disbelieving as he pulled amber eyes back up to the alpha.

Scott: Stuart blinked, his cup poised in his hand, and brow wrinkled in confusion. Scott didn't see what was stunning about the situation. He chose to ignore the confusion. "Yeah. I mean, I can't eat all of them myself. I might as well share them." Stuart wouldn't need werewolf senses to see through his words. Scott had specifically bought them for him. Operation: Befriend the Coffee Drinking Hacker was a go. He couldn't help whatever the other was going through right now. And cinnamon rolls wouldn't make it better, but maybe it would be something good? A little bit of good could go a long way.

Stuart

After their initial meeting, Stuart had been convinced that Scott didn't exactly like him -- and he wasn't convinced that giving himself up in lieu of his brother was a fix-all; even if he knew that if they hadn't come when they had, it would've been much worse. Possibly to the point of being unfixable. (And it wasn't like Stuart had actually expected anyone to come for him. He knew they would go looking, but -- Akilah's stubbornness once again payed off in her favor.) And, especially after Stuart's recent development with Allison -- which he was also not eager to bring up to Scott -- he wouldn't have been surprised if Scott outright hated him. Possibly trying to see it through his eyes, Scott could very well think that he was trying to steal his best friend as well as his first love.

" -- why?" he asked, finally, with some apprehension.

Scott: Scott had been guarded in his first meeting with him. He hadn't expected to meet with someone with such a resemblance to Stiles. Void had cut deep in more ways than one. And after how many times new people had meant misery? New made Scott wary even if he was more tactful with his concerns than Stiles. The last four years hadn't helped either. They lent themselves to suspicion. But there was enough strife in his life. If there was an opportunity to add good to his own life AND help someone who was already important to Stiles, he was going to try. And he owed him. If Stuart hadn't gone, Stiles would have. Add Allison clearly feeling Stuart meant something to her, too? (Exactly what, wasn't something he was allowed to pry into now.) He would try. But he couldn't say all that here. "Why not?" Maybe he shouldn't give him an out. He might come up with an actual reason. "Or a thank you.A very poor thank you, but..." Maybe they didn't need to get into that. "Or maybe I had way too many cinnamon rolls this morning? Take your pick."

Stuart

Stuart once more blinked a few times, confused by the sudden change in attitude from the alpha -- eyes darting between the sweets and the other's expression. "For what?" he asked when Scott told him it was a thank you. He hadn't done what he did for thanks. He did what he did because of his brother. Because Stuart wasn't going to allude himself into thinking that he was more important than Stiles to Le Chassé. Sure, what he was able to do with computers was great -- but the rapport and friendship, and the love behind it, that Stiles had for the majority of the group was more important than a computer genius with no social skills and an asshole attitude to boot. He wasn't going to pretend that the rebellion couldn't continue without him, even after all he had done and the progress he had helped them achieve. He had seen his actions as the only logical step to make -- even if he didn't know what awaited him where he was taken; nor was he prepared for the recovery that still left his cheeks gaunt and on the wrong side of pale.

"I didn't do ... what I did to try and make myself heroic in anyone's mind. I'm not going to entertain the idea that Le Chassé would've suffered a more loss of me being gone, rather than Stiles. Stiles has a lot of things that I do not."

Scott: "Le Chasse,"repeated Scott in disbelief. "Le Chasse is important, but..." Is that what Stuart thought he meant? Le Chasse? Stuart had more in common with Stiles than he realized. Stiles before he'd realized his own powers had questioned his own value to the pack. Hell, he still probably did. The stakes were higher now, but Scott wouldn't have that with him. Or Stuart. "I'm not thanking you for preserving a key members of a rebellion. I--I'm barely down here. And I know that's going to change, probably sooner than I'd like, but... Stiles is my brother, too. You mentioned Le Chasse, but it wasn't just about that for you.Was it?" Scott shook his head. "Just because Stiles is important to Le Chasse. that doesn't mean you are any less important to all this."

Stuart: His tongue darted out to moisten his bottom lip when Scott spoke again, swallowing fleetingly around a dry throat. "No," he admitted softly when Scott asked him if it wasn't just Le Chassé. He cleared his throat fleetingly, averting his eyes with a soft shrug of his shoulder. "Stiles is my brother. And I know him and I are vastly different. And I know I make it difficult for him to connect with me. But that doesn't mean that I don't care about him. That doesn't mean I don't feel the same connection that he does. Stiles had nothing to do with the nature of why I wasn't raised with him, and it's not his fault Noah never told him about me. I care about him, and I know everyone else does too. If I hadn't done what I did, Stiles would have. And I couldn't stomach the idea of something like that happening to someone like Stiles. Regardless, it did come down to who was more important -- even if not to the rebellion, but to individuals. They had Noah, and lord knows what they planned on doing to him. Something had to give."

Scott

Old habits meant it took him a second to realize Noah meant Stiles' dad. Scott's mom was the only one who referred to him as 'Noah' on a regular basis around Scott. He didn't want to make Stuart uncomfortable. But there was no avoiding this now. Stuart said Stiles would've turned himself in. "I know. I was trying to talk him out of it." Did that make these 'Sorry, I feel guilty' cinnamon rolls, too? He hadn't considered that possibility. Talking Stiles out of it had left room for Stuart to jump in."There weren't any good options." Scott closed the cinnamon roll box and held it out. "Still, if it means anything you didn't have to choose that. You went beyond what anyone would've ever asked. And I didnt mean to bring all this up. I swear. I thought maybe you'd want something nice. Normal. Because I know what it's like for people to suddenly see you differently, over something you've never asked for...But I can go."

Stuart

" -- I tried to talk him out of it, too.." he murmured, raking his teeth across his bottom lip and failing to try and ignore the memory of Stiles' panic running haywire in his own chest; their connection something that Stuart was still miles from understanding - or even feeling comfortable with, wondering if any good actually could come out of feeling the larger spectrum of each other's emotions.

I had no other option. Honestly, in all reality, Stuart knew that he did. But, he couldn't sit idly by and just watch Stiles turn himself in when he just got the usage of his powers back. Even if that meant Stuart forfeiting his own freedom and safety. " -- I haven't know what normal felt like since I was eighteen," he admitted softly, his eyes once more finding the box that was offered to him -- lips thinning as he let out a relenting sigh, gently taking it from the other. "You don't -- you don't have to leave," he said after a long beat of silence. "I just -- I'm not really good at this, Scott."

Scott: Multi-emotional expression Cinnamon Rolls. The thought was almost funny. Scott's reasons for talking Stiles out of it had been more selfish. He hadn't wanted to lose Stiles to who knew what. If Scott had a say, they would've rescued the Sheriff if possible and Scott would've moved himself and his Mom here or get her somewhere safer. As it was, Scott had been almost useless during a rescue attempt. And had only managed to be an inadequate shield. Cora had simply leapt where she pleased. And Scott had been too slow on multiple actions. Scott released the box and half-turned to leave, but Stuart stopped him with his words. Scott didn't know where to go from here. "No one's good at this. You don't have to be good at --" At what? Difficult conversations? Dealing with traumatic events? "--good at dealing with stuff. You just...try. That's all you can do."

Stuart: He let out a slightly bitter laugh -- more at himself rather than Scott -- as he shook his head for a fleeting moment. "Any of this," he clarified. As a child, Stuart didn't have many friends. ( One. He had one friend. Akilah. Who now played for the opposite side. ) The only time that he actually felt cared for as a child as around his parents, and Akilah. But; Stuart was okay with that. He didn't need a massive collection of friends. Honestly, he didn't have the tolerance for it. But after he lost his family, and after he left Akilah behind, he had felt ... unbelievably lonely for the first time in his life -- even while helping Le Chassé. It was only after coming here that that changed. That he had more than one person he could ... consider a friend. He had a brother. He had ... -- he had Allison. And then suddenly some of that had been put at risk and Stuart had no idea what to do with himself. "As a kid, I never had to deal with traumatic experiences until after I lost my family. I wasn't bred around it like Beacon Hills is. I don't --" he scoffed, shrugging a shoulder, "I don't know how to handle any of this. This isn't just a computer algorithm that I can crack."

Scott: Was everyone in Beacon Hills bred around tragedy? The Hales and Kate. Claudia Stilinski's death. Isaac and his father (and his brother's death for a time). Scott didn't consider his childhood to be tragic. His parents had divorced and he'd had a few brushes with asthma related incidents. But that kind of death while scary as a possibility had been explainable. Was that it's own kind of messed up? That he was distinguishing it from post-bite scenarios in his head? "I'm not sure what you mean, but...maybe don't try to handle it or crack it on your own? That never helps.And when you find people you care about keep them close. Take the wins. Even they're stupid and small?That's what you can do."

Stuart

His eyes dropped for a moment -- and he wasn't even sure at this point what caused the words that he said. He wasn't a sharer by any means. And it was definitely more words than he had said to most people in the Underground. Perhaps it could be blamed on the fact that he still felt exposed and vulnerable. Nasty memories of bruises still against his skin, and an almost haunted look in his eyes when he thought that no one was looking. As much as he tried to pull up the walls he was usually so used to being so safely behind, his foundation was still cracked. He just couldn't afford the time anymore to sit around and let himself recover. Especially not after learning that something had been done to Cora -- and, especially now that he knew the same could've been done to him, Stuart needed to invest the time in figuring out what.

"You and Stiles, and your pack -- you all dealt with so much shit before you even graduated high school. Dread Doctors and alpha packs. Dark kistunes. That's nothing that a teenager needs to worry about -- but you did it. I never had to deal with any of that. Despite always having my magic, it was never a problem for me. My town was small, and ignored." Stuart was not hardened by the events in his life, but rather only hardened on surface value -- and the surface was apparently much too easy to crack.

Scott: This. This was one of the reasons he avoided this place and dreaded the day if or when it would become necessary to be here more often. Scott couldn't fortune cookie, Hallmark-card his way out. If there was to be any trust here, he owed him the truth, too. Scott exhaled slowly."We did. We dealt with it,"said Scott. But it wasn't that simple. "I don't know what people actually know. But when people bring those things up it's like...highlight reel. They--they all make it sound like we were bad-ass and strong and capable the entire time like we're a threat. They leave out our mistakes, our pain, our terror and how we didn't know what we were doing. Us surviving--gets turned into triumphs." And it was infuriating. But it also wasn't Stuart's fault. Scott let out a breath slowly."What I mean, is we weren't stronger than anyone else. We're not better or braver than anyone else.And you are not weaker because you haven't gone through the same amount of shit. I'm glad that you haven't. I'm glad you had more time."

Stuart

Stuart shook his head ever so slightly, "I understand that it's not all black and white," he breathed. "But that's not the point. The point is that you still powered through, and you're still ... " Stuart trailed off for a moment, lost for the right word. "You still believe in the best of people. You might not trust me, but that's an entirely different story. Trust and seeing the good in someone is two totally different things." He was at least akin to his brother in the way that he couldn't always see the good in everyone -- sometimes, he even didn't want to. Like the faceless men in the white coats who wanted to put the strange device in his head. The men who somehow thought that that was okay and humane.

Albeit, Stuart cleared his throat and shook his head, "I'm sorry. This is not why you came down here," he finally breathed with a rough shake of his head. "Thanks for the cinnamon rolls," he breathed, glancing down at the box in his hand before back to the alpha. "And -- uh..." he faltered before sucking in another breath. "Thanks for helping to get me out. And making sure that Allison got out, too." He knew breaching Allison between them was probably a shaky subject, but he also knew that completely skirting around her wouldn't get him very far in the long run.

Scott

It's not his fault. It isn't. Scott bit his tongue and decided to focus on listening to him. Not whether anyone else was listening. Not about the million reasons he found it harder to focus down here: Darkness, enclosed spaces, chemicals in pipes, and not quite stale air, metal and cement and all of those little things that reminded him of other places where he'd felt all of what he'd described briefly to Stuart. Focus. What was Stuart saying? Trust him? He wanted to, he did. He wouldn't lie about that, but saying it out loud? That he didn't trust him even after he'd nearly sacrificed himself for Stiles. That would be an insult. And they were already on uneven footing. Scott only knew one immensely important act of Stuart's--besides the work he'd done for Le Chasse. The rest? Stuart probably knew much more about him.

"You don't have to thank me for that." He'd barely done anything. Stealing things from a dead man while wearing a hockey mask was hardly an achievement. "I'm glad you're both safe."

Stuart: "I don't have to," he agreed with a small shake of his head, "But I will. You didn't have to be there. You can't use your abilities like the rest of them could -- and you're not a trained hunter like Kara and Allison is. You didn't have to risk yourself to be there, especially when you're one of the few left on Topside -- and one of the few still off the Wanted lists. You could have easily have sat it out and no one would've thought less of you for it. But you didn't." He huffed out a breath and gave a loose shrug of his shoulders. "That's not lost on me, whether you think that I should thank you for it, or not. I know you don't particularly like me, and that's okay -- I don't need you to. And I know you only did it for Stiles, and I'm not going to pretend any different. But I still appreciate it. I want you to know that."

Scott: There was a fine line between caution and cowardice. He would've thought less of himself. Stiles hadn't needed powers to make a difference years ago. Nor had Scott's mom and Stiles' dad --both of them were completely human. He'd come for Stiles,for Allison,and for someone who'd risked his own life for the past four years for all of them. Stuart wasn't wrong,though. Being there for Stiles had outweighed the other considerations. And Allison had only just returned to them. Admitting Stuart came third on the list wouldn't help this conversation. And Scott had no idea how to react to someone praising him when part of his motivations had been selfish. "I don't know you yet. That's different from not liking you.But what I do know is this place wouldn't even be running the way it is without you. And you've been making sacrifices for 4 years--long before you chose to do what you did."

Stuart

Stuart understood that he wasn't the easiest person to get to know. Stiles had made an effort -- but he also had a reason to make an effort. Allison was -- ... It was a sequence of lucky happenstances that brought them together in silences that had grown into much more than that. But, once again, he almost felt guilty thinking about Allison in the presence of Scott. Almost. He just didn't want the other to feel he was being malicious in his intentions with Allison towards him. It was anything but.

"You don't have to pretend that I'm not an asshole," was his simple response. He grew up understanding that he had an unlikable personality. He didn't need people to like him to be able to do his job. It was ... refreshing, yes, to have people who he almost considered friends. But, he also didn't want to force the alpha into feeling like he had to enjoy his presence only because he was his best friend's brother.

Scott: Scott snorted,"I don't know whether you are one or not. How could I pretend anything?" He'd met people who were killers; deceivers, self-serving opportunists; ambitious, power hungry graspers; and, garden variety jerks and bullies. He didn't see that with Stuart. "But assholes don't think they're assholes. They think they're completely right about everything." And usually made everyone around them miserable. "Why are you so committed to convincing me you're unlikable? If you are, I'd find out on my own, wouldn't I?" If Scott had been a mind-reader, he would've pointed out people had rarely been successful at forcing him to do things. Join Derek's pack. Stop trying to save everyone. Stay dead. Scott was generally more inclined to trying to make peace, but he could be just as stubborn.

Stuart

A frown formed against his lips when Scott spoke. Truth be told, he didn't expect the reply from him -- the corners of his lips reaching downwards as he let out a sharp breath. Currently, his inhibitions were broken and scattered and his state was more vulnerable than he was accustomed to. And while he thought it would make him lash out more -- the honest truth was that, unless he felt threatened, it had him speaking more than he was usually inclined to. And while he wasn't sure how he personally felt about Scott, he didn't feel threatened around.

"I was never really good at making friends," was his response to Scott's words. "It was easier to just push people away -- they always thought that I would be different than the way I always initially acted. I assumed that that made me an asshole."

Scott: "I only had one for a really long time." Friendly with a lot of people didn't equate to a lot of friends. There was a difference. And he hadn't really needed more. Quality not quantity had definitely applied to their situation. And he wasn't trying to push the Stiles as best friend as an angle. It was extremely relevant to the conversation and unavoidably what had lead them here.

"I don't even know how that happened.Him peeing on my sandcastle isn't what you expect for a solid foundation of friendship."

Stuart

Despite himself, Stuart snorted slightly at Scott's words. He shifted to lay both his coffee mug and the box of pantries down on the table so that he could sit down on the ratted couch nearby -- his sore body beginning to protest standing too long, muscles aching and screaming and not quite concealing a wince as he lowered himself down; trying to hide it by grabbing his mug and taking a small sip of cooling caffeine.

"He pissed on your sand castle?" he echoed with a small shake of his head. " -- my only friend was a girl named Akilah. She -- Kara had contact with her, and she's one of the reasons you guys were able to find me. She basically just spent every lunch period staring me down behind her food until I agreed to sit with her. That's how she became my friend."

Scott

"Yeah, it was a good sandcastle,too. I made him apologize. Or maybe my Mom did." Scott pulled napkins from the paper bag he'd brought the cinnamon rolls in. He noted Stuart's wince, ignored the impulse to ask if he was alright,and the second urge to reach out a hand to siphon pain away. Scott hadn't managed to find the infirmary again on his own since Allison and Stuart had been taken there by Derek and Isaac.He could've asked,but he'd talked himself out of going to see them. And then Allison had left the infirmary. She'd probably gone back to her room. Scott sat and leaned closer in to offer Stuart napkins.And caught a familiar scent off of Stuart's clothes. "You've seen Allison? How is she?"

Stuart

His eyes darted over to Scott as he moved closer and offered him a napkin -- lowering his mug to reach out and take one before the male was speaking again. "You -- " before he was able to ask, though, he cut himself off as his brain caught up to the other's words -- and he realized. Oh. He probably smelled of Allison; against his clothing, against his skin. And with that thought, he tore his eyes away from the other.

"She's ... She'll heal just fine. It might scar, but Deaton told her she was lucky it wasn't a few inches lower -- it could've gotten her heart. Or her lungs." As it was, it merely had embedded itself in her shoulder blade before one of the infirmary nurses had taken it out. "She's in a lot of pain, but --" He trailed off with a small shrug of his shoulder, a nasty twist of guilt in his stomach. "She'll heal."

Stuart

He licked his lips tentatively for a moment before hesitantly bringing his gaze back to the alpha. While there was an inkling of guilt, he refused to be apologetic about himself and Allison. The guilt was merely situational -- from standing here in front of Scott in the light of talking about his first love who "died" in his arms. Stuart might have had his shortcomings, but he didn't lack empathy. But that didn't mean he was going to step down from whatever him and Allison were becoming, nor was he going to deny it.

"I know what you meant," he reassured him after a moment.

Scott: "Oh. Good."He needed to pick another word.The English language had a billion of them. Preferably words that didn't circle back to the ones Stuart had highlighted like "heart" and "lungs" that Scott's brain unhelpfully associated with "Theo" and "weaponized wolfsbane." Or "death." There's one that kept swirling back. Any other words would be better.He needed to direct his attention to something else. He opened the cinnamon roll box,removed a roll with a napkin, and offered it to Stuart."And that's another point in favor of non-asshole-ness.She wouldn't have gone in after you if she didn't care." She definitely wouldn't have gone in alone. He scooped up a roll for himself. It was still warm in his hand. He'd thought more time had passed since he'd left the cafe. It was something normal, simple, and solid. At least, the rolls were helping someone even if he'd intended to help Stuart not himself.

Stuart

Stuart was thankful that Allison's injury hadn't been worse than it was -- and, even so, there was a strong sense of guilt about him because of it. If he hadn't let Allison get so close, she wouldn't have felt the need to come alone. And if she hadn't come alone, then she would've never have been hurt. The stranger -- the guard -- would have never have been killed. And -- even if he had spoken with no one about it, even Allison -- the guilt over taking a life, even in the dazed state he had been in -- and even to save Allison's life -- was another hit against his will that he was trying to internalize.

He took the roll, almost hesitantly, as it was offered to him -- leaning more so against the couch and letting the light pain from the adjustment roll down his spine. " -- she wouldn't have been hurt if she hadn't come after me." Or if she had just waited, a portion of his guilt leaking out. And, by proxy, a peak into the fact that Stuart genuinely did care quite a bit about her as well.

Scott: "She fights for the people she cares about. She would've come. Should she have waited? Maybe. But she could've gotten hurt even if she had waited, too." She hadn't been the only one willing to risk themselves for Stuart just the most eager. His friend that Kara spoke about came to mind. Stiles. People did care. It made Stuart's perception of being unlikable even more confusing for Scott. "You're important to her." It wasn't his place to poke into whatever it was. She and Scott had already broken up before they parted. And even if that hadn't been the case, someone deserved happiness in the middle of all this. Friendship or something else? It didn't matter. Being alive meant she had to actually live, too. "You don't have to feel guilty about that. And someone else hurt her. Not you."

Stuart: Stuart was well aware that he would've been in worse shape if Allison hadn't come when she had -- the perpetual haunting and stereotypical phrase just in time came to mind; the haze of the sedative they had given him still a terror that haunted him when he closed his eyes. And the wonderful girl who deserved much better than him shoving her way through the fog of it to drag him out until the others could find them. He cleared his throat when Scott spoke, the corners of his lips twitching as he ducked his head down, "She's important to me, too --" he breathed, hoping the wasn't breaching an unspoken line with the alpha. "Which is exactly why I feel guilty."

Scott: "I'd say you don't have to feel guilty about that either, but I know people don't get a choice in how they feel." He unraveled a piece off his cinnamon roll. "Guilt's one of those stupid ones that likes sticking around." It liked settling in, stacking one reason on top of another weighing a little heavier as time went on. "It lies and tries convince you that you shouldn't accept the good things that come your way..." He didn't want that for himself or Stuart or Allison or Stiles or anyone. If only emotions were dispatched with a swift upper-cut, a bite, or a magic word. Scott would rather exhaust himself fighting than dealing with what was in his head sometimes.

Stuart

He let out a small breath at that. Guilt wasn't something he was overly used to feeling -- nor were the other emotions that were sticking around. Like fear. Mental anguish. Anything and every thing that kept him from having a decent night's sleep here recently. Clinging to him like a sickness, or a disease. Deeper and harder than any of the bruises against his skin. He shook his head, carding a hand through unruly hazelnut locks before he was picking at the edge of the roll.

"I guess I'm just -- I'm not used to people actually caring."

Scott: "Your friend...the one that's also good with computers. She's definitely cared for a while." Scott had always felt that if you cared about someone or something you showed it with actions. His mom healed people with her sense of humor and medical knowledge. The Sheriff proved he cared even when it was saying things in exasperated tones with them. He'd been lucky in that way. His circle had been smaller when he was younger, but he had always known he was loved. He hadn't considered a what a world would be like if you thought people didn't care. "I guess...it just took an intense situation that required people doing something that proved they cared for you to know? "

Stuart: "Akilah," he breathed when Scott mentioned his friend from before all of this started. "-- she did. I -- does." It was different with Akilah, somehow. He knew things would be easier if Akilah still assumed that he was dead. But, at the same time, if Akilah hadn't helped, they would have never found him. Thinking about her only hurt; because she was all he had left when his parents died, and he was forced to leave her behind. Because she was so bright. And so wonderfully human that he didn't want to drag her down with him. " -- I'm just ... not comfortable with the knowledge that there are people willing to risk their lives to save mine."

Scott: Scott nodded when Stuart said his friend's name. He hadn't known what words to say or what would reassure Stuart throughout any of this. He still didn't. "They believe you're worth it. I don't think there's anything I can say right now that's going to make you comfortable with knowing people are willing to risk so much. But..." What was he trying to say? "You believe their lives are valuable. And they believe your's is too. Isn't that a good thing? Valuing that. Wanting people who are good to keep existing in this world." Loyalty. Friendship. Love. All of those things gave life meaning. "It's scary and it hurts because it matters."

Stuart

" -- it's not a good thing when it ends up getting them killed," he breathed, just thankful that Allison, or Stiles, or Scott, or any of the others weren't killed in an effort to rescue him. Moving on from what happened was difficult -- but, he didn't know if he would've been able to at all if they lost anyone because of him. ( And -- despite his brother's insisted apology, he refused to blame Stiles. Even though Stiles had a reckless personality, it wasn't his fault that Cora had exposed him. Everything drew back around to the government. To the stupid laws that divided them. )

It was a rough line -- deciding where to draw it in the sand. He had never allowed himself to open up enough to let some many people in before it was dangerous to do. And now more than ever, he was terrified of losing the people had had grown to care for in such a small amount of time.

Scott

"No, it's not." It would never be a good thing. And if he could shield anyone from that pain, he would. "All we can do is try to keep that from happening." It wasn't up to him. There were no guarantees. Scott had almost died so many times he'd stopped trying to keep track. "The safest option in theory would be for everyone to hide.And stop doing what we've been doing."

It wasn't simple and both of them knew that. "But then,what? Let the hunters take everything?Let the violent supernaturals feed into the public's fear? Wait until the hunters or the other side come for everyone not like them? They're not going to stop."

And if Stuart and Scott had been the type of people who could sit back and watch that happen, they wouldn't be here."I don't know if I still have the power to make any sort of difference.But I try.At least, I'll know I did everything I could."

Stuart

Stuart let out a breath and shook his head -- he wasn't sure if he would've started in this fight if it hadn't been for his brother's connection. But, at this point, even if Stiles was somehow not involved, Stuart knew he still would fight. At this point, he knew he was on the right side and he would do nothing to stop himself from helping as much as he could. Even only his skills could just take him so far -- he couldn't get as deep into hyperspace as he wished he could, walls thrown up at every angle the deeper he got, and he knew better than to endanger Akilah and ask her help -- she had endangered herself enough without Stuart asking her.

"We're all just doing what we can."

#mission : chatzy #c: s. mccall #chatzy 009

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hazel-writes · 3 years

Text

Summary: While recovering from the events that took place on Dantooine, you learn more about Finn and Takoda's complicated pasts.

Word Count: 3,300

Warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence and childhood trauma

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It will take a while

To make you smile

Somewhere in these eyes

I'm on your side

• Space Song - Beach House •

It had been three days since your mission to Dantooine, and you still hadn’t wrapped your head around what had happened there.

Rilea kept asking you if you were alright, and you always responded with an enthusiastic yes. Any other response prompted a long, worried conversation about stress following traumatic encounters, followed by a rant on the violence perpetrated by patriarchal societies. She wasn’t wrong, but you just didn’t feel like talking about it.

Akilah kept asking you how you escaped. You could tell she didn’t buy your story — and she knew that you knew that — but wanted to make you admit it anyways. How she knew this still remained a mystery, one you couldn’t solve unless you revealed something about yourself that you were determined to keep a secret.

Soren was quiet, as usual, but instead of shooting you his typical iconic glare, he had been avoiding your eye contact completely.

Koda, on the other hand, was furious. For some reason, he felt guilty for what happened, despite the fact that he was miles away at the time. You told him over and over that it was not and could not be his fault, but you could tell that your words were not enough to appease his guilt.

Based on Koda’s reaction, you felt as if you should be more angry about what happened, but you understood why the men had attacked you. Years of pent up anger, frustration, and loss, mixed with the alcohol they had most likely consumed earlier, had combined to incite the unfortunate turn of events. You had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No, I should be more mad, you shamed yourself. They attacked me. Hit me. Kicked me. Watched as I gave up.

A knock sounded on your door. You already knew who it was. Ever since Finn found out about what happened on Dantooine, he had started showing up everywhere you were: inside the cafeteria, throughout the hallways, and now, outside of your room.

You sighed, making your way to the door. You opened it, and just as expected, found Finn there, helmet in hand, smirking at you with a sheepish grin.

“Finn…” you drew out his name, as if patronizing a small child. He looked back at you with apologetic, yet pleading, eyes. “I already told you, I’m fine.”

“I know what you told me,” he said, stubbornly.

Darn his freaky emotional intelligence.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, since you are already here, I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

He nodded enthusiastically, eager at the opportunity to help out. “Yeah, of course. Anything.”

You ushered him into your room, closing the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, you continued, knowing he wouldn’t like what was coming next.

“What’s goin’ on between you and Takoda? It’s just… you both are so sweet and it’s weird to see you guys act so distant around each other.”

He smirked. “Well, first of all, we’re sweet around you — I am still a trooper, remember, so I can’t be this charming all the time.”

“Right,” you said, cheeks reddening slightly as you rolled your eyes. “But why the lack of charm around Koda?”

He sighed heavily, avoiding eye contact. “Koda and I… We don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things.”

“Such as…” you inquired further.

“Such as the trooper program.”

That didn’t make any sense to you; Takoda had never spoken about the program before.

“Why would Koda be interested in the trooper program?”

The room was silent.

“Because he was one.”

“Koda was a trooper??!” You couldn’t picture it. As hard as you tried, you just couldn’t. He was too silly, too full of life. But the same was true for Finn, and he was a trooper too…

“Yup,” he replied, somber. “We were in the same fleet too. We always had each other's backs.”

You thought for a second, processing the new information. “So what changed?”

He hesitated, looking down at his feet. You’d never seen him look this sad before, and it made your own heart feel heavy.

“A couple years into his program, Koda got injured.”

“Injured — how?”

“We were on a planet with a heavy rebel presence. Our orders were to… eliminate a village that housed supposed Resistance sympathizers. We went in with grenades,” he paused, choking on his words. You looked up at him, reaching out and grabbing his hand, supportively. He nodded appreciatively and continued. “At one point, a trooper next to me threw one. It landed by a little girl, maybe nine years old. Koda jumped forward — pushed her out of the way. He ended up catching most of the blow. I can’t honestly say that I would’ve had the courage to do the same. I hid my grenades in a nearby bush and ran over to him; he was hurt badly. So the med guys took him, and he was airlifted outta there.”

You squeezed his hand, gently urging him to continue. “What happened next?”

“I visited him in the hospital a few days later. He told me he’d been ‘medically discharged’ and was free to go wherever he wished… I was so happy for him. Not many stormtroopers get that kinda opportunity to start over, live their own life. Many injure themselves on purpose to get discharged, but usually they’re too obvious about it and end up executed on the grounds of ‘treason’.”

You shook your head in shock. “Stars…”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “So I asked Koda what he wanted to do, where he wanted to go… I mean, the possibilities were endless for him! But he surprised me. He told me he wanted to stay with the Order, try to make it 'better'. I couldn’t believe it — especially given his background.”

“What do you mean, his background?” you questioned.

“Koda hasn’t told you?” he said, eyes widening.

“Told me what?”

“Kriff…” he mumbled. “I think that’s something you should discuss with him .”

“Yeah, okay...” You paused, thinking. You were still confused about one thing.

“So Koda refused to leave the Order, and you and him just… stopped talking?”

He sighed, his hand leaving your grasp to run through his hair. He seemed frustrated, not at you, but at the newly-unearthed memories of his past.

“It’s not as simple as that. Koda had a choice. He had a choice to join the trooper program, and a choice to leave it. I never had a choice. I was forced into it. It was either this, or death.” He paused, sighing, before lowering his voice. “Had I known what it would be like here, as a trooper, I would’ve chosen death.”

Hearing that tore your heart in two. “Finn, please, don’t say that.”

He threw up his hands. “It’s true! Being forced to tear apart planets, villages, houses, families, people… It’s horrible. Sickening.” He paused. “I- I had almost given up hope completely, when all of a sudden you came into the picture.”

You gave him a sad, appreciative smile.

“Anyways, he had a choice to leave this life, and he said no. I’ve never had a choice, but if I did, I would be out of this place in a second. That’s why we don’t talk anymore.”

“I see.” You paused. “Finn, I-”

Words couldn’t describe how incredibly sad you felt that such a strong, empathetic man like Finn had been forced to endure so much pain.

You reached out and pulled him into the biggest hug you could manage. Your eyes prickled with tears. “I’m so sorry Finn, I’m so, so sorry,” you whispered over and over into his ear.

After a few minutes like that, you finally pulled away to see Finn smiling warmly at you. How could he still do that — smile — after everything he’d gone through?

“Hey, I just thought of one good thing that came out of me staying in this stupid trooper program.”

“What?” you asked, genuinely interested.

There was that sheepish smile again. “Well, if I left, I never would’ve met you.”

You didn’t deserve a friend like Finn.

“And I would’ve never met you…”

You grabbed his hands in yours and held them to your forehead. You closed your eyes and breathed deeply. It was your turn to worry.

“I wish there was more I could do for you,” you whispered.

He shook his head. “You’ve already done so much.”

“Not enough,” you replied.

He sighed, bringing both your hands back down to your lap.

“Listen, there’s something about you — I don’t know what — that gives me hope, and I don’t use that word lightly. I felt it from the first, or should I say the second, time I met you.” He laughed, his eyes brightening. “If anyone can change the way things are in the galaxy right now, it’s you.”

You looked at him, wondering where this blind trust was coming from. He had only known you for a short amount of time… You finally understood why the Commander was so surprised by your own blind trust in his orders.

“I should get back,” he said, standing up. “But please, try to remember what I said.”

After giving you one last hug, he put on his helmet and made his way out of your quarters, leaving you to your thoughts.

——————————————

You spent the next few hours reflecting on your conversation with Finn. You found yourself desperately wanting to find out more about Koda’s enigmatic background.

After pacing back and forth across your room a couple hundred times, your curiosity finally got the best of you.

I have to go talk to Koda. I need to find out what he has been keeping from me.

You found him sitting in the artist workspace, alone.

He didn’t seem to see you at first, so you cleared your throat, announcing your presence.

His head jerked up, startled. His brown hair was a bit more disheveled than usual, and his hair fell over his face slightly.

You smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no, I was just spaced out for a sec,” he smirked. “I’m back now.”

A moment passed before his features became more serious. “How are you feeling?”

This was the first time you’d really talked about what happened on Dantooine with Koda. Most of what he knew was from Rilea’s retellings.

You shrugged. “Fine, considering. It could’ve been worse.”

He looked down, wringing his hands uncomfortably. “Why wasn’t it… worse? How did you end up getting away?”

You couldn’t tell him what really happened — it’s not like he would believe you if you did. You settled for a half-truth instead.

“I managed to kick one of the guys who jumped me and while he was distracted, I made a run for it. That’s when you guys found me in the field.”

He shook his head, still looking at his hands. “Kriff… I’m sorry. We should’ve never split up.”

“No, no, don’t apologize, it’s not your fault. I just seem to be a magnet for trouble,” you chuckled, trying to bring up the mood.

He nodded, unconvincingly. “So what brings you here? Shouldn’t you be in a hospital bed or something?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, they won’t miss me,” you smirked, earning an eye roll from Koda. “I actually came here because I wanted to ask you about something.”

He squinted in your direction. “Uh oh, you have serious voice on.”

You laughed before continuing, “I just wanted to ask you about Finn.”

“Ahh…” he said, as if he knew this conversation was coming.

“I already talked with him today, so now it’s your turn to endure the wrath of my nosiness.”

“Okay, fine,” he said, letting out an audible sigh before rolling his shoulders and assuming a more comfortable position. “What do you want to know?”

You continued hesitantly, not wanting to offend Koda or worsen the tension between him and Finn. “Well, we talked about why you two don’t get along and how you chose to stay with the Order after you were discharged from your trooper duties. Finn mentioned — and please, don’t get upset that he told me — he was surprised by your decision… especially considering your background. What exactly did he mean by this?”

Takoda paused, looking at you as if considering something. Finally, leaning towards you slightly, he continued. “What I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room, alright? People onboard wouldn’t think too kindly of me if they knew.”

You nodded. “Of course, Koda, I would never do something like that — never.”

His hazel eyes met yours as he spoke in a low, serious voice. “I wasn’t born First Order. I was born Resistance.”

He looked up at you, attempting to gauge your reaction. When you didn’t look angry or disgusted, he continued.

“I was pretty independent from a young age. My parents were never home. They were always working on something Resistance-related. They were pretty much consumed by their work. One year they even forgot my birthday,” he huffed, looking to his feet. “When they hadn’t come home by dinnertime, I left the house. I walked for hours before I came to a small village. A group of off-duty stormtroopers walked by, chatting about their latest mission, and I approached them.”

He took a deep breath before continuing.

“At that moment, all I wanted was to be a part of something. A team. A community of people that truly had my back. I couldn’t join the Resistance, not after what it had turned my parents into. So I asked the stormtroopers, begged them, to let me join them. FN-2187, or Finn, as you call him, was there. He was against it. The others that were with him, however, were all for it. So just like that, I went with them.”

You were surprised. “So the Order just let a random kid into their program?”

“Pretty much. At the time they were desperate. Less and less people wanted to be a part of the trooper program. They took anyone they could get. So, I signed up, trained, and fought as a stormtrooper. Finn took me under his wing. Kept me outta trouble.” He paused, his eyes downcast. “He was like the only true family I ever had. Then I got injured, Finn got mad when I decided to stay, and they transferred me here, to this job.” He looked up at the ceiling, releasing a dry chuckle. “Funny thing is, I found out years later that my parents had missed my birthday, their own son’s birthday, to attend some random Resistance diplomat’s birthday party instead. Talk about the ‘Parent of the Year’ award…”

You were starting to appreciate your family on Lothal more and more. They weren't perfect, but they had never forgotten your birthday.

“Listen, I know I can’t change how they treated you, but please believe me when I tell you that they are missing out. Big time.” You smiled at him. “You have the biggest heart. They don’t deserve you. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but Finn truly did, and does, want the best for you. He cares about you so much, but is too stubborn to admit it, just like another certain someone I know.” Koda rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not saying you should forgive him right away… I just think that second chances are important, and are something that Finn has hardly ever been offered in his life.”

Koda sighed dramatically before speaking again. “Fine, maybe someday, in the very, very, very distant future, I will consider talking to Finn.”

You smiled, satisfied. “Good.”

“But only so you will stop bugging me about, like I know you will.”

You smirked. “Hey, I’ll take what I can get.”

He shook his head, looking at you incredulously. “You know, you’re pretty good at the whole active listening while subtly brainwashing thing. It’s annoying.”

You smirked. “I have lots of experience.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do… So, is my interrogation over?”

“I suppose it is… for today at least.” You looked at the papers laying on the table next to Koda. “What were you up to?”

“Oh,” he started, looking a bit flustered. “I was just trying to sketch something up.”

A twinge of anxiety hit you. “What? I didn’t know we had a new assignment already!”

“No, no, it’s not for a new assignment,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “It’s for Rilea.”

“Rilea…” You smirked, knowingly. “I knew something was going on there.”

The look of panic on Koda’s face was almost comical. “What? No! Nothing is going on! The going is off. A hundred percent off.”

“Wow, consider me convinced,” you replied sarcastically.

He shook his head emphatically. “I swear, we’re just friends… not even that! We’re basically enemies.”

You smiled devilishly. “Alright, I’ll be sure to let her know the next time I see her.”

The panicked look on his face turned to one of pure terror. “No! Please! Ugh. Just- just don’t say anything alright?”

“Whatever you say, Koda,” you said, once again smiling in victory. “Anyways, I’ll let you get back to your project.”

You walked back towards the door, stopping briefly before you exited.

“And Koda?” You turned to face him. “Thank you.”

He looked back at you, confused. “For what?”

“For not giving up.”

And with that you made your way out of the workspace and back to your quarters.

———————————————————

Upon arriving in your room, you headed straight to the bed, face-planting into the pillows. You sighed loudly before turning onto your back, casually scanning your eyes over the space. Something on the floor next to the door caught your eye: a white slip of folded paper.

You stood up, making your way over to the mystery letter. The word artist was written on the front. Opening it up, you found it simply read:

Meet me in room E23 tomorrow night at 8. This is not a request.

Commander Ren

You chuckled. Of course he had to add the ‘this is not a request’ bit.

Alarm bells soon began sounding in your head. You wondered what this meeting was about: Were you in trouble? Was this about your Force abilities? Were you being led into a trap?

But there that strange feeling was again: trust.

For some strange reason, you trusted that the Commander wouldn’t hurt you. After all, he’d proven as much over the last few days, after saving you from Hux and the men on Dantooine.

You thought back onto your conversation with Finn, remembering how he told you about the way he was forced into the trooper program. It shocked you that some troopers had attempted to injure themselves to get discharged from their duties. You recalled how Finn, himself, said he would have rather died than have accepted his position with the First Order…

If that’s the way these seemingly robotic and unempathetic troopers truly felt, then what was to say that the Commander was any different?

You had seen him in battle — you had found footage on your data pad. He was fueled by emotion; each strike of his fiery crossguard blade exploded with passion.

Though this raw emotion scared most, it enticed you — it gave you hope.

An excess of emotion was always better than a lack of it.

Maybe the Commander was forced into his role, just like Finn was. Maybe he had no choice but to join the Order. Maybe that’s why he wore his mask: to distance himself from his true feelings, from his inner conflict.

Of course, you knew more than anyone…

Things aren’t always as they seem.

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