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#our supreme leader has called us
lazy-cat-corner · 6 days ago
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There is something absolutely fitting to be listening to Lily James’s cover of “Mamma Mia” while reading this headline!
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triple-double-trouble · 17 days ago
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As the camera flickers to life, six people can be seen. Three men and three women look exhausted, but quite happy. How odd. One of the girls and one of the boys latch onto the respective person that looks like them, clearly very glad. The other boy looks quite distant.
"Ah, I got it! Ahem. My name is Tsumugi Shirogane, the Ultimate Cosplayer, and I was the mastermind of the Killing School Semester at the Academy For Gifted Juveniles. Well, the game has plain ended, and the three of us have reunited with our twins, so... We're trying to settle back into our lives like normal. Introductions, everyone!"
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"O-Oh... Um, greetings! Heh. My name is Tsukiko Shirogane, th-the Ultimate Tailor. But... please don't j-just call me 'Tsumugi's Twin'. I have m-my own identity, too. I wasn't in the K-Killing Game, but I did have t-to watch it on TV. It looked... awful..."
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The camera pans to a boy with blond hair, and he gives a warm smile and a wave.
"Ah, hey there! I'm Kenji Akamatsu, the Ultimate Violinist! Fitting, being the brother of the Ultimate Pianist, huh? Our family could be a full orchestra, it seems! Hehe~. Anyway, I like butterflies and cute baby animals! That's about it for me!"
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And then it's the girl with blonde hair's turn.
"Hello! It's Kaede Akamatsu for me, the Ultimate Pianist! I may or may not have been the first to be executed in the game for a crime I didn't commit, so please, just... don't bring that up. I'm looking forward to getting to know all of you!"
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The camera scans to the girl with dark hair, who gives a polite curtsy and a wave.
"Greetings. My name is Kohana Ouma, the Ultimate Queen. But please only refer to me by my surname unless I give you permission to do otherwise. I do hope we can all get along."
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Then it's the respective boy's turn.
"'Sup? The name's Kokichi Ouma, the Ultimate Supreme Leader! But you all can call me Kokichi, 'kay? It's so much fun here! But... that's a lie. I'm bored. Bored, bored, bored! So quell my boredom, alright? Give us a promo!"
(( Feel free to ignore, interact if not tagged, or ask for your tag to be removed! ))
@unknown-ultimates @normally-daydreaming @ask-timid-makoto-naegi @robo-siblings @ask-the-ultimate-cosplayer @askultimateluckytrash @ultimate-aikido-master @ultimately-divine @ask-kaito-iguess @ultimatexdetectivexsaihara @ask-miu-iruma @shsl-bosozoku-mondo-oowada @rich-bitch-togami @ask-toko-toko @scxrs-will-fade @crxate-the-nxw-wxrld @knifestitsandtea @nevermind-speaks @theultimateactress
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rjm921 · 9 months ago
5 Reasons I'll Always Resist Joe Biden and the Democrats (and You Should Too)
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Is anyone else tired of the media and the left telling you that Republicans should get in line and support Biden and stop questioning the election? Well, I definitely am.
“The race is over!” they say. “Biden won!” they insist. “It’s time for unity!” they demand.
Heh. Unity? Don’t count on it.  Joe Biden, who ran claiming to be a uniter who would work with both sides, has shown he will do no such thing. As he picks his cabinet, he’s picked only loyalists and Obama administration retreads. So far, none of the so-called Republicans Biden was reportedly considering for his administration have been announced as official picks. Joe Biden won’t be president for “all Americans” like he promised he would be. But only fools would have believed him anyway—I’m looking at you, Never-Trump Republicans.
As it seems clear that the Supreme Court will not involve itself in election disputes, it seems likely that Joe Biden will be inaugurated in January. Even if that happens, that doesn’t mean we have to accept the legitimacy of his presidency. Why should we? Are we really going to be lectured by Democrats, who repeatedly refuse to accept their own defeat?
Stacey Abrams and Hillary Clinton come to mind.
So, yeah, no thanks. Trump voters put up with a lot over four years and we’re not about to forgive and forget so easily. Here are five reasons why I will resist Biden and the Democrats.
5. ObamaGate/Russia
This one is pretty obvious. The Obama-Biden administration spied on the Trump campaign over bogus allegations that his campaign had been colluding with Russia to steal the 2016 election. In fact, according to transcripts of interviews from the House Intelligence Committee’s investigation on collusion, Obama officials never saw evidence of collusion, coordination, or conspiracy. The primary source of the Steele dossier, which was paid for by the Clinton campaign, was actually a suspected Russian spy. Democrats pushed this conspiracy theory endlessly. Rep. Adam Schiff claimed for months he had personally seen evidence of collusion. Yet, the Mueller report concluded there was no evidence of collusion. Democrats were so desperate to believe that Trump’s victory wasn’t legitimate that the Russian collusion conspiracy—a story fit for tabloids rather than legitimate journalists or serious members of government— persists to this day, despite it being a hoax.
Oh, but now they bellyache about the “peaceful transfer of power” and blame Trump for “refusing to commit” to a peaceful transition of power. Excuse me? Did he spy on Joe Biden’s campaign over bogus accusations? Spare us the rhetoric about the peaceful transition of power when Joe Biden was part of the administration that abused its powers to try to destroy Trump as an insurance policy.
4. Democrats Boycotted Trump’s Inauguration
It seems like a lifetime ago, but over sixty Democrats actually boycotted Trump’s inauguration, many of whom justified their boycott out of support for the late Rep. John Lewis, who was criticized by Trump after said he didn’t view Trump as a “legitimate” president, or specifically because they believed Trump wasn’t legitimately elected.
“I will not be part of normalizing or legitimizing a man whose election may well have depended on the malicious foreign interference of Russia’s leaders,” said Rep. Don Beyer (D-Va).
“I will not be attending the inauguration,” Rep. Dwight Evans (D-Pa.) declared on Twitter. “Russian hacking must be investigated and I do not support the repeal of ACA.”
“On Inauguration Day, I will not be celebrating. I will be organizing and preparing for resistance,” said Rep. Barbara Lee (D-Calif.).
So, pardon me if I am unable and unwilling to celebrate with the Democrats who went to great lengths to delegitimize Trump—from day one.
3. Impeaching Trump for Biden’s crime
“The effort to impeach President Donald Trump is already underway,” declared the Washington Post on January 20, 2020—the very day President Trump was inaugurated. From even before he took office, there was a growing group of leftists determined to find something to impeach Trump over. After a number of failed attempts, they finally succeed in impeaching him over bogus allegations of a quid pro quo with Ukraine. The one who was guilty of an actual quid pro quo with Ukraine was Joe Biden, who admitted during a Council on Foreign Relations meeting in Washington, D.C., that he threatened to withhold a $1 billion loan to Ukraine unless they fired the prosecutor who was investigating Burisma Holdings, the energy company his son Hunter was sitting on the board of.
WATCH Video:
Biden argued that his actions were legitimate because he was carrying out the “official policy” of the Obama administration to root out corruption in Ukraine. “It was a fully transparent policy carried out in front of the whole world and fully, fully embraced by the international community of democracies,” he claimed. But the $1 billion loan to Ukraine was appropriated by Congress, as part of a bill that was passed in March 2014 with a 399 to 19 vote in the House and a 98 to 2 vote in the Senate. Withholding aid already appropriated by Congress is a violation of federal law.
Despite their failure to remove him from office, Democrats have also promised to continue to target Trump after he leaves office. Do they really think unity is possible when they’re still out for revenge for 2016?
2. Blaming Trump for COVID
COVID-19 came from China. It was spreading from Wuhan, China, for perhaps a couple of months before they alerted the World Health Organization. Yet Democrats only saw attempts to link China to the virus as racist and xenophobic. When President Trump banned travel with China, that’s exactly what they accused him of.
Joe Biden, before flip-flopping months later, criticized the travel ban during a campaign rally. “In moments like this, this is where the credibility of a president is most needed, as he explains what we should and should not do,” he said. “This is no time for Donald Trump’s record of hysteria and xenophobia, hysterical xenophobia, to uh, and fearmongering.” Nancy Pelosi infamously toured Chinatown telling the country “everything is fine,” and “all is well.”
When accusing Trump of racism and xenophobia fell flat as cases and deaths worldwide climbed, they decided instead the most politically expedient thing to do was simply blame Trump for COVID-19 deaths. Joe Biden, who now wants “unity,” even blamed Trump for America’s COVID deaths. Heck, even Andrew Cuomo blamed Trump for the nursing home deaths that resulted from Cuomo’s own policy.
Rather than blame China for being responsible for the virus, the Democrats blamed Trump because they needed a narrative to defeat him. Meanwhile, China will never be punished.
1. Stealing the Election
Number one is easily the most obvious reason. Using the COVID-19 pandemic as a pretext, various states implemented sweeping changes to election laws, leaving our elections even more susceptible to voter fraud. On the national level, Nancy Pelosi attempted a federal takeover of elections, including mandating automatic counting of provisional ballots, nationalizing same-day registration, and nationalizing ballot-harvesting. And then there was the massive influx of mail-in voting. It was a fraud-prone disaster just waiting to happen.
As one could have easily expected, there were all sorts of issues with the election—widespread irregularities and statistical anomalies. These are backed up by sworn statements that suggest rampant fraud took place in the election. President Trump summed up the evidence earlier this week.
WATCH Video:
Despite all the evidence, the media dubs Trump’s claims of election fraud as unfounded. There’s far more evidence of consequential voter fraud in battleground states than there ever was of Russian collusion. After four years of endless accusations from the media and the Democrat Party that Donald Trump wasn’t really elected and Russia stole the election for him, those who are raising questions about the legitimacy of the 2020 election are being told to sit down and shut up.
But as Senator Hawley (R-Mo.) recently said, “74 million Americans are not going to shut up, and telling them that their views don’t matter and that their concerns don’t matter and they should just be quiet is not a recipe for success in this country. It’s not a recipe for the unity that I hear now the other side is suddenly so interested in, after years—YEARS—of trying to delegitimize President Donald Trump.”
But make no mistake: questioning the legitimacy of the 2020 election isn’t about revenge. Republicans have been fighting to preserve the integrity of our elections for years, and have met pushback from elected Democrats every step of the way. We have to speak up louder than ever now because the evidence is glaring—and if they get away with it now they will be emboldened to continue.
This is a fight we have to fight, regardless of the outcome. We can accept a legitimate defeat. But a stolen election, we cannot. Without a proper audit of the elections with dubious results, we’ll never know for sure, and without knowing for sure, we shouldn’t assume the results were legitimate.
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winterscaptain · 9 months ago
Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic
a/n: the very first part of ajf! the beginning of our story! oh my goodness! this got a little long, but there was a lot i wanted to pack in here. thank you all for your patience as i worked through this <3 i’ve got some fun graphics in here for you - open them for best quality!
words: 8.45k warnings: language, alcohol use, canon-typical descriptions of injury and violence, mention of suicide
summary: “our ambition should be to rule ourselves, the true kingdom for each one of us; and true progress is to know more, and be more, and to do more.” - oscar wilde. au!july-september 2007
masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!
“Director Shepard?” 
You approach her, feeling very young, with a question and a smile. 
She turns, smiling at you softly. “Yes?”
Her lecture was immaculate - she covered a broad swath of topics - being the first female director of NCIS, her history in international relations and liaison work with British and Israeli intelligence - all of which paved a bit of a roadmap for success in federal law enforcement. 
You introduce yourself and shake her hand. “I’ve gotta tell you it was a challenge to choose between agencies in my applications, I admire your work both as an agent and director of NCIS and I was wondering…” 
You lose your nerve a bit, but steel yourself again and ask. 
“... Would you be willing to meet with me and talk about your career trajectory a little more?”
There’s a light in her eyes as she studies you with a kind of supreme benevolence and gentleness. “I would.” 
“Alright,” she says, setting her napkin in her lap. “What do you want to know?” 
You laugh a little, “Is everything a good place to start?”
She laughs, and you’re immediately drawn to her warmth. There’s a kind of fire in her, and it doesn’t just come from her hair. “Not at all. Though I’ll give you some unsolicited advice now, to save some time. Find someone you can follow, someone you can learn from.”
She goes on to tell you about her mentor, still on the Major Case Response Team under her purview at NCIS. Though she’s his boss now, she tells you that she still goes to him for advice, for friendship. 
“Trusting the people you work with always comes first. It’s not always possible, but when you can manage it. It makes everything better. Always protect them where you can, and don’t ignore the politics”
You do everything except take notes as she tells more stories, how she’s switched from “probie” to Agent to diplomat to Director, before she turns back to you. 
“Do you know which unit you’re interested in, yet?” 
You shake your head. “Not yet. I’m hoping I’ll have a better idea when the Quantico unit chiefs start coming in to lecture. I’m hoping one of them will catch my interest.”
“Great idea. When one of them does, give me a call. I think any unit could benefit from someone like you.”
Agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Gideon have your attention the moment they step into the room. They’re confident, with a sharp kind of intelligence you admire. 
The world of the BAU is fascinating. Serial killers, sex criminals, the very worst of depraved humanity is their everyday. While it sounds somewhat horrifying, it compels you. 
Agent Hotchner especially catches your attention. He’s confident in a kind of serious, bladed way. Clearly intelligent, he commands the attention of everyone in the room and effortlessly wields his authority among curious students and his fellow agents. 
You’d think Agent Gideon would be the obvious leader, what with all his years of experience and seniority, but even with his grasp of a field he shaped, he doesn’t hold a candle to Hotchner. 
With your half-hour-old knowledge, you put together a quick profile of the remaining figure. 
Agent Morgan, while strong and clearly an alpha male, brings a skepticism with him. It hangs in the air around him and seems to apply to both of his colleagues. There’s something about Agent Gideon that makes him uneasy, distrustful. He tends to shift his weight away from him when they get too close to each other. 
He’s not overt about his skepticism regarding Agent Hotchner, but you get the idea there’s more under the surface you couldn’t possibly know just by studying his behavior in a lecture hall. 
This is fun. 
You hide your smile in your notebook, jotting down a couple of notes as Agent Gideon continues his “brief overview of profile-driven serial killer arrests.” 
“Director Shepard’s office.”
“Hi Cynthia,” you greet her secretary. “Is Director Shepard in?”
She connects you, and you ask about the BAU. 
“Is Jason Gideon still the unit chief over there?” She asks. You can already hear her typing and you’re more than a little concerned about her tenacity in this moment. 
“No, ma’am, it’s Agent Hotchner, now.”
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You’re called into SSA Radner’s office the following Monday to “discuss some changes to your academy courses.” 
That doesn’t sound good. 
SSA Radner, an imposing and intimidating woman, is the SSAIC in charge of your NAT class - the person in charge of your collective fates. 
No pressure. 
She opens the door when you knock, gesturing to the chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, have a seat.” 
You chuckle nervously. “Thanks, Agent Radner.” You note her little smile as she sits at her desk, and chance a question. “Have I done something, I dunno, wrong? We don’t seem to find much good news in the SAIC’s office at my rank.” 
That pulls a laugh from her. “I wouldn't worry too much. I have a proposition for you. It’s...unusual, but not unheard of.” 
Your brow crumples a little and she exhales. 
“It might actually be better if - yeah. Hold on.” She clicks her intercom and her assistant chirps from the other side. 
“Yes ma’am?”
“Please send them in. I’d like to do a joint briefing.” 
Joint briefing? What is this, the third invasion of Iraq?
The door opens behind you and you whip around, finding Agent Hotchner and IOS Section Chief Erin Strauss. 
What the fuck? 
Either you’ve done something terrible or insane and you’re not sure which. 
Chief Strauss addresses you first, shaking your hand. You introduce yourself for good measure but have a feeling she already knows who you are. 
“It’s come to our attention that you have ambitious interests and are taking exceptional steps to make the most of your education and training at the academy. Is this a fair assessment?” 
“Yes, ma’am.” 
Agent Hotchner steps forward, sort of looming over you with something that isn’t quite a stern look. You take his hand when he offers, introducing yourself and ignoring the jolt of energy that shoots up your arm at his touch. 
His handshake is firm, his hands dry and warm. He looks different up close, younger, maybe. There’s the barest touch of grey at his temples, the beginnings of lines around his mouth and eyes. 
Not what I expected.
What did you expect? 
How old could he be? Thirty-five, maybe? 
Shut up. 
He’s handsome. 
Shut up!
His face relaxes a little bit before he speaks. “Director Shepard, a close professional colleague, has been a staunch advocate for you and your talents. She approached me about taking you on, giving you case hours in lieu of some coursework.” 
“You’d have some catching up to do, as it’s already three weeks into your twenty, and we’d transfer you into the profiling classes,” Agent Radner adds. “But with your diligence, I doubt you’ll have trouble with the added workload.” 
“No, ma’am. That should be fine. But,” you look between the three of them, “what does ‘case hours in lieu of some coursework’ mean, exactly?” 
“You’d be on assignment with the BAU until you received your formal assignment following successful completion of the academy, with the possibility of assignment with the BAU as a full-fledged agent.” Chief Strauss rattles off the information as if it’s the thousandth time she’s said it. 
It might be. 
You can’t even fathom how much effort and time must have gone into this decision. The realization leaves you speechless. 
She prompts you again. “Does that sound like an opportunity in which you’d be interested?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.” You feel a little stupid, but you’re rewarded with a proud smile from Agent Radner. 
You could also swear you saw a twitch of Agent Hotchner’s lips, but he doesn’t seem to be a man who smiles much. 
“So this’ll be your desk,” Agent Jennifer-but-my-friends-call-me-JJ Jareau says, pointing to one of the many desks in the bullpen. 
You set your bag down with a little smile, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. 
Agent Morgan pats your shoulder as he passes your desk. “You’ll do just fine, kid. Ready for a case briefing in ten?” 
His blinding smile eats up his whole face and you like him already. He’s different than you thought he’d be, but you still don’t think your preliminary profile was too far off.
Agent Gideon, still holed up in his office, has yet to acknowledge you. 
Your eyes keep wandering to the open blinds, behind which Agent Hotchner and a woman you understand to be his wife have a quiet, apparently heated argument on either side of his desk. Except for the tight set of her mouth and the angry glint in her eye, she seems lovely. 
Derek follows your gaze. “Wasn’t always like that.” 
You look at him, a little furrow in your brow. 
Should he be telling me this?
“She’s not always here either, but their son, Jack, has been sick, so it’s been… tense.” Derek shakes his head. “You wouldn’t catch me married in this job, not once.” 
That pulls a laugh from you. 
Emily, sitting at the desk beside you, turns in her chair. “Remind me to drink to that later.” 
Derek snorts and picks up a couple of files, headed up to the round table room. 
Your first case briefing is, well...brief. The case seems fairly straightforward and you run through relevant vocabulary while JJ outlines the case details. 
Preferential offender, keeps his victims for no more than three days, victims found in public places. 
He wants them found, and fast. 
Need-based, maybe? What are his priors? 
You’re all dismissed with a brisk, “Wheels up in thirty.” 
You pack your things a little slower than probably called for. Hotch disappears into his office again, closing the door behind him. When you pass the window, his wife is tucked under his chin. 
Hotch’s eyes flicker to yours and you quickly train your gaze on the floor, hustling down the stairs. 
You land next to each other when you board the plane. You do your best to avoid taking anyone's assigned seat. 
With a team of this size, you can only assume they have such things.
And they do. 
Gideon, Spencer, Morgan, and Prentiss take a seat at the table while JJ perches on the arm of the couch. 
Hotch settles at the informal “head” of the table, leaning on the chairs across the aisle. You take a seat in one of the chairs in the row next to him, trying to stay out of the way. 
“C’mere, kid,” Derek says, beckoning you forward. “You’re on this team.” 
You shuffle forward in your seat, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees and case file open in your hands. “I’m ready.” 
JJ smiles at you, and you almost feel comfortable. 
You end up alone with Hotch in the precinct conference room after you land, unboxing files and sorting them for Spencer. Until you know enough to make yourself useful, you’ve made it your mission to handle the tedious and the clerical. 
Hotch pauses every once in a while as if he wants to say something. You continue on your way. When he’s ready, he’ll stop you. 
“I’m sorry about earlier. My wife, Haley, she -” 
You look up, waving him off with a little smile. “It’s okay, Hotch. It’s none of my business.” 
He looks at you for a minute, studying your face with a bit of a squint. “You mean that.” 
It’s not a question. 
You’re confused. 
“Of course.” A nervous laugh leaves you. “I mean, you’re welcome to tell me if you want, but it’s nothing I need to speculate or gossip about or, God forbid, profile.” 
The shock and relief war on his face until it settles back into something that looks like his usual severity, but a little softer. He doesn't say anything else, but you have the sneaking suspicion you passed a test neither one of you prepared for. 
Spencer and Emily return from their trip to the medical examiner’s office. 
“Who organized these?” Spencer asks, pointing at the neat piles you made. 
“Me.” You look up from another box you’re working on. “Would it be helpful if they’re sorted another way? I went chronologically and then by number and type of offenses, with preferential offenders that match the M.O. on top, when possible.” 
Emily, Hotch, and Spencer freeze, staring at you like you grew another head in front of them. 
You’re suddenly and violently self-conscious. “What?”
Spencer snaps out of it first, shaking his head and picking up a stack. “Nothing that’s…”
“Exactly right,” Emily supplies. She glances at Hotch before looking back at you. “Thanks.” 
“No problem.” 
Hotch is the last to break, but the curious little glances he keeps throwing your way always linger a little too long. 
To your credit, you ignore them. 
“So, how are you liking it so far?” Derek slides into the driver’s seat and rolls out of the parking lot. 
You’re headed to another witness’s house under direct orders to observe and as a few (carefully directed) questions. Derek insisted on bringing you himself while the others keep busy with something else. 
“I’m liking it,” you reply. 
He laughs. “Coulda fooled me.” 
You screw up your face and look over at him. “What do you mean?” 
“Well,” he says through a laugh, “when you’re not making yourself ridiculously useful, you look terrified.” 
“I am terrified.” 
“Nothin’ to be scared of as long as you keep asking questions,” he says. 
It’s almost like he doesn’t know how ridiculous he sounds. 
“You’re joking, right?” You turn to face him, shifting in your seat. “Agent Morgan -” 
He cuts you off. You’re pretty sure that’s just how he is - he interrupts the other members of the team frequently and fearlessly. “- Derek. Or Morgan.” 
“Fine. Morgan, you have to know that your team is legendary. I don’t even know why -”
“- Don’t say it.” He flags his hand before putting it back on the wheel. “You’re here for a reason, and none of us are going to let you fall so hard you can’t pick yourself up, okay?” He glances over, meeting your eyes. “We’ve got your back.” 
You quirk a smile. “Thanks.” 
“And,” he adds, “Hotch seems to like you alright. That’s half the battle.” 
“What’s the other half?” 
He snorts. “Gideon. And local law enforcement.” 
You settle in a little easier after that. JJ’s your next target as you help her make some calls to the D.A.’s office. 
You hang up and take a breath, slumping back in your chair. It’s been a long day already and it’s not even lunchtime. 
“Hanging in there?” JJ asks, smiling at you over her files. 
You nod. “Yeah. Just a… different kind of energy than the academy, I think.” 
“I felt that way when I got here, too. Gideon was unit chief back then and Spence had just started, too.” She huffs a laugh. “It was a little easier when there were more newbies, but then…” Her face clouds over and she shakes her head. 
She looks up at you and her mouth twists. “Boston.” 
“Hey, Derek?” 
“Yeah?” He keeps his eyes on the road, but he can hear the trepidation in your voice. 
The dark interior of the car feels safe in the early hours of the morning, headed back to the hotel. “You said I could ask you anything, right?” 
His eyebrows pinch. “Shoot.”
“What happened in Boston?” 
Derek takes a breath and lets it out in a whoosh. “I wasn’t there. I was supposed to be there.” 
You wait on him, watching him watch the road. 
“Unsub holed himself up in a massive warehouse. Gideon called in all the support he could - A Team, B Team, SWAT, the whole nine. I was visiting my mom in Chicago for her birthday like I do every year.” 
He stops at a red light, and you take a moment to look past him into the adjacent SUV, where Emily and Hotch’s profiles rest in a statuesque silhouette, backlit by the streetlamp. 
“It was a trap from the start. Everyone pushed in on Gideon’s order and the whole thing just…” He tosses his hand up and it lands with a smack on the leather steering wheel. “It just went up. Boom. Six BAU agents in our unit, dead, just like that. Had to rebuild from scratch.” 
You shiver, though the car is warm. “I’m so sorry, Derek.” 
He shrugs. “Gideon took six months off, Hotch took over. Gideon came back, Hotch stayed up front.” He smiles a little. “Haley wasn’t happy, but that’s the job.” 
Why does it always come back to Haley? To Hotch? 
Because he’s the unit chief. 
I know but…
Don’t read into it. 
You decide to push, just because it’s Derek, because he seems to know, because you feel safe with him, because it might be a mistake. “Is that what you meant?”
“Hm?” His head turns just a little toward you, his brow furrowed. 
“You told me on my first day ‘It wasn’t always like this.’ Is that what you meant?”
“No sane man would take on the unit chief position with a wife and baby on the way.” He shrugs and with a secret little smile says, “But nobody ever accused Hotch of being sane.” 
Aaron sits in front of his computer, the end of his pen tapping on the glossy wood of his desk. 
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Does he have feedback? He’s not sure. 
Even with your limited knowledge, you’ve managed to optimize most of the administrative bullshit and political nonsense that clogs most local investigations. You bounce between acting as his shadow and JJ’s, making friends and soothing hurts when toes inevitably get stepped on. 
You’ve immediately adapted to his style of criticism and correction, using Derek and Spencer as guide-rails when you’re not sure where you’re going. 
There’s nothing to complain about. 
But then again…
Feedback isn’t just about the negative. 
If he’s honest with himself, he knows he won’t shower you in the glowing praise you deserve. Gideon never did for him or anyone that came after. 
It’s not in their nature, or his. 
He starts to type. 
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Glancing out his office window, his eyes find you hunched over your desk, poring over one of Spencer’s notebooks, a pinch in your brow as deep as the Grand Canyon. 
You work hard, impossibly hard. You throw everything you have at your work in the field while managing your courses and keeping up with your classmates. 
That in mind, he drafts an email to Jenny. 
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With a sigh, he sends it.
He’s still thinking of what you said on the last case, the genuine truth of it, and how many times he has done his best to preempt the gossip that plagues this office, no matter who it’s about. 
This unit, as much of a family as it may be, constantly wraps itself in the business of everyone else. To know you couldn’t give less of a shit about his marriage when the rest of the team (save Gideon) probably has money on when Haley calls it quits is, admittedly, refreshing. 
After being in the field, classes take on a new kind of banality. You’re keeping up well enough, but watching Gideon and Derek quarrel over the details of a profile beats diving into the techniques - you guessed it - Gideon developed from cases past. 
Hotch and Garcia were gracious enough to CC you on emails while you were grounded at the academy, but it wasn’t the same. 
It was hard not to feel left behind, like the last kid chosen for dodgeball in PE class, watching the rest of the unit leave the office. You hung back in the bullpen as long as you could find something to do this morning, making it to class at the very last minute. 
Even after lectures, your classmates want nothing more than your attention. You’re suddenly consulting on three different practicals and never have a lunch to yourself.
Most afternoons, you sneak into the bullpen just for some peace and quiet. 
You hear your last name and look up, finding Erin Strauss approaching you. You stand. “Ma’am.”
“What are you working on?”
You look down at your desk, finding practical and theoretical exam notes shuffled around next to mock consults and other nonsense Hotch dropped on his way to the jet earlier in the week. “Course work, mostly. It’s nice to… get away every once in a while.”
Erin nods with a little smile. “I’d imagine you’ve been pretty popular lately.”
You shrug, a little facetious. “You could say that.”
She pays your shoulder in a surprisingly maternal gesture, before wishing you luck and leaving you to your work. 
At this point, you can’t even imagine just being an FBI agent. 
You’ve just closed your burning, tired eyes when your phone rings. 
You answer, your last name a grumble into the mic. 
“It’s Hotch.”
You sit up straight in bed, immediately awake. “Sorry, sir, I -“
“I should apologize. I don’t mean to interrupt your studying or wake you but I think I could use your opinion on this profile.”
You frown in the dark, flipping your desk lamp on. “My help, sir?”
“Yeah.”  He heaves a sigh and you can almost see the fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been looking at it too long.”
“Maybe Derek, can -“
“No. You. Here, listen -“
He rattles off the details of the case and you snatch your notebook and pen off the desk, jotting things down as Hotch continues through the case. 
“Have you identified and contacted local individuals who fit the victimology, taken steps to protect them? He’s a preferential offender with a predictable cooling-off period, right?” 
For some reason, this isn’t half as exhausting as the practical exam practice you’d been working on for the last five hours. You may or may not have written those exact questions about fifteen times, but it’s far less exhausting when directed at Hotch. 
“Yeah. Two high-risk victims are in protective custody and JJ’s been in touch since this morning.”
You go through a few more basic questions, getting your feet under you, before asking the one you’re really after. 
“Sir, why did you call me?”
“I needed another set of eyes.”
You huff a laugh. “No, I gathered that, but why did you call me? I’m in the middle of learning about something you’ve been doing for…” You search for a number, but your brain is fried. 
“Too long,” he supplies. 
“Sure. But my point stands.”
“That it does.” Something creaks in the background and you imagine he’s leaned back in his chair. 
“Did I help?” You’re happy he can’t see your dubious, if not entirely doubtful, expression. 
He’s happy you can’t see the little fond smile on his face. “Yes, actually. You did.”
“Wheels up in thirty.” 
You all stand from the table and start your routines. Emily and Spencer make a beeline for the coffee machine while JJ jets back to her office for contact sheets and files and all manner of coordinating materials. 
Derek’s routine is simple enough - he already has his coffee and his go bag, so he’s answering a few emails before wheels up. 
You never really know what to do during this liminal space, so you stick to classwork. 
Much to your surprise, you’ve shot ahead in your classes on the shoulders of Derek and Spencer. They’ve been monumentally helpful with the history and application of profiling techniques (though much of Derek’s advice has been ‘just watch Gideon,’ you’re not sure how to watch a process that takes place entirely inside the man’s head). 
You ride with Hotch to the airstrip, looking out the window most of the way. It’s only a five minute drive, but the tree-lined roads around Quantico are always lovely this time of the morning. 
As always, you do your best to stay out of the way on the plane, taking up residence on Hotch’s right with your notebook and case file. 
You offer some thoughts here and there, not pushing too much or saying enough to make an ass of yourself. 
When Hotch calls break, the rest of the team scatters to their respective corners. 
Gideon turns to you, gesturing with one finger. “Hey, ah…” 
Spencer chirps your last name from across the cabin and you shoot him a grateful smile. 
“Good job in the briefing, today.” 
And with that, he disappears to the far side of the cabin, leaving you and Hotch alone by the table. 
“Wow,” you say with a little smile. “I didn’t know he was aware of my existence.” 
Hotch doesn’t say anything, but his lips twitch. 
“Welcome back, kiddo!” Derek offers you fist and you bump your knuckles against his on your way back to your desk. “How’d those exams go?”
You huff, playing at defeat. “Oh, you know.” 
“Don’t worry about it. There’s always next time.” 
Hotch, returning from a meeting with Strauss, hardly looks up from the file in his hand when he says, “Well done on your exams. SSA Radner threatened to hang your marksmanship targets on her wall.” 
You hide a smile. “Thanks, Hotch.” 
“Not fair!” Spencer says, tossing another Tums in his mouth. “I never passed those.” 
“Then how on earth do you have that, Reid?” You point at his six-shooter, still clipped to his hip. 
“Wait wait wait,” JJ says, dropping her files and crossing her arms. “You haven’t heard that story?” 
Your eyes flicker from Derek, to JJ, to Spencer, and back. “...No.”
JJ settles in, regaling you with a wild tale of an L.D.S.K. - 
“You remember what that stands for, right?” Derek points at you and you have a feeling this is about to become some kind of pop quiz. 
“Yeah. Long Distance Serial Killer.” 
“Good. Famous unsubs include…?” 
You sit back in your chair with a little smirk on your face. “D.C. Snipers Muhammad and Malvo, active October 2002, seventeen victims total. Apprehended by agents from the FBI Baltimore field office -” 
Derek holds up a finger. “And?”
“- and the BAU and the Maryland State Police.” 
JJ waits for Derek to nod at her and she continues what you imagine to be a rather embellished version of a story in which Hotch and Reid save the day.
“...And then Hotch just starts kicking the shit out of Spencer -” 
Hotch’s office door shuts and he sails down the stairs with one of those little secret smiles. “This one ends with Reid stealing my sidearm and shooting the unsub in the head.” He taps right between his eyebrows in the barest of pauses on his way out of the bullpen. “Dead center.” 
Derek and JJ groan, both whining about how he ruined the punchline before devolving into a fit of giggles. You can almost see the smirk on his face as he pushes through the glass door and turns the corner. 
You join in the mirth, ruffling Reid’s hair. He smiles widely at you. 
Maybe you could just get used to this place.   
The second round of classes on top of added case hours (you’re traveling with the unit more often than not) nearly brings you to the brink. 
On the plane back to Quantico, you realize you can’t remember the last time you actually had a full night of sleep. 
The rest of the unit is out cold, curled into themselves or stretched out under blankets, save for Hotch and Gideon. 
Gideon’s writing in that wretched notebook again, entirely focused on his work under the weak reading light. 
Aaron sits beside you on the other side of the cabin, looking over a few files before returning home. You watch him check his watch, sigh, shrug, and pull out his phone. To your surprise, he doesn’t move to give himself space as he calls his wife. 
“Hey, honey, it’s me… Yeah, we’re on the plane. Should be back within the next hour and a half... “ 
He sighs and tightly closes his eyes. “Haley, please… Yes, I know Jack’s already asleep… Are you implying I didn’t do my damnedest to - Then what’s your point?...” 
His voice never once rises above a low murmur. It’s impressive.
“I’ll be home as soon as I can… No, I won’t pass ‘Go’ or collect two-hundred dollars or step foot into my office… Yes. Plane. Tarmac. Car. Home… Yeah… Love you too.” 
He snaps his phone shut and leans back, tipping his head against the headrest.  
You stay quiet, continuing your review of S.S.A. Bailey’s course on, ironically, conflict de-escalation. 
Hotch takes a talking breath and you look over at him, keeping a kind of soft understanding on your face - really, shooting for anything that isn’t curiosity. 
“I appreciate your…” He looks for a word. “Discretion.” 
You laugh a little down your nose. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s none of my business?”
“How many times do I have to imply that a phrase like that isn’t in the vocabulary of this team, usually?” He shifts a little, and you notice his thumb, running along his forefinger like he’s searching for bone. 
“Is it really that bad?”
Hotch raises his eyebrows, and you relent. 
“Fine.” You drop your voice. “Do you want to know what I’ve seen?”
He shrugs. “An outside perspective might be nice.” 
You keep your eyes on your book as you speak, keeping your volume low and your tone as neutral as you can. 
“I’ve seen how Emily worries about fitting in - I can’t help but relate. This team is a family and it’s… hard to break through that sort-of-wall to the outside world.” 
The prickly feeling of his eyes on you isn’t altogether unpleasant, but you still haven’t grown used to it. 
“Derek and Spencer are worried about Gideon and,” you glance at him briefly, “so are you. Everyone seems to want to know why, but I don't think that’s always useful.” 
Hotch hums once, maybe in agreement - you’re not too sure. 
You are sure, though, that this was a test. 
“How’d I do, Counselor?”
It’s never too early to invoke the J.D. hanging in a frame behind his desk. It was the first thing you noticed and suddenly, a lot more made sense. 
You’re rewarded with a small smile. “Not bad. Though you did forget to drop in the little bit about my marriage.” 
“I didn’t forget,” you assure him.
“No. I figure if you have something to say, you seem like the kind of person who’d just say it. At least,” you shrug, “that’s my impression.” 
He’s quiet for a minute before he squints and looks over your shoulder at your reading. His brown eyes track down the page before returning to yours. He’s close to you, but you’re not uncomfortable. 
Hotch Somehow. 
“There’s a reason you’re the exception. Not sure what it is yet,” he says. “But there’s a reason.” 
He leans back, a cryptic little smile on his face, and says nothing else for the rest of the flight.
“Hotch, are you sure it’s not a trick question?” 
“The questions aren’t designed to trick you,” comes a voice from the doorway. To your surprise, it’s Gideon. “They’re designed to stretch and reveal your instincts. No right answer.” 
The corners of his mouth turn down while his eyebrows rise in that kind of halfway-encouraging look he sometimes gets. “Just go with your gut.” 
He disappears and you turn back to Hotch, scribbling away in a file. 
“He’s right.” 
Your brain feels less and less bound to your body as the days pass. “Am I nuts, or is that the most words he’s strung together since I got here, combined?” 
What you now know to be a smile twitches at Hotch’s mouth. “You’re not nuts.” 
You sigh and turn your attention back to your mock exam, twiddling your pencil between your fingers. “I’m sorry to keep bugging you with homework - it feels like cheating.” 
He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Resourcefulness is not cheating. If it was, I’d have to go back and get my J.D. out of a Cracker Jack box.” 
You muffle a laugh.
He checks his watch. “I have a check-in with the budget office in five minutes. You’re welcome to stay right where you are, but it’ll be boring and I plan to do a lot of pacing.” 
You hold your hands up in surrender and settle in. 
Friday afternoons in the office feel a lot like Saturdays in the office - which is to say, nothing happens at all. The rest of the team is catching up on paperwork while Gideon walks laps with his little notebook. 
Not three minutes into his conversation, Hotch stands and begins to pace, as promised. 
"No, we can't cut the technology budget... Because if the BAU gets called to a remote region, we need to have immediate access to satellite phones and our technical analyst… Yes… Send the budget to the Director, and I'm certain it'll come back approved without changes… The arrest and prosecution rate of this unit is -” 
His desk phone rings and he gestures for you to pick it up. 
“Agent Hotchner’s office,” you say with more than a little trepidation. You’re definitely not qualified to answer the unit chief’s phone. 
“Goddamn it, Aaron why can’t you -” She pauses. “Wait. Sorry. Who is this?” 
You introduce yourself. “I’m currently on-assignment with the unit. It’s… unconventional.” 
“Hm. Why are you answering Aaron’s phone?” Her tone isn’t accusatory - it’s more curious than that. You’d imagine this doesn’t happen all that often. He’s either at his desk, or he’s not at his desk. 
She calls him Aaron. 
You’re not sure why that surprises you. They’re married, and he has a first name. 
Taking a look across the room, you watch Hotch’s profile as he continues to defend the budget he submitted. 
You make an attempt to see the man behind the suit, the man who goes home to his wife and son when he can. 
“I’m using his office to study for my academy exams. I’ll see if I can reach Agent Hotchner for you. Just a second.”
She snorts something that could be a laugh if it wasn’t so sharp. “Thanks.” 
Hotch looks over and squints at you, mouthing, Who is it? 
You put her on hold and answer in a stage whisper. “It’s your wife.”
Hotch freezes for just a second - it almost looks like he’s rebooting. 
He blinks three times in rapid succession before he pulls the phone away from his mouth. “Tell her I’m in a meeting. I’ll call her back.” You move to reach for the phone but he holds up a finger and you freeze. “Wait two minutes.”
You follow instructions, taking the time to answer a few more mock exam questions. You try not to think too hard about his avoidance. This doesn’t seem like a particularly pressing phone call - Hotch is in budget meetings all the time. 
None of your business. 
After about a minute and a half, you pick up the phone again. 
Before you can say anything, she’s already back on her mini-rampage. About twenty seconds in, she pauses. 
“I’m so sorry. I’m still not talking to my husband, am I?”
De-escalate. Disarm. Establish rapport. 
You can do this. 
You channel Derek, using a softer tone designed to distract. Maybe you’ll sneak some humor in there, if you can manage it. 
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hotchner, he’s not available.” 
With a defeated sigh, she asks, flatly, “Where is he?” 
Humor. Play off her disappointment. 
“I assume he’s in a meeting or something - he likes to think he’s very important - but I can’t find him.” 
To your surprise, she laughs a little. 
You check with Hotch across the room. He rolls his eyes at you but continues his bickering. 
“Can you just… I don’t know… Tell him I called, or something?” 
You try not to think too hard about the defeat in her tone. “I promise I’ll badger him to call you back as soon as he’s back at his desk, ma’am.”
“Wow.” She sounds impressed, and you’re not sure why. You’re not left in suspense for long. She continues - 
“You’re a way better liar than JJ. Also - please don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel old. Haley’s just fine.” 
“Of course.” 
“You know what…” She asks for your cell number and you give it to her, throwing a glance at Hotch for good measure. He’s still pacing. 
He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, but can’t say anything to you before he’s forced to respond to the poor budget clerk who drew the short straw. “No we can’t start sharing hotel rooms…”
Haley interrupts your momentary space-out. “Thanks, again. If he doesn’t have a chance to call me back, can you let him know I’m going to my sister’s for the weekend? With Jack?” 
That’s another question I’m not going to ask. 
You hang up the phone and get back to your exam, trying not to feel comforted by the lull of familiarity in the room. 
For some reason, you keep finding yourself alone in police precincts in the middle of nowhere with Hotch sitting across the table from you. 
“Hey,” he says. 
You look up. 
“Haley, she…” He heaves a sigh and trails off for a minute, frowning at a spot above your head. “I don’t know why I’m asking, what I’m asking.” 
You keep your eyes on him. “Shoot.” 
He takes another breath. “I don’t know how to make her happy anymore.” 
This is above my pay grade. 
“Everything I do seems to irritate her - trying, not trying, just surviving. I don’t know.” He shakes his head at your somewhat bewildered expression. “Sorry, I -” 
“No, no, Hotch. It’s fine.” You search for his eyes. “What can I do?” 
He shakes his head. “Any advice?” 
Any advice? Definitely above my pay grade. 
You also feel for him - he wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t desperate. 
Besides that, it almost makes sense he’s asking you rather than anyone else on the team. They’ve all known him too long, have been too close to see his struggles clearly. They need to see him as an authority, separate from petty squabbles. 
Separate from the things that make him human. 
He needs to be a superhero for this team, and then go home and be a superhero for his family. Both parts of his life exist with a wall between them - Agent Hotchner can’t be a husband and a father in the field, and Mr. Haley Hotchner can’t be an agent at home. 
It must be lonely. 
Everyone else knows about and ignores that necessary separation. He trusts them as his colleagues, people he can rely on professionally, but perhaps not personally. 
Well, all except Emily. 
You get the feeling that he doesn’t completely trust Emily yet, but you’re not sure why. That’s another thing to figure out about the walking enigma sitting across from you. 
“Well… I’ve never been married, I don’t have kids, but I think…” You search for words. 
It’s none of my business, is what you want to say. 
Instead, you offer, “Why don’t you just ask her?” 
His brow crumples. “What?”
“Ask her. You don’t know how to, I dunno, do it right on your own, it sounds like. But you’re a team, right? Just ask her.” 
You duck down to your work, getting the feeling he’d rather not be observed as he processes. There’s a part of you that wonders whether his preference for privacy masks his fear. 
Another part of you already knows the answer. 
Derek and Emily walk back into the precinct, spotting the pair of you right where they left you. 
Hotch still watches you with a soft, curious frown on his face, like there’s a puzzle there he can’t quite solve. You diligently work away, sticking flags and post-its on cold cases for the board. 
“What’s with that?” 
Emily looks up from her phone. “What’s with what?”
Derek nudges his chin toward the conference room. “That.”
Emily’s brow pinches a little. “They seem to be getting along well.” Her mouth twists. “I didn’t think he’d warm up so easily. He didn’t with me.” 
“He gets like that. He’s getting better, though, ever since you called him out.” 
She snorts. “You’re kidding. I didn’t think he actually listened - I barely meant it.” 
“No, you didn’t.” Derek raises his eyebrows and searches for her eyes. “And he heard you.” 
Emily shifts her attention back to you, her posture softening. “Oh.” 
“C’mon,” Derek says, tapping her upper back with a good deal of affection. “Let’s regroup and see what we’ve got.”
Aaron sits up in bed, the harsh light from the hotel table lamp illuminating the ugly wallpaper and the case files on the equally ugly bedspread. 
His fingers hover restlessly over the keys as he drafts his email, warring with himself. 
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Does he want you on the team? Permanently? He’s already shown too much of his hand, revealed too much of himself, grew too comfortable too quickly. 
He’s not sure what it is about you that forced his guard down. 
You’re not the first person he’s asked about Haley, though he must admit that Gideon was next to no help. Spencer’s offered him unsolicited statistics about marital strife on three separate occasions in the past three months. 
Aaron presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. 
I live in a circus. 
He opens his eyes and reads over the email again. 
Fuck it. 
His cursor hovers over Send for just a moment before he clicks. The little whooshing sound seals his fate. 
You land in Arizona and Gideon’s already on edge. There’s already another crime scene by the time you get off the plane
“This one’s going to be bad, isn’t it?” 
Derek sighs. “You’ve got good instincts. Stay close.” 
You elect yourself Derek’s shadow at the crime scene, taking notes for him while he circles and observes the body. 
Leaning close to him, you ask, “Isn’t the body positioning a sign of remorse?” 
He looks over at you with a little smile. “Yeah. Good work.” He looks across the street to Hotch, speaking with the detective. “Do yourself a favor and note that to Hotch. Make sure Gideon hears you.” 
This time, you’re alone with Emily in the conference room, helping her pin and organize the board. 
“Hey,” she says, something like hesitation in her voice. 
You turn. “Yeah?” 
“Did Strauss ever…” She trails off and looks over her shoulder as Hotch, Gideon, and Derek come back in from the Arizona heat. They’re on their way to the conference room. 
“Did she ever what?” 
Emily shakes her head and forces a smile, waving you off. “Nevermind.” 
You’re not sure you get the confused look of your face before your colleagues walk through the door. 
“Where are they?” Hotch watches the monitor, his eyes flickering, searching for Derek and Emily. 
You’re frozen, watching over his shoulder as the woman stabs the unsub, and then herself. Without knowing why, your mind wanders to that question Emily almost asked you the day before. 
This isn’t good. 
The plane ride home is quiet, tense. 
You sit next to Hotch again. There’s not much you can do, but you shoot a text to Haley. 
5:42pm We’re flying back. Should be wheels down in Quantico in about four hours. 
She texts back after a minute. 
5:43pm Thanks. 
There’s something off - you don’t like the look of that period, but you try not to read into it too much. You’re all feeling a little unsettled after that case. 
Your eyes wander across the cabin. 
JJ’s bottom lip is firmly planted between her teeth as she stares out the window. 
Spencer’s sitting across from Gideon with a huge book in his lap, but he’s looking at Gideon more than he’s reading. 
Gideon, for once, doesn’t have his journal in his hand. He, like JJ, stares out the window, his mouth pinched. 
Emily’s eyes are restless, her breathing somewhat irregular. She’s picking at her nails. 
She looks up at you, and you tap the back of your hand with a finger. She looks down, finding her thumb and index finger close to bleeding. 
“Thanks.” She looks away from you again. 
If you didn’t know better, you’d think the view out the window was the most captivating sight in history. 
You know better. It’s just clouds. 
Your phone buzzes in your hand. Jenny. 
5:58pm How’s it going? 
You huff a little laugh down your nose. 
5:58pm Rough day. 
Hotch breaks his gaze from the window. “What’s up?” 
“Just Jenny. She’s checking in.” 
He shakes his head and you can hear the sarcasm in his tone. “Good day for it.” 
6:01pm If you’re up to it, I’ll be in my office late if you want to swing by and talk about it. 6:02pm I also have booze. 
You look up to find Hotch reading over your shoulder. He backs off. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to -” 
“No, it’s fine.” 
“You should go, if she’s offering.” 
You snort. “Should I be job-searching already?” 
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says with a little smile. “Jenny’s seen a lot. She’s a good resource.” 
The Navy yard is quiet as you drive across the campus. The NCIS building isn’t hard to find, but it’s still unfamiliar territory. 
When you park and get cleared for access and up the elevator, most of the lights are off on the Major Case Response floor. There are still agents present, working under the warm light of their desk lamps. 
A team of four takes up the middle of the bullpen, but they barely look up as you pass them and climb the stairs. 
Cynthia isn’t at her desk - gone for the night - and Jenny’s office door is open. She also has her overhead lights turned off, giving her office a cozy, lived-in feel. 
“Hey, you,” she says, looking up with a little smile. “Just got the scuttlebutt on that Arizona case. Definitely not ideal, I hear.”
You shake your head, collapsing into a chair on the other side of her desk. “Not ideal is a good way to put it.” 
She stands and crosses the office, pouring two small glasses of some amber liquid you know is gonna burn like hell. 
You take what she offers and hold in both of your hands, not really interested in drinking it, and follow her to the couch. 
“What happened?” 
You heave a breath. “Got the call - three murders already. Clearly a preferential offender. All the women were students, brunette, similar features. We already had another crime scene by the time we landed. We used the profile, got the guy.” 
Jenny’s brow pinches. “Then?” 
“Copycat. Even came with a note exonerating the suspect we had in custody. We had to let him go without a lead on the second suspect.” 
She sighs and takes a sip of her bourbon. “Been there.” 
“We were surveilling him, waiting for him to do something stupid - we knew he would. The copycat confronted him… She was suicidal. Stabbed him, then herself. We were too late.” 
“Oh, my God.” 
You level her with an exhausted look. “Yeah.” 
“How’s your team?” 
“Tired, mostly.” You offer a humorless laugh. “Maybe in a more existential way than a physical way, not that any of us have slept…” 
The two of you chat into the early hours of the morning. She’s had more than one day like this, in more than one country. 
“It’s days like this that make you question whether you’ve chosen the right line of work.” She looks over at a picture of herself in front of the Eiffel Tower, resting on her bookshelf. “But the good days…”
“They make it worth it, don’t they?” 
The corner of her mouth tips up in a smile. “Yeah. They do.” 
You find a text from Haley when you get back into the car, not realizing you left it in the center console cup holder. 
10:38pm Thanks for getting him home safe. Get some sleep.
When you come in the next morning almost embarrassingly late, Gideon’s office is still dark. 
You’re not even really sure you should be here in the first place, what with the major fuckup hanging over everyone’s heads. The last thing you want to do is go home to your room, back to those four tiny walls and textbooks, even after everything. The bullpen, this team, has become your safety net. 
They should all be here, but there’s only one absence striking you as particularly odd. “Where’s Gideon?” 
Spencer shrugs, spinning half-circles in his desk chair. He looks despondent, staring at the carpet. You don’t see Emily or Derek, but you assume they’re somewhere. 
You set your things down and head up the stairs, knocking twice on Hotch’s door. 
“Yeah?” He looks up and sees you, relaxing a little. 
You take a little breath. “Should I be here today?” 
“Do you want to be here today?” There’s something behind his voice you can’t quite place. It almost sounds like insecurity, like he’s worried he’s scared you off. 
Far from it. 
“I do, sir. I want to be here.” You think of Jenny, and hope he can hear more than you can say. “It’s worth it.” 
You think maybe you’re figuring him out a little more. He smiles more often than you’d think, but you have to know what it looks like. This look - the softening of his eyes and the corners of his mouth, the slight crease at the corners of his eye, the threat of a dimple - is just as big a smile for him as Morgan’s human-sunshine smile. 
“Then stick around. I’ll have you work on some mock consults with Reid and Prentiss - you’ll be doing a lot of those in the next few months until you’re ready to take them on by yourself.” 
“I’ll go pick them up from JJ. They’re in her office, right?” 
He nods and you turn to leave, but you’re stopped by the sound of your name before you can get through the door. “Yeah?”
“You’ve performed remarkably well, no matter what happens after this.” 
The side of your mouth twists. “Thank you, sir.”
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scarletarosa · 8 months ago
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One of the goetic demons and is a king who serves under High King Lucifer in his domain. Like all other goetic demons, Belial is a deity who served the Source as an Angel many ages ago. This information was shared to me by Belial and also learned through my workings with this magnificent infernal god. 
Rulerships: politics, law, rhetoric, tactics, strategy, diplomacy, prosecution, truth, and justice/retribution
History: In the distant past many eternities ago, Belial was created as the second being within this Universe, many ages after Lucifer (the First-Born) came into existence. These two and the rest of the elder Angels were all directly created from the Source, the supreme god, who is formless and incomprehensible. The Angels were all created to manage the Universe and be agents of the Source and his feminine counterpart, the Queen of Heaven (who created some Angels as well). As the first-born deity of this Universe, Lucifer is the most complex, so he became leader of the Angels and was at the head of the Seraphim order. As the second-born, Belial was in charge of the Cherubim (the second-highest order of Angels) and was appointed as an Archangel as well. This lasted for countless ages until the corrupted Aeonic god, Jehovah, entered the Universe from the Void; leaving behind his duties of forming Universes in order to usurp our Universal Throne.
After arriving, he immediately began causing mass destruction and giving out malicious orders to the Angels. Lucifer began a rebellion against this, with Belial being the second Angel to join him in the Fall. After a long traumatic war, Jehovah defeated the rebels and threw them into Hell; condemning them all to this bleak wasteland. Once here, the dark and twisted energies of Hell began to alter the essences of the Fallen ones, making their energies dark as well. Their wings blackened, they grew horns, and some developed red eyes, spikes, claws, or other strange features. They were now a race that came to be called “demons”, and the strongest of these became the three High Kings of Hell: Lucifer, Satan, and Leviathan.
Since Belial had always followed close to Lucifer’s own values, he joined his kingdom and was made one of the kings. And due to Belial’s natural talent for persuasion and finding the truth, he was also appointed as Lucifer’s Truth Tester, or General Investigator. Overtime, Belial gradually became just as much connected to deceit as truth, since he realized the convenience of lies and their many uses. With deception, he often uses it as a method to teach truth (similar to how Lucifer does at times), test whether someone is telling the truth, but also lies whenever he feels the desire to. For this reason, the Christians began calling Belial the “Father of Lies”. Besides this, there was a time in the past where Belial was fond of the Samurai of Japan and encouraged their ideas of Bushido. Yet this was not to last since the Samurai were eventually all killed off by their Emperor. Nowadays, Belial does not much care for humanity in general and has very low expectations of others since people constantly make the same mistakes.
Rank: King
Elements: Air and Fire
Colours: Cream, Black, Vermillion, Metallic Grey, and Peridot Green
Appearance: An elegant gentleman in his late 30’s with short, wavy black hair, dark brown eyes, and light skin. He wears classy outfits or suits that are usually black in colour and wears leather dress shoes. Normally, Belial doesn’t manifest his horns and wings but tends to do so when angered. During battles, he wears elegant dark armour and his choice weapon is either a longsword or katana.
Personality: Belial is very confident, suave, intelligent, strategic, sophisticated, and is a connoisseur of refined tastes. He speaks smoothly and can be sarcastic, though never reveals much about himself to others. He is also willing to speak to anyone of any religion as long as they don’t waste his time or are interested in seeking truth. Belial especially loves speaking to Abrahamists in order to challenge their perspectives (which he never fails at) and takes great amusement in the terror they feel when their veils of ignorance are being lifted. Yet this is too easy of a challenge for him since it doesn’t take much for Belial to convince others of things. So far, the only one who can match Belial in the intellectual art of persuasion is Lucifer.
Overall, Belial tends to have very little patience with humans and doesn’t wish to be disturbed unless someone is serious. He wishes to either provide truth (if he chooses) or assist in certain matters. Otherwise, he won’t show up and does not like to stay around people just to be friendly. For those who work with him, Belial may act as a pedagogue and will have patience for those who try to succeed, even if they fail. However, if a person complains about things without ever trying to make things better, he will have no patience for them at all. As for those who try to sexualize Belial against his will, he severely punishes them and does not forgive it. The same thing goes for those who mock him, call him nicknames, or make him appear “soft”.
In regards to politics, Belial strongly prefers to cunningly solve things through diplomacy and making intelligent maneuvers towards prosperity (even if we must manipulate or deceive in the process). Therefore, Belial may also teach that lies have their place and are not as bad as we have been taught. He also says how truth is the most hated of all virtues because this world is in love with lies. Those who speak the truth wholeheartedly are often called liars and are usually murdered in the end. Because of this, lies are often very necessary and can be used to gradually teach certain truths that would not usually be accepted. Along with Lucifer, Belial is a master strategist able to create incredibly complex plans in order to make the best future possible. He is even in favour of space colonization, provided it is done intelligently and not greedily. For this value of progress, he tends to share his plans of a better world to promising politicians (which is difficult since the majority of politicians in every country are corrupt). Besides strategy and rhetoric, some of the other things Belial tends to enjoy are elegance, classical music, sword fighting, martial arts, horse racing, chess, the game “Go”, expensive things, Versace fashion, luxurious libraries, stock markets, Rolls-Royce cars, satin sheets, mahogany, and the following instruments: violins, pianos, clarinets, and saxophones.
How to call him: Speak to Belial as you would with any other god, be polite and considerate. Contact him through telepathically speaking in your mind, directing the words to him (you can do this verbally, but if malicious spirits hear, they may pretend to be him). When inviting a Goetic demon to you, try to dress well for them since they are divine and royalty.
What he can help with: mutually served interests and dynamic progress through smart resolution and maneuvering. Helps with resolving conflicts through strategy, silencing and/or harming enemies (if he agrees they should be punished), advises on intelligent political maneuvers towards prosperity, and teaches harsh truths
Belial’s Enn (for meditation or devotion): Lirach Tasa Vefa Wehl Belial
Offerings: champagne, pink champagne, expensive wine, spiced rum, dry gin, Irish coffee, beef liver, smoked salmon, lobster, caviar, truffle chocolates, veal, veal fillet, pigeon meat, ostrich meat, basmati rice, truffle mushrooms, ground black pepper, cinnamon, Siberian ginseng, red roses, white roses, black roses, daggers, katanas, longswords, mahogany writing desks, black marble, black tourmaline, black star sapphires, snowflake obsidian, peridot, expensive pens, expensive wristwatches, Italian leather men’s shoes, expensive men’s coats (high society), gold, gold foil in oil, silver, bonsai trees, fancy chess boards, black dice with white dots, fancy playing cards (preferably black and white), expensive colognes
*no pork or lamb offerings, he detests them
*also don’t offer chicken or turkey since he will not accept these
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antoine-roquentin · 11 months ago
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obliquely, this is in reference to how formerly working class bastions in the midwest that used to elect socialists now elect republicans. if we all gave up the theory that LGBT people are normal, we might once again go back to the days where we elected socialists across the country. thomas frank, what’s the matter with kansas:
But its periodic bouts of leftism were what really branded Kansas with the mark of the freak. Every part of the country in the nineteenth century had labor upheavals and protosocialist reform movements, of course. In Kansas, though, the radicals kept coming out on top. It was as though the blank landscape prompted dreams of a blank-slate society, a place where institutions might be remade as the human mind saw fit. Maps of the state from the 1880s show a hamlet (since vanished) called Radical City; in nearby Crawford County the town of Girard was home to the Appeal to Reason, a socialist newspaper whose circulation was in the hundreds of thousands. In that same town, in 1908, Eugene Debs gave a fiery speech accepting the Socialist Party’s nomination for president; in 1912 Debs actually carried Crawford County, one of four he won nationwide. (All were in the Midwest.) In 1910 Theodore Roosevelt signaled his own lurch to the left by traveling to Kansas and giving an inflammatory address in Osawatomie, the onetime home of John Brown.
The most famous freak-out of them all was Populism, the first of the great American leftist movements.* Populism tore through other states as well—wailing all across Texas, the South, and the West in the 1890s—but Kansas was the place that really distinguished itself by its enthusiasm. Driven to the brink of ruin by years of bad prices, debt, and deflation, the state’s farmers came together in huge meetings where homegrown troublemakers like Mary Elizabeth Lease exhorted them to “raise less corn and more hell.” The radicalized farmers marched through the small towns in day-long parades, raging against what they called the “money power.” And despite all the clamor, they still managed to take the state’s traditional Republican masters utterly by surprise in 1890, sweeping the small-town slickers out of office and ending the careers of many a career politician. In the decade that followed they elected Populist governors, Populist senators, Populist congressmen, Populist supreme court justices, Populistcity councils, and probably Populist dogcatchers, too; men of strong ideas, curious nicknames, and a colorful patois....
For a generation, Kansas has been the testing-ground for every experiment in morals, politics, and social life. Doubt of all existing institutions has been respectable. Nothing has been venerable or revered merely because it exists or has endured. Prohibition, female suffrage, fiat money, free silver, every incoherent and fantastic dream of social improvement and reform, every economic delusion that has bewildered the foggy brains of fanatics, every political fallacy nurtured by misfortune, poverty and failure, rejected elsewhere, has here found tolerance and advocacy.
Today the two myths are one. Kansas may be the land of averageness, but it is a freaky, militant, outraged averageness. Kansas today is a burned-over district of conservatism where the backlash propaganda has woven itself into the fabric of everyday life. People in suburban Kansas City vituperate against the sinful cosmopolitan elite of New York and Washington, D.C.; people in rural Kansas vituperate against the sinful cosmopolitan elite of Topeka and suburban Kansas City. Survivalist supply shops sprout in neighborhood strip-malls. People send Christmas cards urging their friends to look on the bright side of Islamic terrorism, since the Rapture is now clearly at hand.
Under the state’s simple blue flag are gathered today some of the most flamboyant cranks, conspiracists, and calamity howlers the Republic has ever seen. The Kansas school board draws the guffaws of the world for purging state science standards of references to evolution. Cities large and small across the state still hold out against water fluoridation, while one tiny hamlet takes the additional step of requiring firearms in every home. A prominent female politician expresses public doubts about the wisdom of women’s suffrage, while another pol proposes that the state sell off the Kansas Turnpike in order to solve its budget crisis. Impoverished inhabitants of the state’s most scenic area fight with fanatical determination to prevent a national park from opening up in their neighborhood, while the rails-to-trails program, regarded everywhere else in the union as a harmless scheme for family fun, is reviled in Kansas as an infernal design on the rights of property owners. Operation Rescue selects Wichita as the stage for its great offensive against abortion, calling down thirty thousand testifying fundamentalists on the city, witnessing and blocking traffic and chaining themselves to fences. A preacher from Topeka travels the nation advising Americans to love God’s holy hate, showing up wherever a gay person has been in the news to announce that “God Hates Fags.” Survivalists and secessionists dream of backyard confederacies out on the lone prairie; schismatic Catholics declare the pope himself to be insufficiently Catholic; Posses Comitatus hold imaginary legal proceedings, sternly prosecuting state officials for participating in actual legal proceedings; and homegrown terrorists swap conspiracy theories at a house in Dickinson County before screaming off to strike a blow against big government in Oklahoma City.
the problem with this simple story is that social liberalism actually grew in lockstep with an economic policy tailored to the poor. in the 70s, the most common place to get gender reassignment surgery was at a catholic hospital in small town colorado. in 2010, in response to deep opposition in the town, the practice was forced to move to california. the second most common place was at a baptist hospital in oklahoma city, where such surgery was viewed as routine until a number of religious leaders decided to oppose it in the 70s. at the same time, many other religious leaders spoke out in favour of the surgery, saying that it comported well with religious tenets.
likewise, colorado legalized abortion in 1967, as did states like kansas, missouri, georgia, and north and south carolina prior to roe v wade. today, these states are considered anti-abortion and anti-lgbt hotspots, yet prior to the late 70s, compassion for such people was viewed as paramount in the life of america’s christians. so what happened? it clearly wasn’t an emphasis on the social aspects of poor american lives that shifted the political arena in favour of religious conservatism. rather, as thomas frank points out in the same book:
Nobody mows their own lawn in Mission Hills anymore, and only a foot soldier in its armies of gardeners would park a Pontiac there. The doctors who lived near us in the seventies have pretty much been gentrified out, their places taken by the bankers and brokers and CEOs who have lapped them repeatedly on the racetrack of status and income. Every time I paid Mission Hills a visit during the nineties, it seemed another of the more modest houses in our neighborhood had been torn down and replaced by a much larger edifice, a three-story stone chateau, say, bristling with turrets and porches and dormers and gazebos and a three-car garage. The dark old palaces from the twenties sprouted spiffy new slate roofs, immaculately tailored gardens, remote-controlled driveway gates, and sometimes entire new wings. One grand old pile down the street from us was fitted with shiny new gutters made entirely of copper. A new house a few doors down from Esrey’s spread is so large it has two multicar garages, one at either end.
These changes are of course not unique to Mission Hills. What has gone on there is normal in its freakishness. You can observe the same changes in Shaker Heights or La Jolla or Winnetka or Ann Coulter’s hometown of New Canaan, Connecticut. They reflect the simplest and hardest of economic realities: The fortunes of Mission Hills rise and fall in inverse relation to the fortunes of ordinary working people. When workers are powerful, taxes are high, and labor is expensive (as was the case from World War II until the late seventies), the houses built here are smaller, the cars domestic, the servants rare, and the overgrown look fashionable in gardening circles. People read novels about eccentric English aristocrats trapped in a democratic age, sighing sadly for their lost world.
When workers are weak, taxes are down, and labor is cheap (as in the twenties and again today), Mission Hills coats itself in shimmering raiments of gold and green. Now the stock returns are plush, the bonus packages fat, the servants affordable, and the suburb finds that the princely life isn’t dead after all. It builds new additions and new fountains and new Italianate porches overlooking Olympic-sized flower gardens maintained by shifts of laborers. People read books about the glory of empire. The kids get Porsches or SUVs when they turn sixteen; the houses with asphalt roofs discreetly disappear; the wings that were closed off are triumphantly reopened, and all is restored to its former grandeur. Times may be hard where you live, but here events have yielded a heaven on earth, a pleasure colony out of the paintings of Maxfield Parrish.
america's workers and small farmers were saved by the reforms of the 1930s, as frank explains, then crushed as the wealthy found out how to squirrel away their taxes (in part thanks to the collapse of the british empire), accumulate wealth away from prying eyes, lobby the government for preferential treatment, and between 1976 and 2000, triumph completely in the political domain. mission hill donates more money to politicians than the rest of kansas combined. unions are swamped in state politics, and see declining fortunes. as a result, neoliberal social atomization takes effect, which sees even workers demanding beggar-thy-neighbour policies. and when thy neighbour is socially distinct from you, it becomes easier to justify voting for such politics based on a survival instinct. the majority of the working class tuned out and do not vote any more. among the rest, low skilled working class jobs in highly stratified and inequitable cities vote democrat, hoping for some patronage from the white collar creative class voters they serve, while blue collar skilled workers tend to vote republican, devoid of any examples of class politics in their lives with the death of unions and hoping to keep their share of wages against their only opposition, the tax man.
ultimately, any socially liberal politics sustained by donations from rich big city donors is unsustainable. on the other hand, the notion that “woke” politics is holding back leftism is, save for a few clearly absurd situations (robin diangelo, for instance) also wrong. economic leftism leads to social leftism, because respect to the working class leads to respect for its identities. neoliberal atomization is a much deeper force than can be surmounted at the ballot box, even in a primary, but it is always an economic force first and foremost.
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feed-the-rats · 7 months ago
Running through the halls of the ship in a floor leangth silk robe to our darling supreme leader husband. After being woken up to the news he’s been injured in battle by that scavenger girl (when she sliced his chest and face you know?). Gathering his knights and commanding them to find her, to end her. Then just caring for kylo and being all soft and gentle with him as always. All still in just your robe and, Kylo is just amazed at how quickly you can take the lead the first order when he’s unable and going right back to being his soft lover, his empress ❤️
A/N: I was on Discord with my best friend when I got this request and I read it to him because I was in awe. He said “They don’t even need you! They got a whole fic right there!” and, honestly, he right but I’m very excited to get to expand on this!! This got a little longer than I anticipated so I’m going to throw it under a cut.
Word count: 1.1K
Warnings: general lightsaber wounds
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You awoke with a start. The banging on the door to your quarters that had pulled you from sleep continued and as you regained full consciousness you recognized voices calling out for you. Panic filled your mind as you threw the covers off of yourself. You pull your silk robe over your sleepwear and open the door. You were met by the faces of your guards.
“My lady!” one of them gasped out, both of the men out of breath. “The Supreme Leader…he’s returned…but he’s injured-“
“Take me to him,” you said before he could finish, tying the fasteners of your robe into a bow at your waist. The guards took off down the hallway with you hot on their heels. They led you to the medbay and to your husband’s bedside. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw the slashes down his face and chest. Relief filled Kylo’s expression when he spotted you.
“Empress…” he huffed out, clearly exhausted and in pain. He tried to reach out for you but couldn’t find the strength.
“Sweetheart don’t,” you said, gently nudging his hand back down on to the bed. “Who did this to you? What happened?”
“The scavenger girl…stronger than I anticipated.” Kylo’s chest heaved as he struggled to get words out. Your jaw set. Your husband was unable to lead, so you would step into this role and you would do it effortlessly. You turned to the guards, who were still in their places behind you.
“Get me the Knights of Ren, I need to speak with them,” you ordered. The guards glanced at each other, unsure if they should be taking tactical orders from you. “Now!” With that, they scurried off to do as they were told. You focused your attention back on your husband. You took his face in your hands, careful to avoid the nasty cut.
“We’re going to fix this,” you whispered to him, brushing a stray bit of hair from his forehead. “You need to heal, I will handle this.” Your head snapped up and looked around. “Where the hell are the medical droids? This is their entire job…” Unable to find any, you grabbed an aid kit and began to dress Kylo’s wounds yourself. You sanitize your hands and began to carefully spread bacta cream from the start of the cut on his forehead, down to the end on this cheek. Kylo hissed at the sensation and recoiled away from you.
“I know, I know it hurts,” you cooed. “But you have to stay still for me, sweetheart. I have a much gentler touch than the med droids. It’ll feel better in a moment.” As you applied more cream, Kylo’s hand squeezed at your arm, trying his best to endure the stinging.
“There, all done,” you said quietly. You then unwrapped several bandages and pressed them on to his wound. “The bleeding should stop soon.” You kissed his forehead as tenderly as you could. Just as you were about to start the process again on his chest, your guards burst back into the room.
“The Knights of Ren, my lady,” one said before they both stepped back into the hallway. Kylo’s six knights stood in front of you, as stoic as ever, waiting for instruction. You set the bacta cream down at Kylo’s side and turned to fully face them.
“You are to find this scavenger girl,” you ordered. “Use any means necessary. She has made her power clear and it is dangerous for her to continue to live freely. Find her and bring her back, if you can. She may have valuable information. However, if your only option is to bring her in cold, so be it. You’re dismissed.” The knights paid you a slight bow and, in unison, left the room to complete their mission. You had complete faith that their task would be complete in the next few days. They were the best fighters and assassins the galaxy had to offer and would do their job well. That, however, was not your concern right now. Your priority was taking care of your husband. As soon as your attention was fixed on him again, your demeanor softened.
“Okay, sweetheart, I’m going to dress your chest wound now, alright? Be still for me?” Kylo nodded and squeezed your arm again, in preparation for the sting. After getting the hang of applying the cream on his face, the application to his chest went much faster and you were placing bandages in no time.
By the time you were lining up the last bandage, Kylo’s breathing had returned to normal and much of his pain had subsided. He was able to focus on you for the first time since returning to the ship. He marveled at how you shifted so quickly into this position of power, taking charge and having a plan when he was incapable of doing so. He thought about how odd it was that you were barking order at the Knights of Ren with obvious bedhead and wearing a pale pink, silk robe. Absurd as it may be, he was in awe of you. It brought him more comfort than he thought it would to know that the First Order would not be left without a strong leader if he were to be seriously incapacitated.
“You’re incredible, you know.” Kylo said it as a statement, not a question. “The way you took over so quickly. I’m proud of you, dearest.”
“All in a days work for the empress of the First Order,” you joked as you tucked the bacta cream and bandages back into the aid kit where you’d found it. “It’s not all just smiling and looking pretty, you know.”
“Oh but you’re so good at that,” Kylo replied, smiling for the first time since his return. You giggled and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“How do you feel?” you asked.
“Better, now that I have you with me,” he said. “But I’m still in pain. I will stay here over night. You should go back to our quarters, empress. You need to rest.”
“Absolutely not, I’m not just going to leave you here,” you told him, shaking your head. “Since all of our med droids seem to have disappeared, who will change your bandages hmm?” Kylo gave you a chuckle, but winced from the pain the sound caused in his chest. He held your hand tighter.
“I don’t know what I would do without you, angel.”
“Please,” you scoffed. “The First Order would have fallen ages ago, if you didn’t have me.” Kylo smiled at you, knowing that you were probably right. You kissed him gently and let go of his hand. “I’m going to go find you something to eat. I’ll be back soon, my love.”
“I will await your return, my empress.”
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ursifors · 3 months ago
Jeremy Dooley Twitch AMA May 27th
NOT verbatim Jeremy talks a lot and I don't have that much time on my hands. He also goes off on a lot of tangents between answers that I didn't write down so watch the VOD for those.
Q: Which of the 1551 songs that you've written is your favorite? A: That's a tough call - Going Down Swinging is a lot of fun - Nobody Gets Left Behind is another one of my favorites. It's a really good one.
Q: How is it being a 29 year old infant? A: Well that's not for much longer, I'm only 29 for another week. And then I'm the big Three Oh.
Q: Have you ever been to the Big E in Springfield, Mass.? A: No I don't think I've ever been to Springfield, Mass.
Q: What's your best memory with Fredo and Trevor? A: The three tall guys bit in Off Topic 200 + In live shows we would do improve stuff together and we'd do Whose Line type games and it was a lot of fun.
Q: If you had to pick would you rather be stuck in a space station with Darryl the alien or necromorphs. A: I don't know if I can really answer that because I've never played Dead Space. Necromorphs sound awful because you don't just die, Darryl would just kill you.
Q: If you couldn't live in Austin or the North East where would you live? A: Australia.
Q: Do you plan on having kids? A: I don't know. As of right now, no.
Q: Will you still go see the new office? A: Yes, absolutely I will.
Q: Why did you tease Uranium(?) in Go Nitro and then he disappeared? A: He's an overarching enemy in Go Nitro and will pop up in later stories.
Q: Any new music projects? A: Just working on the new album right now!
Q: How you likin' the mustang? A: I'm liking it a lot!
Q: Was the kitty situation a factor in staying home? A: No it was not, this has been a long time in the works.
Q: Do you collect pokemon cards? A: I used to!
Q: Have you checked out the DLC for Borderlands 3? A: Some of it!
Q: Purple or orange? A: Purple over orange.
Q: Will you do a meet and greet in Mass? A: Yes I'd love to do more meet and greets! We just have to be more careful nowadays.
Q: What do you do when you get writers block? A: I would go for a walk and put myself in a situation where I can't write, and talk to myself as characters talking to each other in the book and it would get me excited to write again.
Q: Who's your favorite member of the post team and why is it Jerren(?) A: I don't have a favorite post team member they're all great!
Q: How long did it take you to write your book? A: I've been writing Go Nitro one since I was in the 3rd grade, so it's hard to answer.
Q: If you were the supreme leader of a cult what would it be called? A: Do As I Say Not As I Do
Q: 1551 songs are fun to try and play. A: PLEASE UPLOAD COVERS ON YOUTUBE AND SEND THEM TO ME
Q: Favorite state you've lived in? A: Mass!
Q: Are you gonna be doing more private streaming with you being less involved with AH when they go back to the office? A: That's a bridge that we'll cross when we come to it type thing. The short answer is yes. I'm not leaving AH but I'll be more of a contract worker like Ify is.
Q: Do you have a P.O. box? A: Yes! (Note from Logan: Idk the address sorry LOL)
Q: What happened to the second mass effect vod? A: There were some edits I wanted to make to it, there were times I got up and left and I wanted to cut that down, I took the video I edited a bunch of stuff and then uploaded that and took it down from twitch.
Q: Next tattoo? A: Compass rose on my chest. I also wanna get mom's knife from Binding of Isaac and a creeper face.
Q: Who will do dumb stuff like marshmallow spiderman :( A: I'm sure people will be stepping up to do stuff like that.
Q: Best Linkin Park song? A: impossible to say
Q: Will you be playing Returnal? A: yes i want to but i have so many games to play right now + achievement hunter stuff
Q: How long did you have the tall desk? A: two or three days before i was like please i need life back
Q: Any updates on Go Nitro? A: Not right now! When I have more time to write I will.
Q: Favorite Three Days Grace song? A: It's too hard to pick just one song. Animal I Become, Just Like You, Riot, are all some favorites.
Q: Do you plan on playing Subnautica? A: I plan on it! Q: New musical artist you recommend? A: No, but listen to Syler(???) if you haven't.
Q: Do you ever get tired of playing video games all day for work and then playing them on stream/for yourself after work? A: Yes and no. I don't play games I like a lot at work usually so I don't get sick of them.
Q: With the announcement are you still going to make it to RTX? A: Yes!
Q: Are you staying with AH and just working remote? A: Yes.
Q: If there is a season 3 of Haunter will you be in it? A: Yeah if i'm invited!
Q: What's the best food you ever had and where? A: I don't know how to answer that, that is such a wide spectrum of stuff. A food I've only had once is caviar. Also when I was in South Korean I had abalone.
Q: If given the opportunity to do so safely would you pet a sea monster? A: No I don't wanna touch it but I'd like to look at it.
Q: What is your favorite thing to cook? A: Steak and mashed potatoes. Q: I'm playing one of your songs at my wedding what do you suggest for dancing? A: Please do not play 1551 at your wedding (he was laughing here)
Q: Is there a dream car if not another high ticket dream item? A: We have our mustang, but I'm not a super car guy?
Q: Are you going to stream more once you do less AH content? A: Yes that is the plan, the number of days I stream will go up.
Q: Are you still playing pokemon go? A: Nope.
Q: Favorite city in Mass? A: Burlington my home town!
Q: Do you think you could persuade Chilled to join in AH among us? A: I mean if he has time, Chilled is an insanely busy person it's kind of hard to like, book him.
Q: Any plans to return to Stardew? A: I think that's run it's course and we have a lot more games to play.
Q: Was Roulette's play with all them getting replaced with Rainbow Six real or fake? A: First of all they were getting replaced with Battlefront. There might have been some tomfoolery in that.
Q: How did you feel when you started getting famous on the internet was it a surreal experience? A: Yeah! Yeah - It's weird. It was a weird feeling the first time someone recognized me, or I did a signing and people were there. The first time it really kicked it was we were about to go out and do like an off topic at rtx or something, and it was very shortly after I had been pulled in as part of the main cast and the crowd started to chant "lil j" for no reason and it was so weird.
Q: If you could have one thing behind you while your stream what would it be? A: A neon sign- You know those neon signs that depending on what colors light up its a different image? Right? I want one that pertains to what alcohol I'm drinking at the time.
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The clown in the White House just brokered three Middle East Peace Accords, something that 71 years of political intervention and endless war failed to produce.
The buffoon in the White House is the first president that has not engaged us in a foreign war since Eisenhower.
The clown in the White House has had the greatest impact on the economy, bringing jobs, and lowering unemployment to the Black and Latino population of ANY other president. Ever.
The buffoon in the White House has exposed the deep, widespread, and long-standing corruption in the FBI, the CIA, the NSA, and the Republican and Democratic parties.
The buffoon in the White House turned NATO around and had them start paying their dues.
The clown in the White House neutralized the North Koreans, stopped them from developing a further nuclear capability, sending missiles toward Japan, and threatening the West Coast of the US.
The clown in the White House turned our relationship with the Chinese around, brought hundreds of business back to the US, and revived the economy. Hello!!!!!!!
The clown in the White House has accomplished the appointing of three Supreme Court Justices and close to 300 Federal Judges.
This same clown in the White House lowered your taxes, increased the standard deduction on your IRS return from $12,500 for Married Filing Joint to $24,400 and caused your stock market to move to record levels over 100 times, positively impacting the retirements of tens of millions of citizens.
The clown in the White House fast-tracked the development of a COVID Vaccine - it will be available within weeks - we still don't have a vaccine for SARS, Bird Flu, Ebola, or a host of diseases that arose during previous administrations.
The clown in the White House rebuilt our military which the Obama administration had crippled and had fired 214 key generals and admirals in his first year of office.
This clown in the White House uncovered widespread pedophilia in the government and in Hollywood, and is exposing world wide sex trafficking of minors and bringing children home to their families.
The clown in the White House works for free and has lost well over 2 billion dollars of his own money in serving - and done all of this and much more in the face of relentless undermining and opposition from people who are threatened because they know they are going to be exposed as the criminals that they are if he is re-elected.
I got it, you don't like him. Many of you utterly hate and despise him. How special of you. He is serving you and ALL the American people. What are you doing besides calling him names and laughing about him catching the China virus ?????
And please educate me again as to what Biden has accomplished for America in his 47 years in office?
I’ll take a ‘clown’ any day versus a fork tongued, smooth talking hypocritical corrupt liar. Please let it be known, I am not sure I would want to have a beer with him (if he drank, which he doesn't) or even be his friend. I don’t care if I even like him. I want a strong leader who isn’t afraid to kick some ass when needed. I don’t need a fatherly figure - I already have one. I don’t need a liar - that's what Hollywood and CNN, MSNBC, ABC, NBC, CBS and the New York Times are for.
I don’t need someone to help me, but I also don’t want an obstacle or a demented, senile washed-up Swamp Monster.
God bless Donald Trump - the most unappreciated President in history.
Copy & Pass this on.
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thxse-xdds · 4 months ago
My Name.
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Part Two
Kylo Ren // Ben Solo X (F) Reader
Word count: 1,383 words
Summary: In discovering the real reason behind Kylo’s ‘softening’ actions in his work, Snoke takes matters into his hands to get the male to focus on what truly mattered - his allegiance to the dark side. Doing so, meant pulling the reader from Kylo’s life and making her forget everything and anything about her relationship to Kylo, only to release her at the demands of his apprentice who’s unaware that he’s too late. 
(Inspired by that ‘stranger’ trend on tiktok where if you say stranger to someone you forget everything about them including your memories)
Triggers: Canon Violence, Pain, Injuries, Restraints and loads of angst
You’re exhausted, and all you want is to fall back into the arms of your love - who was seemingly nowhere to be seen if this was how Snoke was behaving. He must not have any clue where you were, seeing as you’re tied to one of the most uncomfortable chairs you’ve ever encountered. Instead the Supreme Leader stood, seemingly pacing circles around you, monologuing about something or another. Frankly, you’re not paying attention, and when he recognizes that, a bolt of energy is directed to you, causing a jolt of pain to fly through you. 
“Listen you. You are creating the fall of the very person you claim you care for. He’s distracted, and even refusing to follow through with plans. I can’t have that.” He begins to ramble once again and you cut him off. 
“And what do you want me to do about it? He chose me, he found me and he let me in. This sounds like something you need to take up with him. “ Your retorts were met with a powerful grip to your wrist, so powerful that it felt as though it’d gone numb - a warning perhaps. 
“Oh how naive you are. No wonder he’s found you so appealing. Has he barterted and convinced you of loving him? Of joining him in his endeavors, drawing you in?” You nearly scoff, but the pain in your arm reminds you to watch your words. 
“No. If that had been the case we wouldn’t have been here, don’t you think?” It’s very quick, and the other seemingly didn’t enjoy your response. Because your jaw was suddenly immobile, unable to give another retort. 
“That is enough out of you. Perhaps we should get this over with. In the next ten minutes, I will call my apprentice to this very room. For one clear purpose. To rid of you.” Your eyes widen at his words, and you can only assume the worst. “How might I convince him to do so? That’s rather easy. The minute you see him, I will release my hold. You will have approximately thirty seconds to erase him.” 
No. No, you couldn’t. Everything in you seems to shatter at the idea, of never knowing Kylo. The progress you had made to get him to open up to you, to share quarters when no one was looking, tell you stories of his parents before hastily scolding himself and storming off... something that had happened far less these days. You can’t help but think he was slowly becoming the boy he spoke of in his memories, a little further each and every day. That face, his eyes... his touch... his smell. How could you willingly let that all go?
“I sense a great deal of hesitancy. Perhaps I should tell you the alternative if you don’t cooperate.” He offers with a dark hearted snicker. “I see how you’ve changed him. Opened him, made him access things we’ve specifically trained him to push away. You’ve made him... crave things. To long. To dream. So long as you’re around, he serves no purpose.” He didn’t need to make it any more clear. If things didn't go as planned, Kylo would suffer. As would you. Either way, you got the short end of the stick. As tears begin roll, you can only give the slightest way of a nod, looking at the face in front of you. It was sickening. The pure joy that sat on his crinkled features, the excitement in his eyes from the inevitable suffering that you would be faced with. Him losing you. You losing him. With no real solution. You sat with your head hanging low, hearing the Supreme Leader send off members of his staff to locate the man. Your only source of joy, the experience that you’d been searching for all these years in this damned galaxy. Your love. 
You don’t know what the guards told him. But you do know that he comes bursting into the room panting, and clearly having been running. “Ah. There you are.” 
“What have you done to her?!” He can see the bruising on your skin, the bags under your eyes and the disheveled manner of your slumped and exhausted figure. He takes a few steps to you, hands going to your biceps and gripping them comfortingly. The touch is beyond brief before he’s forcefully pulled away, falling to his feet at the unexpected action. 
“I am tired of the nonsense. She is poison to you. To us. To our mission. She has planted light in you. You have broken, and we must fix it.” He spits, standing and pulling the cloak off his head. 
“Fine. Fine, but just... don’t hurt her. I’ll take her somewhere where she can’t find me - but-” He grows quiet when the other’s throat clears. The deformed man looks to you giving a slow nod as your jaw slacks and you nearly let out a breath of relief. Your eyes find his as tears stream continuously. 
“I’m s-so sorry... I lov-” 
“On with it!!” Another jolt to your side, a cry of pain accompanying it this time. 
“Stranger.” The word leaves you and suddenly the room seems to vibrate. A deafening sound makes you cower, looking and seeing a darkly dressed figure on the ground, reaching to you. 
“No, no my love please....” His features come into the light above you finally and you flinch when you recognize who it is. “S-Sir Ren. I-I’m sorry I-” Before you can say another word Snoke’s voice comes to the metal room again. 
“She serves no purpose to you anymore. I will give you five minutes to dispose of her. If not, the guards will take care of it.” The taller, broader man looks to the other with a deafening glare. Without a sound, piercing eyes move to look at you, and your heart falls to your stomach. The sound of an igniting saber radiates, and the blinding red illuminates against the reflective material that surrounds you. You’re trying to find some sort of plea, nearly shaking as his eyes stay firm, unmoving. Yet he doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He simply waits until his teacher is directly behind him. In a flash of red, and roaring sound, a loud and gutful groan is released. Your jaw slacks when you see the Supreme Leader fall to his knees and eventually collapse, the injury so dark that you can see the light from the hall through his abdomen, the saber pulling back and raised to the sky. 
Satisfied with the thump of weight that falls to the floor, the figure turns to the guards who all sit in surprise. “Dispose of this traitor.” He grunts before retreating the blade and returning it to his hilt. Bodies move around the room, sounds coming from all directions as the new Supreme Leader moves behind you, hands taking in yours and carefully releasing your hands from the stun cuffs that held your arms tightly behind you. Once free, you jump up and turn to face him, hands held up in a defensive pose. You’re expecting a fierce face, one of discontent and annoyance - instead one of grief, somberness and concern is what you’re met with. It takes a moment, but you recognize that there is a tear, a whole, wet, and large tear coming from his tear ducts.  You slowly come to a more relaxed, yet guarded posture. 
“Sir- Supreme Leader...”
“No.” His boastful voice returns, a shake of his head as his hands come to cup the sides of his hands, only to fly down in anger. “You know me. You know me.” 
“I-I don’t...” You flinch when a shout leaves him. 
“BEN. BEN FOR KRIFFS SAKE.” He approaches you quickly, taking your biceps into his large hands gingerly, looking you in the eye as tears continue to stream. “My name. Is Ben.” He confesses, looking at you with such hope despite the tears that continue, and only seem to worsen with each defiance. His head falls, and he stays quiet. And you both stand there for some time, soft and subtle beeps from the craft coming from all around you. You jump when a louder sound comes from him. A cry. No. A sob. 
“Please. Remember.”
If you are interested in a part two, or me making this into a series, please leave a comment below!!
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cogitoergofun · 5 months ago
Ken Mehlman wanted to apologize. Speaking with The Atlantic’s Marc Ambinder in 2010, the former Republican National Committee chair came out as gay, and acknowledged that, despite being a party leader, he had not worked against the GOP’s strategy of setting up anti-marriage-equality referendums in key states prior to the 2004 election.
“Mehlman said at the time that he could not, as an individual Republican, go against the party consensus,” Ambinder wrote. He added that Mehlman “often wondered why gay voters never formed common cause with Republican opponents of Islamic jihad, which he called ‘the greatest anti-gay force in the world right now.’”
The interview represented a shift in conservative politics, as the Republican Party moved from demonizing one group of Americans to another. The time for blaming the nation’s problems on gay people was over; now was the time to come together as a country and blame our problems on Muslims. For the past 30 years, the GOP has pursued a consistent strategy: Find a misunderstood or marginalized group, convince voters that the members of that group pose an existential threat to society, and then ride to victory on the promise of using state power to crush them.
As president, George W. Bush had courted both Muslims and Latinos as part of his coalition, which somewhat restrained the right’s nativism. But that changed following Barack Obama’s election, after which the Republican Party embraced harsh anti-immigrant and conspiratorial anti-Muslim politics. Republicans today are focused on using the state to discriminate against trans people.
In 2004, gay people were the GOP’s target. Mehlman told Ambinder that Bush’s political adviser Karl Rove had “been working with Republicans to make sure that anti-gay initiatives and referenda would appear on November ballots in 2004 and 2006 to help Republicans.” Rove gloated to The New York Times in November 2004 that “moral values” had carried Bush to reelection. “People do not like the idea or the concept of marriage as being a union between a man and a woman being uprooted and overturned by a few activist judges or a couple of activist local officials,” he told the Times. Rove later denied that he’d had anything to do with that strategy.
In 2010, when Mehlman apologized, Obama was president. Same-sex marriage was not yet supported by most Americans—Obama himself did not support it at the time—but the trajectory was clear. From 2004 to 2010, support for marriage equality increased from 31 to 42 percent. The military’s ban on openly gay service members would be repealed that year. Although the Republican Party would continue to oppose marriage equality, it had become clear that the party had to find a new target, one with fewer political allies.
In fact, it already had. Mehlman’s remark to Ambinder about “Republican opponents of Islamic jihad” was a nod to the political climate of the 2010s. By that time, Republican legislators were embracing the anti-Muslim conspiracy that the imposition of Taliban-style Islamic law in America was imminent. This strategy was consonant with many Republicans’ embrace of the myth that Obama was a secret Muslim who had not been born in the United States and was therefore not eligible to be president—the same myth that first endeared Donald Trump to the Republican base. Although anti-Muslim fervor has hardly subsided, this political strategy peaked in 2011, when dozens of states introduced anti-Sharia laws.
Also during this period, Republicans pursued a series of draconian anti-immigration laws modeled after Arizona’s S.B. 1070, criticized by immigrant advocates as the “show me your papers” law, because it allowed police to stop anyone they suspected of being undocumented, effectively requiring noncitizens—or anyone who might be mistaken for one—to carry proof of status at all times. Such proposals were a clear license for racial profiling. As with the anti-Sharia legislation, Republican elected officials across the country fell all over one another in an effort to display their animosity toward immigrants by passing or proposing similar legislation. The Supreme Court struck down much of the Arizona bill in 2012 on the grounds that it conflicted with federal law, which takes precedence on issues of immigration.
At the time, the Obama administration was cracking down on illegal immigration in an attempt to bring Republicans to the table for a grand bargain on comprehensive immigration reform—but it was more effective politics for both Democrats and Republicans to pretend that Obama was less of a border hawk than he really was.
Again and again, Republicans have targeted groups they believe too small or too powerless to spark a costly political backlash. By attacking them, the GOP seeks to place Democrats in a political bind. If they decline to bow to demagoguery, Democrats risk looking either too culturally avant-garde for the comfort of more conservative voters—whose support they need to remain viable—or too preoccupied with defending the rights of a beleaguered minority to pay attention to bread-and-butter issues that matter to the majority. This strategy has worked in the past—President Bill Clinton, who signed the federal statute outlawing same-sex marriage in 1996, was no Republican. Many people across the political spectrum accept the premise that defending a marginalized group’s civil rights is “identity politics,” while choosing to strip away those rights is not.
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captn-andor · 8 months ago
damsel, undistressed | p.dameron
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summary | poe hadn’t expected to learn that the general had a daughter, and he definitely hadnt expected to have to rescue her from the first order. when he meets you though, he finds that you’re more than anything he could have expected
warnings | angst, torture, reader is leia’s daughter, awkward poe, references the events of the mandalorian chapter 15
genre | light angst, fluff
word count | 4.5K
pairing | poe dameron x fem!organa!reader
Poe could tell something was wrong the second he entered the room. 
Well, he had had a feeling that something was wrong when he first heard that Leia was looking for him, but he thought it was because of that barrel roll he did, but now as he entered the conference chamber, he could tell that something was very wrong. 
The table in the center was projecting a bright blue hologram, the images changing between different shots of a village on a forest planet. A destroyed village. The room was quiet, and Leia’s admirals, commanders, and generals were gone, her advisors cleared out, and she herself was standing at the table, eyes intently on the holograms. 
Poe swallowed, standing at attention with his hands behind his back. “General.”
Leia turned her head towards him, as if she was caught up in her thoughts and hadn’t noticed his arrival. “Commander Dameron, good that you’re here.” 
“Is something wrong?” She waved him closer, running her finger on some controls until the image that the table projected was a woman- Maker, she was pretty- snap out of it Dameron! 
“A week ago, one of our intelligence operatives went missing from Takodana,” Leia began. “I need you to go rescue her.” 
Poe’s heartbeat picked up and he nodded. “I’ll leave as soon as possible. Do we know where she’s being held?” 
“I have reason to believe that she’s on the Finalizer. This won’t be easy, Dameron, I’m trusting that you’re going to think with your head on this one.” 
“You have reason to believe?” Poe asked, confused by her word choice. “General, is this- is this personal?” 
“Yes,” Leia nodded. “This operative...she’s my daughter.” 
“Your what?” His eyes snapped between the hologram and the General standing in front of him, and though he could see the resemblance, his jaw still remained dropped. “You have a daughter?!” 
Leia smiled sadly, lips turned up in amusement at his reaction, and nodded. “She’s off planet most of the time, so you two have never met, but yes. We don’t know how the First Order managed to find her, but she has intel that would have diastrous consequences if it landed in the hands of the First Order. Odds are that Ren is going to try to get it from her.” Leia crossed the table, putting a hand softly on his shoulder. “You’re the only one I trust with this, Dameron.” 
“I’ll bring her back General,” Poe nodded, picking up his helmet and turning to leave. When he reached the door, he took a look back. 
Leia was looking at the image of her daughter, brows furrowed, and twisting the ring she wore. 
Strangely, getting to the Finalizer hadn’t been too difficult. Which made Poe worry about how difficult getting the- princess? General’s daughter?- How difficult getting you out would be. 
BB-8 had been especially excitable as he followed Poe back into his X-wing, but upon learning of their location, had begun whirring and beeping rapidly, as if appalled that Poe was willingly taking him into such danger. “You’ll be on the X-wing the whole time, buddy, you won’t actually be on the ship.” More beeps. “Well yeah, I have to go in alone, you’d stand out like a sore thumb.” An especially sass-filled whir as he rolled around in the cockpit. “Yes, I have a plan.” 
Poe did not really have a plan. But he had the time to think about it in the time in hyperspace on the way to the Finalizer. Resistance intel had the coordinates of the ship, and Leia had them plugged into his navcomp before he had even gotten to the hangar. 
So, the basic jist of the plan: The Finalizer was hovering over Morak, where the First Order had a small hub. What that hub was for? He didn’t know, but it was a good guess that whatever it was, it had something to do with why you were captured. He could land on the planet- he’d have to cloak his signal so they couldn’t see him coming or track him- and steal a TIE, fly to the Finalizer, find you...the escape plan was still in the works. 
“Yes, I need you to stay here,” Poe sighs, trying to handle BB-8′s newest list of grievances. “The cloaking mechanism’s still up, and I already told you there’s no way-” he runs a tired hand over his face as he’s cut off with even more beeping. “Well, no, because I’m not exactly that certain about what the escape plan is yet. You’ll be fine, no one’s gonna find you here-”
“You! What are you doing here?” 
Okay, so maybe someone would find them here. Turning around, he was met with a trooper, holding a blaster at him. 
“Just some light flying,” he lies through his teeth. “Hey, what’s that!” He points at something just behind the trooper, and somehow- somehow that plan works, because the guy actually fucking looks over his shoulder, giving Poe enough time to shoot him with his own blaster. “It must take a lot less to become a trooper than it used to, huh buddy?” he calls over to BB, who is rattling off a very long list of reasons why this is all a bad idea. “Well, at least now we have a way onto the Finalizer.” 
Aboard the Finalizer, you were not having a lot of fun. You were positively seething in rage, both at yourself and at the First Order, and at the rat-faced bastard who had sold you out. 
You had known it was a bad idea. Your gut had told you so, and you just didn’t listen to it and now here you were, stuck in a First Order cell. Good instincts ran in the family, you’d lost count on how many times your dad had a “bad feeling” about something and ended up being right, but acting on those instincts was apparently a skill that had been lost on you. 
“Hey!” You called to the guards, poking your face between the bars of your cell. “Are you just gonna keep me locked in here until Hux grows the balls to see me, because I’m getting kind of fucking bored!” 
You can hear one of them sigh, like actually sigh, and if you hadn’t been shot at, sold out, captured, and had your wrists stuffed into metal binders that were definitely too small for you, you might have sympathy for them. Though them being First Order would probably get rid of that sympathy pretty quickly. 
You groan, pacing towards the back of your cell and trying to fiddle with the binders. Under all that anger, you were pretty scared. This operation was supposed to be deep cover, so not too many people knew you were Morak, and if that distress signal you sent out with your comlink didn’t actually get through, then you were stuck here until someone got wise about you being missing. 
A little hope poked through though. You knew your mother. No matter how long it took, she would send someone for you. 
The sound of the doors hissing open makes you sigh in relief. Finally, you were going crazy. Must say a lot if you’d rather be questioned by a First Order leader instead of being stuck in this crummy cell. “Finally, Hux, I thought you had forgotten about-” All your bravado fails when you turn around, coming face to face with your captor, with that mask that’s haunted your nightmares since that night so many years ago. “Me.” 
Kylo Ren stares at you from behind the bars, hands clasped behind his back. “General Hux has turned you over to my custody, Captain Organa. He and the Supreme Leader have put me in charge of your questioning.” 
“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” You can feel your fists clench tight in the binders, nails digging into your palms. “Are you going to question me, Ben?” 
You know him too well. Ben, not Kylo, and you know that he’s just glaring at you under that ugly black mask, his jaw’s probably clenched so hard he’s going to bust a tooth in a few seconds. He lifts his hand towards the lock on your door and it swings open, shutting behind him as he takes two swift steps inside. “You should not hold such distaste for the First Order, sister,” he sighs, the familial phrase leaving his lips just a touch quieter than the rest of the sentence. As if he doesn’t want anyone to know how you’re related. “It might just be your ticket out of here alive.” 
“I’d rather die than accept any ticket you and your wanna-be Empire friends offer,” you snarl, taking a step closer until the two of you are face to face. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You want to be like dear old granddad? Though you’re not too far off, I guess. Sith, murderer-” 
The sudden loss of air in your lungs cuts your sentence off and your eyes widen, hands going up to clutch at your throat, but the binders restrict them still. Eyes dropping down, you see Kylo Ren’s hand shaking, curled as if around an invisible throat. Yours. 
It’s only when you crumple to the ground, tears poking at your eyes and bile building in the back of your throat that his grip releases. “You would be wise not to disrespect the Supreme Leader. However much you’d like to speak down on us, at the end of the day, it is the First Order that will triumph, and you and your rebel friends will be buried in the ashes.” He lowers himself down to your height, taking in the anger in your eyes. “You hate me. I can understand it. But I also need you to understand, sister, that combined, with our abilities, we could bring order to the galaxy. The two of us, together again, isn’t that what you want?” 
It was, Maker- it was. But not like this. 
“Hate me all you want, I implore you to give in to that hate, give in to that anger, because the next people that the Supreme Leader sends to deal with you might not be as willing to negotiate as I am.” 
You’re still gasping for breath when he leaves, the tears streaming down your cheeks now having nothing to do with the choke hold. Your breathing is staggered as you get your footing, a new determination settled on your features as you walked over to the door. 
Okay, there was a click when the door had opened, you had heard it, and that means a locking mechanism. With doors like this, that should mean magnets. And your binders were magnetically locked, so all you had to do was find a way to get the lock on your binders close enough to the lock on the door, and then hope that the magnets were opposite charges. It would undo your binders and open the door at the same time. 
Easy enough, right? But then there was the hard part, which was getting off this fucking ship. 
Poe doesn’t understand how stormtroopers handle being in these uniforms all day. They’re fucking uncomfortable, he’s had to stop walking three times to sort out the armor covering his thighs. He misses his flight suit, this shit feels like it weighs three tons. 
It was...really fucking easy getting onto the ship. Though it made him sound like such a cocky bastard, it really was just plain out honesty- and yeah, maybe a bit of him being a bastard- when he said he could fly anything. 
The slightly more complicated part would be finding you. Theoretically, you would be in the prison hold, the bad part was that he didn’t know where the prison hold was. So he kept his head low and tried not to get any attention as he got his bearings. God, he already missed BB-8. 
Finally, he passed a room labelled “control room.” That felt like a good start. He opened the door, coming face to face with another trooper. And although he himself was wearing a trooper uniform, he definitely felt his heart speed up a bit. “Hux wants you,” he gathered his breath and spoke, seeping annoyance. 
“Why me?” 
“Dude, do you think I know? All I know is that he looked pretty fucking mad, so you shouldn’t keep him waiting.” 
The trooper glanced between Poe and the computer in front of him, before grabbing his blaster and stumbling out of the room, breaking into a run. Really, they just had no security in this place- focus, Dameron. 
Sitting in the chair the trooper left empty, Poe glanced between all the screens in front of him. Air control, hangar doors, no- no- map. That sounded like what he needed. Pulling the map up, he found the prison hold and mapped out the way there in his head, dedicating it to memory. He had a pretty good memory. Maybe that’s why no one let him play cards anymore.
The longer he sat there, the more nervous he grew of someone walking in, but there was something else he had to do. Cameras, cameras, security cameras- bingo. He flicked through the different feeds, looking for the prison hold, and from there on out, it was just a matter of finding your cell. 
A few problems popped up when Poe found your cell. First, there were three guards outside of the door. Second off, fucking Hux was inside your cell.
“Ren might be more willing to negotiate with you, Organa, but you will find that I am not,” the ginger man sneered, earning a glare from you that Poe was certain could burn a hole through and through this ship. His voice came out crackly over the feed. “So for your benefit, I would recommend that you reveal whatever information you’re withholding, or our tactics of eliciting it from you shall become less favorable.” 
“Suck it,” you scoffed, and Poe had to hold back a snort. “Go get your fucking torture ball droid, but I’m not telling you anything.” 
Hux left your cell with a whirl and a slam of the door, and Poe stood up quickly, forming a plan as he made his way towards your cell. He could take the guards out, getting you out of those binders might be tricky, and for a prisoner that meant so much to Ren for some reason, he probably couldn’t just march you out. 
But hey, he’s always been one to wing it. 
His memory doesn’t fail him and he makes it down to the prison hold fairly easily- apart from one slightly harrowing encounter when he almost ended up in an elevator with Hux- and his hand stalls over the door when he hears the noises inside. Punches and grunts, blaster shots going off. Maker, what are they doing to you in there? 
Drawing his blaster, he barges in, the first thing that he sees being a trooper standing outside of your cell, a blaster of his own aimed, but Poe lands one in his chest before he can get a shot off. The sight when he gets to your cell is definitely...not what he was expecting. 
You’re not getting beaten up by stormtroopers. The guards outside your cell are now unconscious on the floor, and you’re standing over them, blaster in hand and binders discarded. Wow, he thinks. 
Then you see him, and he remembers he’s still in a trooper uniform and starts to take his helmet off. “Princess-” 
You shoot him. You fucking shoot him. Granted, it only grazes his shoulder, but you shoot him. His helmet clatters to the side and he can’t get another word out before you’re swinging your first at him. He catches it, but apparently that was the plan because you yank him forward, sweeping his legs out from underneath him and pointing your blaster back between his eyes. “Tell me why I shouldn’t-” Then the anger in your eyes fades to realization, your finger leaving the trigger. “I know you. Where do I know you from?” 
“If you’d let me speak without shooting me,” Poe groans, taking the hand you offer him to help him stand up. “I’m Poe. I was sent here to rescue you.” 
“Poe Dameron. My mother’s spoken about you, you’re the flyboy she likes so much.” 
“Flyboy- yeah, that’s me.” He’s positively flustered, and you have a lot to do with the reasons why. Not often he meets someone who can kick his ass that easily.
“Well, thanks for coming. Before we get out of here, just one tip: don’t call me Princess.” 
“What do I call you then?” 
“Surprise me!” You call over your shoulder, heading back into your cell and grabbing one of the guards. “Come on, help me get this guy’s uniform off.” 
“Why are these uniforms so fucking uncomfortable?” You grumble as Poe leads the way out of the prison hold, snorting at your words. “ you want to talk escape plan?” 
“We need to get off this ship.” 
“Yeah, I got that.” 
“I- nevermind. We need to get back down to Morak, I parked my X-wing there, the signal’s cloaked, they won’t be able to see us if we fly out on the far side of the planet.” 
“Huh, that’s actually kind of smart.” 
“What were you expecting?” 
“Well, the way my mother talks about you, you didn’t even seem like one for plans.” 
“Well- I’m not...usually. But this seemed too important to her, and I think she’d kill me if I didn’t have a plan.” Your heart squeezes at his words. You haven’t seen your mother in months. And ever since...since Ben turned and your father left, your relationship had been stunted, to say the least. “Come on, we need to get to the hanger, if we can make it back to a TIE fighter-” 
“WELL FIND HER THEN!” That familiar shrill voice grabs both of your attentions- you practically jump at the sudden loud noise- and you both whirl around to find Hux, face as red as his hair, just across the room shouting at two troopers, who immediately nod and run off.
“So someone’s figured out that you’re missing,” Poe chuckles nervously, turning you back around to keep walking. 
“Y-yup,” you swallow. 
“Hey,” he nudges your side gently, a movement so subtle that anyone around you wouldn’t see it unless they were paying attention to you. “It’s gonna be alright, honey, just keep walking.” 
He has a shit-eating grin on his face as he turns to you, shrugging. “You told me to surprise you.” 
You basically stagger out of the TIE fighter, ripping that trooper helmet off of your head and taking deep breaths. “Maker, fresh air,” you laugh, turning to Poe and smiling at him as you shake your head. “I think whatever air they filter onto that ship is like 50 fucking degrees colder than it should be.” 
He takes his helmet off, and you can see that your smile is matched on his face. Now that you actually have some time to look at him, you have to admit, he’s pretty- woah woah woah, stop it right there. 
“Come on,” he gestures over your shoulder into the woods. “My ship’s just a bit through there, I should have some extra clothes for you to wear.” You don’t get too far before you’re met with a round, white and orange droid that almost knocks Poe down when it rolls towards you at top speed, beeping excitedly. “I thought I told you to stay on the ship!” More beeps. “Well I appreciate your concern, but you could have been seen.” Beeps. “Yeah, I’ll introduce you. Uh- this is BB-8, he’s my droid-” The droid nudges his leg, and Poe turns red. “No, I’m not telling her that.” 
“Telling me what?” You laugh, smiling at the interaction between the two. 
Poe’s mouth opens and closes, but no noise comes out. “How about we get out of here alive and then I tell you?”
“Works for me.” It’s a somewhat tight fit on the X-wing, but you all make it in and Poe takes off after showing you where the extra clothes are. You manage to find a pair of pants that fit you and tuck a clean shirt into them. 
“Shit,” you hear Poe cuss and you join him in the cockpit, resting a hand on his shoulder as you peer out the glass, trying to see what’s got his attention. 
“What’s wrong- oh shit.” TIE fighters. A lot of them, you should have expected they’d be released after Hux found out about your escape. 
“We’re still cloaked, but we’re about to hit the atmosphere, and from there on, they’ll probably have visual.” 
“Well, you’re my mother’s favorite flyboy for a reason, right? Can’t you get us out of here?” 
Poe scoffs at the obvious appeal to his ego. “Alright, honey, have it your way. Sit tight, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” You take a seat in the chair that flanks his, but your hand still grips his shoulder lightly. “You know, we could possibly die, and you haven’t thanked-” The ship shakes as he jerks to the side to avoid the shots that a TIE fighter sends at you. “-Me. Well, they’ve seen us.” 
“How about this,” you shout over all the sudden noise as he ducks and rolls to evade all the fighters. “We get out of here alive and then I thank you?” 
He laughs, a loud snort as he shakes his head. “Deal!” 
More fighters come, but Poe and BB-8 make quick work of them, your understanding of why your mother commends him so much growing the further away you get from Morak. “Hold on tight, we’re gonna make the jump!” He shouts.
The voice is unheard by Poe, only audible in your mind, and you shiver, steeling your resolve against your brother- against Kylo Ren, and squeeze Poe’s shoulder. “Punch it.” 
You’d forgotten how quiet things can get in hyperspace. 
Your hand has long since left Poe’s shoulder, the two of you sitting and catching your breaths as he puts the X on autopilot. “So...” he starts, trying to find a way to start the conversation. “What led you to Morak?” 
“Years ago, the Empire used to have a refinery here,” you hum, wincing at the scratch on your face that you’re checking out in the small mirror Poe lends you. “Mining rhydonium. It got destroyed.” 
“New Republic?” 
“They assumed so, but the Republic has no records of it. Rhydonium’s volatile, it took years for the ground and the mines to even stabilize enough for them to clean up the wreckage. One of my contacts told me that the First Order was working on reopening that refinery, that they were back to mining.” 
“And were they?” Poe catches a glimpse of your actions over his shoulder and gets out of his seat, grabbing the small first aid kit he keeps and taking a seat across from you, angling your jaw so that your cheek is facing him. 
“Yeah. But the whole thing was a setup. My contact knew I’d want to be on the ground to get more intel, and sold me out. I didn’t get three steps into that refinery when they had me surrounded. Bet they got a very pretty payout for that.” 
“Why’d the First Order want you specifically? I heard Hux say Ren was negotiating?” Your eyes drop, and Poe shakes his head. “You don’t have to answer. I gotta say, this sounds like something that would happen to me.” 
“Really?” You wince lightly as he applies a bandage to the scratch. “Why’s that, flyboy?” 
“Because...your mother has noted that on more than one occasion I tend to think with...well, not with my head.” You snort. 
“Yeah, I get it,” you nod, and the two of you just sit there, looking at each other. “I never wanted to be the person calling the shots from base, I always wanted to actually be- like, doing something, you know?” 
“Yeah,” Poe laughs, his voice coming out somewhat breathless. “Yeah honey, I get that.” 
Your eyes drop to your feet, but the sound of his laugh, a soft chuckle paired with an even softer shake of his head, draws your eyes back up to him. “What?” 
“Nothing, just- don’t you think it’s weird that we never met? I didn’t even know who you were until yesterday.” 
“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I guess we’re enough alike for it to happen, strangely enough.” You sigh as he raises an eyebrow, elaborating. “Too caught up in our jobs. I haven’t been back to base for months, and I bet you spend more time in your cockpit than anywhere else.” 
Poe snorts, giving a noncommital nod of agreement. “You’d make good money if you bet on that.”
Leia sighs in relief when she catches sight of Poe’s X-wing landing, her heartbeat finally relaxing when she catches sight of you, hopping out of the ship. “Captain,” she tries to keep her greeting professional as you approach, but the way her eyes shine with tears that won’t fall betray her. 
“General,” you greet, and your voice is less cool and collected as her own, but you still flash her a smile. 
Then all that bravado just gives out when she pulls you into a hug, and it takes you off guard for just a moment before you’re hugging her back, burying your face into the crook of her neck and just breathing. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispers, pulling back to cup your face and look at you. Then to Poe, “Thank you, Dameron, for bringing her back safe.” 
Poe scoffs, smiling widely at you. “She did most of the work herself, General, I was just the getaway driver.” 
“Yeah well, I think you’re the best damn getaway driver we’ve got,” you laugh, and you didn’t think his smile could get any brighter but it does. 
Leia’s eyes flit between the two of you, and too busy in just smiling at each other, you miss the realization that crosses her features. “I’ve got some important business to handle, I’ll leave you two to get resettled.” 
“So,” Poe coughs as the two of you are left alone. “Do I get a thank you now that we got out of there alive?” 
“Depends,” you nod, smiling teasingly. “Are you gonna tell me what BB-8 said?” 
He groans, as if he had wished that you had forgotten about that. “He said you were really pretty,” he mumbles, and though he tries to quiet his voice, you still understand it. 
Then, deciding to poke fun at him, you say, “so I take it you disagreed with him?” 
“What?” Poe’s eyes widen and he starts fumbling for something to say. “No! No, I didn’t-” He trails off as you break into laughter, shaking his head at you. “You’re a real piece of work, honey.” 
“Yeah, we have that in common.” 
“So do I get a thank you?” 
“Yeah,” you nod, and then standing on your tip-toes you press a kiss to his cheek, smiling when you feel how his face heats up under your lips. “Thank you, Dameron.” 
“Pleasure,” he smiles, then coughs. “So uh- you’re probably gonna go back to having those off-planet spy adventures, huh?”
“Yeah,” you nod, noticing how his face falls just momentarily. “But um- if someone was to give me a reason to stay back, I might not be away for so long.” 
“Well then,” Poe breaks out into a grin, offering you his hand. “Might the Resistance’s best getaway driver show you just what he- I mean, what our wonderful base here has to offer?” 
“Alright,” you take his hand, your breath stalling momentarily when he squeezes it, lacing your fingers through his. “You’ve got a shot. Amaze me, Dameron.” 
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pokedashwarrior55 · 6 months ago
The Truth about Misako
Now the majority of fans hate Misako. We all know the basics; she left her young son at a boarding school for creating bad boys and basically cheated on Garmadon every 5 seconds. But what if I told you she is more sinister than we all think?
What if Misako is actually an oni spy from long ago sent to keep tabs on the descendants of the FSM. Now this may sound insane now but let me bring up some evidence to prove once and for all that Misako is more than just a bad mother.
Now Misako, actually evil? Sounds crazy sure but it's not farfetched. Although non-canon she easily turned against the Ninja in Shadow of Ronin (due to some memory manipulation) and has been a detriment to us several times
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1. Misako is an adventuring archeologist who appeared right before a major war was about to break out and her arrival created distrust between the leaders of the elemental alliance. Sounds convenient for evil that the two brothers are at odds over this. If Misako didn't choose a spouse that anger could've boiled over and the brothers wouldn't have had the bond to defeat the time twins or even the serpentine. If Misako were an agent of Darkness this would be a simple mission. Create conflict and stay close to the FSM's children. Keep your enemies closer
2. Now after being betrothed to Garmadon (the more oni and darker of brothers mind you) she gives birth to a child of light. A child that she states:
"Long before Sensei Wu ever knew who would be the Green Ninja, I knew it would be you".
Isn't it strange that of all the schools she picks to house the destined chosen one she chooses the one meant for nurturing the evil within them? It almost feels like sabotage.
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If this so-called child of Light never reaches his true potential he'll never defeat the Overlord and Destruction would rain supreme.
It’s also incredibly convenient that she just “knows” that her son is a prophesied hero. It’s almost like oni have the ability to sense good/creation and she would sense that her son is the Green Ninja, destined to save the realm of Creation.
Now some may think her dialogue in "The Stone Army" contradicts the claim that she is working undercover in the shadows but I think there is a phrase "actions speak louder than words." One can always lie about their motivations but you can see the result of her betrayal loud and clear.
1. She uncovered the Stone Army and placed it in the middle of the most populated city in the Realm.
Misako spent years researching everything about the Overlord (or she already knew some of it and just needed an excuse to leave Lloyd?) and she knows about the stone warriors and she knows that the Overlord will return very shortly. So why then would someone who knows all this place a dangerous stone warrior in the center of the museum? Hmmmm? Sounds fishy.
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2. She preys on Wu to keep her status on the side of Light
What better way to stay on the good side than to persuade their leader? Affection always blinds people and it works wonders.
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*Real screenshot from "The Day Ninjago Stood Still"
3. She’s the only one willing to speak the name of the Overlord aloud.
Wu is afraid to even SAY the Overlord’s name aloud, and doesn’t in the episode where the Overlord is introduced to the Ninja. Misako doesn’t seem to have this problem, and tosses this Ultimate Evil’s name around very casually
4. It's difficult for her to use Spinjitzu
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Most of yah probably forgot this detail but in "The Day Ninjago Stood Still" Misako tries to use spinjitzu; the duration of her Tornado is very short and she never does it again. Many see this as retconning a stupid decision but I think it's because it's harder for those who are evil to use it. Spinjitzu is more than a fighting technique. It's a philosophy and a lifestyle. Whenever we see villainous characters with the power of Spinjitzu, they never use it very often. Doubloon couldn't use it too much and Aspherra could only use it when she saw herself on the side of justice. Even Garmadon -- a trained Master -- barely used it while he was corrupted by the Devourer venom. Misako knows what she is doing is wrong and likes the outcomes so it is harder for someone of a wicked heart to perform it.
5. ALL of "The Last hope"
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Now this is a big one. Here we see her worst side shine through. She easily and cheerfully seduces Garmadon into handing her the helmet, and once we have it in our grasp she doesn't tell us what it does. She knows it controls the army. She says 2 episodes later without any reminders that, " He who wears the helmet, controls the Army."... So why then does she not inform us of this important fact? We could've gotten rid of the Stone army. Sure the final battle would start but the Overlord wouldn't have reinforcements. The only real explanation (Because we all know Ninjago is 100% thought ahead and never ever retconned) is sabotage.
It's also interesting that Garmadon tells her, "Being evil these days is really unappreciated. But you...I always knew I could count on you." Now someone drawn to Darkness would be able to recognize others of Darkness right? Well the way this is phrased feels like Garmadon is saying he recognizes that she is evil and that the evil part of him can count on her. But of course she has appearances to keep up.
After all of this is done Lloyd asks what to do after failing to fight is father and she says to him in a bitter tone, "...the Final Battle could start at any moment. We must head back to the Bounty to get prepared, so that next time, you will not hesitate." What amazing emotional support she really cares about her son guys. Stupid child who is the mental age of 12 or something please mercilessly murder your father. ...This doesn't have anything to do with her imposter nature; this is just signs of being a jerk.
OTHER VITAL INFORMATION (Theory continues under the cut)
She likes Wu but is physically attracted to Garmadon
Now I can assume that she may have actual affection for Wu. Her manipulation may not be the entire part of the puzzle but I find it odd how she so clearly likes Wu mentally but is always beside Garmadon. Now who wouldn't be attracted to Garmadon? Well that is certainly a good argument but let's look at this a bit closer. If she was of oni blood wouldn't she be more drawn to that of oni descent? Isn't it odd she is always holding him or clinging to him but likes Wu more? Maybe her connection to the darkness won't allow her to be affectionate with someone more dragon.
She found Wu and an Oni Mask
She was the one successful in locating Wu. If we assume she has some oni blood or has been around the oni a lot plus her wicked adventuring knowledge she could easily sense and track him down. Now once she has the mask and the baby what does she do? Gets easily captured and the mask and the child are handed straight to the hands of the SOG. Good job Misako.
Who is the first canon Oni that we meet? Mistake. Mis-take. Mis-ako. Both take the form of “wise” older women, and Mistake  has been referred to by a few people as “the better Misako”.
True Oni have Ms in their name
Misako, Mistake, Lloyd MontgoMery, GarMadon, the OMega, the fsM???
The only oni without and M is Wu, but what if we turned that W around... *GASP* Mu was the original spelling in the olden language. It was obviously just a translation error from old symbols of Aspherra's time and the modern ninjagen alphabet. Or the Fsm didn't want his child of Creation to be associated with oni. It's hard to say but this is very compelling evidence.
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She isn't really around anymore
Now that the oni have failed she has nothing left to do but stay close to the protectors of light. She may actually love Wu, still has that archeology passion/job, and she doesn't have a mission anymore so she's just chilling in the monastery being useless. Now is this the writers knowing that this is a badly written character that they don't have any plans for so they shove her to the side... maybe. But she could also be biding her time until the next opportunity to spread her Darkness. We haven't been in Ninjago in a while after all.
She wanted to prevent the final battle.
Now I never said she was an Agent of the Overlord. No No No. She needed the overlord out of the way because she's awaiting something else. The arrival of the Oni. She may have knocked around a few oni to save an injured friend but does she ever actively help? No. She stays in the monastery. She also knows spinjitzu and doesn't even have an inclination to pitch into the tornado of creation. Non elements of creation and the element of destruction pitched in but she didn't? Seems odd.
Motherly toward Lloyd.
She is? From what I've seen most of her actions have made him unstable. In season 2 she put heavy pressure on his destiny and that caused him to become a bit of a jerk, trying to prove he is a tough leader and THE green ninja. She reinforces his destiny over and over and she gives up on him easily in possession. Sure she is motherly in SOG but that is about ensuring lloyd can defeat Garmadon. Who is keeping the oni from coming to this land? Garmadon. So if Lloyd is emotionally ready and wins against his father then her old masters can come back.
Lloyd is only part oni
Well yes, but you don't need to be all oni to side with them. The first battle went on for thousands of years. We as viewers don't know for sure if people lived during the overlord period, but we can assume they did since the pirates were right after the Stone warrior age. I think she may be a descendant of an oni/human relationship. Her family could've been tasked with spying on the FSM. And it is far more believable that Lloyd was able to survive the Darkness with more like half or a third Oni blood instead of just a quarter.
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So Misako is evil. Her true self shined through in Shadow of Ronin and we've been duped for 10 years now. She emotionally hurt Lloyd, divided the FSM's sons during a war, toys with the two sons during important battles, made the final battle more difficult, and has generally been a detriment to this team.
These are all facts and this is not at ALL a conspiracy. This is no theory. This is real.
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xxsmokeyy · a year ago
Levi x Drug Dealer! Reader (F) The Lunatic And Her Dog
genre: smut, canonverse — Levi’s early recruitment
summary: being a former thug, the new soldier is given a task to ingratiate himself, finding an old associate from his past along the way.
tw: vices (drugs, cigarettes), rough sex
wc: 12,039 holy fuck (smut is only latter half)
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“Coderoin. A strong, sweet, and highly addictive drug that’s been circulating in Stohess District for about four years or so,” the Commander says, voice gruff as he explains the content of the unwrapped paper filled with azure tablets.
Coderoin. Levi thinks he’s heard of that thing not long before. He just can’t quite put his finger on it.
“The Military Police Brigade failed to capture the primary smuggler of this substance multiple times, and it’s only recently come to their notice that it’s gotten reformulated to a liquid solution,” he continues, pinching one of them in his fingers, rolling it back and forth to study its appearance.
Levi can only stand back in ennui, the lack of interest reverberating from his aura. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?
Erwin places the tablet back to the paper, propping his palms on the tabletop, and stares deep into Levi’s unamused eyes.
“You’ll have to hunt this drug dealer down.” The curt order comes. Levi cocks a brow in confusion, wondering why the blond would make him do such thing.
“That’s the MP’s job. I thought I joined here to kill those filthy titans, what are you going on about?” he quizzes in confusion.
Erwin sighs, lids shutting close before he massages his temples. “The higher-ups are still not exactly in favor of your recruitment in the army, and as much as you hate buttering people up, you’ll have to deal with this case to secure your postion,” he makes intelligible, getting into the details so to clarify things out.
The raven haired man before him listens intently with a permanent scowl on his face, arms crossed over each other. He’s most definitely not liking the idea of seeking those damn swines’ goodwill. Just when he decided to trust the guy.
“You’ll earn Darius Zackly’s approval once you catch the little felon,” Erwin speaks truthfully. Of course, the Supreme Commander who so hates him, of all people. “It’s just this once. Trust me, you’ll have no more problems with your stay if you solve this case,” he even adds to convince the man. Not that there’s any way around this matter. Levi has to do this to prevent further threats in his position and to clear his reputation as well, by hook or by crook.
“You basically want me to suck up their asses,” he concludes, not a question, more of a full decisive statement. The Commander grunts his affirmative response, still getting used of his soldier’s sharp tongue.
“Tch. To hell with that.”
The afternoon later, he’s walking on the stony pavements of Stohess District, left with no choice but to follow the Commander’s orders.
Ever since the death of his last friends, Farlan and Isabel, just a few weeks back, things have gotten ridiculously out of hand regarding his enlistment. It almost arrived to a point where he’s wanted in court for seniors to debate whether he can stay up top or should be sent back to the Underground, considering his heavy crimes.
Holding a poster in hand, he studies the illustration keenly. It says the words WANTED: Notorious Drug Lord in big, thick, and bold letters. In the sketched picture is a person wearing a hood. From what he’s told, the wanted criminal has been in the hide for years now, but never once left the district.
“That man never shows himself. That portrait is from a witness in a pub near a shanty town. Some say he often appears wearing a cloak.” That’s what a Military Police officer said to him when he asked for the dealer’s whereabouts.
A man? He squints a little to see the image better.
It’s a bit difficult to determine since it’s only a roughly sketched side profile with a hood worn, blocking the hair, but he’s sure as hell those are certainly not eyes of a man, looking ultimately feminine and provocative. He doesn’t know, but those eyes are somewhat achingly familiar. And those plump lips that held a suggestive smile? He’s fully convinced that it’s a woman.
“A woman? That’s in no way a fair lady. Women here in Stohess stay at home and polish their husbands’ boots.” That’s what the Military Police officer said as well when he told it’s a woman.
Fucking sexists. Not that he cares, though.
Levi stops by the said pub, pushing on the saloon doors before walking to a table of three men, boisterously laughing like crazy. It’s dark and warm inside, the trademark ambience of local bars eating up the whole place. “Any of you seen this guy?” he lazily asks, showing the piece of paper to their faces.
Their eyes dart on the illustration before all of them fall silent, throwing looks at each other, and Levi can swear he could hear the rusty gears in their pea sized brain turn.
When they keep quiet, he almost surmises they turned mute upon seeing him and is about to leave them alone, finding them completely useless. He just wants to finish this task, and quick.
“Heard ya were a nasty criminal in the Underground,” the guy on his left comments and drinks the beer at hand, briefly pausing, “ya can’t seriously be turnin’ y’er back on that kinda past,” he smugly continues.
Levi’s brows twitch in irritation. How is that relevant to what he asked?
“Just answer the damn question,” he orders assertively and slams the paper onto their tabletop. The guys exchange gazes once again like it’s some sort of stupid inside code.
“What makes ya think ya can fool us? We know you’ll arrest us off the bat if we answer, young’un,” the man continues, his company still speechless. What, is he the leader of their pack or something?
The way they stare him down with the most condescending eyes is ticking him off to ridiculous measures, he could’ve knocked them out cold one by one already if not for the fact that they obviously know something, and nobody else is in the pub other than them and the staff.
“I don’t give two shits about your work. I’m not asking for you, I’m looking for this guy right here,” he jabs a finger into the poster, causing every one of them to look at it once more.
“I ain’t convinced—”
Levi has had enough of their refusal and decides to pull out his knife, kick the very chair the garrulous man is sitting on to drop him on the ground, beer spilling everywhere, before using the dirty sole of his boot to shove the man’s cheeks against the wooden floor.
He kneels down on his right knee, his other foot still stepping on the man’s face, and points the tip of his freshly sharpened knife just a few centimeters from his eyeball, which earns him a whimper of surprise.
“Gonna stop yakking any minute now?” Levi asks. It’s a bit surprising to him that the bartender of the pub didn’t meddle the whole time for pressing on his customers, oddly similar to the lukewarm nature of his hometown.
The two men freeze in fear, afraid that if they do anything to counter the soldier’s menace, their good friend might suffer and go blind. How worthless.
After a couple more seconds, the old geezer eventually gives in and speaks. “That’s our dealer,” he admits, voice weak and shaky. Levi cocks a brow and listens, finally getting the information he‘s aiming for.
“Guy’s been selling drugs that originated from the Underground,” he adds.
“Yeah. He never shows up to us buyers, only sends brokers to deliver.”
“That’s not a man,” Levi corrects again, slowly getting convinced it’s someone he knows from way back. The descriptions about the wanted dealer and the way she arranges things precisely match, not to mention the poster looking exactly like her.
“I told you I won’t end up in brothels, Levi. I created something, and it’s doing great,” she says with a proud smile painted on her colored lips.
“What is it?”
But the soldier only sounds out of his tree in the listeners’ ears, and they immediately speak to nullify his scarcely credible conspiracy theory. “There’s no way. Women here in Stohess—”
Yeah, he gets it. If they don’t believe it then let it be. See, this is why they haven’t caught the culprit for the past years, because they’re looking for a damn male.
“Where was she last seen?” Levi asks, completely dismissing their words, but the guy tries to oppose the small detail once again. “That’s a man—“
“Where was she last seen?” he repeats, cutting off his hostage’s words while he flattens with his boot the man’s cheeks in such a way as to crush his skull, emphasizing what really is important here and what he’s actually asking for. Levi ignores how the poor guy yelps in pain, waiting for intel he can benefit from.
“I don’t know!” he truthfully says, face already deforming from the forceful contact, having difficulty breathing.
“She lives at the skid row,” the bartender chimes in as he wipes on a glass, turning Levi’s head his way. Someone who knows her real identity, huh?
“How do you know?” he keeps his foot down and quizzes, looking for the authenticity in his words. The runt might be fooling him for all he knows, a trap to lure him in.
“I live there,” he simply says. “I don’t have business with her so it won’t be bad if I rat out on her,” he shrugs and turns his back to return to working. The guys listen, puzzled about what they’re talking about.
The ravenhead thinks for a moment, then rising to this heels, kicking away the head he was previously pulverizing before heading out the bar to make off.
In the end, none of them was substantial but the barkeep. And in Levi’s humblest opinion, the guy whom he mostly talked to should drop his so-called friends who didn’t even have the guts to drag their pal out of his plight, being one who gets rid of ineffective people himself.
He looks up at the gloomy afternoon skies once he exits, the clouds moving as he thinks about a variety of stuffs from his past. Envisioning and etching into his brain the familiar silky locks, rose red lips, and a pair of sultry eyes, he then starts walking.
Now, to find you.
With the help of the villagers’ directions, he’s arrived at the said skid row by foot. It surprises Levi a lot, having not expected to see a number of resemblances between the Underground and the surface. The visible corruption is no different from down there, with certain rundown areas openly exposed, just a couple blocks away from extravagant neighborhoods. That just goes to show that people’s amoral natures don’t change wherever they go.
He scans his eyes around, studying the dark and uninviting alleyways, the narrow paths, and the compressed townhouses. It’s almost as if the sun refuses to shine here.
This place isn’t any less than a junkyard, he thinks, coming from someone who has just escaped from one.
He takes a step forward to head to the flat where you apparently reside, only to get stopped by a bunch of gangsters, another guy putting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. An animal touching him with filthy fingers, something he hates the most.
“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” the insect says as he looks down on the soldier’s short stature, showing not a droplet of respect. “What’s a scout soldier doing here? There ain’t no titans here, boy!” There’s nothing they love to ridicule more than suicidal people under the disguise of a uniform.
He immediately uses his clean hands that would unfortunately be dirtied as he removes the assaulter’s arm away from him, squeezing it with great force before twisting the whole limb around with full intentions to dislocate it.
The man screeching in pain, Levi gives him a good kick in the face, causing him to fall to the ground, unconscious. Of course, there’s three more left standing. Even if they’re rendered speechless and horrified, he still can’t let bothersome runts on the loose.
One of the delinquents attempts to swing a fist at him, a sorry excuse for a punch by the way, only to get hit right in the guts, disgusting spit flying everywhere. The other tries to slash a knife, which he only snatches away with nimble fingers before hitting a nerve on the neck to knock the guy out cold.
The last one, hairline already receding and looking grey, tries to hit him with a bat. It’s a pitiful sight to look at, really, how they all think they could give him a good beating when they approached him. He crouches down to dodge the weapon, dragging his dominant leg on the floor to kick sweep the old fart off of his toes, head falling against the solid concrete.
Dusting his hands to rid himself of the muck he gained from fighting them, Levi stands upright in vexation and observes as they either squirm or doze off on their own. A flock of vagrants that has got to learn how to keep their hands to themselves.
The thing is, he has had enough of drunkards trying to get on his way. He just wants to get his job done, bring you to those impotent MP’s and get this reputation Erwin kept saying to secure his position for a lifetime.
When finally sets foot on your alleged doorstep, he tries for three knocks, waiting for a response. As much as he wants to finish this task, he doesn’t want to barge in your suite, if possible, because he’d also hate it if it’s done to him. He tries again, focusing to catch with his ears any faint sound.
Minutes pass by and he turns the knob open to find out it’s unlocked the whole time, all his deliberations of keeping still and going down the drain.
It’s quiet and empty.
Levi freely enters, keeping an eye out for attackers, if there are. It’s small, but enough for one person.
He goes with the assumption that you live alone, and maybe don’t have any flings. He still remembers how you latch onto different guys back in the day to have them arrange deals for you. Yeah, you had a way with your words, especially towards men. The epitome of a social butterfly.
But maybe it’s not like that anymore, now that you’re in a city like this with rich people out and about.
How did you wind up here in the first place?
He keenly observes as he goes further in. To your credit, the place is relatively clean. No scattered trash, no messy clothing, and the furniture are well organized. Well, that’d be essential to make an innocent front and hide your junk evidence. But still, impressive.
Nothing really seems malicious at first glance. So far, no one’s coming out, and there are no drugs to be found.
He stumbles upon two more closed doors. He finds that one of them is a bathroom, and the other your bedroom. Aside from those, there’s nowhere else to go. He enters your personal space, looking for something peculiar.
Your bed is fixed, sheets folded nicely. You had a study desk, and a bookshelf. Based from the covers’ titles, they’re all about science. Tch. It’s a dead giveaway. No matter how much you tried to make an oh-so normal living space, those books would be a suspicious lead.
Now what? You’re nowhere to be seen.
Is she home?
He looks around the room looking for an ashtray or even a fire because somehow, it reeks of burning cigarettes, like it’s being consumed at the moment.
Something finally clicks inside of him. Of course, you’re a damn drug lord. An infamous one, at that. You’ll need someplace to hide once all hell breaks loose, and someplace to hide your stuff.
Levi uses his boot to lift the carpet he’s currently stepping on, and finds, just what he expects, a trapdoor. Clever, but not too much.
He then vigorously kicks the door open, which nearly bursts it off of its hinges, if not already. It swings down loosely, losing its assistive joints. He ignores the wooden ladder provided and instead jumps down, dropping on his knees.
“Now you gotta fix that,” says a soft and seductive voice that is definitely no stranger the young man.
Levi raises his gaze and finally finds you, sitting on a chair in the opposite end of a long presidential table, smoking a mint cigarette, and the stench reaches his nostrils. That’s where the ashy pong was coming from.
The secret chambers appear almost pit black from the lack of natural light if not for the candle sconces built on the walls all around, and the lone lantern situated on the table.
He scrutinizes you for a moment, meeting your luscious, glowing eyes. Your hair is styled just the way he remembers, luxuriant, untied, and flowing in sync with your movements. Your plump lips shaded red, fierce like how you want it. Your figure voluptuous by your feminine puff sleeved dress, black front laced corset over top hugging at your curves. For a dress so dainty, you ultimately still looked provocative.
Actually, he kind of understands how it’s unbelievable for such a lady to be a criminal of ill repute. Although nothing much has changed with you external-wise, your youthful attributes have only matured beautifully, and you’ve indeed grown up to be an enchanting woman.
“It’s me. You’ve found me,” you claim, feeling his strong stare burning into your skin. What, does he not recognize you now?
It’s totally the other way round. Every single one of your physical features under the warm candlelight’s reflection keeps rekindling memories inside his head, some just flat out inappropriate.
“So you are the goddamn drug dealer,” he states, not any less than a confirmation.
“Drug dealer is a bit brusque, don’t you think?” you comment with a smile. Anything but to be called a drug dealer. How cheap.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I prefer to go with narco hustler, rolls off the tongue just right,” you suggest. It sounds plain dumb to Levi’s ears, you had zero taste. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t,” you take back upon seeing his seriously bored expression. He has always been one so hard to read, but now he just looks evidently repulsed.
Levi stays standing across of you, resting his arm on top of the other, and leans back against the ladder. Maintaining respective distance, he decides to linger for a bit, intrigued by what stories you must got.
“Rumor has it you’re one of them now. Guess it’s true,” you posite as you observe his physique, wearing a uniform jacket with the wings of “freedom”. Couldn’t he have joined the MP’s out of the three? Lame.
The young man watches back as you lift your wrist up and bring the stick to your delicate lips, inhaling a lungful before blowing the smoke upwards, and he could easily feel how you held yourself up with superiority. Nothing new with the headstrong woman that you are.
“What the fuck are you doing up here?” he inquires right away, genuinely curious of your sudden disappearance years ago. He knew full well you weren’t dead, but he never got his hands on news about you.
“Huh? What the fuck are you doing up here, too? You surely downgraded from being a crime boss to a pongo’s dog. Seriously?” you retort cheekily. Last time you checked, he was doing well with his gang, couldn’t he have stayed that way?
He massages the temples of his forehead with closed eyes. Your words are making him think back to his decisions, but not too deeply. He reluctantly contemplates if it’s alright telling you things, but chooses to do so. You had a spot in his life, too, no matter how small. And he’s going to arrest you anyway.
“Lot of complications. It was all supposed to be a job to kill the Section Commander then we’d get granted citizenship…” he trails off, unsure of whether to go on or stop there, “but things took a turn.”
“Hmm?” you hum, waiting for his continuation.
He stays silent and refuses to say a word.
“Alright then. Well what about… who was it? Farlan and Isabel?” you ask cluelessly, thinking if you got their names right.
He sighs. It was exactly what he was trying to avoid. “They’re in the Survey Corps now as well?” you quiz, partially interested. You already know the answer. Who would leave their beloved boss? You just know for sure it won’t be them.
“They’re gone,” he averts his gaze, expertly hiding his emotions away with thick pride.
Your eyes largen a little in realization. “Oh. Sorry.” He catches you put out your cigarette by prodding its cherry into the glass ashtray. There’s still about half left but you paid no extra mind, and it says a lot about your well heeled state.
Enough about him. “What exactly happened to you?” Levi questions, and you prop your elbows on the tabletop, interlacing your fingers together before resting your chin on them.
“Bought citizenship,” you start off, never taking your glance off him. He‘s hot all right, still a sight for sore eyes. Heavily improved, even. It has been five years, after all. You admit, he aged like the finest wine there is.
“A pain in the pockets, yes. But worth it.” You pucker your lips and furrow your brows together upon remembering your old situations.
“Underground folks were becoming cheapskates day by day! Can you believe it? They’re trying to buy two-fifty for, what, five bronze coins? My stuff are as expensive as your maneuvering gear, you know!” you complain, memories of being wrongly paid years ago flashing through your brain.
That’s life. At least you’re well off now. That’s what’s important.
He rakes his eyes around the room and finds stacks and stacks of packaged tablets, same ones as those Erwin showed him.
“Coderoin, huh?” he comments, testing the word on his tongue. Nothing special with the name, probably came from the scientific components. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass.
The warm temperature from the window restricted room urges him to remove his jacket, and so he eventually does. You try not to raise both your eyebrows in captivation as you see the outlines of his muscular torso tracing through his clothes, his veiny forearms exposed by his cuffed shirt.
“I haven’t released it yet, but I just finished formulating a liquified version to easily shoot it up the veins for a more elongated and ecstatic experience,” you proudly brag to divert your attention as well, and Levi cocks a brow in confusion. Haven’t released it yet?
“The MP’s already know there’s a new formula,” he informs, recalling what the Commander said when he was educating him about it earlier.
“What? Already?” you ask, gasping in surprise. It’s a given that word spreads around here fast, but you’re doing your best to work in confidentiality. Some big-mouthed brokers of yours must be babbling.
“See how famous I am?” You giggle, letting the issue slide.
“Everyone thinks you’re a man.”
“What?” you ask again, completely scandalized, eyes widening in repulsion. They cannot be serious. You never knew that! Not even your associates told you!
It’s a bit amusing to him how that almost looks like it matters to you the most. Do you even know why he’s here? You don’t seem to be questioning his out of nowhere presence.
“You’re a drug abuser. It’s natural for people to think that way,” he says, eyeing your reactions.
“That’s mean! I’m not an addict. In fact, I don’t even do those often,” you oppose a matter-of-factly. It’s not half a lie, you probably had one the past week, but aside from that, you never took it recently. This stuff is for the customers to abuse. You don’t really have an avid addiction to it.
Honestly speaking, being one for dirty felonies ending just a couple months back, he couldn’t care less what kind of profession you had, as long as people find their own way to live, he’d immediately—but only mentally—give kudos to them. It’s hard enough trying to survive in a corrupt system.
You lived all by yourself back then. You were a tough and independent one, he’d give you that. You helped him with particular deals. Important ones.
In actuality, it’s solely because of you that he got his hands on certain armaments like the ODMG. It was hard to obtain those, seeing as it’s a highly illegal trade and costs an arm and a leg. Though on the plus side, it made his stealings more convenient and less a pain in the ass.
But he wouldn’t say you’re good friends, nor are you on the same gang. Associates, he would say. At times, something even more than associates. Oh, it’s not anything close to romantic. Just something beneficial on both sides.
“I mean at least I’m not a squaddie now, playing soldier like you,” you add, playfully mocking him. Levi throws you a glare of the same energy. It’s not like he wanted this. He’s got no choice, it’s better than going back to that sunken town, alone at that matter.
“You don’t show up to people here,” he surmises from what he learned. As you rise to your feet and walk to the piles of boxes, you fail to notice how he gives your form a runover, from head to toe, his eyes involuntarily staying on some shapely areas.
“This is where I bring my brokers. I’m not going face-to-face with my dear buyers now. What if they sell out on me? Can’t trust people nowadays.” It’s true, because back there, everyone was a criminal in their own ways. You grab a small bag of the tablets and turn around to show him, dangling it mid-air.
“But I’m telling you, people here are as generous as lords. It’s basically easy money everyday,” you say and throw him the drawstring bag, which he catches with one hand in maximum proficiency, the action causing his arms to flex a little. Oh, those muscles. Suave.
“You’re living in a dumpster.”
“It’s called a sentimental value,” you dismiss.
Levi pours some out and takes a moment to observe the packed drugs on his palm, the blue color even and smooth. He’s never found himself drawn to this kind of thing, but he understands the usage. Something to escape from reality for a short period of time.
“I never expected you to turn on your past, of all people,” you mindlessly comment, causing him to look at you with furrowed brows. Though you never meant that the bad way and just wanted to speak your mind, your choice of words still strike a nerve from within him.
Why the fuck are people on the surface keep acting like angels as if they’re any better? At this point, he’d prefer his hometown people over some half assed drug addicts.
This should be enough for today. He carelessly chitchatted for long, almost forgetting his true purpose of being here. It’s too bad he has to ruin your oh-so perfect life. Well, there’s not much he can do about that as it’s how the cookie crumbles. Dragging people down to rise up the ranks is part of the norm in this wretched society, it’s just unfortunate he has to do it to you.
“Say, what if you join me? Leave the Corps and let’s team up. You can run the errands, and I stay here to formulate,” you continue to propose, fully unaware that you ticked him off just a second ago, bringing him back to earth.
“I can’t. Apparently, I’m a soldier now,” he straight up rejects and starts to walk up to you, handcuffs ready by his belt.
Taken aback by his deadpan refusal, you tilt your head in an attempt to understand. “Well then, if that’s what you want.”
“What I want is for you to come with me,” the soldier finally admits, showing the restraining shackles he has at hand.
Realization dawns upon you, and you feel a bit dense. Oh, right. He did welcome himself into your home, completely unannounced.
A dry and bitter chuckle leaves your throat continuously, dissolving into a long thread of laughter that echoes around the spacious room, resembling those of a mentally deranged woman. Levi’s forehead knots in a mix of puzzlement and irritation as he waits for you to calm down.
Your fit of entertainment starts to boil down, tears of satiric bliss filling your ducts. You wipe them off timidly, building up the manner of being a prim and proper lady. “Sorry… that was funnier than I expected,” you apologize, and he couldn’t quite understand what you want to come across with. He waits for your explanation.
“Buzz off, will you?” you ask of him once you finish composing yourself.
“What?” the man quizzes.
Your face turns dead serious as you fish a tiny pouch from your dress’ pockets, throwing it lazily to the table, contents spilling mid air due to the loosened tie. An abundance of golden coins shower all over the place and fall suspendedly to the ground.
“I’m telling you to fuck off. Now,” you don’t flash him even the smallest of smiles as you curtly give him the order.
You’re bribing him.
And fuck, did you drive him round the twist, he has never felt so insulted his whole life.
Is it because you’re doing well than him now despite the honorability of occupation? Is it because it’s coming from someone he knows from the past? Is it because of your tone so ludicrously condescending it’s making every single drop of blood in his body boil?
“Need more? Why don’t we negotiate upstairs with the amount that will send you away?” you carry on with casting aspersions on him.
What a jackass. After all you’ve done for him? There’s nothing you hate more than shameless traitors, and this guy in front of you doesn’t bat an eye about being one.
Meanwhile, you were rubbing to his face the looming difference between his stability and yours. And of course, it doesn’t matter whose reputation is better, because both of you were miscreants at one point in life. The only distinction is: you gladly kept on with that line of work, and he was forced with his.
Levi takes big strides to reach your form, dropping both the jacket and the drugs he was holding. He’s furious, but he refuses to show. All he wants now is for you to shut your filthy mouth.
He lunges at you and slams you against the wall, wrapping his fingers around your neck. An involuntary whimper slips past your lips, and it certainly feeds his ego to see you so helpless. “Shut your damn mouth,” he bellows, tone imposing the dangers you could get from rubbing him up the wrong way.
You’re not about to give him what he wants. He’s barking up the wrong tree here, treating you so indiferrently for what? For letting him in and being hospitable? For offering him a generous partnership? Can you believe this guy? He’d throw your acquaintance off the window for his own sake. Selfish crab.
“Hate to see your ally so successful?” you attempt to breathe out, one hand trying to unclasp his fingers, one hand aiming to claw your nails at his face. He slaps it away before you can make contact and increases pressure.
Your eyes well up from the suffocating pain as he robs you of air supply, choking you tightly and pressing roughly. Crap!
“That’s—all you got?” you struggle to challenge him, same time trying to pull the slightest amount of oxygen into your lungs you can catch on.
Your dare does absolutely nothing but piss him off. Wow, you’re a bitch to try and control. Levi has the means to tighten his grip. It doesn’t even matter to the MP’s if he brings you dead as long as he can hand over the evidence. But he won’t go that far, because that far would be killing you off.
Staying that way for a moment longer, he examines your facial expression, still brave and never surrendering. He then lets go of you, but only by throwing you to the hard ground. Your back hits the flooring and you squint your eyes in sharp ache, all the while desperately breathing for any available air.
“Rot in hell,” you curse at him in great detestation. Lying back, you gently caress your neck as if to heal the reddened skin from the harsh force he applied.
Levi sighs, collecting himself, and kneels down in level with your weakened body. Maybe he went too hard on you. He has got to keep his temper at bay.
“Sorry,” he genuinely says. It’s not everyday he says that word, but when he does, he accepts that he’s mistaken. A bit surprised, you peer at him with a bleary vision, finding a scowl on his face as he admits his wrongdoing.
You swear you were ready to laugh it all out and forgive him, if not for the fact that he’s currently grabbing the handcuffs, still determined to arrest you. How sincere of him. What exactly was he apologizing for again?
You wait for him to scoot over, discreetly regaining steady breath as you stay laying down. You’re not the best at countering someone combat wise, but growing up a female in the Underground has taught you a couple moves enough to stall you some time to escape.
As he finally crouches beside you, you jolt up to sit and sling two of your arms around his nape and under his armpit, pulling him towards you before throwing him beside with the strength you can manage to utilize.
When did you learn that move? It baffles Levi a little, but he won’t let you have your way. His weight isn’t something you could overlook, that you’re dragged along with and on top of him. The moment you try to quickly prop yourself up and make a run, he grabs your waist and rolls over to bring you back down, straddling on top of you.
“I’ll kill you!” you spit to his face, once again feeling betrayed. You never once thought he’d drive you into a corner do this to you.
“That’s cute of you,” he says in graceful sarcasm. You fight him back with a piercing glare, but he only looks back at you with those apathetic, steel grey eyes. Nothing has changed within them, they’re still cold and indecipherable. It matches his personality well.
Apathetic? He can’t be all that bad, he’s just human. He has needs, one way or another.
You stick a hand out to pull his dark locks, and for once, you actually succeed. He hisses in irritation. He should have expected you’d put up a fight, but he doesn’t get why he’s just straight up pissed. Talk about annoying.
He doesn’t expect it when you forcefully yank him in for a deep kiss, the sudden motion causing your lips to crash together, freezing him in place. It’s all just to take him by surprise and then you’d gab the chance to run away in haste. Cheap trick, but worth a shot. If this will work, that is.
Earlier than he can try to push you away, you kick your knee into his abdomen and hurl him aside with all your might, doing your best to head to the ladder leading up to the trapdoor. But Levi is quick on his feet and kicks your leg to make you lose balance. Tripping over yourself, you fall toward the table, your stomach plowing into its side frames. He will never let you escape.
You inwardly curse him for being such a headache. Before you know it, your left arm is rashly held behind your back and you shriek in pain, your cheek shoved down onto the tabletop. Shit. He got you there.
“Can’t you be any gentler?” you ask, voice soft and of forged innocence, which is patently just an attempt to con him. He ignores you and instead starts wearing one part of the handcuffs around your wrist from behind. You think of anything to get yourself out of this. Chuckling dryly, “Hey… I told you already. Let’s talk things out,” you woo, but to no avail. Levi twists your arm a bit, not too much, but enough to shut you up. He sure is enraged.
A lock clicks from one of the shackles and you feel the cold steel wrap your frail wrist. It’s happening, the most humiliating moment for a criminal. You’re all tapped out of ideas—
with your limited field of vision, you scan your eyes around what you can see, finding a trail of drugs scattered on the ground. It must be from when he launched at you and tried to strangle you to death. Although you still don’t know why he did that, you bury the thought to the back of your head to come up with a plan.
—except one.
A smile creeps up your lips, one that appears when you just figured out something clever. Alright, then. Let’s see what else is enraged.
Not giving him the chance to lock both your hands together, from your held up position, you perk your bum up a little to make a feel for his crotch. Your thick cheeks hit something poking and you giggle in festivity. It so turns out your hunch is right, his bulge is, indeed, straining from inside his pants.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he stops dead in his tracks and questions, more like an order for a valid answer.
With your bended over form being perfectly convenient, you wiggle your ass and stick it up against his obviously aching groin, teasing it even more. It’s a shame you’re both wearing clothes, your titillating movements ending up just mere friction.
“My, my. How long has it been like that?” you jest, voice about half an octave high and femininely suggestive. His brows knit in pique and flips you over to make you face him and to put a halt to your indecent measures. You click your tongue in mock, elbow propped against the table to look up at him.
“What a naughty soldier,” you whisper with a satisfied smirk, and reach a hand out to pull his cravat, yanking him down and in for another kiss. This time, it’s you who won’t let him escape, with nothing else but a nice trick for women to prevail over men.
It makes his hackles raise how you try to enter his mouth with your probing tongue like you’re the one in foremost control. As if he’ll let that happen.
He pushes your tongue back and bites your lower lip, earning him entrance along with a quiet mewl. He then travels your wet cavern with his own, forcefully exploring every inch to show you who’s in charge, like always. There and then, he instantly distinguishes the mint flavored nicotine evenly mixed in with your sweet saliva. It interests him how five years have already passed, and yet you consistently taste the same. Up until here, you never dropped the habit of smoking.
You try to fight back and earn your place, hooking both your heels into his hips to draw him closer. Even if it’s utterly inappropriate and misplaced, you quickly feel your pussy drip with excitement. Everything feels so nostalgic.
Amidst the kiss, his palm begins to roam around your body, from your neck to your chest. Levi finds the corset a hindrance, and he takes note to go back to it later, maybe rip it apart as well.
He resumes exploring your body, from your tummy, to your clothed womanhood. It starts to rile you up and turn you on as he slips his hand under your dress, not bothering to lift it up, just blindly cupping for your sex. When he finally feels your panties, you know for certain he smirked.
“You’re not so frigid yourself,” he comments upon the discovery that your growing wetness is soaking the fabric. He slides one finger against your slit, your undergarment still in between. He gently rubs on it as he sucks on your soft lips, earning him quiet moans in return. What a nasty tease.
When you both pull away for air, you open your eyes to look daringly straight into his grey ones, and while you exchange stares, you also let go of his cravat and grab his hand as if to guide them deeper and further in. He finds that you’re more than just eager when you put his hand inside, now in touch with your intimate skin. He gladly takes your offer and tears your panties away, his vigor making you laugh breathily.
Levi plunges two fingers in without delay, and you yield in defeat, letting him do as he likes. He has no intentions of lurking around the corner. You let your head hang back as he does you with his slick fingers, moaning to your will when he hits your good spots.
He lets his unreasonable hate and anger dissipate into nothingness, allowing himself to be indulgent in giving you pleasure. It’s been so long that this almost serves as your reunion. He doesn’t mind that. Just as long as he keeps in mind his sole purpose of breaking in to take him with you.
The ravenhead watches you spread your legs wider, visibly aching for more as you surrender to him and give him full control over your body. He moves his dexterous fingers in and out, the rhythm exquisite like how you prefer it. It’s like he still memorized you the same. Your responsive hums are tempting and fervid, your bodily movements a subtle indication of a longing. He increases his speed, looking for an angle to rub you up good, and he knows he hit it right when you shudder a little, back falling to the table and grip losing.
He lets on with working his hand, your juices coating his fingertips as he jabs them in deep repeatedly. It’s a flattering sight to see you so lost and vulnerable singlehandedly by his mere touch, and he would be lying if he says it doesn’t turn him on.
Your sweet, melodious moans resonate inside the whole of the chambers, music to Levi’s ears. Your mouth partly hanging open, eyes in but a permanent daze as you struggle to crack them open. The way he has you going crazy is beautiful. You’re beautiful. Not half-bad-looking for a woman about to approach her thirties.
Out of nowhere, a mood ruining thought crosses his mind. He recalls you saying this place is where you bring your brokers. And since your neighbors haven’t found out your true identity and racket yet, having a clump of men visit your apartment could entirely be misleading.
It’s only natural that they think you’re some kind of courtesan selling your body. Knowing you, you don’t give a flying fuck if people think that, but with him, it doesn’t sit right. Who knows? Maybe you actually humor the same men every once in a while. Just look at what you’re doing now.
A grim expression materializes on his face. No, he’s not jealous. But in all honesty, he wants what’s his to stay his.
You couldn’t think of anything as he harshly thrusts his fingers into you, your body’s consciousness focusing only on the uprising pleasure, but when you’re this close to coming, all of a sudden, he pulls them out at once, grabs your hands and finally locks both your wrists together with the handcuffs before pinning them on top of your head.
Cruelly left hanging, a wave of disappointment rushes over your veins. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” you whine, genuinely annoyed as you’re already fully installed and waiting for your explosion. Did he do that on purpose? Yes. But to your surprise, he doesn’t do anything to lift you up or bring you with him to jail.
Brows furrowed and eyes dark, Levi unties your corset’s lacing in a rapaciously eager manner, harshly pulling down the garter of your neckline to let your boobs bounce free. Your eyes widen a little when he pulls your skirt up to gain thorough access of your fruity folds. You didn’t expect him to continue on, with you restrained, even.
“Just like the good old days, huh?” you tease, voice awash with prurience. Although this reminds you of those days, this is surely going to be a new experience. While handcuffed? You love it, and just thinking about him pounding you out as you’re unable to lay your hands on him makes your neck hairs straighten in great arousal. You’re totally into this!
He’s suddenly reminded of years ago when you’d come over to catch up with the latest trades, or simply just bring with you your babbling of the day. Oftentimes, the visit ends up in the bedroom, the couch, the kitchen.
You were both young, both helping fill each other’s primitive needs and desires, not the thinnest string left attached. You handled the whole thing casually, the whole thing being just lustful sex every once in a while. Fuck buddies. That’s what they call it.
Memories of your heated body rubbing up against his, lips messy on one another’s skin, hands everywhere, nude and naked—sometimes still completely clothed, fucking you against the wall, fucking you on the counter, and finally, you kneeling on the floor as you eat him up hungrily. All of those, just five years ago.
He’s only proven you haven’t changed despite the time difference when you kick your kitten heels away like you disregard its price, stretch your right leg out to reach his crotch, your foot making a feel for his huge bulge.
He looks down to his pants, your toes stroking his covered length invitingly as if to provoke it. “You’re one fucking dirty bitch,” he points out upon your indecorous actions, meeting your catlike eyes illuminating nothing but indiscriminate salacity.
“We’re not all that different, see?” you tell, never tearing your gaze off him as you continue moving your foot up and down. He’s straining so bad, almost making you giggle. Come on, Levi. You’re just as aching as me. We could use a quickie.
He sternly grabs your ankle to stop your lewd ways and keeps quiet until you speak. Does he really think he can stop you from acting so dirty? You then bring your chained wrists to your chest, gently massaging your exposed breasts with what space you can manage, giving him a little show you know he can’t resist.
“I mean, just look at you, wearing a cheesy cravat like it’s gonna make you look dignified,” you poke fun at him and laugh, flashing him a grin before seductively licking your lips. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, but is still unable to take his eyes off of your body as you continue to play with your very own mounds.
“Shut up,” he orders, stripping the authority in his tone. Oh… you know him perfectly well. It’ll only take one last trigger for him to fire away and spring into action.
“You shut up and just fuck me,” you demand candidly, the smile in your face disappearing in the blink of an eye.
You like to think he’s one hell of a dog as he listens to your whim, undoes his trousers, only dropping them so far because of his difficult, complicated, and inhibiting harnesses. What a costume. He glares at you when you raise a sly brow at him, cocky expression conveying the words: still wanna be a soldier?
Levi just wants you to shut up for real, and he victoriously does that by pulling your body closer to the end of the table, then practically ramming his huge dick inside you, his massiveness able to cover your whole depth when he mercilessly buries it in. A long and sonorous moan leaves your throat in the utmost pleasure. Shit, he’s so big! Your tight walls are forced to adjust, desperately stretching to adapt to his size.
“Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, throwing your head back to release your emotions, eyes clenching shut in nauseating pain. Overwhelming! Can a man in his age still grow? You didn’t expect this in any way. It sure hurts like a bitch, but that’s just one of the reasons why you love it.
The cadet starts moving in a pace that tells you he won’t be beating around the bush, quick and rough. The only thing you’re worrying about is the soreness that you’ll get once this is finished, because right now—you’ve said it two times—you love it.
His anger seeping as he forces his dick in and out of your fuckhole, Levi finds it an entertaining cabaret as he watches you, your makeshift play consisting of you opening your mouth wide to moan in fervor, whipping your head side to side, eyelids falling while he quickly drives you to the brink of insanity. One bewitching whore, he thinks.
He bucks his hips even faster and spreads your legs wider apart to let you have what you want, violent and aggressive. Like an obedient lady’s man, Levi spoils your carnality by licking his middle and forefinger to rub your engorged clit, his spit helping him circle the most sensitive spot in ease.
You arch your back up in surprise, your nerves receptive in alerting you of the littlest motions. He’s so good. So good that your brain is going blank, unknowing of what to do. When you squirm under him, try to shoot up and search something to hold on for dear life, only to fall back against the table, your manacled hands suddenly add up to the gratifying thrill stirred with powerlessness. It makes Levi smirk for a fleeting second.
Not so free now, are you?
Simultaneously, Levi deepens his thrusts and starts to rubbing your clit directly to intensify the sensation, back and forth, up and down. With fervent eyes, he feasts on your body as it loses control, tits bouncing from his relentless humps, pussy unendingly leaking. Out of reflex, you try to wriggle away, but to no avail. You’re losing your mind by his marvelous stimulation, and you remember just how he feels like before.
The humidity is starting to take over your bodies, and you both feel hotter. The dark room, the rattling of the lantern on the table, sweat beginning to break through your skins, his stifled grunts, your loud wails, both your heads full of lustful desire. Who knew an apprehension would end up like this? Purely lewd. Seems normal to you, though.
The telltale signs of your upcoming orgasm appear. Your walls envelop around him tightly, your moans longer and hitching, your breaths shaky as you catch it and whatnot. The immense pleasure that keeps gradually stacking up inside your veins finally snaps free, and you come with unruly convulsions. Eyeballs rolling to the back of your skull, your cunt contracting around him, he doesn’t stop, and fuck is it overbearing.
His dick reaching the end of you, his merciless thrusts unwavering when you’re obviously trembling uncontrollably, he’s a damn ruthless lad. The amount of spasms you receive is livid, you so wanted to applaud yourself for choosing the perfect guy. Exceptional taste.
Your high eventually tones down and you’re back to awareness. The demon stops moving soon as well, deciding maybe you’ve had enough.
You gasp for breath after losing your grip from the mind boggling experience. It’s been so long since you’ve had amazing sex, and when you say so long, you mean excruciatingly long years. You study him as he looks back at you. Still so dominant, isn’t he? Refusing to get off the same time you do.
Alright. You’ve had enough mindless nooky. Now it’s time to break free from his clutches. From your lied down position, you then proceed to distract him with some ramblings.
“You better not be fucking your comrades like this,” you quip, collecting yourself.
“I’m not like you,” Levi answers and pulls out, thinking about how much men you’ve entertained your whole life. You cock a brow upon hearing his smart assed reply and mock him again, a giggle escaping your mouth, “Gonna keep acting so clean?” He should know not to continue wanting to look like a saint. He’s not any different than you, for shit’s sake.
“You have a screwed up background, Levi. You can’t seriously be thinking your superiors will be in favor of you just because you lick their boots,” you honestly advise. Disgusting. One moment he’s leading his people, then being ordered around the next.
It’s this again. You shamming like you’re so immaculate. He’d prefer it if you get off your high horse.
“I’m giving you a chance, just quit and—“
“If you keep running your damn mouth, I’m going to make use of it,” he cuts you off before you can continue offering him a deal. It’s not that you genuinely believe he’ll go with it, you just want to stall him because you’re only playing by ear. One wrong move and he’ll stop you dead in your tracks.
His words pique your interest. Does he mean that in the sense that you think it is? “Oh yeah? And how?” you push his buttons to give it a shot.
Levi shows you what he means through grabbing you by the nape to yank you up, then dropping you to the floor, pretty face nearly shoved to the concrete. It hurts a tad, your knees hitting the ground roughly, but your eyes almost immediately dart on the bunch of azure tablets scattered everywhere, three of them within your reach. Perfect!
Quickly, you snatch them with both your hands in one fell swoop, and Levi miraculously misses out on your sneaky motions. You hiss a little in pain and close your palms together tightly when he pulls a fistful of your hair to hoist your head up. Forced to make eye contact with him from below, you momentarily meet his gaze brimming of disrespect before he dicks your mouth down with his length.
He pushes your head to his groin and pounds, so deep and so rash that you literally feel him hit the back of your throat. Tears pool from your ducts as you’re forced to take him inside your mouth. But he doesn’t get it wrong, because he knows you like it, of course.
With full intentions to reach his own end and cum on your pretty tongue, he shoves his erection into your warm cavern and tightens his hold on your now messy locks. He eyes you with resounding authority as you’re down on your knees with fettered hands on your lap, dress still on but tits bare and pouching outward from your neckline, looking up at him with glistening eyes like a good, well-behaved girl. It madly turns him on seeing you like that, what a view.
His fierce stale eyes prod you to bravely blink the tears away and independently move to your own will, proceeding to suck him with stupendous obedience. Fine then, you’ll go along with him. Nothing wrong about taking your time.
Levi throws his head back a little from your sudden motion, bobbing your head back and forth in harmony with his pumps, but quickly returns his gaze to you. You gladly eat his whole size without hesitation and keep your body still, nipples fully peaked in eagerness.
You’re always so damn good, just as he remembers. Never going without a challenge, the same lecherous emotions brewing within your orbs, listening to what you’re told. His grunts start to become audible.
“Look at you, sucking like a little slut,” he groans, slowly becoming unable to process things by your turn on serving him gratification. You give him a hum in response, the muffled sound creating a vibration as you continually hollow your mouth wide open against his thickness, sending chills up and down his spine. He inwardly curses, fuck.
Levi untangles his fingers from your strands, rests them on top of your head instead, and stops giving guidance, allowing you to perform well. You know just what to do and how to please him anyway.
You pull away, a loud and satisfying pop ringing inside the enclosed space upon losing connection. Panting, you inhale the air you could to prep yourself, temperate breath ghosting over his dampened skin. Time to take matter into your own devices. You glimpse at your interlaced fingers, clinking of metals reaching your ears. You can work this without using your hands. Let’s give him a show.
Pausing, you adore his intimidating thickness, the glowing pearls of precum impressively still there on its tip. You playfully swathe it with the edge of your tongue and look straight at him with a childlike gaze, the salty taste staining your buds. The sensitive area causes him shudder and shut his eyes closed inadvertently. And it’s rewarding to see him so affected, because this play is more about you controlling his pleasure, less about him being invulnerable. You feel your pussy trickle with desire.
Without any beating around the bush, you angle your neck a little to the right before gingerly taking him inside your mouth once again, closing in inch by inch. When you dauntlessly push forward until you’re on the verge of gagging, his size filled your throat the way you like it. Then, you go back to pumping in and out in a regular pace, sucking the tip harshly every once in a while.
Levi could feel himself approaching, his guttural groans set free and detectable. Fuck, you wanted to stroke him with your hands to add up to his growing euphoria, but you can’t.
This time round Levi is only able to peer at you from his drooping lids, following your every movements, and he finds winsome the way your cheeks lose its original shape due to his cock being inside, your lips lush and full around his shaft, tongue dancing in a way that mirrors the lantern’s fire. Moving in a very devious pace, you run a lick on the underside of his hot, veiny penis, lapping him up like a thirsty bitch. God, you are coy, and it’s taking him every last ounce of his resolve for his body not to react something close to pitiful submission.
It takes him one last blow for him to finally explode, a powerful rush spreading all throughout the ends of his limbs, his balls clenching as he shoots his cum deep inside your chops, to which you willingly gulp down, a satisfied ahh leaving your lungs like your quench for his seed has been solved.
The soldier mindlessly pats your head, and you give him a quiet purr before rising to your feet. We’re not finished yet.
As if your lips are magnetized into his own, you lean in and let them crash together. He answers back just the same, indicating he’s still up for some more. But you shouldn’t put your guard down, you might not know it if he knocks you out all of a sudden.
“You’re still the same nasty whore I know,” he vehemently growls in between the lip locking, intense flame starting to devour his system. “Shut up,” you talkback. You ache to touch him but these irksome shackles are on the way. You choose not to mind it anymore since it’s only a matter of minutes before you leave.
You push him back down to the chair and he sits down in force. “Pull my skirt up,” you order on a whim, and he does as he’s told, holding your skirt for you. You help yourself into the same chair and truss your knees beside his thighs, settling for a convenient position until you’re straddling his front, wrists on the chest’s top rail, then sitting on his fully stiff and awaiting cock. As you spread your laps apart to aim and sink down, you swear you almost went insane.
A lengthy, strenuous hum slips out your lips upon letting your tight cunt engulf his big dick. “Fuck,” you mutter, whipping your head back in zeal. You should try not to lose your mind or else.
Your stretched out neck grants him the opportunity to nibble at the delicate skin, sucking intensely to create a mark of ownership, the tangy flavor due to the thin film of sweat covering your skin. It stings a little when he nips, but almost tickling at the same time. You mewl and let Levi finish his job and lower your forehead to meet his glance.
It doesn’t take you long before returning to crashing into him, his distinct taste amusingly addictive to you. The kisses sloppy and unorganized, you begin to roll your hips up and down, and he thrusts upward to meet you like an animal in heat. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he breathes out low.
You pull away to gasp for wind, chest stuttering and ragged from your unfaltering humps. “I know,” you brag and pause. The near to none distance between you two allows you to study his facial features and point out what changed by the years.
Hmm, not a lot really. He still looks twenty-four with his superbly chiseled jaw, slightly parted inviting lips, narrow nose, and the slim lining of his brows. Flawless and without fault, except for the darkening bags under his silver pools, which you dig by the way. He is, in fact, the godly embodiment of sexy, you bet women in his rank swoon for him only to be pushed aside. Lucky of you, you have a one of a kind charisma that drags this real life devil to his feet.
You look into each other’s face for a couple briefing moments, both of you discovering similar pairs of fiery eyes filled with lust in an overflowing amount. Meanwhile, his gaze dawdles on your red lips, color smudged by his doing, and he likes it. The longer he stares up at you, the more he’s convinced you’re nothing but a licentious woman hiding under your little renaissance dresses. Just thinking about it makes him want to fuck you so bad.
Levi refuses to stay still and dives into your breasts, causing your back to arch, unexpectedly hitting the perfect spot. He isn’t content and squeezes your butt, then letting his hands sit just at the top of your ass’ globes. “Levi—ah!” Shit! You desperately hold back your uprising orgasm. You have to stay in tact.
With that in mind and while he suckles on your twin mounds, you grab the chance to wring your clasped hands to your mouth, letting three of your dear coderoin melt and simmer under your tongue. This will have to do.
It’s thrilling, you’re about to drug a person who’s currently eating your boobs out hungrily in an alternating manner. What an odd situation. You wish you could continue fucking, but let’s not forget that Levi is very objective, and he’ll still eventually do his task no matter how much fun you spent with him. Before he can do that, you’ll just beat him to it.
You wait for the sweet, pungent tang to unravel, and when he lifts his chin to kiss you, the drugs are already diluted by your spittle. You skillfully transfer it into his mouth in a sparse method so he won’t notice right away.
Completely unaware, Levi gets to sparring with your tongue in a battle of ascendancy, his hands groping everywhere, and you don’t stop riding him gracefully like you didn’t do anything malicious at all.
With every grind being slick, an endless seduction, you continue enjoying yourself for the last lingering junctures. The constant sheathing into your impossibly close-fitting fuckhole extracts husky groans from his throat, ending up subdued against your mouth. He bites on your lower lip, earning himself a delightful whimper.
Two minutes pass by, something snaps, the brisk effectiveness all thanks to you. He doesn’t know why kissing you feels so dizzying, and… intoxicating. He slowly stops moving his lips and pulls away, cracking both his eyes open, only to be greeted by a cunning look. Then and there, overwhelming peak hits him like a freight train.
He feels less aware, a heavy weight being pressed against his body, colors around him becoming vibrant and he bets his whole life he could feel his own blood stream moving from inside his veins, synchronized with his heartbeats. His peripheral vision seems artificially sluggish yet accelerating.
Your lips quirk upward, discovering the befuddled expression plastered on his handsome face. You notice how his muscles strain in distress, but he can’t move even a single inch, indicating your success.
Levi’s brows furrow in cluelessness, eyes later widening upon realizing what kind of dirty stunt you pulled on him from up your sleeve.
You fix your posture upright before removing your body from his, heaving out a sigh of relief. Standing up, you look at him. Frozen and unable to do a single thing to restrain you. Down and obedient like a mere, small pet. At long last! He’s out of your hair.
“You’re too high to walk straight right now, aren’t you?” you jest, voice laced with the most graceful condescension. Of course, you know perfectly well first times can be extremely stupefying, especially with the dosage you just used for a rookie like him. Instead of it being euphoric, it’s entirely going to be the opposite. Nothing close to good.
“What the fuck did you just do?” poor Levi seethes in anger, but even his tone sounds tenfold more groggy compared to when he first arrived.
“Gave you a heavenly experience?” you giggle and repeatedly pull your wrists away from each other in an effortless attempt to break them apart, the hindrance of a shackle limiting your movements. Bothersome.
What part of weariness and intense jet lag is the heavenly experience? In a trice, Levi blames himself for being careless and taking you for granted. He should’ve done better than forget you’re from the same garbage dump he’s from. You’re one fucking crazy bitch.
Helpless, he watches you walk to the part of the table where you left the cigarette pack, shaking it all out just to get one and clip it between your lips. Some roll off to the ground, but you pay it no heed. His blood is boiling hard and tries to stand. You let him squirm around, confident that he can’t do anything, and struggle on your own to fish your lighter from your dress’ pockets.
You take your precious time lighting your stick, butane triggering the fresh burn of tobacco. You don’t mind that you look ridiculous with both hands on your face, or that your hair is a mess, or that your breasts are popped out. As you suck for smoke and briefly fill your lungs to then blow it upwards, you think, it’s just you and a spiked guy in here anyway.
Letting the nicotine rush take over your senses, you sit on the edge of the table and examine the dark haired soldier. What gives, he’s more impotent than you now. It’s ever so rare to see Levi so open to attack. “Mint goes well with coderoin, you know?” you inform just to piss him off.
“I’ll fucking kill you.” Though you can hear his fury, the threat only sounds so void, the usual venom lacking from his pitch.
He sits back as you pull in smoke into your chest, exhale it out, menthol aroma reaching his nose. You chuckle heartily that among every tip and corner of his body feels like burning from rage.
Time is ticking and slipping away from Levi’s grasp. He stays silent, the pounding of his heart loud enough to ring in his ears. He can’t accept he got deceived. Did you plan this from the very start? When? The moment he told you his intentions? The second he asked about your life here? Or maybe when he kicked the trapdoor open? That can’t be. Five years, and you’re quicker on your feet than you once were.
“That’s cute of you,” you copy what he said when you barked the same phrase. You admit, earlier was a close call, but thanks to your sharp mind and the past you shared, you won him over. Barely.
As always, men are most vulnerable when driven by libido. What fools.
With one last hit of the cigarette, achieving the lightheaded state you’re aiming for, you drop it to the floor, not bothering to extinguish it. Burn this house down, for all you care. You’ll have to move places from now, knowing he might start tailing behind you for vengeance.
Now, you can’t stay longer. The drugs won’t last on him from such a method. It’s not the right way to take it—through kissing.
It was a good time, but unfortunately, you have to part ways with him. The guy wants to arrest you, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You’d rather settle in and have five kids with an old geezer than spend the rest of your life in a prison. You’re not dense, you know how heavy your crimes are, having circulated in both the Underground and the surface for plenty years. Impressive of you, right? Makes it all the more fun to carry on.
That’s why they should just dream of catching you, because you’ll never let that happen.
You walk toward his immobilized body, movements slinky as you bend over to reach his face and deliciously run your tongue over his lips, tasting the seemingly nectar. As much as he wants to just grab you by the hair and kick your annoying face, he’s only able to lift his arms up a few inches before falling back down again.
It doesn’t escape your field of vision, reminding you to leave immediately. “Sweet, isn’t it?” you ask once you pull away, a sly smile on your lips.
“Why don’t we call it a truce, shall we?” you lastly negotiate. His lips are firmly pressed into a thin line and refuses to say anything. Steel grey eyes look back at you in annoyance. You tilt your head in curiosity. You know he has a lot going in his brain. This might be the last time you see each other, will he choose to keep those in?
Well, he does want you out of his sight right now before he regains his strength and kill you on the spot. He clicks his tongue in impatience.
“Just fucking leave, you lunatic,” he spits. You sure will.
“Gladly. Until next time, Levi,” you drawl and blow him a kiss goodbye, then strutting away in triumph, smile never leaving your face even if you’ve fully turned your back on him.
When you finally disappear, he lets out an exasperated sigh, contemplating his defeat. Nape resting on the chair’s rail, he looks up to the dark ceiling. A droplet of sweat slides from his forehead, which he manages to wipe away in no time, resilience overcoming the delirium.
Actually pondering about it, you’re a real witty one. Of course he was still going to take you with him eventually, he just hasn’t planned it ahead. Seriously though, a sneaky tactic. He massages his nose bridge, shaking his head.
What a crazy brat.
In the end, he decides to just pass on the work to Erwin about getting on the good side of the monarch and politicians, knowing full well he was in for some major explaining—maybe leave out the obscene details.
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nerdyqueerandjewish · 18 days ago
I follow historian Heather Cox Richardson on facebook and every day she does a write up about political history - I found yesterday’s on abortion and the anti-abortion movement really interesting
September 2, 2021 (Thursday)
In the light of day today, the political fallout from Texas’s anti-abortion S.B. 8 law and the Supreme Court’s acceptance of that law continues to become clear.
By 1:00 this afternoon, the Fox News Channel had mentioned the decision only in a 20-second news brief in the 5 am hour. In political terms, it seems the dog has caught the car.
As I’ve said repeatedly, most Americans agree on most issues, even the hot button ones like abortion. A Gallup poll from June examining the issue of abortion concluded that only 32% of Americans wanted the U.S. Supreme Court's 1973 Roe v. Wade decision overturned, while 58% of Americans opposed overturning it.
"’Overturning Roe v. Wade,’" Lydia Saad of Gallup wrote, “is a shorthand way of saying the Supreme Court could decide abortion is not a constitutional right after all, thus giving control of abortion laws back to the states. This does not sit well with a majority of Americans or even a large subset of Republicans. Not only do Americans oppose overturning Roe in principle, but they oppose laws limiting abortion in early stages of pregnancy that would have the same practical effect.”
While it is hard to remember today, the modern-day opposition to abortion had its roots not in a moral defense of life but rather in the need for President Richard Nixon to win votes before the 1972 election. Pushing the idea that abortion was a central issue of American life was about rejecting the equal protection of the laws embraced by the Democrats far more than it was ever about using the government to protect fetuses.
Abortion had been a part of American life since its inception, but states began to criminalize abortion in the 1870s. By 1960, an observer estimated that there were between 200,000 and 1.2 million illegal U.S. abortions a year, endangering women, primarily poor ones who could not afford a workaround.
To stem this public health crisis, doctors wanted to decriminalize abortion and keep it between a woman and her doctor. In the 1960s, states began to decriminalize abortion on this medical model, and support for abortion rights grew.
The rising women's movement wanted women to have control over their lives. Its leaders were latecomers to the reproductive rights movement, but they came to see reproductive rights as key to self-determination. In 1969, activist Betty Friedan told a medical abortion meeting: “[M]y only claim to be here, is our belated recognition, if you will, that there is no freedom, no equality, no full human dignity and personhood possible for women until we assert and demand the control over our own bodies, over our own reproductive process….”
In 1971, even the evangelical Southern Baptist Convention agreed that abortion should be legal in some cases, and vowed to work for modernization. Their convention that year reiterated its “belief that society has a responsibility to affirm through the laws of the state a high view of the sanctity of human life, including fetal life, in order to protect those who cannot protect themselves” but also called on “Southern Baptists to work for legislation that will allow the possibility of abortion under such conditions as rape, incest, clear evidence of severe fetal deformity, and carefully ascertained evidence of the likelihood of damage to the emotional, mental, and physical health of the mother.”
By 1972, Gallup pollsters reported that 64% of Americans agreed that abortion was between a woman and her doctor. Sixty-eight percent of Republicans, who had always liked family planning, agreed, as did 59% of Democrats.
In keeping with that sentiment, in 1973, the Supreme Court, under Republican Chief Justice Warren Burger, in a decision written by Republican Harry Blackmun, decided Roe v. Wade, legalizing first-trimester abortion.
The common story is that Roe sparked a backlash. But legal scholars Linda Greenhouse and Reva Siegel found something interesting. In a 2011 article in the Yale Law Journal, they showed that opposition to the eventual Roe v. Wade decision began in 1972—the year before the decision—and that it was a deliberate attempt to polarize American politics.
In 1972, Nixon was up for reelection, and he and his people were paranoid that he would lose. His adviser Pat Buchanan was a Goldwater man who wanted to destroy the popular New Deal state that regulated the economy and protected social welfare and civil rights. To that end, he believed Democrats and traditional Republicans must be kept from power and Nixon must win reelection.
Catholics, who opposed abortion and believed that "the right of innocent human beings to life is sacred," tended to vote for Democratic candidates. Buchanan, who was a Catholic himself, urged Nixon to woo Catholic Democrats before the 1972 election over the issue of abortion. In 1970, Nixon had directed U.S. military hospitals to perform abortions regardless of state law; in 1971, using Catholic language, he reversed course to split the Democrats, citing his personal belief "in the sanctity of human life—including the life of the yet unborn.”
Although Nixon and Democratic nominee George McGovern had similar stances on abortion, Nixon and Buchanan defined McGovern as the candidate of "Acid, Amnesty, and Abortion," a radical framing designed to alienate traditionalists.
As Nixon split the U.S. in two to rally voters, his supporters used abortion to stand in for women's rights in general. Railing against the Equal Rights Amendment, in her first statement on abortion in 1972, activist Phyllis Schlafly did not talk about fetuses; she said: “Women’s lib is a total assault on the role of the American woman as wife and mother and on the family as the basic unit of society. Women’s libbers are trying to make wives and mothers unhappy with their career, make them feel that they are ‘second-class citizens’ and ‘abject slaves.’ Women’s libbers are promoting free sex instead of the ‘slavery’ of marriage. They are promoting Federal ‘day-care centers’ for babies instead of homes. They are promoting abortions instead of families.”
Traditional Republicans supported an activist government that regulated business and promoted social welfare, but radical right Movement Conservatives wanted to kill the active government. They attacked anyone who supported such a government as immoral. Abortion turned women's rights into murder.
Movement Conservatives preached traditional roles, and in 1974, the TV show Little House on the Prairie started its 9-year run, contributing, as historian Peggy O’Donnell has explored, to the image of white women as wives and mothers in the West protected by their menfolk. So-called prairie dresses became the rage in the 1970s.
This image was the female side of the cowboy individualism personified by Ronald Reagan. A man should control his own destiny and take care of his family unencumbered by government. Women should be wives and mothers in a nuclear family. In 1984, sociologist Kristin Luker discovered that "pro-life" activists believed that selfish "pro-choice" women were denigrating the roles of wife and mother. They wanted an active government to give them rights they didn't need or deserve.
By 1988, Rush Limbaugh, the voice of Movement Conservatism, who was virulently opposed to taxation and active government, demonized women's rights advocates as "Femi-nazis" for whom "the most important thing in life is ensuring that as many abortions as possible occur." The complicated issue of abortion had become a proxy for a way to denigrate the political opponents of the radicalizing Republican Party.
Such threats turned out Republican voters, especially the evangelical base. But support for safe and legal abortion has always been strong, as it remains today. Until yesterday, Republican politicians could pay lip service to opposing the Roe v. Wade decision to get anti-abortion voters to show up at the polls, without facing the political fallout of actually getting rid of the decision.
Now, though, Texas has effectively destroyed the right to legal abortion.
The fact that the Fox News Channel is not mentioning what should have been a landmark triumph of its viewers’ ideology suggests Republicans know that ending safe and legal abortion is deeply unpopular. Their base finally, after all these years, got what it wanted. But now the rest of the nation, which had been assured as recently as the confirmation hearings for Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh that Roe v. Wade was settled law that would not be overturned, gets a chance to weigh in.
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damn-stark · 7 months ago
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Chapter 1 of Unfrozen?
Summary: You once were a General and a Jedi Master fighting against separatists alongside the clones, the next darkness clouded over and life passed in a flash, and before you knew it you’re waking up with no memory running for your life.
A/N- I’ve had this idea in mind for some while and wanted to share it with all of you. You let me know if you want another part :) I’ll be willing to write more for this!
Pairing- Hmm well I’m stuck, either Poe, or Rey, or well the other mystery character that you’ll discover in this chapter. But if you want no love interest. I’m down for that, (let me know!)
Warning- mentions of violence, angst.
“Please, it's me, General Heart!” You exclaim hoarsely, looking wide eyed and terrified at the clones all with their blasters pointed at you. They seemed strange, their armor was missing their individual markings, you couldn’t recall what exactly they were, or their names, but you knew that they were missing something. They looked different.
“Stand down Jedi scum!”
You gasp and stare at them baffled. They keep coming towards you and that’s where something in you sparked, something telling you to run. So you did, you swiftly slipped past them and began to run for your life, feeling your heart in your throat, and your breathing heave, tears slipped past your eyes and mixed with the icy water already rolling down your face.
Everything told you not to stop, every muscle in your body told you to run, and a faint voice in your head told you the same. “General run and don’t look back! I have your back. Always...”, more tears stung your eyes and that voice lit your adrenaline, causing you to run faster. You slipped on the ice on the ground, but you picked yourself every time, you continued speeding from the echoing footsteps, gasping as you saw an incoming waterfall. You were already soaked and freezing, but there was no other choice, you ran past and felt the icy water crash over your entire body, making your stepping much clumsier.
But you couldn’t stop, you kept running.
Albeit, you made the mistake to look back, tripping over an ice chunk and suddenly bumping into something hard, but softer than ice. Nonetheless you finally got knocked off your feet and fell to the ground with a hard, painful thud. Your eyes fly to the face that belonged to the body you bumped into and more terror mixed in your expression; two other people came up behind him, all three however with weapons pointing at you. One though, one of them had a lightsaber in hand, a familiar lightsaber.
“Please!” You plead to the tan man with dark curly hair in front of the pair, “you’ve got to help me! clones, they turned against me, they’re trying to kill me!”
The tall dark skinned man with darker and curlier hair behind him tilts his head and his eyes look at you hard and confused, he looks to the man in front of the pair and whispers, “Clones?”
The girl with them, the one with the lightsaber walks past the pair and looks down at you with a perplexed expression. “She—”
Before she could finish what she was saying, she cuts herself off at the sound of the multiple loud incoming footsteps. You jump to your feet and slowly step back, finding your hand instinctively go to your side and reach for something cold and metal. Once the clones finally come to view and point their weapons at you and now those three behind you, you press a button that activates the hilt and shows a blue burning blade. You heard two gasps before one of them remarks on the amount of clones. “Damn, what did you do?”
You look at him over your shoulder and that’s where you spot another squadron of clones storming your way. Coming from every direction.
“You three rebel scum, give us the girl and we’ll let you live.”
The brunette with the lightsaber steps forward and pushes you behind her. “I don’t think we will.”
The same clone trooper with the gravelly voice that had spoken before speaks again. “I think she’ll want to come with us. We have someone she might be interested in. Her beloved Commander Snow that we got out alongside with her.”
The name rings a bell, but you can’t seem to really figure out who it was. You wanted to picture a face, but your mind came out blank; “I don’t know who you’re talking about. What’s your name, clone?”
“Clone?” The same trooper spits, “you might be more lost than the Supreme leader imagined.”
“Could she be the thing, the key, General Organa told us about?” A deep voice asks behind you in a whisper.
“It’s her.” Another voice behind you answers.
“Give her to us, now, we won’t ask again.”
The same tan man steps in front of you and remarks to the comment. “Don’t worry about it, you won’t have to.”
The remark makes you snort and reminds you of someone, but again you can’t come up with a face.
Yet before anything else could happen, the girl slowly eyes you over her shoulder and then up to the sky. “When I say jump, you jump.”
Your gaze narrows and you look at her completely lost. “Jump? Onto what? Air?”
The woman glares at you and then at that instant you hear the sound of an incoming ship and the girl then give you her signal. “Jump!”
You hesitate, but find no other option and listen, bending your knees a little before jumping high and holding onto the ramp that barely showed within the clouds. The two men follow along, both clumsily hanging on and pulling themselves onto the platform. You follow by doing the same, rejecting the help they offered and in one moment from the other seeing the girl land successfully next to you, pulling you inside the warmth of the ship and closing the ramp before she runs with you in hand to the cockpit. “Hit it Chewie!”
The ship zooms forward and avoids the blasts coming its way, once you’re in space, the Wookiee doesn’t hesitate to jump into hyperspace, leaving the cockpit in silence and a bitter cold temperature that leaves you shivering as your wet clothes stick to your body.
“You must be cold,” the girl directs to you, walking out of the cockpit and leaving you with the other two men and the Wookiee staring at you with a wondering gaze.
“What’s your name?”
“I,” you part your lips, wanting to give an answer but finding you can only remember a nickname and the title that belonged to you. “I don’t remember. But I do know that they call me, General Heart. Who are you?”
Both men look to each other and then one of them decides to speak first. “I’m Finn, this is Poe Dameron.”
“Commander, Poe Dameron.” The tan man makes clear.
The Wookiee speaks and introduces himself as “Chewbacca.”
You offer them a small smile and before you ask more, the girl returns with clothes in hand, looking at you and pushing them towards you. “Here, change, or you’ll get a frostbite.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“You can go change inside the room down the hall, in the second door to the left.” She suggests while she points out of the small cockpit.
You follow her suggestion without hesitation, desperately wanting out of your uncomfortable, soaked tunic and cloak that weighed heavily as water soaked it completely. It took you some time since the fabric stuck to your skin, but once you managed to wiggle yourself into the new change of clothes, you were relieved and finally finding warmth. Before you could leave the room however, you stopped in front of a small mirror hanging on the wall, parting your lips as you let out a gasp when you couldn’t even recognize your own face. You reached your hand to feel your skin and it was still cold to the touch, some warmth returned to it, but it was a slow process. Your eyes however studied your face and watered once you found no familiarity to it, or anything, your mind was completely blank, it hurt to even try and remember anything.
So avoiding any more pain, you walk out and return to the cockpit where before you could sit back down, a droid bumped into you, beeping at you wildly.
You blink down, but again find no familiarity.
“That’s Artoo,” the girl reveals, “he seems excited, he seems to know you.”
Your eyebrows knit together, you attempt to remember who this droid was, but nothing came to mind. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.” You turn to the girl and ask for her name. “What’s your name?”
You hum and nod. “Do you know who I am? What year are we in?”
“What do you remember?” She questions, turning the attention back to you.
“I,” you breathe as you sit down and rub your forehead, seeing flashes of your last moments that did stick to your mind. Pain and confusion was the only feelings you recalled. Nothing else beside that. “My-my clones, one minute we were peacefully returning to our ship, the next they…” fear returns to you, and again blurred memories flash in your mind. “They suddenly turned against me. They tried to kill me. My commander...commander Snow he tried to save me for some reason. Unlike his brothers he didn’t have the need to kill me. Where am I? Where’s commander snow? What happened?”
All of them look at eachother and the droid whirs softly, he rolls to you and calls your attention so you'd look at a hologram he spit out. One of a single bearded man with same cloak you had worn. Your eyes stung and unlike many other things you could remember every single detail about him. Even if his image was blue and a simple hologram, you knew him and found solace in seeing his face. You knew his name, “Master Kenobi…”
“This Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen. With the dark shadow of the empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder to any surviving Jedi. Trust in the force. Do not return to the temple, that time has passed. And our future is uncertain. We will each be challenged, our trust, our faith, our friendships. But we must persevere. And in time a new hope will emerge. May the force be with you.”
Tears stream down your face, and you stare at the hologram completely taken back. You slowly stand up and reach for it, as if you could physically the touch of your old Master. It takes you a moment to grasp what you heard, but you remember hearing this message once upon a time.
You avoid looking at the people watching you and the message alike, and continue watching the hologram, muttering to the droid in a soft voice. “Play it again.”
A/N- okay you guys have four choices for a love intesret...
Poe Dameron
Commander Snow, the clone that we have yet to really meet, but will be in the story!
Or no love interest
Choose :)
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solohux · 6 months ago
If you still takes prompts, l'd like to read about alpha!Chancellor Hux and omega!Supreme Leader Kylo expecting their first heirs (maybe Ares and Arild). Thank you.
The reception is going splendidly.
Chancellor Hux glides around the room in his white and red robes, finishing off the half-empty glass of champagne, the most expensive of its kind to be found on Coruscant. Politicians and dignitaries alike are present though only those allied with the First Order have been invited to this lavish soiree to celebrate and converse over their negotiations and trade deals. Hux swans around, his mind elsewhere; Ren.
“Chancellor Hux,” a familiar, soft-toned voice calls out from behind him, making him turn to see the alpha Prince Hilun and his beta female aide approaching. Both humans from the neighbouring planet of Luhrar, the two are dressed in fine, navy silk robes with the prince wearing a golden circlet upon his head.
“Prince Hilun,” Hux knows that he should technically bow before royalty but his own presence in the room is so grand that it’s as though his own body refuses. Instead, he nods courteously. “How pleasant to see you again.”
“Yes,” the prince nods, seemingly unphased by Hux’s lack of regard. “I must admit that I am still abuzz with emotion from our afternoon of negotiations.”
“Indeed,” Hux smiles, knowing full-well that he and the First Order received the better end of the deal with Luhrar in regard to their planetary resources; outsmarting another alpha never ceases to make Hux feel like king of the galaxy. “Your planet and your people will flourish under the First Order’s rule, Your Highness.”
“You’re quite the negotiator, Chancellor. You were once a General before this endeavour, hm? A skilled one too, so I’ve heard. How does one go from commanding armies to droll meetings with politicians?”
“I go where the First Order needs me,” Hux says, wishing he could tell the prince to mind his business. “In this case, Supreme Leader Ren took charge of the more physical side of the role. He admired my skills as a mediator, a diplomat, so I took up position as chancellor. The two of us work well together in this…arrangement.”
“One leader in two bodies.”
Hux smiles, taking a sip of his champagne, “I suppose so.”
“I am surprised to see that the Supreme Leader is not here tonight,” the prince says, surveying the room. “He seemed so fiery in today’s meeting.”
“Ren is indisposed this evening,” Hux says. “He sends his apologies. As you can imagine, he’s a very busy man.”
“Of course, Chancellor,” the man says. “What great power he has. Is it true that he is Vader’s heir?”
Hux wishes he could roll his eyes, knowing how much Kylo would love to be a part of this conversation now, “Yes. That is true.”
“Exquisite,” Prince Hilun exclaims. “My grandfather negotiated trade deals with Vader’s associates. How fitting.”
“And is it true,” the prince leans in, lowering his tone of voice to a whisper. “That Ren is expecting heirs of his own?”
Hux has little time for gossip but news of Kylo’s pregnancy had broken in the tabloids months ago when he became unable to hide the bump that carries twins.
“Also true, Your Highness,” Hux finishes the rest of his drink.
“Astounding. I would never have guessed that such a hulking form of a creature is an omega. What of his mate? No one seems to know who they are.”
“His mate,” Hux parrots, reaming stoic faced, “Is, no doubt, proud to have bred such a powerful omega. It is the Supreme Leader’s choice to keep his mate a secret. For what reason? I know not, only that he is the sharpest and most protective alpha across the galaxy. If you’ll excuse me, Prince Hilun.”
“Of course, Chancellor. Goodnight,” the prince bows, smiling a genuine smile. Hux tries to reciprocate but smirks instead, pleased with how he’s conducted himself in front of the alpha prince this evening.
As expected, the Chancellor’s transport is waiting for him on his private landing pad outside of the senate building, his droid pilot already programmed with their destination; to a lavish, penthouse suite on the other side of the capital. The cool air of Coruscant’s night brushes through Hux’s hair as he sits in the rear of the extravagant speeder, flying across the traffic-lined sky with only his mate on his mind.
The transport heads towards one of the tallest buildings on this side of the capital and settles elegantly on the balcony’s landing pad where the droid announces their arrival but Hux is already jumping out and dashing inside of the luxurious apartment to find his beloved mate.
At this time of the night, Kylo should be in bed but he isn’t. Instead, he’s made a makeshift nest on the couch made from duvets, pillows and a couple of Hux’s capes that are draped over the sleepy omega like a blanket. He’s reading an old book, engrossed in its paper pages when Hux enters.
“Ren,” Hux sighs, unfastening the top clip of his tunic to put his claim mark on show. “You should be in bed.”
Kylo puts his book down and shifts, sitting up properly so he can reach out his arms and beckon his alpha into his hold.
“I didn’t want to go to bed without you,” he says, stealing kisses from Hux as soon as they’re close enough.
Hux pouts, feeling sensations of worry and trepidation dripping through their bond as they kiss. Beneath the capes and blankets, Hux’s hand finds the soft curve of Kylo’s eight month pregnant belly, rubbing over the stretched skin to feel their pups kicking beneath.
“How are they?” Hux asks, pulling away from the kiss and settling himself on the couch beside his omega, resting their heads against each other as Hux tries to rearrange the fallen blankets over his pregnant mate.
“Restless,” Kylo replies. “The Force sensitive one is stressed.”
“Ares,” Hux says, unsurprised when Kylo gasps and jolts at the force of a baby’s kick at the mention of his name. “He’s so strong already. And Arild?”
“Ari is…unreadable. He hasn’t got any coherent thoughts, not like his brother. His powers aren’t growing. He’s practically a null, Hux.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” Hux raises an eyebrow, his tone playful.
“Nothing, of course,” Kylo replies, pulling away from Hux to put both of his hands on his belly, looking down at his bump. “But I hate that I can’t read one as well as the other. They’re both my pups and they’re already so different.”
“We’re different,” Hux says, brushing some of Kylo’s long dark hair from his eyes. “And we’re fine.”
“I know.”
“Ren,” Hux tuts softly. “My one. Please don’t worry.”
“I can’t help it. I’m supposed to protect them, and you.”
“I can protect myself, darling,” Hux scoffs, giving a flick of his hand and allowing a concealed dagger to slip from his sleeve.
Kylo rolls his eyes, “That’s not what I mean. When the twins are born, the galaxy will surely want to know who their sire is. There aren’t many gingers in the First Order—”
“They might not be ginger.”
“Still. They’ll look like you. I’m the Supreme Leader. Our enemies will target them, you.”
“No one will get close to us, Kylo,” Hux hushes, taking Kylo’s cheeks into his palms to focus him, kissing him softly on the end of his nose. “I won’t allow anything to happen to our family. I swear it. I swore it in our wedding vows and I’m swearing it to you now. Our boys will be safe.”
Kylo doesn’t reply but he smiles, reassuring Hux that he believes him. The omega nestles his head against Hux’s shoulder and dozes, one hand resting on his belly. Hux sighs, kissing his head; no being would succeed if they were to challenge the Supreme Leader for his position or his power but no one would live another moment in this galaxy if they were to hurt the omega’s family. As the alpha, Hux knows that his instincts to protect his family are strong but after a lifetime of feeling alone, no one’s protective instincts are stronger than Kylo’s.
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daydreamsofren · 8 months ago
You’re Somebody Else: (1/?)
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Summary: The First Order has you in their crosshairs in the midst of a smuggling run. When you have to make a difficult decision in order to save your crew, you put your own life at risk, allowing yourself to be taken into custody while your crew escapes. 
Read on Ao3
Word Count: 3100
Pairing: Kylo Ren x Smuggler!Reader 
Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Past Enslavement, Mentions of Death. 
A/N: Canon Divergence. Set after the events of The Last Jedi. This is my first fic within the SW Universe. Please, do not come after me for any inaccuracies, as I will be making some stuff up.  
Again, a special thanks to @miraclesabound​ for going through this chapter with me and hanging in there through all the edits and changes. 
Chapter Two
“Are you sure we’re not going to get in trouble?” You asked, not wanting to hear another lecture from Master Skywalker.  
“I’m sure.” Ben insisted, pushing you up the ladder towards the cockpit of the X-wing. “They won’t even know we were gone.” He added. 
You rolled your eyes. Of course, he didn’t ask permission, he never did for anything, always doing whatever he wanted, despite the consequences. 
Learning to fly a starfighter was always a dream of yours, but Master Skywalker refused to teach you, always saying you weren’t ready. When you told Ben of Luke’s doubts, he said he would teach you instead, not caring what his uncle had to say about you. 
With Ben being the son of the most famous smuggler in the galaxy, and the nephew of the Jedi who blew up the Death Star, he was willing to teach you everything he knew. You really couldn’t have asked for a better teacher. 
There was only one problem. When you climbed up to the cockpit of the starfighter, you noticed there was only a pilot’s seat, with no room for a passenger. 
“Um… Ben. I think we’re getting in the wrong ship, there’s only one seat. Where am I supposed to sit?” You pointed at the single pilot’s seat in the X-Wing. 
Ben let out a deep chuckled, climbing up around you and settling into the pilot’s seat. He patted his lap while looking up at you expectantly with those intense honey brown eyes that you always seemed to get lost in. 
“You’re going to sit right here. Now c’mon, we don’t have all night.” He said as if this was completely normal. 
Your cheeks burned at the thought of sitting on Ben’s lap, but he was right, you didn’t have all night, and you desperately wanted to start your flying lessons. 
Climbing into the cockpit, you slowly lowered yourself onto Ben’s lap, your body tense, feeling the heat radiating off him beneath you. Ben’s hands quickly grabbed your waist, pulling you back so you rested against his chest. With you now situated exactly how he wanted you, he reached around you, lowering the hatch and firing up the starfighters engines. 
After going over all of the controls and launch sequence with you, he placed your hands on the piloting controls before his own wrapped around them, his massive hands enveloping yours completely. 
“You ready, Ace?” He asked. 
Turning your head slightly to look up at Ben, you were confused by the new nickname. “Ace? Why are you calling me that?” 
“Because when I’m finished teaching you, you’re going to be an ace pilot, able to outmaneuver and outrun anything in the galaxy.” He said with certainty. 
A wide grin spread across your face at the nickname and his confidence in your abilities, despite never seeing you fly. 
“You really think I could be that good of a pilot?” You asked hesitantly. 
“Are you doubting my ability to teach you?” His eyebrow raised in question. 
“Of course not!” You responded, shaking your head, hoping he wasn’t really offended by your question.  
“I didn’t think so,” he said with a smirk. “I have no doubt that you’ll be a better pilot than myself.” He admitted, turning his attention ahead to begin the launch. 
Pulling up on the controls, you felt the starfighter lift off the ground, as the engines roared to life, soaring up through the atmosphere and into open space. The feeling of being in a small ship, moving at such a high speed, was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Shaking from the adrenaline that now coursed through your veins, you were more than excited for your first lesson. 
“Let’s begin, Ace.” 
“Ace! We gotta move faster, they’re gaining on us!” Terris yelled from behind you, breaking you out of your trance. He was running the gunner position, trying to keep the TIE fighters from getting too close.
“I’m working on it!” You hollered back over your shoulder.
Terris was a human, not much older than yourself. He grew up as a spice runner with his brother, smuggling illegal spice and other goods across the galaxy. You met him in Canto Bight the night his brother was killed by a local Spice Lord. Terris and his brother had just returned from a failed run where they ended up dumping their cargo before they were caught by New Republic officers. You were working in the docking bay when you saw it happen, and you could not stand by and watch as they murdered Terris as well.
After helping Terris escape on his brother’s ship, the two of you fled to the outer rim. In return for saving his life, Terris offered the ship to you along with his skills and knowledge of the smuggling world. Not being able to return to Canto Bight, you decided to take him up on his offer, seeing as you were both alone in the galaxy. That was how your little smuggling crew got its start. The two of you began making small runs for different crime lords across the galaxy, trying to stay off any official radars.
Trying to transfer all power to the main thrusters, you were maneuvering out of the way of several TIE fighter assaults, waiting for your mechanic to update you on the status of your busted hyperdrive.
The life of a smuggler was a dangerous one. Since Supreme Leader Kylo Ren seized control after killing Snoke, everything changed throughout the entire galaxy. More and more systems were being taken under First Order control, and any activity that did not benefit the Order was declared an act of treason. Unfortunately for you and your crew, smuggling could be punishable by death depending on the cargo.
Given that you were hauling stolen First Order medical supplies and weapons, you could be sure that the First Order would not show any leniency on you and your crew if caught. What made things even worse for you, is that unbeknownst to your crew, you were hired by the resistance to make this run. You knew they wouldn’t have agreed to it, and as much as you tried to avoid getting involved in the never-ending war between the First Order and the Resistance, you needed the credits, and the Resistance was willing to pay generously. 
Somehow, the First Order spotted you and was able to identify the false transponder code you were using to sneak by without drawing attention to yourselves. The codes you possess are supposed to be foolproof, and allow you to travel without being stopped by the First Order.  After they requested to board for an inspection, you did the only thing you could, and began preparing the ship to outrun them. Unsure of how they knew the code was false, your only option was to jump to hyperspace before they decided to take the ship by force. 
Your ship, an HWK-290 light freighter – the Nighthawk as you unofficially named it – usually had no issues outrunning First Order starships. With the light freighter’s modifications, along with your piloting skills, you should be able to outrun almost anything. It appears you may have to come up with a different plan to escape this time, as the hyperdrive on the Nighthawk decided now was a good time to break. 
“Sarai, how’s it looking down there?” You checked in through the commlink. 
Sarai was a Twi’lek, and the Nighthawk’s mechanic. Her skin was a dark shade of blue, and she had her lekku decorated in dark leather wrappings. You helped rescue Sarai from the Hutts on Tatooine a few years back, where she was enslaved and was waiting to be sold off to a new master. When it came time to receive the payment for the run you had completed for the Hutts, Terris begged you to save her instead of taking the credits, and bring her on as part of your crew. 
At the time of her rescue, you were unaware of her mechanical skills, which ended up benefiting you in the long run, saving you credits and several headaches over the past several years. Sarai was also good with a blaster, both short and long range, which was very helpful during some close calls with clients who tried to stiff you on credits. 
“It’s not good, Ace. The ion cable is completely fried, and there’s no way to fix it without a new cable, which we don’t have.” Sarai responded. 
She was climbing back onto the main deck with her datapad, stumbling into the cockpit as she spoke. The blasts from the TIEs were continuing to rock your ship as they were deflected off your shields, which were not going to last much longer. 
Slamming your fist down on the control console, leaving a small dent in the cheap durasteel, you turned to address Sarai, while maintaining your current speed. “You’re right, that’s not good.” Letting out a small laugh, and shaking your head in disbelief, you continued with your own bad news, “There’s no way we can outrun them without jumping to hyperspace, and we’ll be within range of their cannons soon.” 
“Ace, something’s going on.” Terris suddenly called out while pointing out of the viewport. “The TIEs are withdrawing, and heading back to the light cruiser.” 
Looking out of the viewport, you could see that the TIE fighters were backing off as he had said. Setting the flight controls on autopilot, you needed a moment to come up with a new plan. Before getting even a second to think, static came through your comms channel as the First Order ship was attempting to contact you.
“This is General Hux of the First Order. Our cannons have locked onto your position. If you do not surrender, we will fire on your ship.” 
“Shit.” You grumbled under your breath. 
“Ace?” Sarai placed a shaking hand on your shoulder, her tone was soft, trying not to sound too frightened. “What would you like us to do?” 
Terris left the gunner controls, as the TIEs were now gone, and stood beside Sarai awaiting your orders. 
Sighing, you looked at your crew defeated, not wanting to admit to them that you were out of options. There was no out running the First Order this time, you were trapped with no choice but to surrender. However, you were not about to let Terris and Sarai be captured along with you. They were the closest thing to a family you’d had in a long time, and you couldn’t let anything happen to them. 
Taking a deep breath, you spoke calmly, “I want the two of you to start loading up the escape pod with the medical supplies, as much as you can fit, and get the supplies to the Resistance on Ajan Kloss.” The shocked look they gave you was expected, but it still pained you. 
“The Resistance? Ace, what the hell are we doing carrying supplies for the Resistance?” Terris was furious, and he had every right to be, his soft blue eyes now appearing colder as he spoke. 
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell the two of you sooner, but we needed the credits, and I owed an old pal a favor.” You hated that you had lied to them about the job, but it was too late now to try and make it right. 
“What about you? We can’t fit all the supplies in the pod. They’ll have you executed within the next cycle when they find out the weapons were stolen from one of their warehouses.” He continued, concerned for you despite feeling hurt and angry from your decision to withhold the truth.  
“Someone needs to stay back and keep them distracted so you can get away. I refuse to risk the two of you getting killed for my decisions.” They started to protest, but you continued, cutting them off, “There’s not time to argue about this, just please do as I ask.” Pushing them out of the cockpit, you urged them to start loading up the escape pod.
Quickly turning back and wrapping her arms around you, Sarai pulled you into her embrace. “Ace, you don’t have to do this. We can figure out a different way.” She had started crying. 
“We don’t have choice.” You murmured, holding onto her for a moment longer before pulling away. Sarai was like a sister to you, and separating like this was not something you ever wanted to happen. 
“This is important, Sarai. I need you to get those supplies to the Resistance.” Taking her hand, you made sure you had her full attention. “My contact with the Resistance is Poe Dameron, he used to run spice, you can trust him. Tell him what happened, he’ll be able to help.” Repeating Poe’s name, Sarai nodded, understanding what you needed her to do.
“I’ll be okay.” You assured her. 
Holding back tears, Sarai squeezed your hand, turning and leaving the cockpit to help Terris finish packing up the pod.
Returning to the controls, you readied the comms for a transmission to send back to the First Order. You just needed to buy them a few seconds to get away undetected. 
“Please, hold your fire. I am prepared to surrender, and will allow you to board the ship with no resistance. Please acknowledge.” 
You slowed the ships speed, letting them believe you were cooperating. While you were waiting for a response, you left the cockpit to ensure Terris and Sarai were ready to go. As you rounded the corner, you could see that the escape pod was full, and Terris was in the pilot’s chair, his messy blond hair was bouncing around as he moved about, preparing the pod or launch. 
Turning when he heard your footsteps, he gave you smile while getting up and walking over to pull you in for a hug. “I’m so pissed at you right now.” He mumbled into your hair as a single tear slipped down his cheek. “We’re going to have a long chat about this when we get you back safe, got it?”
You laughed and squeezed him tight. “Yea, I got it. I promise once we’re out of this mess, there will be no more lies.” With a smirk, Terris nodded and returned to the escape pod. 
Standing on the main deck, away from the pod, Sarai turned to say her goodbyes. Just as she went to speak, the Nighthawk violently shook, throwing the two of you against the wall. 
“Vessel 993-105 prepare to be docked.” 
The message came through from the General and you peered up through the viewports to see that your ship was being pulled towards the light cruiser, being reeled in like a fish caught on a hook, as you had fallen in range of their tractor beam. 
Realizing that your time was up, you started to panic. Pulling Sarai up off the floor, you pushed her towards the escape pod. “You have to go now! Prepare to launch!” You yelled at Terris from across the ship. 
“C’mon Sarai, we gotta go!” Terris called back. 
“Ace, please. Come with us!” Tears were streaming down Sarai’s face as she held onto your arm trying to pull you towards the pod with her. You tried to shake her off of you, but Sarai was not letting go, and you were running out of time for them to escape. 
Raising your hands, you did the only think you could think to do to get her into the pod. With a shove, Sarai was thrown backwards by an invisible force. A look of confusion spread across her face as she tried to process what had just happened. Using the Force once more to hit the internal release, you sealed the blast door, allowing the pod to break off from the Nighthawk. Staring at you through the viewport on the blast door, Sarai was stunned, a mix of emotions swirled, not fully understanding what you had done. 
“I’m sorry,” you said as it was all you could think to say as the pod began slowly floating away, staying concealed by the Nighthawk until they were clear to launch. 
You hated yourself for keeping the Force a secret from Terris and Sarai, but with the First Order tracking down those sensitive to the Force, you made the decision a long time ago that you would never tell anyone, potentially put them in danger as well. By keeping your abilities hidden, you felt as though you were doing the right thing by protecting your friends.  
Sadly, you were unable to explain that to them now, as you still had your part of the plan to do if they were to have any hope of escaping free and clear. Swiping away the tears that threatened to fall, you made your way back to the cockpit. 
Taking the gunner controls, you focused all shields to the front of the ship, and started firing at the light cruiser, trying to keep their attention solely on you. You were not trying to cause any real damage, only needing to keep their focus on you long enough for them to pull away. As soon as your torpedoes were launching, aimed at their ion cannons, the escape pod took off fast in the opposite direction.  
Suddenly, you were hit with an electromag-pulse disrupter, disabling all power to the Nighthawk except for the emergency life support, leaving your weapons useless. You were now completely at the mercy of the First Order. 
Watching as the escape pod grew smaller as it sped off into open space, a sigh of relief escaped you as there were no signs that the First Order was trying to stop them. Thankful that your plan seemed to have worked, you tried to calm yourself as the Nighthawk was about to reach the light cruiser. 
Through the static on the commlink, an additional message came through. 
“Stand down! Any further hostility will be met with lethal force. Prepare to be docked and taken into custody.” 
With that, the Nighthawk was landing in a bright hangar bay that was covered in a sea of white as Stormtroopers were lined up in perfect formation, surrounding your ship. Pulling on your cloak, and settling in the pilot’s chair, you gazed out of the viewport into the massive hanger bay, anticipating what is to come. Getting yourself out of this mess was going to be difficult, and you were praying to the Force that it would be possible without drawing any attention from the Supreme Leader. 
Taglist: @themuseic @slutsofren @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @miraclesabound @einmal-im-traum @direnightshade @hopeamarsu @andromedasstarship // Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed! 
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robertreich · 11 months ago
Trump’s Covid: Empathy for the World’s Least Empathetic Person?
For about a minute today I found myself feeling sorry for Donald Trump. The poor man is now “battling” Covid-19 (the pugilistic verb is showing up all over the news). He’s in the hospital. He’s out-of-shape. He’s 74-years old. His chief of staff calls his symptoms “very concerning.”
Joe Biden is praying for him. Kamala Harris sends him heartfelt wishes. President Obama reminds us we’re all in this together and we want to make sure everyone is healthy.
But hold on: Why should we feel empathy for one of the world’s least empathetic people?
Out of respect. He’s a human being. And he’s our president.
Yet there’s an asymmetry here. While the Biden campaign has taken down all negative television advertising, the Trump campaign’s negative ads continue non-stop.
And at almost the same time that Biden, Harris, and Obama offered prayers and consoling words, the Trump campaign blasted “Lyin’ Obama and Phony Kamala Harris” and charged that “Sleepy Joe isn’t fit to be YOUR President.”
Can you imagine if Biden had contracted Covid rather than Trump? Trump would be all over him. He’d attack Biden as weak, feeble, and old. He’d mock Biden’s mask-wearing – “See, masks don’t work!” – and lampoon his unwillingness to hold live rallies: “Guess he got Covid in his basement!”
How can we even be sure Trump has the disease? He’s lied about everything else. Maybe he’ll reappear in a day or two, refreshed and relaxed, saying “Covid is no big deal.” He’ll claim he took hydroxychloroquine, and it cured him. He’ll boast that he won the “battle” with Covid because he’s strong and powerful.
Meanwhile, his “battle” has distracted the nation from revelations that he’s a tax cheat who paid only $750 in taxes his first year in office, and barely anything for fifteen years before that; and that he’s a failed businessman who’s still losing money.
And from his vicious, cringeworthy debate performance last week, in which he didn’t want to condemn white supremacists.
It even takes our mind off the major reason Covid is out of control in America: because Trump blew it.
He downplayed it, pushed responsibility onto governors, and then demanded they allow businesses to reopen – too early -- in order to make the economy look good before the election.
He has muzzled and disputed experts at the CDC, promoted crank cures, held maskless campaign events, and encouraged followers not to wear masks. All of this has contributed to tens of thousands of unnecessary American deaths.
Trump’s “battle” with Covid also diverts attention from his and Mitch McConnell’s perversions of American democracy.
This is where the asymmetry runs deeper. McConnell is now moving to confirm Trump’s Supreme Court nominee Amy Coney Barrett, after having prevented Obama’s nominee from getting a Senate vote for almost a year on the basis of a concocted “rule” that the next president should decide.
Yet Biden won’t talk about increasing the size of the court in order to balance it, and Democratic leaders have shot down the idea.
Nor do Biden and top Democrats want to suggest making Washington, D.C. and Puerto Rico into states -- a step that would remedy the bizarre inequities in the Senate where a bare majority of Republicans representing 11 million fewer Americans than their Democratic counterparts are able to confirm a Supreme Court justice.
It would also help rebalance the Electoral College, which made Trump president in 2016 despite losing the popular vote by more than 3 million.
Democrats worry this would strike the public as unfair.
Unfair, when Trump won’t even commit to a peaceful transition of power and refuses to be bound by the results?
When he’s already claiming the election is rigged against him and will be fraudulent unless he wins?
When he’s now readying slates of Trump electors to be certified in states he’ll allege he lost because of fraud? When he’s urging his followers to intimidate Biden voters at the polls?
Whether responding to Trump’s hospitalization this weekend or to Trump’s larger political maneuvers, Democrats want to act decently and fairly. They want to protect democratic norms, values, and institutions.
This is admirable. It’s also what Democrats say they stand for.
But the other side isn’t playing the same game. Trump and his enablers will do anything to retain and enlarge their power.
It’s possible to be sympathetic toward Trump during his “battle” with Covid-19 while acknowledging that he is subjecting America to a profound moral test in the weeks and perhaps months ahead.
What kind of society do we want: one based on decency and democracy, or on viciousness and raw power?
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ilovefandoms102 · 6 months ago
Pairing: Kylo Ren x Reader
Summary: How it all began, and where it went wrong...
Note: I wrote this once a while ago at the very beginning of my blog and got no likes on it so I’m reposting since now I have a larger fanbase so I hope you guys enjoy!
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I come from the planet Tattooine, the place where Ben's uncle, and his grandfather grew up. My parents abandoned me when I was 15 when I started showing my powers, they feared I was a danger to them. Luke found me and raised me as his own, the Jedi ways engraved into my brain. 
Then I met Ben, we clicked instantly becoming inseparable from that moment on. I knew it was wrong, that the Jedi weren't meant to fall in love. Luke had warned me that my infatuation needed to end because Ben wasn't the man I thought he was, that he would go dark. I had felt the disturbance in the Force from him as well, but I couldn't leave him.
Ben Solo is the love of my life, I say is because I know he is still here. He is not dead inside of Kylo Ren like so many people believe. I was there the night the temple was destroyed......what is so sinister about it is that the temple was destroyed the night of our wedding. It was a secret wedding, we had to sneak away to have the ceremony. We were promised to each other for better or for worse, but I don't think your husband killing your Jedi classmates is what they meant by worse...
6 Years earlier:
"Ben...wha-what did you do?" I asked, looking at my husband. He had a murderous expression on his face that scared me.
"He tried to kill me..." he said, gripping his saber tighter.
"Who? Honey, what's going on?" I asked again, putting my hands to his cheeks.
"Luke," was all he said, tears welling in his eyes.
"Ben..." I whispered.
"Ben is gone." he said, pushing my hands away.
"What?" I asked, taking a step back from him. My heart crushing as I knew what this meant, he was turning to the dark side.
"My name is Kylo Ren now. The Supreme Leader has called to me because he knows how to train me to my full potential." he explained, as if we weren't surrounded by our dead classmates and a burning temple.
"This is not the Jedi way Ben, what are you thinking?!" I shouted at him.
"It wasn't the Jedi way for us to fall in love, yet here we are." he said, shrugging his shoulders.
"People of the dark side cannot show love Ben. How can you sit there and claim to love me, but are choosing this path?" I asked, keeping a grip on my light saber in case things went south.
"The Supreme Leader is willing to work with our...circumstances." he revealed, turning to walk towards a ship that wasn't there before.
"Ben stop!" I yelled, running after him.
"Do you love me?" he asked, catching my arm in a tight grip.
"What kind of question is that I married your dumb ass!" I said, shoving him off me.
"Y/n/n," he whispered.
"Ben...I can't." I whimpered.
"Come with me and we can rule the galaxy!" he said, smiling but it was not the smile of my Ben.
"I-" I started, Ben interrupting me.
"Y/n/n, you are my life. I love you more than anything in this galaxy, I need you by my side baby...please." he said, leaning his forehead on mine.
"Forever?" I asked. We used that as a way to reassure the other that we would always love one another, forever.
"Forever my love." he said, leaning down to kiss me.
I was in the private gym Kylo had made sure all the officers on the First Order knew was only for me. I somehow got away with not being trained by Snoke and continued my Jedi training, using books I stole from the Temple. I was meditating when I felt my husbands presence. I continued with my training as he watched me from the other side of the room.
"You're so beautiful my darling" he said, that stupid mask of his altering his real voice. I'd love to pitch that thing into space, he knows I hate it too.
"You know I don't respond when you have that thing on Ben." I said coldly.
I heard the click and hiss of the mask being taken off as I lowered myself, turning to face him. I was only allowed to use Ben when we were alone, in the eye of the First Order we were Mr. and Mrs. Kylo Ren. I hated it so much, I was currently in the works of becoming a double agent for the Resistance, using the ways of the force to reach out to Leia.
 It hurt me more than anything to go against my husband, the one I'm supposed to stand with above all, but with the construction of the second Death Star coming to an end and knowing what they are using it for....I can't stay on this ship any longer.
Ben came closer to me, I had to tip my head further back the closer he got. My head barely reached his chest, he took his glove off so he could run his fingers through my hair. I lifted my eyes to meet his dark brown ones. I got on my tip toes and kissed him, this is what I would miss the most, the intimate moments we got to have with each other...when he acted like Ben and not Kylo. 
He moaned into my mouth, gripping the hair at my scalp to pull me closer. His other arm wrapped around my waist as he lifted me the few feet between our heights so he wouldn't have to bend his neck as far. I sifted my fingers in his black hair, using my other to grab his cheek. I pulled away first, my chest rising erratically from the lack of oxygen.
"I have a mission I'm leading, I'll be leaving in a few days. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone...I don't want to leave you." he spoke softly, leaning his cheek on mine. I hugged him tight, heartbroken that he would be leaving so soon.
"What will you be doing?" I asked, but I really didn't want to know. He sensed that as he narrowed his eyes at me, our Force bond tingling my mind as he was trying to read it. 
"Ben, quit trying to read my mind!" I yelled, slapping his arm.
"I'm sorry baby, but I was curious to know if you actually wanted to know...or if you were just trying to entertain me." he smiled, kissing my nose as he put me back on the ground.
We made our way to our quarters, Kylo now replacing my Ben. I hardly ever acknowledged anyone around us unless I was spoken to directly. I didn't ever go out of my way to speak to anyone either. If I had a question, I'd use my Jedi powers to read their mind or force them to tell me.
"Commander Ren, Lady Ren, How lovely to see you all on this fine afternoon." General Hux greeted as he came around a corner. 
I continued to walk until I felt a pull from the force, Ben stopping me in my place to talk to Hux. I gave him a death stare, he knows I don't like socializing with his people.
"What can I do for you General?" I asked, annoyed with Ben-Kylo’s insistance that I speak with Hux.
"I was hoping I could trouble you both for a meeting-" he started, but I was quick to interupt.
"No, I'm quite tired and wish to rest. You can have my husband though General." I said as I fought Ben's force, breaking free of it and walking into our room.
Kylo's POV:
I stared as my wife walked into our quarters, rage of her disobedience burning inside me. I let her know through our Force bond that I was not happy with her, thankful the mask hid my feelings from General Hux. I turned back to look at the General, his presence annoying what I was hoping to be a enjoyable evening.
"What do you need General?" I asked again.
"I think we should take this to my office, away from prying ears." he said ,quietly. We arrived at his office, him sitting at his chair while I stood by the open window.
"We have received word that there might be a double agent roaming the ship..." Hux said, his eyes drifting down.
"This is what you had to disturb my evening with the Lady for?" I seethed, keeping my fists clenched at my sides.
"Commander, the rumors are claiming that the Lady is the double agent. That's why I thought we would speak here." the General looked at me with a terrified look on his face, as he should.
"How dare you!" I shouted, using the Force the choke this son of a bitch.
"Sir, please! I just wanted you to know before you heard from someone else!" Hux choked out.
I stormed out of the office, pushing past officers and troopers. I walked into my quarters, spotting Y/n in the kitchen. My anger started dissipating, her presence not only in the room, but through our bond calmed me. I forgot about being angry with her, I walked into our room and changed into comfier clothes.
Y/n’s POV:
I felt Ben's presence behind me, but I ignored him to finish dinner. He was angry, but I couldn't tell why. He walked off as I could feel his anger disappearing. I turned off the stove and cleaned the dishes as dinner cooled down, I could hear Ben in our bedroom. I walked in to him taking his amour off, I couldn't help but stare. He was so beautiful and I felt so lucky to call this man mine despite his faults.
"See something you like baby?" He asked, his deep voice igniting a feeling in my lower regions.
"I think I'd like it better if you weren't facing away from me love," I teased, smiling at him.
He finished taking his clothes off, leaving him in just his black silk pants. He ran a hand through his hair as he turned to face me, I could feel him trying to rack my brain for what I was thinking. I let him in to see what I was thinking at that moment....How beautiful he was, how I loved him with my entire soul, and that I would be lost without him.
"Your thoughts are deep tonight my love, what's wrong?" he asked, putting his arms around my waist.
"I just...I don't like you going on solo missions...I don't like us being apart from each other." I confessed, putting my hands on his bare chest.
"Snoke wouldn't put me out there if he didn't think I could handle myself sweetheart. You above anyone should know I am very capable in battle." he said, squeezing me. I didn't like when he talked about Snoke, I rolled my eyes at the thought of that creature.
"Can't I come with you? We're better together than apart Benny." I whispered, hugging him. He laid his head on top of mine, sighing loudly.
"You really need to start calling me Kylo, you're going to slip in front of someone one day and The Supreme Leader will see me as still being drawn to the light." he muttered.
"You don't fool me Solo, I know there is still light in you." I said, not liking where the conversation was going.
Ben pulled away from me, stalking to the kitchen. He was slamming stuff around by the time I got in there, preparing himself a plate very angrily. I wish I had kept my mouth shut, the good mood we had going was ruined by my big mouth.
"Honey," I whispered, slowly walking closer to him.
"Don't y/n" he growled, I knew I was in deep shit when he used my full name.
I sighed, grabbing myself a plate. I sat beside him at our very large dining room table that we didn't need since we never had guests over, neither one of us the most social beings. We ate in very awkward silence, I was the first to finish. 
I cleaned up the kitchen, putting away leftovers then heading for the bathroom. I started up the huge shower we had installed, getting the water to the perfect temperature before stripping and stepping in.
I was in the middle of rinsing my conditioner out when I heard the door open, the door was glass so I could see that it was Ben. He stripped him self before joining me in the shower, we had another shower head installed for when we both were in the shower on opposite ends. 
He turned his on, wetting his hair. I couldn't help but stare at him, the way his arm muscles flexed when he ran his hands through his wet hair sometimes the veins popping out. I had to check to see if my mouth was hanging open. He walked over to me, I grew tense the closer he got.
"I'm sorry my love." he whispered, my heart melted.
"I'm sorry too." I said, looking down at my feet.
He grabbed the back of my head, forcing it to come up as he smashed his mouth to mine. I responded immediately, throwing my arms around his neck. Our tongues were in a battle for dominance, him winning of course. I let my hands roam over his body, feeling his muscles. I had to pull back to breathe, both of us panting hard.
"Forever?" he asked, staring into my eyes.
"Forever my love." I whispered.
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