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yutaya · 3 years

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Iron Fist Rewatch 1x05: Under Leaf Pluck Lotus

I like this shot. The way the women are shown reflected in the wall first. Also lol quintessential synchronized female power strut

Why wait until you’re IN the office to move your wedding ring?? Or to unbutton your shirt? Well, that one I can understand - let all the people who see you heading INTO the office see the shirt still buttoned up. The ring, though - unless the POINT is to be seen moving it? Imply that you’re open to cheating or something? Ugh.

This is so sketchy.

Danny’s employees be like: “Having? My voice heard? At work? Having? My opinion? Be valued? My? Contribution? Being? Acknowledged? Personally??? ??? ??? What is happening????? ??????” And then it’s the “the worthy leader’s people love and are completely loyal to them” trope (aka one of my greatest weaknesses) forever. <3

Lmao Joy you’re cold.

“Is that heroin? You bring drugs into my office?” *Laughing/sobbing*

Ward just staring blankly while Danny name drops a bunch of triad stuff like Ward is supposed to know what that is. Danny: “...It’s a criminal syndicate.” Ward: *heavy sigh*

Danny, continuing: “So I was talking to the criminals with the hatchets and asked them for intel. They sent me a box, which was clearly a message!” Ward: “You 👏 sound 👏 in 👏 sane. 👏” Danny: “No, look, the proof is that the symbol on this heroin looks like the undying dragon that made me a living weapon!”

Lol “Harold said so himself” no faster way to turn Ward off a plan, sorry Danny

Danny. How do you manage to make half your conversations sound sketchy as hell?

Joy: *brings up the Hatchet men and Red Hook right after Danny was telling Ward about it in relation to the Hand* Ward: *alarm bells ringing because HAS DANNY BEEN TELLING JOY ALL THE THINGS WE SPECIFICALLY ARE NOT ALLOWED TO TELL JOY?* Joy: Anyway, about Dad’s cancer... Ward: Oh, ok then.

Siiiiiiigh this conversation where Ward reassures Joy that she’s a good person making the right decision when she feels bad about doing something but does it anyway - to protect their own company and personal interests - and adds on a load of “also you don’t really feel guilty because you think this is wrong, you just feel sad because you’re remembering Dad, don’t mix it up”

Colleen to Claire, Iron Fist 1x05: “Oh what was that? Come on, hit me.” Colleen to Misty, Luke Cage 2x03: *hitting directly on Misty’s stump while Misty yells at her to stop* “You came to me. I’m not easy. You don’t like that?”

Claire: “I guess I got tired of people doing things for me all the time.” Claire was a helpful nurse in Daredevil, and a friend with medical knowledge in Luke Cage - Iron Fist is where she says “I am tired of being reactionary”

LOL Danny’s cute little smile when he comes in to see Colleen doing her normal thing, training a student, just - it’s so loving and adorable even though they BARELY KNOW EACH OTHER YET

Claire just giving Colleen knowing looks ahahahaha

This scene is SO CUTE Jessica and Finn do such a great job playing all the body language and speech cadences like two teenagers with crushes on each other

DANNY ordering takeout for a talk with someone without even checking to see if they’re free first is SO PRESUMPTUOUS what if she wasn’t free (which she WASN’T) or didn’t want to talk or had already eaten/already had meal plans?

I’m literally laughing out loud hahahaha takeout hahahaha

Claire is laughing at them too. This fumbling “date?” conversation is too adorable I can’t

LMAO Claire knows EXACTLY how much she is third wheeling them right now but she doesn’t care because Damn that food looks good. Girl knows what she wants. (Also a little bit of female solidarity helping to buffer when your friend has literally said “no” to the guy - but in this particular case it’s SO OBVIOUS that Colleen likes him back that I read she’s leaning more towards the ‘it’s just to make sure but also that food looks REALLY good’ - then again, especially with all the things Claire has seen there really is no such thing as ‘too cautious’... let’s go with the way she hints is an opening and when Colleen leaps on the opportunity for Claire to stay it becomes ‘yep, I’m definitely doing this, Colleen doesn’t want to be alone with the dude: confirmed’)

Ward is looking at the problem as what it is: a set-up, and they don’t fall for traps. Joy goes “Remember that I am better at public perception than you - there are more factors here to consider than what everyone involved in this particular case knows. I’M thinking long term about potential future ramifications.”

“He’s in a completely different world, Joy.” “He lives in ours, now.”

That awkward moment when you’re already digging in and someone starts praying

The way Danny just goes shutters down mode when Claire starts probing about how harsh life in the monastery was

Colleen, brainwaving to Claire: ‘YOU BITCH DON’T LEAVE ME HERE’ Claire, brainwaving right back: ‘”Vow of chastity.” I’m good. You’re on your own, girl.’ She does do one last check in to make sure Colleen really isn’t worried though which I appreciate.

Danny. You lovable buffoon. You think Ward’s problem is that he doesn’t believe you? And that if he did believe this was happening he would of course immediately take action to shut it down? Colleen to Ward, sometime in the future: “Danny has Always had way more faith in you than you deserve.” ToT

Colleen: “Ok soooo I’m still not seeing the part where you had to come tell me this? Am I just your favorite sounding board or...?” Danny: “Well, I want you to come stakeout and possibly getting killed WITH me, of course.” Colleen: “Wait, is this a date?” Danny: “What? No! I mean. Unless you want it to be?” Colleen: “No!” Danny: “No. No, uh, definitely, uh, not a date. Heh.” Colleen: “Good.” Danny: “Good.” *both nod*

Of course the argument that gets to Colleen is how this will endanger her students.

DANNY trying to convince someone to do something and then when they hesitate dropping “by the way I’m your new landlord” on them is SKETCHY you foolish foolish boy. How do you manage to come across so sketchy all the time?!

Ward: *cheerfully throwing Danny under the bus* Joy: *warning Look* Ward: *sighhhhhh you ruin all my fun Joy*

Joy: *radiating ‘just wait til we’re alone’ vibes at Ward* “:) I will back up my brother wholeheartedly because we are a united front and I refuse to let the board see any cracks to even try and exploit :)” *’JUST YOU WAIT WARD YOUR ASS IS GRASS’*

Ahahaha “Ward has always led our company to greatness with his mad genius” when Ward knows most of those decisions were actually Harold I’m cry

Danny. That’s Colleen’s private property Danny. It’s very presumptuous to order takeout, buy her building, and start playing with her katana, Danny.

Martial art style teasing rivalry culture I love it

They’re too cute

AI YA

“suck on that, Dad” Ward be like “yeah i went against everything smart that Joy and board were arguing for me to do just to make your precious company look bad DAD whatchu gonna do, huh? gonna send me more vaguely threatening text messages about how not a single moment in my life is private from you, huh, DAD? fuck you”

Danny: “it’s just nice, having someone to count on.” Colleen: “You have the Meachums.” Danny: *remains silent* IT’S SO DAMNING ahahaha Colleen has so many reasons to hate the Meachums hahahaha

Danny: “I don’t even know what I’m doing or saying until it’s taken the wrong way,” Well, I’m glad you realize that, Danny. You’ve seen how many times in the last TWO EPISODES ALONE people have recoiled slightly and gone “woah, woah, what are you doing?” Oh buddy.

Danny: “Ok, look, this stakeout is dangerous, but it’s not ILLEGAL. Technically, I own that pier, so it’s not trespassing or anything.” Radovan: “No hospitals! I’m a wanted man in several countries.”

High Ward T_T and the two different conversations Ward and Joy are having right now T_T and the way Joy doesn’t have the information to even begin to know what Ward is talking about but how she can FEEL that it’s BAD and - T___T

High Ward with his walls down cuddling Joy’s arm and saying “you stood by me” and Joy scared as hell but not hesitating on “we’re family,” as her explanation T________T

“The Hand.” - Danny knew this was The Hand going in. Claire is freaking out because SHE LEFT HELL’S KITCHEN TO GET AWAY FROM THE HAND FUCK THAT HOW DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO HER? Colleen is freaking out for an entirely different reason. :(

“The Hand is everywhere.” Cut from Claire and Danny to a new shot of Colleen looking on in the background.

Claire: “This is not something a rich kid from the Upper West Side can just ‘handle’, ok? This is a job that requires someone with special.... skills.” Ahahahaa poor Claire how DOES this keep happening to her?

Danny, with utmost conviction: “I am the ONLY one who can defeat them.” Claire: *long, defeated sigh. How many freaking times has she heard this before and how many times will she hear it again?*

Colleen: “This is my choice.” Danny hears: “because it’s the right thing to do and I care about the people of this city especially my kids who are highly likely to be effected and also I maybe care about you too.” Colleen means: “because this is the Bad Hand that is sullying my family’s good name and I will not let that stand. I will work together with my family and we will defeat this.”

Gao: “’His hands’. Are you sure it wasn’t his fist?” Guard: “Ummmmm what’s the difference”

CULTS ARE SO SCARY HE REALLY JUST KNELT THERE AAAAAH

#iron fist #iron fist rewatch #under leaf pluck lotus #my stuff #the immortal iron fist

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qviddiitch · 4 years

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⧼ darren barnet, cis male, he/his / we are the champions by queen + a nearly encyclopedic knowledge of all things related to quidditch, ready to recite at a moments notice; a well-worn crimson and gold sweater, a memory of a past life; half-dressed and laying on an unmade bed, his face buried in the latest issue of quidditch monthly; calloused hands from hours spent clutching the handle of a broomstrick; a sense of determination so strong, that once his mind has been made up, nothing will be standing in his way. ⧽ ━━ hey, isn’t that OLIVER WOOD? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the TWENTY SEVEN year old half blood WIZARD is a GRYFFINDOR alumnus who has gone on to be a PROFESSIONAL QUIDDITCH PLAYER. i’ve heard they can be quite ASSIDUOUS & LION-HEARTED, but i don’t know… they came off very ARGUMENTATIVE & STUBBORN in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?

meet oliver lachlan wood,

ABOUT:

here’s a link to his wikia page, it’s just a reference

oliver lachlan wood was born as the result of a brief affair between aileen wood, a scottish witch, and a foreign wizard wizard. former students of hogwarts and another wizarding school, respectfully, they met through their love of quidditch and had a brief, yet passionate affair. (note, his father remains unnamed as i have a wc up for his paternal family)

his father took off after aileen relieved her pregnancy, claiming that he simply wasn’t ready to be a father. something which aileen came to accept later on, but, heartbroken she returned home to raise her son with the support of her parents.

at the time aileen was set to play for the banchory bangers and with a lot of help from her parents, she made it work. though eventually, she moved out.

they lived a simple life, just the two of them in a small house in scotland. but life was good. but still, he couldn’t help but wish he knew his father. his mother would smile whenever he asked, offering up the same story about how they met and weren’t ready for marriage.

when he was sixteen, oliver decided to reach out to his father, wanting to build a relationship with the man. but upon learning that his father had go on to start a new family, with new children, oliver became angry. and he swore he would never have a relationship with his father.

upon his arrival at hogwarts, oliver was sorted into gryffindor within seconds of the sorting hat touching his head. he knew that he belonged right away, quickly becoming friends with his fellow housemates.

he was an average student, earning passing grades, but never really excelling at his classes. his main focus was quidditch- it was this devotion that led to him becoming captain later on.

he has always struggled when it comes to interpersonal skills, often failing to realize he comes across to people. he’s very passionate about quidditch, intense, really. he’s been known to tell his teammates to suck it up. and then there’s his peptalks, but really, he’s a nice guy.

after finishing at hogwarts, oliver accepted a position on the puddlemore united reserve team. he was on the way to his dream, but he wasn’t there yet. within a year, he’d earned a spot on the main team as the keeper.

he returned to howarts for the battle, coming to the aid of dumbledore’s army and the order of the phoenix, fighting along side his former teammates and complete strangers. sometime afterwards he officially joined the order of the phoenix.

after harry’s death, oliver struggled with returning to his life, the sport he once loved a sad reminder of a lost friend. ultimately, he moved on, realizing that harry wouldn’t want his pity

since then he’s been living his best life, playing quidditch and just having a good time. although, the war has forced him to become more serious.

FUN FACTS:

oliver received his first broomstick, a toy, at the age of three, and he fell in love. his mother often joked that she could never get him off the broom, which wasn’t entirely un-true. he loved flying.

despite knowing it was against the rules for first years to have their own brooms, oliver attempted to and ultimately failed to bring his broomstick to hogwarts. he foolishly thought he’d be able to sneak it into his trunk, and it was confiscated much to his dismay.

he considers being sorted in gryffindor to be one of the best moments of his life. the sorting hat barely even touched his head before shouting gryffindor, to the thunderous applause of his housemates. he knew he belonged in gryffindor right away.

oliver tried out for the house team as a first year and earned himself a place on the reserve team, as well as a water boy. but he never stopped working, ultimately earning himself the position as keeper for the main team.

he has tried to steal the hogwarts quidditch cup on more than one occasion, for reasons he either can’t explain or doesn’t want to explain. the most notable time was after the 1994 season. he was caught of course, but mcgonangall managed to talk filtch out of punishing oliver. with the exception of the battle of hogwarts, he has made an attempt to steal it every time he’s returned to hogwarts. he has yet to be successful.

himbo™

pansexual, panromantic.

i haven’t figured out the logistics but this is 2020 and i like to think the wizarding community has began to embrace technology, specifically video games. that’s why oliver has partnered with a group trying to develop a quidditch based video game.

PINTEREST BOARD: coming soon

PLAYLIST: we are the champions - queen; don’t stop me now - queen; centuries - fall out boy; the boxer - simon & garfunkel; whatever it takes by imagines dragons; i won’t back down - tom petty; eye of the tiger - survivor; let it rock - kevin rudolf; carry on wayward son - kansas

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

OLIVER WOOD ( darren barnet ) is looking for their PATERNAL HALF-SIBLING who resembles ANY HALF WHITE FC / RYAN POTTER, KAYLEE BRYANT, BRIANNA HILDEBRAND, JAMES REID, LUCIEN LAVISCOUNT, LULU ANTARISKA, NATASHA LIU BORDIZZO, VANESSA MORGAN, VERNON CHOI, GEORGE SEAR, MIGUEL BERNARDEAU, XAVIER SERRANO, UTP and should be 19 - 26. applicants do not have to contact MAEVE to talk over the details before applying. ( aileen wood was fresh out of hogwarts and participating in an international quidditch competition of sorts when she met and fell in love with oliver’s father. he was a young hotshot from another country and they hit it off almost immediately. and not long after the end of the event, she became pregnant. and not ready to be a father, he cut ties and ran back to wherever home was. meaning oliver was raised by his mother. his father tried reaching out over the years, but it was only after he had finished at hogwarts that oliver decided to respond to a letter. and this led to a very awkward meeting where oliver met not only his father but the family he stayed with. needless to say, they did not hit it off and oliver likely resented his half-sibling. how oliver and his half-sibling reconnected is not really set in stone, i just know that the sibling now lives in the u.k. and i would like for attempts at reconnecting to be made! and as for details on the father, i left things intentionally vague so you can truly go wild with your characters backstory! just as long as he played quidditch and attended a school that wasn’t hogwarts! )

OLIVER WOOD ( darren barnet ) is looking for their CURRENT/FORMER HOOKUPS who resembles UTP and should be 24 - 30. applicants do not have to contact MAEVE to talk over the details before applying. ( i’ll try to keep this short. With the exception of his one real relationship, oliver has always been a fan of no strings attached relationships, they’re easier. between his pretty face and fame as a quidditch player, i’d like to think he gets around. whether or not this was in the past or still on-going, i’m not picky!! i just think there’s some fun to be had. )

OLIVER WOOD ( darren barnet ) is looking for their PUDDLEMORE UNITED TEAMMATE(S) who resembles UTP and should be ANY AGE. applicants do not have to contact MAEVE to talk over the details before applying. ( i’ll keep this short and sweet! Basically after finishing up at hogwarts, oliver made the puddlemore united reserve squad as the keeper, before eventually making it to the main team. i think they’d spend a lot of time together- meaning their relationship might be interesting. oliver can be very intense and somewhat unaware of how he comes off. so there’s plenty of potential for positive or negative connections alike! )

OLIVER WOOD ( darren barnet ) is looking for their QUIDDITCH RIVAL who resembles SANTIAGO SEGURA, KEITH POWERS, ROSS BUTLER, GAVIN LEATHERWOOD, ALBERTO ROSENDE, DEV PATEL, MIGUEL BERNARDEAU, UTP and should be 26 - 29. applicants do not have to contact MAEVE to talk over the details before applying. ( you know the whole mutual hatred-dislike relationship oliver had going on with marcus flint? this is essentially the same thing, except it’s been going on for several years now. and it’s not just on the field, they can’t stand one another, and they’ve gotten into fights on more than one occasion. basically, they both play in the british and irish quidditch league so they’ve been facing each other for years now which has only contributed to the hostility. i just think it could be fun, because oliver generally considers himself to be a nice guy. )

OLIVER WOOD ( darren barnet ) is looking for their EX who resembles ALIA BHATT, BILLIE LOURD, NATASHA LIU BORDIZZO, KEIYNAN LONSDALE, CODY CHRISTIAN, PEYTON ALEX SMITH, GABRIEL DARUKU, ROME FLYNN, UTP and should be 26 - 29. applicants do not have to contact MAEVE to talk over the details before applying. ( i’m a real sucker for an angsty, ex connection so here i am. this would be the one serious relationship oliver has ever had in his life. they dated for over a year and everyone thought they’d be together for the rest of their lives, unfortunately, oliver put his career first which led to a fairly nasty break up. ideally tensions would still be fairly high, whether or not it’s just because they’re both the argumentative type or because oliver doesn’t seem to care can be discussed, i just think this could be fun. )

other ideas include quidditch friends !! maybe your character doesn’t play quidditch but they’re a fan and they like to talk about it with oliver because he’s a fanatic. or fellow players, anything quidditch related really!!

friends ?? he’s a nice guy, bit obsessed with quidditch. it’d be nice if he had some friends that he met through something other than quidditch/they talk about stuff that’s not quidditch. i’d also like his best friend.

a roommate could be fun !! i feel like he’d want one just bc he’s not always home and someone should be there to look after the place ?? idk

#❝ ʜᴇ·s ᴀ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀғᴜᴄᴋɪɴ· ғʟʏ ʙᴏʏ — ⟪ oliver wood ⟫#nox.intro

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imaginetonyandbucky · 5 years

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Tesserae

For an older prompt: (I've waited two months for this I'm so excited) Post CW—Imagine a pining Bucky picking up on how Tony seems genuinely relaxed and comfortable (dare he say happy?) around Bucky, and being really, really excited about it... then noticing how Tony minutely flinches, shies away from, and is generally afraid of Steve. Which Steve notices of course, and feels terrible about it. Imagine Bucky trying to help fix things between them like they've both helped fix him.

Sometimes when things are broken all you can do is find a new way to be...though that's not necessarily a bad thing.

AO3

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If someone had asked Tony when, exactly, the Avengers Project died – which nobody did, but not because they didn’t care, in Tony’s opinion, but because they all thought they knew – he would have said it happened way before that bunker in Siberia. It even happened before the fight at the airport, but it wasn’t when Steve found out that Bucky had killed Tony’s parents and didn’t tell Tony, because he really believed that Steve hadn’t decided not to say anything. Steve had said, “I had been trying to find the right time to tell you,” and Tony truly believed him. After all, how many times had he tried and failed to tell Pepper about the palladium that had been slowly killing him? How long would it have taken him to tell her about the Iron Man project to begin with if she hadn’t walked in on him? No, in Tony’s opinion, the Avengers as an idea died the moment when Steve found out that SHIELD was rotten to the core with Hydra and decided not to come to Tony for help. Because no matter how Tony turned it over in his mind, he couldn’t come up with any explanation other than Steve had thought that there was a chance, no matter how tiny, that Tony was Hydra too.

Tony could see, logically, how a person could be forgiven for suspecting he was part of Hydra– he’d been the first person recruited by SHIELD for the Avengers, he knew Pierce and several Hydra senators on a first name basis, and he’d even been one of the consultants on Project Insight. If it had been anyone else, he would have been the first to say that a bit of caution was warranted. But it wasn’t anyone else, it wasn’t a stranger, it was him. He would have hoped that anyone who knew him would know better. He would have thought Steve, despite their quarrels and differences, would have known better, but apparently not.

So instead of picking up a phone and asking for help, or even giving him a warning of what was coming, Steve let Tony hear about the political and military cataclysm in DC on the news, same as everyone else. And then on top of that had been the Ultron mess –

The drafting pencil in Tony’s hand snapped as he remembered the look on Steve’s face when they’d been talking about arms dealer, the accusation and contempt he’d seen there for a flash of a second. It had been painful enough to the first time around, but when he’d realized that Steve had lost trust in him years before then, the moment had taken on a new significance.

Tossing the broken pencil to the side, Tony sighed with frustration and scrubbed his face with his hands before running them through his hair. “JARVIS, turn the music up,” he said, tired of listening to his own thoughts running in circles. Before Steve and Bucky had shown back up at the tower, looking for help, Tony had more or less managed to set aside the ball of resentment that had taken up residence under his breastbone. But now it was like Steve’s presence in the tower was like the pea under his mattress, bringing up all the old pain and making it fresh again. He knew that people probably thought he’d moved past it because he and Bucky had become…well, he wasn’t sure what they were, exactly, but in any event the truth was that Steve’s presence was rubbing salt in the wound.

Stretching his neck and shoulders, he bent back over the drafting table, trying to focus on the latest redesign for the quinjet. It worked for a while; he managed to lose himself in equations for lift and drag and thrust and torque, occasionally tapping his foot to the music, until out of the corner of his eye he saw the lab door open.

JARVIS automatically lowered the volume as Bucky walked in, but not before Tony saw him wince at the wall of noise. “JARVIS, turn the music off,” Tony said, offering Bucky a sympathetic smile. “Headache?”

“Kind of,” Bucky said, smiling back wanly. “Just a little anxiety, I guess.”

“Ah.” Tony knew how that felt. He tapped his pencil thoughtfully on his drafting table and said, “Would you like me to tell you what I’m working on?”

With a grateful nod, Bucky sat, propping his chin on his metal hand, and listened while Tony’s voice ran over him; he could tell that Tony was pitching his voice low and making an extra effort to modulate his tone so it was a rhythmic patter, and the end result was Tony’s explanation was as soothing as listening to the rain. Bucky could feel his muscles unknotting and the fizzy, aching tension in his head subside as he relaxed under the weight of Tony’s words.

“You should do one of those ASMR recordings,” Bucky said, so drowsy he was barely able to hold his head up. “I could listen to you read a phone book.”

Tony snorted. “Usually people can’t wait for me to shut up,” he said dryly. He reached into his mini-fridge under his desk and pulled out two bottles of water, offering Bucky one as he opened one for himself. “Natasha called me hyperverbal.”

“Really? Not that I’ve noticed,” Bucky said. “You strike me as more quiet and thoughtful than hyperverbal.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, toying with his drafting pencil, “I guess I’ve changed a little, since then.”

***

One night, the time of night that could be called either late night or early morning, Bucky shuffled into the shared living room and found Tony curled up on the couch, watching TV. Bucky came around the couch and saw that he was watching Mythbusters. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure,” Tony said, sitting up a little to make room on the couch. As he sat, neither one of them said the things that had already been said enough: couldn’t sleep? No, me either. Bad dreams? Yeah. Instead they skipped straight to the companionable silence. After a few minutes, Tony handed a half-empty bowl of slightly stale cheesy popcorn over, and Bucky polished off the bowl while Jamie and Adam tested whether or not someone would be thrown backwards when shot by a bullet or if a car would explode if you shot the gas tank. Bucky took issue with the episode that tested whether a car would flip over if hit with an RPG, which led to Tony telling him about the time he took down a helicopter with a piano, and then suddenly the sun was coming up, rosy fingers of light drawing lines on the ceiling. Tony and Bucky were sharing a blanket, their feet tangled together in the middle of the couch, when Steve came through on his way to the kitchen.

“Morning, Buck. Morning, Tony,” he said cheerfully, barely slowing as he walked by, but it was enough. Tony sat up, and even though he piled the extra blanket on Bucky as he stood, Bucky felt the chill of his withdrawal.

“I didn’t realize how late it was,” he said lightly. “I’ve got to get to work.”

Bucky tilted his head thoughtfully as he watched Tony leave, staring at the doorway with a frown even after Tony was gone.

After that, it took a few days to get Tony alone, but eventually Bucky tracked him to the kitchen, finding him making coffee and slicing oranges for breakfast. “Good morning,” Tony greeted cheerfully, and used his knife to push a few orange slices towards Bucky as he grabbed another from the basket on the counter. “How are you doing?”

“Pretty well,” Bucky said, eating one mostly so he would have something to do with his hands. “You?"

"Can't complain," Tony said cheerfully as he sliced. "Slept well and there aren't any fires to put out, so I can actually take my time with breakfast." He gestured with the knife at where Bucky was fiddling with the orange peels. "You seem like you have something on your mind though."

"I just had a question for you.”

"Go for it."

“Is…um, is everything okay, between you and Steve?” It had taken Bucky a while to realize that Tony was systematically avoiding Steve. After all, they are all busy people, and Tony’s schedule was probably the craziest out of everybody’s. So it wasn’t until Bucky started making an effort to spend more time with Tony that he realized that the only thing that was consistent about Tony’s schedule was that he wasn’t anywhere that Steve was. Steve liked to work out early in the morning, but Tony hit the gym in early evening. Tony would eat in the common area, but never when Steve was there. If they were ever in the room at the same time, Tony would leave, sometimes so quietly that Bucky would look over in the middle of a conversation and find that Tony was gone.

Tony’s movements slowed. “Sure,” Tony said neutrally. He rinsed off the knife and set it next to the sink then poured himself some coffee. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Bucky squinted at him, wondering if he meant here as in the Tower or here as in alive, and decided it was probably the former. “So you accepted his apology? For, you know…” He gestured vaguely.

Tony barked out a laugh at that, sharp and bitter. “What apology? His bullshit letter, or the hangdog one he gave me when he was forced to come back and ask for help?”

Bucky blinked, startled by sudden vitriol. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging helplessly. “I just noticed that you don’t really ever seem to be around Steve, and I was wondering if it was on purpose.”

“Yeah, it’s on purpose.”

Bucky hadn’t really thought through this conversation; he especially hadn’t anticipated that Tony would just come right out and say it, so he was caught a little flat-footed. “Why?”

Tony’s mouth twisted. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Well, I mean I know…” Bucky exhaled. He looked down at his hands, flattened them out on the granite countertop next to the orange slices and cutting board. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive him?”

“I don’t know.”

“You forgave me.”

“You’re different.”

“Yeah.” Bucky swallowed thickly. “I’m worse.”

“No,” Tony said immediately. He put one hand over Bucky’s and squeezed it, meeting his eyes so Bucky could see that he meant it. “The difference is you didn’t decide to hurt me. Steve did.”

“But he said he was sorry, and he’s trying-“

“Did he say he was sorry? And even if he did, what good, exactly, is an apology?” Tony stared Bucky in the eyes and dropped the coffee mug on the floor, not even flinching when it shattered and coffee went everywhere. “Is an apology going to clean up this mess?”

The look in Tony’s eyes made Bucky’s stomach turn. “No.”

“Will it fix the mug?”

“No.”

“So what do you think Steve can do with his apologies?”

Bucky stared at the shattered mug. “Is there anything that…I don’t know, could help? Could fix it?”

Tony exhaled. “I don’t know, Bucky. Some things just can be fixed.” He waited for a long moment but Bucky didn’t know what to say, so eventually he turned away to get a broom.

***

“Did you know?”

Steve sighed, resting his head in his hands. “I suspected. So I made sure to give him his space. I figured that’s what he needed.”

“Well, what are we going to do?”

“We?” Steve lifted his head and sat back against the couch. “It’s not your problem, Bucky. I’m glad that you two have grown close, but I don’t think Tony and I will ever get there. Too much bad blood.”

“But it’s bothering you,” Bucky said. “And it obviously bothers him. Nothing’s going to get better unless you try.”

“What can I do? Apologize again? You told me what Tony thinks of my apologies.”

“Just try talking to him. At the very least you need to clear the air.”

“I don’t know, Buck.” Steve looked down at his hands. “I don’t know that I really have the right to Tony’s forgiveness, after everything.”

“Do you forgive him? For everything in the bunker?”

“Well, yeah,” Steve said, sounding like it was something so obvious he hadn’t really thought it needed saying. “Baron Zemo went through a lot of effort to find a wedge to drive us apart, and Secretary Ross and the Accords was the hammer to the wedge. If I hadn’t kept that secret about his parents, Zemo wouldn’t have had that wedge in the first place. How do I begin to make up for something like that?”

Bucky rubbed his eyes, hearing Tony’s ragged Do you even remember them? echo in his thoughts. “Just try? Please? For me?”

“Why is this important to you?”

“Because…” Bucky took a deep breath. “You and Tony are the most important people in my life and I think that Tony…that Tony could be more. Maybe. But with all of this…”

Steve’s eyes softened. “Oh, Buck. Really? With Tony? That’s great, I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah.” Bucky smiled shyly. “I don’t know if he…you know, because of everything, but we’ll see.” It almost seemed like too much to hope for, that Tony could put their ugly past behind them to make a future. But he didn’t think anything good could happen when there was so much pain and anger festering in Tony’s heart.

“Ok, I’ll do my best,” Steve said. “Hopefully I won’t make it worse.”

“And maybe do it outside so there’s nothing to throw at you.”

#tony stark #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #winteriron #dracusfyre #prompt fill #Post Civil War #tony-centric

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ciarawritesmarvel · 5 years

Text

the trouble with wanting [2] - steve rogers x reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: There might be swearing? I can’t be bothered to check tbh I need to get this out quick before I go out...

A/N: Chapter Two of mine and my love @spiderrpcrker‘s entry to Fic Wars, and awesome challenge by @revengingbarnes and @chillingbucky who are such lovely and wonderful people - I am so sorry to be so late for this! Tanya’s first chapter was quite something so I hope I don’t disappoint and also hope you’re all doing perfectly well <3

Chapter One // Series Masterlist

---

She had never missed a day of work before. Ever. In her life.

Sure, she’d been ill before, but then she’d taken whatever pills would get her through the day and soldiered on, bolstered by the joy she derived from her job in the first place. There had been funerals missed because work was just too important (nobody she was close to, of course) and weddings that she hadn’t been able to make the bachelorette party for on the Friday before and parties that she simply hadn’t been able to go to, all because work was everything and she wasn’t going to miss a single second of it.

They were going to be so mad at her now.

She’d put on her favourite dress, the one with the floral pattern and the flare at the waist, paired it with her favourite pumps, a pick me up that had proved helpful. As her heels clicked against the corridor floors, she smiled, enjoying the familiar sound. Vaguely, somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard a voice that told her to get a life, but she ignored it. She had other peoples’ lives to worry about.

30 other people, in fact. And they were quite little, and rather dependent on her and she could not believe that she had left them to fend for themselves yesterday.

They would have had a supply teacher, but that was so not the point.

At just the thought of not having been there for them, it was as if her pace picked up of its own accord and she began speed walking through the halls, taking a right to cut through the sports’ hall, then a left into the corridor, a quick right-left until she came out into the playground and spied her little hut. Her own little paradise.

It was true that when she’d first been assigned the hut as her classroom, she had been more than just a bit pissed off. But a lick of paint bought with her own money here and displays that would rival even Sharon in the best classroom in the house and she was pretty proud of what she’d done with a less than ideal situation. Now, when classrooms were assigned, she would always ‘take one for the team’ and offer to take her little hut.

She practically skipped up the stairs and deftly unlocked the door, smiling in relief as she saw the classroom relatively unscathed after a day without her. Of course, there were a few things out of place that she quickly set right and then she began with her usual routine, writing the date on the board and the title for the morning’s lesson, setting out the materials on each desk, scarcely referring to her lesson plan as it was so carefully rooted in her brain already.

A glance at the clock. 8:58. She smiled. Wide.

Last few touches and she was ready, skipping back outside and onto the playground where she spotted most of her kids playing and waiting for the bell to ring. As soon as it did, she gave them a wave and they came rushing over to line up.

“Miss Y/L/N! You’re here!”

“We missed you so much!” “Where were you?”

“Maisie, don’t ask that!”

“Why not?”

“Just...cause!”

She shook her head fondly, promised she’d answer anything they had to ask a little later on and lead them all into the hut. Today was going to be a better day than yesterday, she was sure.

---

It was the afternoon. She’d managed to get the kids quiet by promising that she’d answer any and all questions in ‘storytime’ at the end of the day instead of a book, to which they all heartily agreed. Literacy had been a piece of cake, fractions a little more difficult and now they were just finishing off a timeline of the 1900s in groups. A normal day. The juxtaposition was still a little shocking.

“Okay guys, we ready for storytime...or question time, rather?”

A cheer rang out among them as they ran to sit on the carpet, crossing their legs with ease and leaning forward in eager anticipation. She tugged a chair over in front of them and grinned at them as she sat down.

“Miss?” Arthur had his hand up and she nodded at him, “Where were you yesterday?”

Somebody nudged him in an attempt to quiet him down, as some of the more mature students realised that perhaps that wasn’t the best question to ask but she said she would explain, promised even, so she had to follow through on that one.

“Well, the night before, I went on a date-”

A sudden ‘oooh’ overtook them and she laughed outright, tipping her head back a little.

“-but he didn’t show.”

The ‘ooh’s cut out as quickly as they appeared and were replaced by about 20 embarrassed faces and 10 who looked adorably angry.

“Anyway, I was in the bathroom when I began hearing some loud shouts and…” she trailed off, trying to word this right when Sarah gasped.

“You were in that restaurant? The one that was attacked?”

The other kids started gasping then, turning to each other in horror and she was quick to reassure them.

“Yes, I was Sarah. But I’m fine, as you can see,” she held her hands out calmly, “Mainly because...well because somebody saved my life.”

“WHO?” came lots of tiny voices, totally enraptured by her tale and she bit her lip.

“Captain America.”

Her voice came out hushed but the impact was loud. The children began talking over each other all at once, to the point where she couldn’t make out a word of what any of them were saying. She could see that all of them looked excited, but for some reason Sarah looked practically giddy and her and Maisie seemed to be shaking each other in happiness.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough, guys, that’s enough!”

It took them a few more moments but they soon quietened down.

“Any questions, I want hands up only,” she warned, only to see every single hand fly up in the air instantly. She sighed. Perhaps this hadn’t been her best idea ever.

---

30 minutes and seemingly hundreds of questions later, it was home time and for once, it didn’t feel it could come soon enough. Of course, not because of the kids, but because if she had to answer one more question on ‘what Captain America smelt like’ she might just lose her mind.

As she let the kids go one by one to their guardians, Sarah seemed to be hanging back to the end and she crouched down to her eye level when it was just her remaining.

“Everything okay, Sarah? Is your dad not here yet?”

She didn’t answer and instead, with a strength that surprised her, Sarah grabbed her hand and began pulling her along behind, giggling as she went. She staggered to a standing position and followed reluctantly, eyes narrowing.

“Sarah, could you tell me where we’re going please?”

“This is going to be so good!”

She was cackling and Y/N was beginning to feel very uneasy. She led her around the wall of the playground and just as she was about to pull out of Sarah’s grip and ask her what the hell was going on, there was a man in front of her that she had to rear back from not to bump into.

“Hey prin-” Steve stopped short as he pulled his baseball cap and sunglasses off to greet his daughter only to be met with another figure as well. When he recognised just exactly who this figure was, he balked, “YOU?!”

She blinked. Blinked again. Stared slack jawed between Sarah and Captain freaking America. When she’d sufficiently composed herself, she turned to Sarah with a kind smile.

“Sarah, sweetheart,” she said slowly and calmly, but with an edge of a wobble in her voice, “Is Captain America your father?”

“...yes, Miss Y/L/N,” she giggled uncontrollably, face contorting and Y/N pressed her lips together as she nodded solemnly.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath and Capt- or Steve as she should really call him shook his head in disbelief.

“I knew your surname sounded familiar!” he said triumphantly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips and she rolled her eyes at herself.

“A kid called Sarah Rogers, and it never even crossed my mind...I’m thick,” she declared and Steve quickly looked horrified.

“Oh no, you’re not thick! I mean, who would think that?” he said and she shrugged, supposing he was right, “It’s nice to see you again, anyway, Miss Y/L/N, safe and sound.”

There was only a hint of a tease in his tone and she kind of liked it anyway. She decided to play along, if only a little.

“All thanks to you… Mr Rogers.”

They held eye contact for just a moment too long, before she came to her senses and returned her gaze to the ground, coughing slightly.

“Anyway,” she said pointedly, “I don’t want to keep you from getting this one home.”

She ruffled Sarah’s hair just a little and Sarah rolled her eyes, taking her dad’s hand and grinning up at him.

“Right,” he agreed, averting his own eyes to his daughter and returning her smile, “Ready to go, sport?”

She nodded excitedly and Steve turned back to Y/N. His smile stayed put.

“I’ll see you soon, Miss Y/L/N.”

She simply smiled shyly in response and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she gave Sarah one final wave and turned away, heading back through the playground and into the hut. She decided to take her marking home tonight. She needed to go home, right now.

“I love Miss Y/L/N! Don’t you, daddy?”

Steve swung their joined hands back and forth between them. He didn’t answer.

He didn’t even hear her speak.

#ficwars™2019 #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers series #captain america imagine #captain america series #marvel #marvel series #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #the trouble with wanting

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system-of-a-feather · 5 years

Text

I should sleep but instead I’ll share a bit more about myself

Sleep is for loosers anyways jk for real sleep is important to your mental health you really should try to get decent sleep if you can

Anyways, I had asked about it earlier cause I was reminiscing back to the old days a bit so I figured I would just go on an old man’s tales of the old days. Don’t worry this shouldn’t have much of any potentially triggering content. Its just kinda a look back on where I started and where I’ve come since I split off or at least a bit of a general one. So if you like, grab some marshmellows, pick up some chocolate and lets enjoy some smores by the fire. (Keep reading below if interested; ps its kinda really long XD)

Honestly, its been mentioned a bit around here that I am, in fact, not the original host of the system and while I have taken very strongly to my role as host and my system has come to respect me (at least for the most part) as the host and “leader / commander” in the alternative role descriptions our system likes to use from time to time, I honestly have only been in this role for like... the past three or so years of the like... ten or twelve (depends on if you count when I split off or when I actually began interacting actively with the world) years.

Like for some background, I split off originally in order to help the previous host and trauma holder (who weren’t in communication) handle and adjust to life while we moved schools twice in a single year. From what I know prior to my split, our system was very dependent on hanging out with our friends as a way to keep trauma from surfacing to the host or something similar to that and the host before I split off was a bit of a shy child. My family made a really bad decision with a move that sent everyone in my family into various bad mental states and to cut the unpleasant info out of it, the host at the time couldn’t handle or adapt to the new school that had a horrifically different atmosphere from our old one. None of the ways she was able to have fun or connect with others were capable and with a even worse condition house and a lack of friends, it essentially caused two splits. One was Lucille and one was me, almost around the same time for similar, related, but different reasons.

For me, I know my main role was to be able to make friends, maintain friends, and to make sure school life wasn’t a problem and that we could constantly have someone to be around when we were younger. Back in the day my main job was to be charismatic, make friends, and create stable and sturdy social connections with everyone so that one of the largest important coping mechanisms could be saved.

Admittedly though, even though I did fill the role needed and did create wonderful webs of connections and friends, even though I did make friends by taking outcasts of each school I went to in order to make stable relationships, honestly a mix of our family’s toxicity and a lot of bad luck with friends moving made it so few friendships lasted more than a year. It made it rather hard for anyone to hold host and I believe for the longest many years no one was a consistent host - something that was considerably concerning given we wouldn’t start communicating or being actively aware of each other for another six years.

Anyways, a lot of the repetitive failures honestly made me loose a bit of faith in people and humanity for a few years and I kind of retreated to online where I became an edgelord and went under the idea of “I really don’t care about the real world and my real life anyways, we aren’t gonna live that long anyways and my life will figure itself out” and engrossed myself solely into being an “online social” personality for a long while from the ages of like twelve until like... sixteen.

It was honestly a mistake I suppose as me abandoning the real life wasn’t abandoning my life like I thought it was as much as it turned out I was abandoning an important duty in a system I didn’t know I was part of and such action not only led me into being put into a lot of abusive relationships with online people, but also left our life horrifically unnurtured, barren and dry. During the time I popped in from time to time to help with club activities, but for the most part managing our real life was left to Aderis (who scared everyone away out of defense), Lucille (pre-integrated being an introverted know it all), and a trauma holder that avoided everyone. Our club life flourished and we had a group of friends in our band activities as it was the only part of the real world I would end up being out in and caring about enough to foster, but outside of that our life was barren. Sometime in that period, Aderis had made contact with me and everyone vaguely got to know each other, but considering a lot of denial and other abuse and trauma was going on then, we never properly established an understanding of DID or our system or even full recognition of each other - or at least I didn’t.

In a sorts, it lead to the point where apparently the trauma holder that was vaguely taking host was getting so sick of existing and was so envious of the beautiful life I was hosting online that it became a huge problem that apparently was the driving force to get us into therapy. I don’t really know too much of the specifics but it had caused a massive internal war over if we should destroy my online life as to force me to actually come back and try to help fix the mess our real life was at, or if we should just give up on having a real life and foster in the one I was building online. It was a internal conflict that actually had Lucille and I worried that it might end up to self harm or rash decisions and it was enough to get us to push for therapy which we eventually got.

Through the first few months of therapy it was noted by a not-dissociation specialist that what I was going through sounded a lot like DID but that wasn’t addressed further than him attempting to integrate what he identified to be “the online personality” and the “offline personality” by bringing someone who can bridge the two worlds and assist in integrating the two parts. Of course, being he wasn’t a professional in DID or dissociation, it didn’t quite work out properly, but it did get me actually focused on our real life a bit more. I was put in a position where I had to try to transfer what I did online to the real world and I did so by bringing a somewhat trusted individual into communication with me online.

At that point I had kind of forgotten how to be super charismatic irl and so I kept a lot of the more personal conversations online and rather than bridging me and the semi-host (as we didn’t really have a host), it rather got me somewhat interested in the real world again - or at least gave me something beyond my online world that meant something to me. I fostered a strong relationship with this individual and I took it upon myself to try to keep this relationship working as it was the first time in ages that someone in the real not-online world that seemed to intend to stay around us and it gave me some hope to my otherwise jaded view on the world.

It was honestly a lot of work being in therapy and trying to find this middle ground of managing online and offline and trying to get both domains to work in our system’s life, especially when I took the initiative to consider dating that person that really seemed to stick around and have enough faith and patience with me and our system to work with us, especially since the system wasn’t entirely on board, and especially sicne even then, we had no clearly defined host.

A lot of back and forth happened, a lot of alters trying to sabotage each other, a lot of really poor mental health and poor adjustment, and then two or three things too many happened and the trauma holder that was semi-host seemed to fall entirely dormant leaving the host position completely open and with the system a bit shook.

In a sense, due to the fact that Aderis was going through things at the time, Lucille was insecure on his existence, and the other active known member was a child, I was kind of kicked out to fill the role - especially considering the person we were in a relationship was considered to be my partner and my decision and my responsibility at the time. Plus, of all the alters in the pool that could have picked up host at the time, the most socially capable for managing a life was of course the alter that was MADE to be social and to create friendships and reach out to individuals.

I suppose in a sense it was natural that I was the one that got kicked out. Honestly, I don’t see myself to be as socially capable or charismatic as I am told I am and honestly I personally struggle a lot from time to time with friendships and relationships due to a lot of the personal things I as Riku have been through and how being online almost exclusively for three or four years messed with my understanding of social rules and interactions and all that, but honestly, it was generally at that moment that the system kinda just forced me to handle a heccin lot.

And like... talking about adjusting from being an alter formed primarily to establish and maintain friendships to being the host and person in charge of a lot in the system, I could go on about that on its own for ages. It is honestly something I both gripe and grumble and am really critical on myself for not doing “good enough” but it is also something I am pretty proud to say I feel I have been managing pretty good all things considered.

I do wonder how the trauma holder that stood in as a kinda-host after the original host refused to be host is doing, and I really hope she is alright and I honestly know she isn’t but I hope one of these days I can build this life to be healthy enough, stable enough, and safe enough that she can come out of dormancy and recover as she deserves to.

Currently, she is honestly in a really unstable state to the point keeping her dormant is one of the highest priorities of our system as she is honestly really dangerous to us and we aren’t in an environment that can support and safely provide a place for her to recover, so honestly, if nothing else, I hope that one of these days I can make this life a life she can be safe in.

I do deal with some of the thoughts of “I stole this life from an individual” or at least I used to struggle with them a lot, but I like to think of it more as me saving and rescuing this life for someone who couldn’t handle it anymore.

And in the end, we are all the same individual. We are all working towards the same thing, and if there is anything I can do with the honor it is to be the host of the system and to get this much time out and to have this much direction over how we drive this life, I want to make my system happy and safe.

I dunno. Its just some sentimental thinking I was going on about to myself before since I was thinking back to when I was a protector and when all I had to worry about were social issues and picking the most reliable trust worthy people to add to our lives and replacing them as fast as possible when they left to maintain stability. Back when all I cared about and had to worry about was building social circles, and now I gotta do that among all sorts of other things.

It was a simpler time, but I am happy of where I am now. I suppose when I was “just a social protector” one of the largest hobbies I had was finding people that were less fortunate, rejected by the cliquey social groups of our school, and creating a bit of a safe place and a friend to have so they wouldn’t be lonely, and from time to time I would get them involved with other more popular individuals and it was great to watch them grow and succeed socially after being the social rejects for being blind or “fat” or awkward or shy. When I went online, I took a strong liking to helping people out and helping people feel a little better about themselves and letting people have a person they can talk to.

I suppose upon becoming a host, I just expanded my external duty inward and now I have a team that I love dearly that I want to make happy and to give them the best life possible.

I suppose in a sense, even as a host, I still strongly come from my roots as a social protector and thats nice to think about from time to time.

Anyways, thanks for joining me at my campfire and roasting some marshmellows. I dunno if any of you guys got anything of substance from my old man stories reflecting on my old duties and how thats changed some over time, but thanks for listening in.

-Riku (Host)

#alter: riku #did #osdd #dissociative identity disorder #actuallydid #personal

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blue-mint-winter · 6 years

Note

SW prompts -- I enjoyed very much your twisted Daala and Kyp thing. So perhaps more of that? Or generally something with Daala being not incompetent for once would be nice.

After so long, I finished this story! Thanks for the prompt!

FFnet link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12777283/1/Night-on-the-Knight-Hammer

Summary: AU of Darksaber. Kyp is captured by Daala’s forces again.

It’s long and contains torture and other dark stuff, so I put it under the read more, if you prefer reading on tumblr. I can also post on ao3 if anyone requests it.

Night on the Knight Hammer

Even before his formal training, Kyp Durron followed his instincts, the subtle nudges that saved his life countless of times in the mines of Kessel. After he became a Jedi, he heard Master Luke always saying to trust in the Force. Kyp felt and believed that the Force had some destiny in mind for him, so it was only natural that he followed its call.

Now it led him and his closest friend, Dorsk 81, into the Deep Core systems. Rumours were floating around about the Empire mustering its forces and preparing another attack and as the Jedi, they had to get to the bottom of this.

That’s how they found the nexus station where the Imperial troops gathered. Kyp and Dorsk 81 blended in the crowd at a rally to gain more information on the enemy’s plans before they returned to the New Republic with the warning. At least that was the plan before the one behind the attack was revealed.

Kyp saw that angular, cruel face multiplied around him on the vidscreens, the face that still haunted him at night, and then he saw red. Admiral Daala couldn’t possibly be alive!

But, against all odds, there she was—standing proud, looking over her cheering troops as she delivered the speech that declared the New Republic’s imminent destruction at her hands.

Kyp couldn’t take it. He shouted—out of disbelief, shock, and sheer revulsion—and drawn attention to himself and Dorsk 81. The stormtroopers swarmed the two Jedi, who tried to run, but soon their path to the docking bay was cut off. Kyp slashed around madly, causing carnage among his enemies.

“Run! I’ll hold them off!” he yelled to Dorsk.

“Kyp, I can’t leave you behind!” his friend protested.

Kyp used a Force push to clear the way. “Go! You have to warn the Academy!”

Dorsk reluctantly ran off. Kyp stayed behind to prevent the stormtroopers from going after his friend. He grinned ferociously and used the tip of his lightsaber to make a circle around himself, keeping the enemies at bay.

“Come on! Bring it on!” he challenged them.

They didn’t charge at him. The Force warned him about an incoming attack and he turned around to block it, but instead of a blaster bolt, he was caught in a net. He cut through it, but more came at him, binding his limbs. He trashed like a fish out of water, trying to free himself, then he felt a prick on his neck. Tranquilizer! He realized as his body became sluggish and unresponsive and he fell unconscious.

The stormtroopers quickly took his weapons and commlink. They slapped the binders on his wrists and ankles and gagged him. One could never be too cautious with those crafty Jedi.

“The Jedi was taken into the custody, Admiral,” the Sergeant reported.

“Good. Bring him to me,” Daala replied. She changed the channel on her comm. “This is Admiral Daala to all the ships—catch the other Jedi! I don’t want him to leave this system. Shoot him down if you have to, just don’t let him leave! Daala out.”

Her attention was drawn to the group of stormtroopers carrying the prisoner towards her. Daala easily recognized the boy who had once gotten away from her. A full-blown smirk appeared on her face. It seemed the fate was in her favour today. She wouldn’t have to pick through the ashes of Yavin IV to find his remains. Instead, she would exact her revenge on him at her own leisure.

Daala licked her lips and ordered the young Jedi to be shuttled on board her Super Star Destroyer, recently rechristened as the Knight Hammer.

A boot in the gut revived him instantly.

Kyp groaned and reflexively tried to curl up, but the tight restraints didn’t allow him to. He opened his eyes, disoriented, and saw the ceiling of the Imperial holding cell.

Must be a bad dream, he thought groggily.

Another heavy stomp to his stomach had him gasping for air. The pain took away his ability to think for a short while as he fought through it. He was going to have a big bruise there, but at the moment that was the least of his worries.

“I assure you all of this is real, Jedi. Or would you like my men to kick you again?”

The sound of that woman’s voice had a better sobering effect than a thousand kicks. Kyp whipped his head to the right. Daala was standing there flanked by two stormtroopers, her lips crooked in a cruel amusement as she gazed at her helpless prisoner.

“You,” he ground out with loathing.

“That’s admiral Daala to you, Jedi scum,” a stormtrooper said and made to kick him again, but Daala raised a hand to stop him.

“It’s fine. We know each other,” she said. “Don’t we, Kyp?”

Hearing her say his first name so familiarly filled him with disgust which in turn made him angry.

“You tortured me!” he spat out. Daala quirked an eyebrow.

“It was only questioning. Believe me, you haven’t seen any real torture… yet.”

Kyp gave her a scorching glare as he simmered in his rage.

“How are you even still alive?” he asked sourly.

“I could ask you the same,” Daala neatly deflected. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. I have you in my hands now.” And that she decided about his life and death went without saying.

“When’s the execution?” Kyp cut to the chase. “You can ‘question’ me all you want, I won’t tell you anything, so you might as well stop wasting both of our time.”

Daala put a cold hand on his cheek and stroked his skin lightly. Like he was a fucking house pet. “Don’t be so sure of yourself. There are many other methods of… persuasion,” she said silkily as her thumb rubbed at his lower lip.

Kyp glared but she held his gaze easily, showing that she wasn’t scared. After a long moment, she deliberately stepped away.

“Get him up,” she signaled to her troopers. “We’re going for a walk.”

The Jedi couldn’t quite bite back a groan of pain as he was forcefully stood up. He was frogmarched out of the cell into the stark corridors of a star destroyer.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked when he recognized they actually left the cell block. He turned his head back to see Daala who was right behind him, but the trooper on his left ‘corrected’ his posture with a smack.

“No moving,” the guard warned.

“Walking is moving!” Kyp protested.

A hard hit on the ribs was the answer.

“No talking back.”

Kyp kept silent, having learned his lesson.

The ride on the turbolift was uncomfortable. The space was too small and Daala breathed down his neck. Kyp tried to inch away from her, but quickly gave up when the guards noticed. He definitely didn’t want to get punched for nothing. He was smarter than that!

He could have attempted meditation, however a hand on his back deprived him of all the serenity he could muster and replaced it with a growing dread. His heart thudded in his chest as the hand slid down along his spine teasingly. It stopped at his lower back and his fervently hoped this was the end and she only meant to scare him… but then the hand moved down and pinched hard. Kyp yelped in surprise.

“Quiet!” the stormtrooper barked at him.

Kyp nodded, wide-eyed as the hand felt him up, grabbed and squeezed aggressively until the turbolift stopped the ascent and the door opened.

They arrived on the bridge.

Daala smoothly passed by him and took the lead. Kyp knew he didn’t imagine that smug smirk on her face.

“Admiral,” the captain greeted her.

“At ease,” she said and gestured for the guards to bring Kyp closer.

They were at a viewport overlooking a green-blue globe with a very familiar shapes of landmasses.

“Do you recognize this planet?” she asked.

Kyp swallowed thickly.

“No, not really.”

Daala gave a signal to the guards and one of them swiftly hit him while the other kept him upright.

“Even if you weren’t lying, it would interest you that we tracked your Jedi friend’s ship here.”

Kyp didn’t take the bait and stayed resolutely silent, focused on breathing evenly as he managed the pain in his center.

“Khomm… Such a pathetic little planet, full of pacifists and cowards. What would a Jedi need there?” Daala tapped her chin in a mock-consideration.

If Dorsk 81 is on the planet, he can hide. Stormtroopers won’t be able to tell him apart from the other Khommites, Kyp thought hopefully as he reached out in the Force to his friend. He got a vague blip of a presence but it was enough to fill him with relief. As long as Dorsk 81 was free, he could send the message to the Academy and the New Republic military.

“You won’t find him,” Kyp said with renewed confidence.

Daala’s eyes lit up, like she was just waiting for this moment. “Give me the mayor,” she ordered the comm specialist on the bridge.

The screen was turned on, showing the face of Kaell 116, the political leader of the Khomm capital.

“Admiral,” he said with a respectful bow.

“Did you find the criminal?” she asked immediately. Of course she wouldn’t be interested in exchanging pleasantries with those beneath her.

The Khommite didn’t look happy about the small snub, but wisely didn’t react. “Yes, he is transferred into the hands of your men as we speak.”

Kyp couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Khomm willingly collaborated with the Empire! They gave up one of their own, their only pride, just like that?

“You traitor!” Kyp blurted out with utter disgust.

“We’re merely protecting ourselves from outside interference in our way of life, Jedi Durron,” Kaell 116 rebuked the accusations stoically. “Our planet is neutral in galactic conflicts, so we’d like your fleet to leave as soon as our business is concluded,” he addressed Daala, who gave a short nod.

“Oh, we will leave as soon as possible, Mayor, you can rest assured.”

“Then thank you, Admiral, and good day to you.” Kaell 116 gave another bow and the transmission ended.

Daala looked at Kyp with gloating. “You were saying?” she asked and he just glared at her darkly. She won this round.

The admiral pivoted on her heel and marched smartly to the command chair, arms behind her ramrod straight back. The catwalk in the center of the Star Destroyer’s bridge must have been built for the sole purpose of the Imperial command taking walks above the heads of their officers and basking in the sense of power granted by the elevation. Daala certainly took full advantage of the ship’s architecture to exert her complete authority.

She sat in the command chair and crossed her legs. Her boots were polished to the highest shine, which could have blinded Kyp when he was brought by the guards to stand next to her.

Why didn’t she send him to his cell? Staying there in silence, surrounded by his enemies, the young Jedi swallowed down the rising uneasiness. He touched the Force, but it only carried a vague sense of threat. His connection was only tenuous after the beating he had received and he suspected they might have drugged him to dull his extra sense.

Finally, a comm officer turned around. “M'am, the shuttle with the prisoner has docked. He is unconscious.”

“Very well. Put him in the brig. I will deal with him later.”

“Yes, m'am.”

Daala caught Kyp’s stare and smirked knowingly. He was hanging onto her every word and while he was unsure of what she was planning, except knowing that it had to be nothing good, he was relieved to hear his friend was alive.

“Now then,” Daala said in a pleasant, light tone that gave Kyp chills. His bad feelings intensified and the Force swirled in foreboding.

Daala stood up fluidly and activated the comm.

“To the Imperial fleet: this is Admiral Daala speaking. Our time of revenge has come. The weak New Republic and its pathetic allies won’t be able to stop our march of fire and blood as we retake the stolen territories and return them to the Empire. This is the place of the first strike, the first victory. Prepare to commence the orbital bombardment. Target: Khomm.”

“No!” Kyp jolted forward, but the guard’s strong grip restrained him. “You said you’d spare them! You can’t do this!” He would have said more but two merciless punches took out his ability to talk. He sagged in the crushing hold of his captors.

Daala gripped his chin and made him look up at her. “You have no idea what I can do, Jedi. But you will learn,” she spoke with a dark promise in her tone, then let him go.

Kyp glared a hole in her back. “Imperial… liar…” he wheezed out.

She turned to him, eyes flashing dangerously.

“I didn’t lie. I just never said we’ll leave after destroying the planet,” Daala corrected him. “Besides, isn’t this something you would do? I know how you treat your enemies.”

Kyp bristled in outrage. “I’m not a sadistic monster like you,” he spat out.

“Tell that to Carida.”

The words lashed him like a whip to the face. Kyp broke the eye contact and folded in himself.

“It was different,” he said stubbornly.

“You mean more destructive? Causing the star to go supernova was a bit of an overkill, but all in all it was an effective measure. You wiped them all out in one hit. Aren’t you a good little Jedi?” Daala patted him on the shoulder in mock congratulations.

“Khomm doesn’t have any military defenses. They aren’t a threat to you. You don’t have any reason to destroy it, just your own desire to kill,” Kyp accused, finally looking up.

“They are a bunch of cowards and backstabbers. They didn’t even blink when they sold out one of their own. I have no doubt they would do the same to me as soon as the fleet makes the jump. And I will not risk this whole military campaign by showing something as useless and dangerous as mercy.” She said the last word with a contemptuous sneer.

“Admiral, the fleet is ready to fire,” her aide informed.

Daala nodded. “To all ships: fire on my command.”

Kyp cast a desperate look to the green planet visible out of the viewport and grasped at the Force, but he was too weak. The harder he tried, the easier it slipped from his grasp.

“On my count: three, two, one, fire!” Daala gave the order and the turbolasers of every ship in the fleet answered her call. Kyp watched helplessly as the deadly beams pierced the atmosphere and rained on the planet’s surface.

Khomm burned beneath his feet and he could do nothing to stop the carnage. Kyp could only look down with his fists clenched so hard he was bleeding. He felt the tremors of the thousands of deaths tear through the Force as he bore a silent witness to the massacre. It was different than Carida—there had been only a short while of panic, the heightened sense of fear among the Imperials, then a flash and a terrible silence. Here the screams of pain, fear and confusion never stopped echoing in the Force. Every second, Kyp heard new voices as the kill count grew.

His vision blurred and he realized he was crying. But these were the tears of anger, of frustration. He failed as a Jedi and as a sentient being. Khomm was on his conscience just as much as Carida. If he’d only been more careful, he wouldn’t have been caught, wouldn’t have alarmed the Imperials to his presence at the rally. Then they wouldn’t have followed Dorsk 81 to Khomm. The planet was attacked because of Kyp’s incompetence, because he didn’t learn serenity and when he’d seen Daala, he hadn’t contained his reaction like a Jedi should have done.

“M'am, the infrastructure of Khomm is destroyed in 82%,” the aide spoke.

“Can they send a hyperspace transmission?” Daala asked. She tapped her fingers on the armrest of her chair as the officer checked in the data stream from the sensors.

“No, m'am, all the centers capable of the off-world communication were annihilated.”

“What about ships, do they have any they can send with a message?”

“We destroyed the cosmoport. The inhabitants didn’t travel much outside of the system and all the ships equipped with a hyperdrive were registered and assigned a spot in the hangars. They should be under the rubble and if any can be repaired, it would take months.”

“Good.” Daala received the report with a pleased nod. “Stop the fire. Let’s save the energy for worthier opponents,” she commanded.

“Oh, so next time you’ll attack a kindergarten?” Kyp asked loudly.

The whole bridge stilled in silence, gaping at the Jedi and his audacity. But he was beyond caring. He might be called suicidal but he just no longer cared. He glared at the admiral fiercely and caught a twitch of annoyance on her stony face. It was gone in a flash, but he still basked in the immense satisfaction at causing it.

Then Daala threw back her head and laughed. It wasn’t forced, just an outburst of pure amusement at his expense and what was worse, he had no idea what she found so funny. It was Daala, after all.

A creeping worry came over Kyp and stripped him of his short-lived bravery.

“As a matter of fact, yes, this is exactly what I am going to do, little Jedi,” Daala finally told him. “I will attack the kindergarten you came from. The Jedi Academy on Yavin 4. And you will watch it burn just like you watched Khomm.”

The horror shone in his eyes and filled her with a sadistic delight. She gestured to the guards.

“Escort the prisoner back to his cell.”

Kyp didn’t struggle when the stormtroopers pulled him to the exit. They retraced the path from the bridge to the jail area, then threw him inside his cell. Kyp stumbled and didn’t catch his balance because of the stuncuffs. He fell face-first on the floor. The door hissed shut behind him, plunging him into the familiar darkness.

The young Jedi rolled on his back and sat up. He felt around for the wall, scooted closer and leaned against it, pressing his throbbing temple to the cold panels for relief. He was sapped of energy, physically and mentally, but too afraid to sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, the images of Khomm’s destruction haunted him. He still heard the pain in the Force, tasted the copper of blood and bitterness of ashes left by Daala’s rampage. The sensations were even stronger now…

It took Kyp an unknown amount of time (in the dark-shrouded cell it lost its meaning anyway) to realize what this meant. The Jedi let out a surprised soft gasp, then smiled and stretched his thoughts in the Force. It felt more tangible, even if his hold was tenuous and clumsy. He used it to search for Dorsk 81 and to his relief he detected the sleeping presence of his friend nearby. He nudged it, but it remained placid, so he concluded that Dorsk 81 was most likely heavily medicated. On the other hand this meant the other Jedi was still unharmed.

With a renewed hope Kyp put his concentration on the binders.

After a few failed attempts, he slumped over. He was still too weak to open them. But he got nothing else to do, so after a period of rest he went back to trying.

The door hissed open and Kyp shielded his eyes from the bright light that spilled into the cell from the hallway. He heard a droid buzzing. A cold shudder went through him.

“No! Stay away!” he shouted, scrambling back as the Imperial interrogation droid floated closer to him. It was a black ball, just like the one they used on him when he’d been captured in the Maw and, according to Daala, 'questioned’ him. He remembered the injections, electroshocks and the paralyzing pain in every part of his body like nothing he’d ever experienced…

“Get away from me!” Kyp screamed and kicked out at the droid when his back touched another wall. He was backed into the corner, with no way to escape.

The droid clicked menacingly as it dodged the blow, then flew even closer, extending an arm with a needle. Kyp was afraid if he punched at it again, it would not hesitate to jab him with whatever drug it had there. Instead, he reached for the Force desperately. If he managed to shove the droid hard enough, it could get destroyed. Force push was so much easier than taking off the binders, it didn’t need any precision, it could work if he just concentrated…

As he thought that, the droid emitted a high-pitched sound that stunned him for a few precious seconds. Kyp saw the needle coming for his neck, felt the prick on his skin…

Then there was only an excruciating pain.

Something soft was pushed into his mouth and muffled his howling. He barely noticed the stormtroopers grabbing him by the arms and dragging him out of the cell. Everything became a blur of light and dark and the neverending hallways, but above that was always the pulsing, unrelenting agony.

At some point he must have passed out, because a torrent of icy water woke him up. He coughed and sputtered, shivering as the coldness soaked him to the bone. Kyp was bound to a chair in a dark room. The only lamp inside shone right into his face.

“Too bright,” he croaked and licked his lips. His throat was parched.

“Good. We’re not here to make you comfortable, Kyp. By the way, how are you feeling? Any pain?”

Kyp focused and realized that the pain was gone. “Just thirsty.”

“Let me get you some water.”

There was a sound of turning a tap and pouring water into a cup for a few seconds, then footsteps getting closer.

“Here, drink.” The cup was pressed to his mouth.

Kyp opened his lips, but before he could get a sip, the cup was taken away.

“Sorry, changed my mind. I can’t make you too comfortable.”

“Give me my water,” Kyp growled. The guy was playing games with him and it was pissing him off.

“Your water? You must mean the Empire’s water. My water. Nothing here is yours, Jedi scum,” the man sneered. Then his voice turned contemplative. “But, I suppose this water could be yours. A trade. What will you give for it?”

Now Kyp understood his angle. “How about my undying gratitude?” he tried sarcasm.

A hard slap was his reward. “Wrong answer. Where is Luke Skywalker?”

The question surprised the young Jedi. They wanted his master?

“You’ll never beat him,” Kyp said confidently.

“If you’re so sure, then no harm in telling us and getting the water.”

Kyp considered for a moment, but he was distracted by a loud gulping.

“Aaahh, this was refreshing! You sure you don’t want to drink? I think I’m going to get another cup.”

The sound of water so close by, but still outside of his reach, was maddening. Kyp’s throat was as dry as a sandpaper and with every second the Imperial’s suggestion sounded more logical. Really what was the harm in telling something insignificant if it could get him something he needed to survive? Even Master Luke would understand, he was from a desert planet, so he knew the importance of water.

“He’s travelling, I don’t know where.”

“Interesting,” the Imperial said, but didn’t come with the water.

“Hey, I told you!” Kyp raised his voice in frustration and it made him erupt into a fit of dry coughing.

“You didn’t tell me anything, so you don’t get anything.” The interrogator’s boots scuffed the floor as he walked up to Kyp. “The question is: where is Luke Skywalker?” he whispered into Kyp’s ear.

“I don’t know! He was going to different places!”

“Where? Try to remember. You can do it. Where did he go?” the man encouraged him.

“I think… Dagobah. It was days ago.”

“And then he will return to Yavin 4?”

“No… he was going to more places strong with the Force, but he didn’t say where.”

“Come on, where do you think he would go? Think.”

Kyp thought. His head felt warm and fuzzy, but he thought.

“He had a vision on Hoth once. He told us.”

“Dagobah, Hoth… where else would he go?”

“I don’t know. Byss maybe? There aren’t many places like that. Please, just give me the water. I really don’t know anymore.” Kyp pleaded with a scratchy voice and coughed. He tried to swallow, but it was painful because he had no saliva in his mouth.

“Alright, you earned your drink. Bottoms up!”

Finally, finally the cup was pressed to his mouth. Kyp greedily took a huge swallow of the drink. The warm wetness slid down his throat turning it into a burning inferno. Kyp spluttered and spat it out.

“What is this?!” Kyp cried out.

The liquid left a bitter and salty aftertaste in his mouth. It was simply disgusting.

The man burst out laughing. “I told you, this is my water.” The amusement in his voice was driving Kyp crazy.

“It’s not water!”

“It was when I first drank it.”

“What do you-” Kyp cut himself off as the realization finally dawned on him. The bile rose to his throat and he swallowed painfully. “Oh, kriff no… You’re sick!”

The officer didn’t take offense this time. He seemed downright cheerful, in a sadistic sort of way.

“Want to finish it? You won’t get any real water… unless you talk.”

After that the interrogation continued, but Kyp learned his lesson. He fell once for the Imperial’s games and he’d be damned if it happened again. He didn’t trust himself to speak, the risk of something slipping out was too great, so he chose to clamp his mouth shut. He ignored the insistent questions as he tried to connect with the Force and gain strength from it despite the punishing blows he received. Not even the interrogation droid got anything but screams from him as it put him through all kinds of excruciating, inhuman pain known to humans.

Kyp steadfastly refused to speak.

He didn’t know how long he was tortured. He almost passed out a few times, but the interrogation droid wouldn’t allow it, jabbing him with stimulants whenever he started drifting away. The only brief moment of relief happened when the Imperial decided to move him out of the chair to a standing position.

At some point the lamp was turned away and he could see the room. It was drab and the furniture was bolted to the floor, so he wouldn’t have been able to throw it using the Force. The face of the Imperial was entirely unremarkable. He wouldn’t turn heads on the streets of any world. The only thing that set him apart was the sadistic glint in his mud-coloured eyes.

In the middle of yet another session the door was unexpectedly opened. Kyp looked up, hoping against hope, and for a second it seemed to him like a scene from a dream. It appeared as though his prayers were finally answered and the powerful silhouette framed by the light in the doorway came to save him.

The officer turned around too. “What is this disruption? I am doing a delicate work here…” he began saying irately, then caught himself as he glimpsed the person that strode inside confidently. In the same moment Kyp recognized her too and his hope shriveled up and died.

“A-Admiral! Please forgive me, I-I didn’t expect,” the Imperial stammered in a fluster.

“I don’t expect you to have the ability to anticipate my comings and goings, Lieutenant.” Daala waved away his apologies. Genocide put her in a good mood.

“No, of course, m'am.”

“Bootlicker,” Kyp rasped.

“You speak only,” the man said deceptively calm as he came closer, “when you’re spoken to!”

The punch almost turned off the lights for Kyp, but he didn’t lose consciousness. His brain was rattled from the blow and his hearing resembled an old commstation with constant buzzing and losing signal for a while before it stabilized and he could listen to the conversation again.

“I need results, Lieutenant,” Daala said sternly.

“Admiral, this Jedi is very resistant, but with enough time I’m sure I can get him to talk.”

“Your methods are insufficient. There must be a change in our approach,” Daala mused as she took in the sight of the prisoner. He was standing, stripped down to his undergarments, the rest of his clothes laying around him in tatters. His arms were pulled taut upwards and chained to a durasteel bar in the ceiling. His ankles were also chained to the floor. The middle of his body was mottled with dark bruises, welts and cuts and his back wasn’t in any better condition as she found out when she circled him slowly.

Daala came to a stop right in front of the Jedi. Kyp returned her gaze.

“Admiral?” the lieutenant called.

Daala ignored him. Her hand turned Kyp’s face and she examined the black eye he now sported.

“Does it hurt?” she asked mildly, even though they both knew that she didn’t care about it.

“Not as much as the sight of your face.”

Kyp’s whispered insult met a retribution when Daala drove her sharp nails in his sore flesh. He hissed from the sting. She released him after a few seconds and returned her attention to her underling.

“Lieutenant, please remind me, did I tell you to hit the prisoner in the face?”

“No, m'am.”

“Then what were my orders?”

“… To hurt him only below the neck.”

“Are you not able to follow such simple instructions?” she asked scathingly.

The man gave a flurry of apologies and justifications, but she didn’t seem interested in hearing them. “No excuses. You are dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“If I may ask, who will continue the interrogation?” he dared to question, apparently worried about someone else getting his job and doing it better.

“None of your business,” Daala replied but she was looking at Kyp in appraisal. “Now get out.”

“Admiral,” the officer saluted and hurried out of the cell. He didn’t want to risk angering her any further.

“Finally alone, just the two of us,” she said to her prisoner. “Just like in the old times.”

Kyp grimaced at the reminder of his last stay in her cells. The expression pulled on his aching skin, so he stopped.

“Do you remember my offer from back then? It’s still open.” She slid her gaze down his stripped body, clad in nothing but underwear. It felt like she was touching him, sliding her mental fingers all over his skin. Kyp squirmed, wishing for clothes to hide him from her predatory gaze.

“And my answer is still no,” he said.

“I can change your mind. Teach you obedience,” she remarked with a smirk like she knew something that he didn’t and put a hand on his abdomen. He tried to back away from the touch, suck in his stomach, but she just pressed it a little harder. Her hand rested there like a brand. Then she stroked down to the hem of his underwear. Kyp tensed, dreading what she would do next. Daala looked at him piercingly. His fear spurned her on.

“I remember what you liked,” she said and moved her hand lower, cupping him possessively.

“No! Stop it!” Kyp cried out, thrashing in his shackles, not caring how much it hurt, as long as it would get her hand off him. But instead she grabbed him by the balls so hard that he yelped like a beaten dog and stopped struggling. He was panting harshly, tearful eyes wide with fear as he was aware of her crushing grip.

Daala leaned in. “Last chance. Surrender to me.”

Kyp gulped. “No,” he said, holding his ground, but only because letting her win was ten times more terrifying than any other fate she’d come up with for him.

“Then you will suffer,” she sneered and twisted her hand.

Kyp yowled in pain as he saw dark spots. His body tried to instinctively fold in and protect itself, but the restraints didn’t let it. Even after Daala let go, the pain stayed and even intensified for a while before it began to dull. His eyes were stinging with tears as he looked at her in defiance.

“You can torture me… all you want, Daala… but you won’t get anything from me,” he said.

“I have other means of persuasion, Kyp.” Daala clicked on her commlink. “Bring in the other prisoner.”

Kyp’s heart dropped.

The stormtroopers dragged Dorsk 81 into the cell. He looked like he went through hell, his face was covered in dried blood from the huge cut in his forehead. He was limping on his right leg. They strapped him to the same chair Kyp had woken in.

Daala paced before her prisoners, assessing them. They were both softened up by now. They might claim they could resist her forever, but their spirit was already weakened.

She stood in front of them, Kyp to her right and Dorsk 81 to her left.

“The rules are simple. I will ask you questions and you will answer them truthfully. Disobedience will be punished.” She nodded at the two stormtroopers and they took places behind the prisoners. Kyp heard the buzzing and felt the current that made the hair on his back stand up. He could guess what would be done to him if he didn’t answer.

Kyp looked at Dorsk in desperation and saw him try to smile. He took strength from his friend. They were in this together and they wouldn’t say a word no matter what happened.

“First question is: how many Jedi are there?” Daala began the interrogation. The prisoners remained silent. “Durron, answer me,” she ordered. Kyp didn’t reply.

“I see you are eager for your punishment. Shock him.” Kyp tensed in preparation of another dose of pain but to his horror Daala pointed to her left.

“No!” A surprised scream tore out of Kyp’s throat when the electricity surged through Dorsk 81’s body. He watched as his friend screamed himself raw, overtaken by mad convulsions. Dorsk 81 was like a puppet on a string, contorting unnaturally depending on the whim of his torturer.

Kyp glared fiercely at Daala. “Stop it! I didn’t answer, not him!” he shouted in anger.

“And he’s paying for your disobedience,” she replied.

After a few more seconds she gave a sign and the electricity stopped and fizzled out. Dorsk 81 slumped forward as if his strings were cut. If not for his harsh, nasal breathing, Kyp would have thought the worst.

“That was just a little demonstration. A few more shocks like that and he will die,” Daala explained. “Now talk.”

It was more than clear that she would be glad to administer the shocks herself if Kyp didn’t comply. And yet, he couldn’t just break his loyalty to the rest of the Jedi. He found himself trapped between two terrible choices and no way out. Despair settled over him.

“Well?” Daala prompted.

Kyp slowly opened his mouth.

“Don’t! Don’t… tell her…” Dorsk 81 suddenly rasped.

“But you’re hurt! You’d die!” Kyp protested.

“Don’t worry… I can take it…” Dorsk 81 raised his head slightly and attempted a crooked smile.

“Let’s test that theory,” Daala interrupted. She nodded to the stormtrooper who activated the torture mechanism in the chair.

For ten seconds Kyp watched in horror as his friend was suffering unimaginable, cruel torture. He felt Dorsk 81’s pain through the Force, waves after waves of agony crashing into him and his own nerves responding in a sympathetic reaction. When it stopped, he was on the verge of tears.

“Dorsk 81!” he called out.

“I’m… fine…” his friend replied weakly, like it took all his strength to say so little.

Daala chuckled. “So deluded. You Jedi greatly overestimate your abilities. This is why you’ll get wiped out again.” She turned to Kyp. “Are you going to give me the information or do you prefer to watch your friend’s brain frying? I can do this all day long but I doubt the Khommite will survive it.”

The overwhelming helplessness threatened to overtake him. He destroyed so many people’s lives, killed his own brother. Letting his best friend die like this made less sense with every moment.

“No matter what you do here, the Jedi Academy will be destroyed. The only one you can save here is your friend here. Choose,” Daala pressed.

“No!… Kyp… trust… the Force…” Dorsk 81 said with difficulty.

Kyp reached out. The Force was shifting around him restlessly and slipping from his grasp like an eel. He realized there would be no miraculous rescue this time, no daring smuggler would bust the door open and let him out and no Jedi Master would hear his cries for help. He looked at his mangled, barely clinging to life best friend and swallowed thickly.

“Okay… I’ll tell you what you want, just don’t hurt him,” he said quietly.

“Kyp, no!” Dorsk 81 stared at him in disbelief and betrayal.

Kyp lowered his head in shame. “I’m… I’m sorry. I can’t let you die here.”

“Betraying the Jedi for a friend. How sweet,” Daala mocked.

Kyp didn’t have the strength to answer. Daala looked him over.

“Very well. If you lie, he dies.”

Kyp nodded sharply. He knew she would execute Dorsk 81 without hesitation.

“Start talking,” Daala ordered.

And to his eternal shame, Kyp broke for the second time under the Imperial interrogation and told her everything he knew.

At first, he grappled for words and stumbled over them a lot, but the longer he talked, the easier it became. Sometime during his interrogation, Dorsk 81 was carted away to a different cell because he was protesting too much. Kyp was glad—he couldn’t stand his best friend witnessing this.

Talking so much wasn’t good for his throat and he was wrecked by a dry cough.

“Can I… have some water?” he requested between coughing fits.

“You have to ask me properly,” Daala told him.

“Please, can I have some water, Admiral?” Kyp tried again.

She shook her head. The corner of her mouth turned up in a wicked way. “No, this is wrong. Repeat after me: Please, can I.”

“Please, can I,” Kyp said.

“A low, pathetic Jedi trash,” Daala said, watching him with cruel amusement. Kyp became red in the face, but repeated the insult obediently.

“Have some of the precious Imperial water.”

He had no problems with this part.

“Mistress Daala.”

His eyebrows shot up. She wanted him to call her 'mistress’?! Kyp couldn’t get out this word.

“Keep going, you were doing so well,” Daala encouraged him.

“I’m not calling you that,” he rasped.

“Too bad. Then I’m not letting you drink.” She smiled predatorily, showing him teeth. “And I should probably check in on the other Jedi.”

Kyp lurched in his bonds as he realized his mistake. “Wait! No, please, no!” When she didn’t react, he gave in to the desperation. “Mi… Mistress!”

Daala chuckled, enjoying his degradation. “Not so stubborn anymore.” She sidled up to him and ran a hand down his side. Kyp shuddered in revulsion, but didn’t protest. “So you can learn. That’s a start.” She was too close, looking him straight in the eye. He saw the craziness lurking behind the toxic green of her gaze. “I have a lot to teach you, Kyp,” she whispered, stroking along his jaw with a fingerpad.

Imagining what kind of depravity she would subject him to had Kyp wishing for his death, only the concern for Dorsk 81’s fate stopping him from doing anything reckless.

So instead, the broken young Jedi bowed his head in defeat. “Yes… Mistress.”

Daala smiled widely.

#my fanfiction #kyp durron #natasi daala #sw eu

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u4ea02-blog · 6 years

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The Villain Wrangler- Chapter 1: First Day Jitters

“So, here is your desk,” Margaret pointed to a cubicle in the center of a sea of them. It had the bare minimum in the way of amenities, a computer that looked like a hand me down from the last century, a phone that was so new it still had plastic around the handset, and a chair with a huge tear in the stained seat. The foam cushion core was missing a few chunks and the wheels were an ancient memory. “There’s an assignment meeting at 10, so…”

She was biting back laughter, I could hear it in her voice. She left without another sound and I sighed, my eyes scanning the dusty surfaces of the desk. Cringing inwardly, I sank into the chair and pulled open the large drawer on the bottom of the desk. It was empty, save for something unidentifiably sticky in the bottom, and I closed my eyes as I dropped my purse inside it and pushed it closed again.

“This is a volunteer job,” I murmured to myself, deciding that if this was the beginning of this nightmare, I would be wearing it like a badge for the length of my stay here. A quick search yielded no interest in the drawers. There wasn’t so much as a scrap of a sticky note in any of them. I drummed my fingers on the desktop and chewed the inside of my lip. I flicked a glance at my wrist and groaned. It was eight thirty-five on my first day after a two day training session and I was already ready to pull my hair out in boredom. I pushed away from the desk, trying to ignore the dangerous wobble in the chair as it swivled, and launched out of the cubicle. “May as well get familiar with the layout of the office.”

Logical, no?

I wandered the floor, afraid I’d never find my desk again, since I’d forgotten to make note of the landmarks in my haste to get away. I found the restroom which was, thankfully, extremely clean, and the water fountain which, unfortunately, wasn’t. I found the elevator with it’s crooked “OUT OF ORDER” sign and the stairwell door that was standing open just around the corner. The breakroom was aptly named, since everything in it seemed broken. It’s good that the lunch schedule was flexible, I supposed. There was a set of motivational posters someone had torn out of a calendar in 1995 and thumb tacked to the wall, complete with curled edges and faded spots. The clock hanging on the wall informed me that I’d managed to waste thirty minutes in my wanderings.

“I’ve called him twelve times, Joan,” a man’s voice drifted in from the set of cubicles just outside the door to the breakroom. “He’s not answering, anymore. I can’t even find this one and…” his voice dropped and I couldn’t make out what he said after that. I moved towards the sound, since I hadn’t even seen evidence of people on this floor since Margaret had walked away from my cubicle. I turned a corner and found, not one, but two people standing in the isle between the cubicles! Relief swirled through me and I hadn’t even noticed I had been getting tense. A woman, older and slightly stooped, wrapped in what looked like a hand-knitted sweater in a shade of green that shouldn’t be allowed, anywhere outside of a sick ward, and a knee length pencil skirt, was standing about a foot away from a much larger man with red cheeks and a tie that looked like it was cutting off his oxygen. His moustache was a bushy thing and I imagined he hadn’t changed the cut of his hair since the 1980’s. They both seemed to notice me at about the same time and flinched, as if they’d been caught with confidential information.

“Um, hi!” I stepped a little closer hesitantly. “I’m Dorothy. It’s my first day and I’m…”

The woman’s demeanor changed immediately. She went from office gossip to sweet granny in less than fifteen seconds. I had to admit, I was impressed! “Of course, hello there! I am Joan, the department secretary and this is Howard Jones, one of our case workers. We were discussing some difficulty we’ve been having getting people to respond to our requests, recently. We are really looking forward to some fresh energy around here. We haven’t had new people in a really long time.”

Oh, she was good. I’d been around this block before, though. A sweet woman like this one was the reason I’d lost my last job, in fact. I wasn’t falling for that again. She didn’t need to know that, though. “I understand, believe me,” appeal to the sense of commonality. “In my last job, I felt like a bill collector! And all I was doing was confirming doctor’s appointments!” I smiled warmly and turned my attention to Howard, who still hadn’t said a word and was looking at me like my hair was purple or something. “It’s wonderful to meet you, both. I’m trying to get my bearings so I’m not lost, later. The meeting at ten is…where, again?”

Joan chuckled and turned to Howard. “I’m going to show Dorothy, here, where everything is. I’m sure Margaret just dumped her at her desk and walked off. I swear, that woman could win a contest for most volunteers run off in a year without even trying! We’ll continue this, later?” She raised her eyebrows and Howard just nodded, turning away, still without saying a word to me.

“Now,” Joan continued, looping her arm through mine as if she needed the help walking. “The general staff meeting is every Wednesday at ten AM in the main conference room. You found the break room?” She nodded towards it without stopping. “The fridge hasn’t worked in years, so I don’t recommend bringing anything you have to keep cold. Donations are down and the funds we have are mainly spent on trying to raise more of money. Our clients are all so very important to us.” I nodded without saying anything. I was well aware of the state of the company I had volunteered to help and what they were trying to do. It was my work in fund raising that had landed me this position, after all. Though, to be honest, I was pretty sure I was the only person who had applied for it. “The West corner is where all the conference rooms are. The main conference room is Room B, in the center. It’ll have the corner windows and a beautiful view of downtown.”

I noticed the quality of the furniture was getting better, the further we went down the side of the building, until, by the time we’d reached that end of the building, there was a large open office floor plan and standing desks with touch screens mounted everywhere. There was still not a single person around, though, and it felt a little strange to see a space with that much potential not being used.Joan opened the door to Conference Room B, with the large windows and, indeed, a beautiful view of the skyline outside. The room was dominated by a large table and twenty chairs, all in much better shape than the one at my desk. In fact, this room looked like a conference space straight out of a Fortune 500 company, all the way to the ceiling mounted projector and smart board that dominated the back wall. A closer look at the table showed touch screen controls inbedded into the tabletop, giving each person a closer look at whatever was being presented, and even data ports to plug in personal devices to enhance collaboration. I knew where this company’s money had gone and I shook my head, slowly. Joan was babbling about the functions available in this room and I murmured understanding of things I wasn’t sure I truly grasped.

She led me back to the other end of the building and I couldn’t control the questions any longer. “Joan, can I ask… why does this end of the building look like the set of a bad 80’s horror flick and the other end look like something Steve Jobs designed?”

Joan chuckled again, patting my shoulder as we arrived back at what I had to assume was my desk. “We thrive on donations, dearie. This end of the building is rarely seen by anyone who doesn’t work here, so the donated equipment generally goes where people WILL see it. Now, you remember your way back? You have about thirty minutes before your meeting. I’m at extension 4785 if you need anything!”

She started to leave and I had a sudden thought. “Um, Joan?”

She turned and I caught the very end of an eye roll that she hid behind the sweet granny façade again. “Yes, dear?”

“I have no supplies. Is there a supply closet around here? I could really use a notepad and a pen for the meeting.” I could play this new girl card as long as she could play the sweet granny card, after all.

“Oh, silly me. Of course, there is. Go right at the wall and the closet is the last room before you reach the corner. Don’t let the door close behind you, though, or you’ll get stuck in there! See you at ten!” And with that, she bustled away, leaving me standing in my empty cubicle with only vague directions to the supply closet. I checked my watch. Fifteen minutes until the meeting. That was long enough to find a notepad, surely.

#TheVillainWrangler

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theprismaticintrovert · 7 years

Text

My First Day in Milan

June 21st, 2017

Today marks my first official day in Milan, Italy. I feel like yesterday could not have been the first day because we only arrived around nine o’clock in the morning, and then we had to wait in the airport for 3 more hours until some other students from different flights arrived and claimed their luggage. Not only that, we spent another three to four hours to get each other settled into our apartments. Then we went grocery shopping at a little supermarket just two blocks away from us, and it was very affordable too. Finally, we ended the night with some pizza and wine at a pizza parlor.

Since I signed up for this study abroad adventure, I was not really sure what to expect; in fact, I am kind of glad I did not try to guess because I would have had high or low expectations of this place. There really isn’t a reason why I decided to study abroad I guess it’s because I have always just wanted to travel and never have. So the only way I knew how was to do this. Luckily I had a friend my age who had done it two summers ago and she recommended that I should do it in my college career. And I did. However, if I am being totally honest here in my journal then I can say that I was not expecting to be studying in Milan, Italy that’s for sure. I was planning on going somewhere in Australia, London, or Argentina (Because my friend went to study there and it looked gorgeous on her Snapchat and Instagram I had to check the place out. Now fortunately my college only had one study abroad program this year and that destination was Italy. The reason I am saying fortunately is because like I said, I had no high or low expectations of this place, I really didn’t know much about Italy except for the fact that they have everything Pasta and Wine! Two of my favorite things combined oh it has been heaven here! The night before I left I talked to my grandma about the trip, and she asked me the simple question, “Are you excited?” But that wasn’t it, she was looking deep into my eyes because she then added, “Because you look like you are extremely nervous about it.” For some reason, her saying that made me cry out all of my anxiety and nerves that I had been bottling in since the moment I put down the deposit for the program. I then answered, “I am scared,” and her face just reassured me that everything is going to be fine. She replied back with, “Oh my, and here I was thankful you have the bravest soul.” As understandable as it sounds, my crying and anxiety did not allow me to know what that statement meant. It didn’t hit me until I began walking the cobblestone streets of Milan. It takes a lot of guts for someone to just live in a foreign country to study for a while instead of taking a vacation at home and going to the beach, or binge watching any Netflix show until four in the morning or once they go to sleep. No, I decided to buy a ticket and think to myself “Why not?” instead of “why?”

Upon arrival in Milan, I did not believe the side effects of jet lag until I have done it myself. Waiting in an airport for 3 hours, flying from Los Angeles to Miami, waiting once again for another three hours until we boarded our connecting flight to Milan. So a five-hour flight, plus a ten hour one, and nine hours of waiting equaled up to twenty-five hours of being fully alert and awake. I was only able to sleep about 3 hours throughout the entire day. We were all dying of exhaustion and jet lag and we still had to get our rooms in order and attend a welcome orientation and eat dinner. I saw so many people closing their eyes and dozing off I am sure the professors noticed and decided to cut it short because they kept saying, “I am going to make this short.” I was happy to hear those words but I was getting annoyed when I saw each minute pass on the clock and we were yet to get up from our seats and walk out.

The next part was quite interesting, for it was the first time I was going to take a look at my Italian apartment. First, let me start off by saying how cute and wonderful the girls’ apartments were. Well, each apartment had a small kitchen, a bunk bed, a small living area, a dining/study area, and a huge bathroom. It was cute and modern I kind of liked it that I was really hoping that the boys’ apartment would be just the same. Unfortunately, since not all of the apartments were remodeled, the only boys of the group (Carlos and I) had to get our own apartment just two blocks away (about an eight-minute walk). So our advisors of the group took us to the other location which I had already seen on Google Maps (I know I am a cheater) but I was so excited for what I saw. First off, there was a riverboat restaurant right in front of us, then a pizza parlor on the left-hand side, as well as a bar right next to it. I assumed we had it all. I thought wrong. Once the car parked in front of the apartment building with the local businesses surrounding it, I took the liberty to actually take in my surroundings. I am eternally grateful that I did so because before entering, there were these really big gray wooden doors. They were humongous but the funny part was that there was a cut-out door at the bottom that can open for anyone who has a key; it is so small and short that you have to duck your head upon entering in order to avoid a big red bump on your head. Once entering, the doors led to this beautiful yellow courtyard leading to either three different houses or the apartment building which had five floors with one apartment on each. We got the room on the second floor and I was dreading it as soon as I saw how narrow and steep the stairs were. But I managed, mainly because there was an elevator to accommodate mine and my roommate’s luggage and taking it up the stairs.

I have never in my life actually seen an Italian apartment, I have never in my life seen Italy period. So for the first time in my life, I was indulging in so many different things. The culture, the city, the people, and now my very own apartment. Once getting off the elevator, the doors opened on a big brown and white wall, and to the left was a veranda looking out to the houses and cobblestone streets that made this little heart of the city. To the right, was a big dark brown double-sided door that when opened, led to an all white twelve by twenty square foot apartment (I could be getting my accurate calculations wrong). First off, the key we got to open our door was huge it was bigger than the size of my palm and quite heavy too I might add. That is how ancient it was. To the right of the room, stood two all white clean twin beds, only they were right next to each other. I was already beginning to think how uncomfortable the situation was because of how the beds were put right next to each other and there were supposed to be a boy sleeping on each one. However, I did not mind it at the moment, like I said, I was indulging everything in until it could finally hit me. There was a large closet right next to the beds, and then an old green chair sitting by itself amongst the corner of a wall. Then a big white with a vaguely opaque glass door opens up to a toilet, sink, a shelf, a shower, and a small little bidet. In case some of you might not know, a bidet is a little sink in which you are able to wash your front parts and your anus as well. There was some fresh crisp all white towels, some soap, and shampoo. The little kitchen contained a stove, a microwave, a sink, some cups and plates, pots and pans, silverware, cooking utensils, and even an espresso maker. We had it all for an Italian apartment; the wonderful scenery, the restaurants and bars right next to us, and the beautiful canal which was beautiful to look at at night when the buildings’ lights reflected on the water.

Now the next part was to go grocery shopping and buy the rest of the things we needed for our little apartment. We were not the only students going to the supermarket to buy all of the things we needed. We found one about a couple blocks away from us that had everything we can think of. If I can remember correctly it is called Simply. Just like that, and we walked in only to find some escalators leading down. Once walking in, the smell was familiar, almost that of a supermarket in Mexico. Once we hit the first floor, we saw a security guard and about eight cashiers checking people out (they are always overstaffed here in Italy). Everything is so crowded and fast-paced that it was almost impossible to look at everything I needed to buy; I almost forgot half the things I needed on my shopping list. We bought mostly food items, water, and some toilet paper because that was the most important thing of all. The way how the pricing worked was so odd. It felt like shopping American style only instead of a period between the numbers to separate dollars and cents, there was a simple comma placed in between (plus the Euro symbol). On one visit, I spent only 19 Euros, which is like twenty-three dollars. But then again, I did miss a lot of things that I needed.

Finally, to end the night, my friends Nely and Alexa, including my roommate Carlos and I decided to go out for pizza at the pizza parlor that was right next to us. Once we did, we walked by the pizza place not knowing a single clue of what to do; luckily, a waiter approached us and asked what we liked – in English. I was beginning to question myself if we really looked like American tourists. When we answered yes, he brought us inside to sit at a table. Upon doing so, he kindly handed us menus and offered us drinks. We all asked for waters and got them back in bottles. We were confused as if the bottles were filled with sparkling water but it was regular mineral water that actually tasted quite refreshing (way more than American water if I might say so myself). I looked at the Menu and felt a little overwhelmed with how many types of pizzas there were, along with other pasta dishes, salads, finger foods, and drinks they could offer. There was not a simple one like pepperoni or supreme which would have been easier for me to choose and indulge. As I scrolled my eyes down the menu, seeing all of the varieties and names like bufalo or margherita. Well I ended up choosing a margherita pizza because I read that all it had was tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, and basil. Simple as that. My friend Alexa got the bufalo pizza after fifteen minutes and it came out a little different than she expected. First of all, she did not expect it to be a whole pizza, and I don’t think she realized that the on the bottom of each menu item stood a translation of the ingredients. The ingredients called for mozzarella cheese, spinach, and grape tomato slices; somehow she forgot to read that and was not aware until she got her food, she looked at it with big eyes. She was still able to enjoy it for she took off the tomato and spinach and only ate the cheese pizza without the tomato sauce. My pizza came out right after hers and I could not wait to dig in. The waiter put it down on the table in front of me and said “Bon Appetíto.” I saw it look a little different than I expected, there was hardly and I mean hardly any mozzarella cheese. I did not bother to question it and I decided to just dig in. Once I cut into my whole pizza and began to bite into my slice, I can say it was pretty hot but delicious. The pizza would have given me a total of eight slices and I was only able to consume four. I felt terrible because I did not want the cook to feel like it was not appetizing.

We realized our first day was coming to a close and we all went our separate ways. Nely and Alexa went their separate ways to their apartment, while Carlos and I went to our own and decided to call it a night. I showered, changed, laid down on my bed and looked up at the obscure ceiling overhead and thought to myself about how good it felt to be in a bed and not on a plane, walking around parts of the town, or listening to another lecture or orientation meeting. Jet lag hit me so hard for my first time, but let me tell you, so far it has been extremely worth it. I have been able to do some things I have been dreaming of doing; that is fly, travel, and live in a different country. The good thing about those types of dreams is that you can keep doing them, you can do them as much as you want because you never have to let your dreams go. I keep telling myself that it is pretty impressive I am studying in a foreign country, living in a foreign country, indulging in the culture, and last but not least, travel parts of the world I never thought I would see.

Until then!

Damian

#studyabroad milan italy students dream nofear adventure travel food

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