#2. would any be interested in comms? I’m not sure if I’m confident enough to start selling my work yet

[ismellbitches]

🗣️THE GIRL !! THE LASS!! THE MAAM!! THE JAY FERIN !!

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Still a WIP, there’s a lot I still might change. If you’re interested, the context of this piece is just Jay spending some downtime with herself after a long day of working on the ship at Canella post ep 97-ish.

[doublesunsets]

fill me with your echo

Echo x Reader PWP/Smut 🔞 Word count: 3.1k

TBBAW 2023 @tbb-appreciation-week

DAY 2: Echo NSFW Prompt "Aroused by their voice"

Author's note: Is this late? Yes. But it was still inspired by that prompt, so credit is due. Please, accept my humble story. I wanted to try something, and it got... complicated (for me). I had never written dirty talk before, but I think I managed to get it where I wanted. -sunset

Ao3 Link

tags/warnings under read more

dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Masturbation / Guided Masturbation / Dirty talk / Voice Kink, /Praise Kink (slightly) / Comm Sex / No specific pronouns are used, but reader has a vagina / Basically, PWP, I am not interested in the logistics of comm sex, this is very indulgent. Echo is not a blushing virgin, and I'm here to prove it.

“412 traffic, F-17, inbound for landing.”

The voice crackled through the communication system in your small office, and you jumped from your seat before Wina could get to it.

“Here 412 traffic, landing pad is clear,” you breathed out in your smoothest voice possible, while Wina tried to take away the mic from you. You were not scared about using a little bit of violence when necessary, so you smashed your hand on her face to keep her away. You were scared of stabbing your fingers with her Zabrak horns, though, and probably stop it and give me the mic filtered through the waves.

“Wonderful,” the voice on the radio answered, and you were able to discern the smile that would be probably accompanying the word. You melted a little, as usual.

With a little trepidation, you tried to calm your heart and prepared yourself to make the conversation as long as possible. You even pretended to be confident enough to use the name you have learned from your interactions.

“How is everything, Echo? Any problems? Do you need me to send some droids there to fix the ship?”

“No, no, we had no trouble out there, don’t worry. You are always so thoughtful, thank you, Fourtwelve.”

“My pleasure, Echo.” Seeing that you were not budging, Wina finally gave up and moved away. She shouldn’t even be in your office, in the first place, she was just nosey. You turned your whole body towards the comm, triumphantly. “You sure you don’t want— I mean, any of you need something else? I could come down there and take you some rations.”

You grimaced inwardly at the hint of desperation in your voice. When the signal came back, a hint of a chuckle could be heard in the background, and you felt your cheeks grow hot.

“Shh, I said!— Uh, I don't, no, no, really. You are an angel, but there’s no need for that.” Someone shouted coward in the background. “But I appreciate it, really, I do. Thank you, Fourtwelve. Over.”

The static felt like a slap in the face. You slumped into the chair and let out a heavy sigh. It has been the shortest conversation since the first one, and the disappointment sat heavy on your chest.

“I wanted to talk to some men, and you had to ruin it. You get strangely overprotective with that clone.”

You turned your chair to face the intruder in the room and frowned at her. “This is my job, if you want to talk with men, go to a bar. Besides, I’m not overprotective about anyone! It’s just that the last time you handled the comms, you made such a lascivious pun that I still have second hand embarrassment every time I think about it.”

“Pft, whatever. You need to relax, this is not even a real job. You don’t know how to have fun, I’ll entertain myself somewhere else.”

You didn’t make any more comments as Wina turned around and left the room. She was extremely annoying, in a rage you stood up and locked the door in case she decided to come back. You were more at ease by yourself, which, even if sounded hypocritical, usually allowed you to talk with some men. A man in particular, actually. But Echo had already commed, he would probably be on his way to a canteen with his brothers, and you didn’t have the chance to speak with him this time.

Echo. You were still giddy at actually knowing his name. It had all started a month or so ago. You were a volunteer in a group that was trying to give clones a chance after they were discarded by the newly founded Empire. It started as something simple, but as time passed, and the Empire started showing their true face, the operation became quite daring and secretive. It was almost like one of those holonovels, about rebels, and freedom fighters on the frontiers, fighting evil by day and having torrid romances by night. In reality, though, your job was pretty dull. You were basically a receptionist; you took messages, managed the landings of your allotted small Coruscant hangar, and occasionally dispatched droids if they were needed. Someone had to do it, though.

One uneventful night, a new voice came over your comms. Well. Not new-new. You had heard that same voice thousands of times, but this one had something that made it stand over the others. It was huskier, angrier. It made you wonder what his owner had witnessed to be so angry at the galaxy, but at the same time speak such soft words to you. You had timidly inquired him and Echo had actually told you some stories from his past, a short version at least, you had no doubt there was more to it. He had told you about his lost brothers and being the last one of his batch, about being imprisoned and then rescued by new brothers, and even how he had adapted to being a cyborg.

He also asked about you, if out of politeness or legit interest, you didn’t know, so you had told him the basics, very, very quickly. You preferred when it was him doing the talking. You were in awe at what he had lived through, but to your shame, you couldn’t help the other reaction you had at his stories. Truth was that he could have read you the Communication System Manual, and it would have turned you on all the same. His voice was like spice to you, the more you listen to it, the more you wanted. You had never tried one, but you had to guess this was what trying on aphrodisiacs felt like. You craved it, you wanted to have it whispered in your ear late at night, his naked skin on yours, and his hand exploring your body, while those angry tones melted away into sweet moans.

The static did scare you this time, and you took away your traitorous wandering hand from your thigh. Not the time to indulge in wildly inappropriate fantasies, not that it would be the first time. Since nothing else seemed to come from the other side, you tried to contact them.

“Here 412 traffic, do you copy?”

Static again. Whoever was on the other side didn’t seem to find their words.

You were about to tell them to find another pastime and leave your channel alone, when his voice cracked again through the speakers.

“Hey, Fourtwelve.”

“Echo,” you gasped, and thanked the Force that you had released the button, saving you the embarrassment of Echo hearing his name coming out of your lips like that. You cleared your throat, pressed it again, and tried to appear nonchalant. “Echo, good to hear from you again so soon.” Yes, nailed it. “Is there any problem?”

“No problem at all. I—” he hesitated and you waited patiently. If while waiting patiently you bounced your leg rapidly, he didn’t need to know. “I just wanted to talk with you, but you seemed busy earlier, and there was many people around here as well. Is it now a better time?”

“Yes!” His chuckle should have made you feel embarrassed, but it only fuelled your thoughts. If his rough voice was sexy, his low laugh was damn near Dark Side inducing.

“Good, I am glad. I really appreciate our chats.”

“Me too, I love your voice.” In your excitement, it took you a moment to register what you had said, but his silence at the other side gave you plenty of time. When your brain caught up, your face burned, and you started to ramble, trying to cover up your slip. “I mean, I love your stories, the ones you tell me, with your voice, so that’s what I meant. Because that’s what I hear, so, I cannot listen to the stories without your voice, obviously. So, I really love that you have… a voice with—”

“Stop,” you gulped down the rest of the sentence and clamped your legs by instinct. His tone of voice had been gentle but authoritative, as someone used to scold a child. But you weren’t a child, you were very much an adult, that was having a strong reaction to a man’s voice through a comm. “Good, mesh’la.”

A very strong reaction.

You were sure he could hear your deep breathing, but he chuckled again and couldn’t find in you the will to care. “I’ve been dying for you to say something like that for a while, so you are not taking it back now. Please, tell me, what do you love about my voice?”

It didn’t escape to you that he had made his voice deeper, rougher. He was enjoying this. It was true that you had been flirting with him, but not even in your wildest dreams you had envisioned him actually responding this way. For all that you knew, he hadn’t been paying attention to it. He apparently had, and had been waiting, no, dying, for you to take the next step. You were aware that this conversation could change the nature of your interactions forever, and you were going to seize it like a bounty hunter with their price.

“I love how deep it is.” Maybe not your best line.

“You can do better than that,” he encouraged you, not unkindly.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, your fingers clawing at your thighs, trying to control the pent-up energy that was growing inside you. “It is gruff, but caring, I don’t understand how.” You readjusted yourself on your seat, almost vibrating out of your skin. “It is hypnotic, mesmerising. Sexy.”

Echo hummed at that, and it spurred you on. You wanted to hear that again, you needed to hear every single noise that voice could give you.

“Every time I hear your voice, it is like you're grabbing me by the nape, firm but softly, and forcing me to listen to it. I can’t move, I’m captivated. It gets inside my chest and drives me crazy, makes me feel alive. It makes me want to go to my knees. It makes me want to behave and to be mischievous at the same time.”

“Fuck,” Echo groaned at the other side.

Your breath was heavy and laboured, you felt hot, and even if you were alone in the room, you could feel the weight of his presence. You weren’t sure what possessed you, but it seemed he liked it.

“All that… from just my voice?” It seemed he liked it very much. His voice has turned into a husky drawl, and you whimpered a little. “What else? What else do I do to you? Tell me, cyar’ika.”

There was a pretty obvious consequence of his voice, the dampness of your underwear a cold reminder right now. You pressed your hand into your core, trying to soothe your growing need, and another pitiful whine escaped you.

“What was that, cyar’ika? What are you doing right now?” His words were soft, whispered, but they were commanding, there was no ignoring them.

“I’m—“ you pressed harder the heel of your hand against your clit, the simple act of telling him out loud what you were doing was sending shivers down your spine. “I’m touching, ah, myself.”

“How? Tell me,” he snarled, like gravel on his throat.

“I’m pressing my hand against me, rubbing it a little,” you gasped at the end, involuntarily.

“You are going to do something for me.” He sounded breathy, almost like he was talking too close to the comm. His voice was just a rustle, but for you, it was deafening. You uttered a breathless yes, and he continued. “You are going to touch yourself, and I’m going to tell you how to do it, understood?”

You opened your eyes at that and inhaled loudly, feeling your cunt palpitate at his words. There was only one answer to that. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, Maker,” he groaned, and then laughed softly, the smirk evident on his voice. “Aren’t we discovering kinks today?”

You laughed as well, a little more breathless than him. Sat back and widened your legs, waiting for him to continue.

“Listen to me, cyar’ika. Take your hand, and get it inside your clothes. Slowly, there is no rush.”

You stopped for a moment, your hand hovering over your groin, and thought about what you were going to do. In reality, you barely knew him, you had never seen him in person actually! And yet, since the beginning, there’s been this connection, not only were you aroused by their voice, but there was something else pulling you to him. If you believed in such things, you could be tempted to call it predestination. You were going to start by calling it a fun time. You took a deep breath and obeyed him.

“What else? Tell me, Echo,” you threw back at him in a pleased murmur, adding some more since he seemed to like it. “Please, tell me what to do, sir.”

“Oh, you naughty thing. Maker, you are going to be so good, don’t you? But first, reach with your fingers to your pussy, don’t really touch it yet, just feel it and answer me, are you wet?”

There was a determination in his voice, Echo was a man with a plan, and he intended to execute it, and since that plan seemed to be your pleasure, you could not complain. You did as he instructed, even if you didn’t need it to know how drenched you actually were already. Every word that came through the comm, every gasp, and growl, breath and rustle, was making you whimper at the back of your throat without even touching you. You did that again for him, you whimpered, low and long, feeling your own wetness slide through your fingertips.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he purred in a soft exhalation. “Slowly, I want you to put your finger down and circle it around your entrance. Yes, like that, I can hear your breath hitching, with just so little. You must be pretty sensitive, or is it just for me? Do you love my voice so much that it has you all worked up before we have even started? Keep circling it, mesh’la, keep gathering and spreading those sweet juices. They must taste so good. I wish I could be kneeling in front of you right now to taste it myself. Oh? Would you like that? That was a pretty filthy moan, I want to hear more of those.

“Now, cyar’ika, move your finger down onto your clit, drag it softly through it. Very softly, treat it like the precious thing it is. You sound glorious, you are being magnificent and oh, so obedient. Now press harder, back and forth, drag it back and forth harder. Faster, now. You must look splendid, I bet that pretty mouth of yours has a fantastic shape right now. Perfect for me. That’s enough, stop.”

You whined pathetically, but complied. A needy sound escaped your throat as your fingers twitched, right above where you needed them, and Echo made soothing noises peppered with praises that had you dangerously close to losing it. His voice had turned huskier and breathier in reaction to your moans, but he still sounded quite composed, unlike you.

“Echo, please,” a hoarse plea.

“Is Echo again, hmm? What happened with ‘sir’, I liked that one. But I have to admit that hearing my name on your lips, begging for me to keep talking is making me lose control a little, cyar’ika, and that doesn’t happen often, I can guarantee you that.

“Guide your hand down again, and stop at your entrance, is it there where you need them? Yes, I thought so. Now, easy, just one finger, sink it in. Maker, it must be so warm and soft. Out and inside again, like that. Easy, mesh’la, was that a pleased sob? You are being so good. I think you deserve another finger. Fuck, that one was good. Oh, what I would do if I was there right now, I bet you would enjoy my thick fingers up your cunt better than yours. I would fuck you with them until you were screaming my name. Faster now, yes, faster. I can almost hear the squelching noises every time you pull them out. Can you feel yourself clenching around them? Go on, feel it for me.

“Those shuddering moans are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Do you know how hard I am right now? It’s almost painful, I’m hard and hot just for you, just for those sweet little cries. I know you are almost there, your panting is getting faster. Hush, don’t worry, I have you, you have all my attention. I’m not even touching myself, so if you give me one good enough, I will go up there to your office and fuck you hard against your desk as a reward.

“Do me a favour, mesh’la, stroke your clit with your thumb. Now. Good, ner cyar’ika.”

You came with a strangled moan, your orgasm wreaking havoc through your body, legs cramping over your hand with your fingers still inside you. When you came down from it, soft sobs fell uncontrollably from your lips, and you touched your clammy forehead with your shaky hand, trying to recover control of yourself. The sudden silence at the other side made you recover quicker.

“Echo? Are you still there?”

“Yes, cyar’ika, I’m still with you, I haven’t gone anywhere,” he sounded restrained, but there was a painful edge to his voice that told you it was forced.

“Was it— was it a good one?” You asked him shyly, still trying to get your breath under control.

“A good… Oh. Stars, cyar’ika.” Echo groaned and cursed under his breath, but his next words were softly spoken, a touch of concern in them. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, please, come here,” you said, more determined this time. You stood up and unlocked the door, but an accidental glance made you stop at your reflection in one of the panels. “Oh, wow, I look like a mess. First, I’ll need some time to fix myself.”

“Don’t even bother, ner cyar’ika, I’m planning on making a bigger mess of you. Over, Fourtwelve.”

The static at disconnecting the channel drowned your drawn-out moan, and you plumped down on your seat. It seemed that in this one, the receptionist managed to find a torrid romance for themselves at the end.

You couldn’t wait for your reward.

TagList! Let me know if you want to be added/removed, please

@motte-the-goblin @fenharel-enaste @nahoney22 @stunkbiggu @gt13tbbart @dangraccoon

[leiainhoth]

Work summary: For so long, Din fought the reality of giving the child up, giving him to the jetii and moving on. He had prepared for it, packed a bag and left it all behind, so his son could have the life he deserved. All until he didn't have to. Or the one where Luke rescues Grogu on Tython, and Din rescues Luke in return.

Chapter summary: Luke and the Mandalorian land on Tatooine and begin making plans for the child's future.

... 

Luke struggled down the ramp of Slave I, his eyes fixed firmly on his feet as the achingly familiar heat of Tatooine enveloped him. Luke knew that Boba Fett was behind him, and Luke desperately hoped that Fett had forgotten the altercation at Jabba's palace all those years ago.

I mean, probably not, Luke thought with a sigh. He was tossed into a sarlacc pit and left for dead. I wouldn't forgive me either.

The Mandalorian descended the ramp, a half step behind. His son, Grogu, blubbered mindless nothings in the way children do. Din nodded and made affirming noises as the child spoke, and the child glowed golden in the force, pleased and relieved to be reunited with his father.

Luke wondered, and couldn't help wondering, whether the Mandalorian knew how much the child spoke. His sentences were simple, but the love was overwhelmingly sincere. The child thanked his father for rescuing him, saving him, and for packing those blue biscuits he loved. Luke smiled, happy to bask in the child's love.

"Thank you," the Mandalorian said to Boba Fett, standing firm and steady despite the heavy load on his back. Fett nodded in affirmation and let them be, boarding the ramp and closing the hatch.

Luke stood by the Mandalorian on the outskirts of Mos Pelgo as Slave I took off, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He was grateful that was over with; he was already mortified by his sudden injury from the troopers. He didn't need Boba Fett, of all people, knowing about it.

Kriff, he wished he had a comm. If he did, Leia and the others could be here in a matter of hours. Even if the Mandalorian's friend had a commlink (and in the more likely occasion that they didn't), he'd be here for some time. He sighed, already dreading it.

Luke looked down, suddenly feeling foolish wearing his flight suit and helmet in the arid landscape. He'd be boiling in no time. Then again, the Mandalorian was dressed in full armour, and he didn't look uncomfortable.

"So Mos Pelgo," Luke said, just for something to say. Mando was quiet; his words were well chosen but sparse just the same. Luke didn't feel… uncomfortable, not really, although he was stuck on Tatooine with a Mandalorian and no way out. His heart ached for Artoo, for his lost ship. It was a piece of junk, but they had survived a lot together. With any luck, he'd be able to repair it whenever they left Tatooine.

If they ever left.

The Mandalorian walked surely, and Luke had to make a funny half-step to catch up. The baby babbled on, snuggling close to his father. The similarities between Grogu and Master Yoda were uncanny; he had never seen another being like them. But the child was strong; despite his stature and age, Grogu was formidable in the force. And there was something about the Mandalorian too, something faint, a fledgling bond Luke struggled to quantify. So far as he knew, the Mandalorian was normal, not a force user or even force sensitive. But it didn't explain it; the child had formed a force bond with his father, somehow. The specifics were hazy, but it felt new and strong, reinforced through love and affection on both sides.

"I have a friend; he's the Marshal of Mos Pelgo," Mando said, slowing down and letting the child drop into a satchel resting at his hip. The child warbled happily, clutching his toy bantha close, and Luke shook his thoughts away. "I don't know if he has a comm, but he'll have lodgings and supplies."

"Uh, good. Thank you,"

Mando looked over at him and tilted his head as if asking an unspoken question. Luke flushed, feeling the Mandalorian's gaze even through his helmet. Had he done something wrong? Had Luke… offended him, somehow?

"I didn't know that there was anything here," Luke said, walking a half step behind, trying to keep out of the Mandalorian's line of sight. "Mos Pelgo's been abandoned for years; it's not even on the maps of Tatooine, last I checked."

The Mandalorian didn't respond, keeping his eye fixed on the tiny settlement as they walked. The outpost was sparse, with huts and houses, livestock and larger houses on the outskirts. Luke had never been out this far before, even as a young man growing up on the outskirts of Mos Eisley. His youth was spent driving decaying speeders with his friends, not exploring ghost towns in the middle of nowhere. Even if they were careful, the threat of being captured by the Sand People and rogues was real enough to keep them moving quickly.

"When I was younger," Luke began. "The pilots and bounty hunters used to tell stories of Mos Pelgo. They said it was cursed,"

Mando didn't respond and instead reached into his belt and retrieved a ration stick, splitting it in half and feeding half to the child, who took it happily. He paused and then offered the second half to Luke.

"Thanks," Luke said, taking it. He went to take a bite but hesitated. The Mandalorian was taller than he was, certainly broader; when was the last time he had eaten something?

There was nothing to it; he could wait— certainly, this Marshal would have food for them in town. Luke broke his piece in half and offered it back. Luke could tell that the Mandalorian was hesitating; other than Boba Fett, his companion was the only other Mandalorian he had met. Perhaps he had eaten while Luke was unconscious, but somehow he doubted it.

"I can't remove my helmet in front of others," The Mandalorian said, tilting his chin towards Luke. "It's part of my creed,"

"Oh, I didn't know that," Luke said, strangely abashed. "I'm sorry for insinuating—"

"You didn't know," the Mandalorian said curtly.

They walked in silence, and Luke felt extraordinarily exposed. Other than his lightsaber (which he had found near him when he came to in the hold of  Slave I),  he was wearing a very public declaration of his allegiances in a particularly unfortunate colour. Who was this Marshal? What had Luke got himself into?

He didn't know this Mandalorian; he didn't know his son. Leia was hounding him to be more mistrustful of strangers, but there was something about him that Luke couldn't shake. Grogu was strong, stronger perhaps than Luke himself had been when old Ben taught him all those years ago.

Luke nodded, just for something to do. The binary sun's heat after so long in hyperspace was shocking. He felt perspiration on his forehead and wiped it off with the back of his hand. It had been years since he had been on Tatooine, the day that he, Leia and Chewie had rescued Han from carbonite was the last time he had set foot on his home planet. It wasn't like he hadn't considered coming back; it was where his father was born, where Luke himself had spent his childhood years. There were ghosts here, and Luke couldn't bring himself to think of Owen and Beru, their hastily dug graves and abandoned farm. There was so much he hadn't known then, how foolish he had been to take off after a droid with nothing to defend himself!

Ben had saved the day, but his aunt and uncle had died anyway. Their deaths were on Luke's head, whether he acknowledged them or not.

Luke scarfed down his ration and took a shaky breath. There was no use in resurrecting old memories; what was done is done; even a Jedi couldn’t change the past.

The town grew ever closer, and the view of Mos Pelgo was bleak, smaller by Mos Eisley and Mos Espa. A singular street, by the looks of it; a small town with folks of all sorts sitting in the shade, moving throughout the market and the cantina.

Wait, Luke said, tilting up his visor for a closer look. No, it couldn't be!

"Are those Sand People?" Luke asked the Mandalorian, unable to believe his eyes. "In the town?"

"Lower your voice, jetii," the Mandalorian said under his breath, taking Luke's upper arm and guiding him through the street.

Citizens and Sand People alike had somehow settled together, speaking both Basic and the strange hawking grunts of the Sand People, gesticulating all the while. Luke didn't know where to look, the Sand People were everywhere, and Luke was all but defenceless. The Mandalorian had a child; how could he be so calm?

But the Sand People didn't seem to be interested in them. Speeders and bantha's hitched to posts dug into the sand waited along the road, and the citizens of Mos Pelgo went about their business almost as if Luke and his companions didn't exist.

"Mando!" a voice cried out. Luke turned his head, one hand on his lightsaber when a man exited the cantina. He was older, Luke supposed, with a flap of greying hair and a smile on his face. He held himself with a sort of confidence that Luke had long ago recognized in his sister, the air of a leader.

This must be the Marshal.

"It's good to be seeing you again," the Marshal said, shaking the Mandalorian's hand. The baby cooed, and Luke's eyes bulged as the Marshal reached a hand into the satchel and ran a hand over the child's ears. "Not many visitors to these parts," he said as if nothing was amiss. Luke himself had only known the child for less than a day, but this nearness frightened him. Luke's eyes still swam, buzzed from his head injury. If a fight was coming, he didn't know if he could defend all three of them.

"I'm looking for lodging," the Mandalorian said, "and a comm, if you have one. My ship has been destroyed."

"That's a real shame," the Marshal said, seemingly looking over at Luke for the first time. "The Crest was a real treasure."

There was a pause, and Mando stepped aside, leaving Luke alone.

"And who might you be?" the Marshal asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Luke. "You don't see too many rebellion pilots around here,"

Luke swallowed. "Just Luke."

"Well, just Luke," the Marshal said. "You and your Mando here are welcome to stay as long as you need. I'm sorry to admit that we have nothing in the way of a communication array, too far away from Mos Eisley, as we are. That being said, there are speeders and bantha's, and you can make use of the facilities over there. We have a caravan leaving in that direction in three days' time."

"Raiders?" the Mandalorian asked, and the Marshal nodded.

"And bandits. Been a real uptick in scavengers and bounty hunters in these parts since you left, Mando," the Marshal said, shifting his feet in the sand. "Now that we have a treaty with the Tuskens, one problem is solved, but another came along to replace it. We could use your help if you'd be obliged."

The Mandalorian nodded, and the pair walked into the cantina.

Luke followed at a distance, uneasy even with the Marshal's talk of a treaty. The Sand People were vicious and merciless; in his youth, Luke had almost been killed by them more than once. Their presence here made Luke distinctly uncomfortable, and he kept a hand on his sabre without truly thinking about it.

The cantina's air was cooler, and the conversations of patrons quieted immediately as the Mandalorian cleared the threshold. Luke straightened his back and walked in behind him, trying to remind himself that he had nothing to fear. If anything, more eyes were on the Mandalorian than him.

And he was a Jedi; he could handle it. Whatever was to come.

The company varied, the barkeep was a Weequay, by the looks of it, but most others were human. Or human-esque, anyway. There were both men and women, wearing the achingly familiar look of farmers and miners; with rough clothes and sun-worn faces. There were children also, some twenty in all.

"Rebel scum," a woman spit out from a table near him, her eyes narrowing with hatred.

"I'm just—"

"Leave him be, Agatha," the Marshal said, patting the woman on the back. She grumbled, sitting back down. "He's just a little lost, is all. We'll have them both sorted in no time,"

The woman scoffed, and Luke tried to hide how shaky he was, feeling exceedingly foolish in his flight suit and bright white helmet.

"Just here," the Marshal said, leading him and the Mandalorian to a table. His companion sat and pulled the child out of his satchel, letting the baby settle on his lap.

"A drink, I reckon," the Marshal continued, smiling at the bartender as they approached. "But none for Mando, thank you, Weequay,"

The barkeep nodded, leaving two glasses and a glass bottle of bright blue spotchka on the rickety table before leaving.

"Lodgings are easy," the Marshal said, pouring two healthy measures of spotchka and pushing a glass towards Luke. "I've an empty house, as a matter of fact. Just up the road. You'd be welcome to it,"

The Mandalorian nodded, and Luke fiddled with his glass, wishing he had something to offer, something kind to say. The day had been a mess, and Luke felt very much so on the back foot. This wasn't a world he was used to. Over the years, the name Skywalker and its associations with the rebellion and the Jedi order had followed him like a shadow, but here, he was an enemy.

He was decommissioned, of course. The war was over. But some still referred to him as a commander, those who had known his father and had comments to share about his service. But that was on the core worlds, on Chandrila and Coruscant and Naboo. Civilized places with ties to the New Republic. Tatooine was different; it was his home planet. He hailed from here; his grandmother, his aunt and uncle were buried here. There would always be something that brought him back, even if the memories had soured with time.

He may be a Jedi, a commander and squadron leader in the alliance, but he would always be that farm boy from nowhere on Tatooine, and a small part of him resented it.

And it couldn't be clearer to whom he belonged, from whom he drew his allegiance. The symbol of the rebellion was painted on his helmet, and the orange flight suit of the rebellion pilots was recognizable even in the middle of nowhere.

"What's the job?" Mando asked, letting the child hold his finger with his clawed hand, looking down with what Luke suspected to be affection as the child chewed on his glove.

"Not a job, a favour," the Marshal said. "You did this town a great service, killing the krayt dragon. We're thankful, grateful, is being more like it. Tensions have settled between the Tuskens and my people. We live in peace, and we want to keep it that way,"

The Mandalorian nodded, his face impassive and blank beneath his helmet.

"But we'd appreciate the help, just the same," the Marshal said. "Raiders have been stripping our equipment, threatening our citizens. It isn't a job, but a Mandalorian invites a certain amount of… well, let's just say they'll be sure to stay away with you close by. I'd welcome the help; one man can only do so much. You've left an impression,"

"And the child?"

"He'll be taken care of," the Marshal assured him. "We've a school; he'll be well looked after,"

There was a pause, and Luke jumped to fill it.

"I can… watch him," Luke said, turning to the Mandalorian. "Begin to assess him for lessons. If—if you're okay with that,"

The Mandalorian nodded and then looked down at the child in his lap. "Thank you,"

Luke smiled, taking a sip of his drink. Finally, he had done something right.

"There isn't much in the way of comfort in Mos Pelgo," the Marshal said, leaning back in his chair and settling his boots on the table. "But until the caravan leaves, you and your child'll be seen to. He and your… friend,"

"Luke," he said, not quite sure how to quantify their relationship either. He wasn't the child's teacher, not yet. He had only met the Mandalorian a few hours ago. They were nothing to one another but thrust together, nonetheless.

"Luke," the Marshal affirmed, nodding at him. Luke downed the rest of his drink in one, already uncomfortable with where this conversation was going. "We'll bring you to Mos Eisley when the caravan departs, I'd be happy to escort you, but Mando here can handle himself," the Marshal said, slapping a hand on his companion's shoulder.

The Mandalorian snorted, amused, somehow.

"But enough chatter," the Marshal continued, shooting his drink back as well before standing. "I'll show you to your quarters."

Continued 

[duhragonball]

Hellsing Liveblog Ch. 7-10

This is the “Dead Zone” arc, featuring Luke and Jan Valentine.

This arc is set around... uh, September 3rd-ish, I think.   By now, Hellsing has had time to investigate this recent uptick in vampire incidents, and she calls a meeting of the “Convention of Twelve” to discuss her findings.   This group represents the heads of various important agencies, political leaders, and noblemen, and the manga states that they “essentially” run the British Empire.    I’m not sure how to read that, exactly.  Kouta Hirano appears to be establishing one of two things:

1) Parliament Shmarliament, everything is really controlled by this secret group of oligarchs sitting at a table.

or

2) This is a collection of all the big wheels in British society, so they might as well be calling the shots even if they aren’t a true governing body. 

I’m not terribly concerned about which one it is, since we left real-world Great Britain behind a long time ago.    The Hellsing U.K. seems to put a lot more power in the monarchy, for example.    Also there’s friggin’ draulas runnin’ around everwhere. 

Anyway, Integra reveals that the vampires they’ve been killing lately all have microchips installed in their bodies.  She says the chips “define the vampire’s status, behavior, intent, and aggression.”   I don’t know if that means outright control or a more subtle manipulation.    It might exaplain why the couple in Chapter 3 weren’t exactly being subtle.

Moreover, these vampires haven’t been following the conventional rules laid down back in Chapter 1.   Vampire bites can turn a person into another vampire, but only if the victim is a virgin.   Otherwise, they turn into ghouls.   Destroying the head vampire will destroy all the ghouls he’s created.    But that hasn’t been happening.    The couple in Chapter 3 killed a lot of children, but they all became ghouls.   And in Badrick, Anderson killed the vampire, but the ghouls remained active long enough for Alucard and Seras to fight them.  

At least, that’s what Integra is saying.   We never actually saw any ghouls in Chapter 3, and Anderson killed the vampire in Badrick off-panel, so we don’t know the exact timing.    But I’ll take Integra’s word for it.   

Something that got lost along the way was the matter of what happens to Seras if someone managed to kill Alucard.   According to Chapter 1, she’d die immediately, but we never actually see that play out, and Seras is the only vampire created by another vampire in this story.   We never see ghouls die en masse, either, because there’s never a situation where their master dies first, and the ghouls we see from here on out are these rule-breaking microchippy kind anyway.    

Never mind that shit, here comes the Seras part.   Walter has replaced her bed with a coffin.    Apparently she had a bed in this dank-ass dungeon, and then one day Integra got a wild hair and decided “Oh, yeah, she should be sleeping in a vampire bed.”     She���s been a vampire for like two months now.    I feel bad for Walter, having to lug that big-ass bed down here, only to have to take the damn thing right back out.   He must have known it was going to end this way.   You’d think he would have said something before.  

Seras hates this idea, but Walter relays a second order, one from Alucard: Seras has to sleep in the coffin.   Well, that seems kind of redundant, but I guess Seras might have tried to sleep on the floor or something instead.    The main thing I find interesting about this is that Seras is mostly irritated by Integra ordering the coffin, but she takes it much more seriously when Alucard is mentioned.  

According to Walter, since Seras hasn’t drunk any blood, her powers will weaken... unless she sleeps in a coffin lined with soil from her birthplace.   So maybe it’s an either/or deal.   Integra was fine with Seras using a big girl bed because she assumed Seras would be drinking blood.  But without it, she has to use a coffin, or she’ll be no good to the team.   And after two months, it’s become clear that Seras has no intention of drinking blood, even bags of donated blood, like the one Alucard snacked on in Badrick.

Even Seras doesn’t know exactly why she won’t do it, which Alucard finds baffling.    If this was a dealbreaker for her, she should have just died as a human in Cheddar.  

But Al isn’t entirely unsympathetic either.    His words are harsh, but they’re the truth: Seras is a vampire now, and there’s no going back.  She keeps trying to resist this, but it’s already happened.   Denial will only make this more painful for her.   I think that’s part of the reason he offered his own blood to her in Badrick.   I mean, there weren’t a lot of other options, but from an ethical standpoint, drinking Alucard’s blood seems reasonable, since it won’t kill him.    The unspoken sentiment here is: Listen, I know this is difficult for you, and I’ll try to make this as easy as possible, but you need to do this and there’s no way around it.    But even that doesn’t seem to work, and Alucard’s in no particular hurry, so he’s willing to table the matter.   Which I suppose is how the coffin thing came about in the first place.

Walter also takes this moment to give the vampires their new guns.    Alucard wanted something special for the next time he tangles with Alexander Anderson.    Recall that Al already has a special cosmogun with an infinite supply of magic bullets, and he shot Anderson in the face and it didn’t stop him.    So Walter builds him “The Jackal”, which is basically the same as his first gun, only even bigger and with a black finish.   It also says “Jesus Christ is in Heaven Now”, which drives me nuts because I don’t know if that’s like a message to Anderson, or just some random thing.    Kouta Hirano puts these nonsense religious slogans all over Hellsing, and I’m pretty sure he’s just doing it for effect, and not particularly concerned over whether there’s any religious significance to the words.   

As for Seras, she gets a giant bazooka-looking think called the Harkonnen, named after a Dune character.   One of these days I want to sit down and read Dune.   I kind of feel guilty that I haven’t already, because then I could be writing this and get all excited for this moment.   “HOLY SHIT!! IS THAT MOTHERFUCKING DUNE REFERENCE?!”  Instead I’m like, ho-hum, yes it is.

Let’s move on.    This arc is about the Valentine Brothers, two vampires who take the fight to Hellsing instead.   They have a small army of ghouls, and their plan is to just drive up in a tour bus and storm the gate.   Ghouls are mindless, zombie-like monsters, but apparently they can work a gun well enough, and Hellsing never imagined an enemy would try such a thing.

As soon as Integra finds out about this, she tries to evacuate the Twelve, but their helicopter gets destroyed, cutting off any chance of escape.   Then Jan (pronounced “Yon” by the way), calls her on the comm system and threatens to kill them all.  

So Integra calls Walter, who already knows what’s happening.   Um, how?   I feel like the anime explained this better.   Maybe Jan’s profanity-laden threats were on a public-address system instead of just for the conference room.   But it sure looks like Walter’s just chilling out in a windowless, underground room.   But he already knows there’s no hope of reinforcements arriving to save them.   He proposes himself and Seras using the ventilation shafts to get to the coference room, where they can defend the twelve, while Alucard can go on the offensive.

Alucard is amused to hear that Walter is going back into action, and calls him “Angel of Death”.    We’ll come back to that.

So Walter’s pretty much on top of things here.    No one ever considered anything like this happening before.    Hellsing is supposed to be a secret organization, so a vampire shouldn’t know to come here in the first place.    Moreover, no one dreamed that a vampire would plan it out so well, using ghouls in a military fashion.     But he’s optimistic about their chances for survival, because...

Walter has super powers.    Specifically, he has these magic wires he can use to bind and slice up his enemies, and this makes short work of the Valentines’ ghouls.   He then repeats Jan’s taunts back at him.   Okay, so I guess Walter did hear Jan’s message from earlier. 

The problem I always had with this development was that it seemed awfully convenient for Walter to have super powers.    But then, it took me a while to catch on to Anderson having super powers, and he took a bullet to the face.    I think the conceit of the Hellsing world is that these “anti-freak” organizations have to have super-powered operatives, so they use secret techniques and alchemy or whatever to empower men like Walter and Anderson.   It’s really not that hard to swallow.

Except that the first vampire-hunter we meet in Hellsing is Alucard, who is himself a vampire. So it seemed like the whole point was that he was the best suited for the job because he had the raw power to do it.   Integra doesn’t seem to have any powers, and neither do any of the rank-and-file Hellsing operatives who get mowed down by the Valentines’ ghouls.   So it always confused me for Walter to just go “Wassup, I have powers too.”   But it only makes sense for Hellsing to have more than one card to play.    Clearly, Walter used to hunt vampires on  the regular before he retired to become a butler.

Between Walter’s wires and Seras’ giant gun, they manage to subdue Jan easily enough, but he reveals he has a partner, Luke, whose job is to tackle the second half of their mission: to destroy Alucard.   Let’s check in on him...

Yeah.    I was thinking about doing a blow-by-blow of this fight, but it’s kind of pointless.    Luke talks a big game, and seems confident that he’s on a higher level than the vampires Alucard has been fighting recently, and for a hot minute, even Alucard believes that he might be a worthy adversary, “above even a ‘Category A’ vampire,” so he releases his “control art restriction,” to “Level 1″.  

I guess I should back up and explain this.    Alucard, like all overpowered anime characters, can hold back his full power and reveal it in stages.   For some reason he has to announce that he’s doing this, like Windows 10 describing it’s own updating.   Presumably, there’s a Level 4 where he usually operates, and that was enough for him to fight Luke evenly.    But here, we see him jump all the way to Level 1, which allows him to turn into some shadowy form with lots of eyes and two dog heads.  

Also, centipedes.  The point is, this is all stuff Luke can’t do.   He’s more of a “super speed gun-shooting” kind of vampire, so he’s immediately outclassed.    Alucard’s dog form eats Luke and that’s the end of him.... OR IS IT? 

Meanwhile, Jan’s ghoul army is beaten, but he still has reinforcements in the form of all the Hellsing soldiers they killed earlier.   These men rise up as new ghouls and chase down Seras while Jan makes a break for the conference room where the Twelve are holed up.    Walter tries to catch Jan, but only manages to rip off one of his arms.   He makes it to the door, only to find...

Integra and the others all have guns, and they shoot him down.  

All Jan has left now is his second wave of ghouls, except Seras manages to overwhelm them.   At first, she was panicking, but then she freaks out and goes feral on them, to the point where Integra has to jump in and order her to stop.   When she does, she seems to have no idea what just happened.    This is mostly overshadowed by the sheer horror of Hellsing’s soldiers being reduced to the undead.  

All that’s left is Jan, who refuses to talk.    He has the same microchip implants as the previous vampires, and the people who sent him are monitoring him in real-time, which means they know he failed, and they can make him self-destruct before he can tell Hellsing anything.  As he dies, Jan flips them all off and gives them one word of information: “Millennium.”

After that, Integra tasks Walter with destroying the remaining Hellsing ghouls, until Sir Irons, one of the Twelve reminds Integra that this is the duty of a commander.   As Hellsing’s C.O., it’s her responsibility, so she agrees and starts shooting the ghouls in the head.   

Meanwhile, Jan’s mysterious overseers talk amongst themselves, and their leader calls for them to resume their “research”.   As devastating as this attack on Hellsing was, for Millennium, this was merely a test.   

[redrobinhoods]

Age of Heroes | Chapter 1, Together

AO3 Link | 2100 words (approx) | Prologue, Chapter 2

Chapter summary: Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka are approached by a familiar face with a request for vengeance.

“We’ll be fine as long as we stay together.” – Obi-Wan Kenobi

The clones moved through the fallen ranks of droids, occasionally stopping to blast or otherwise incapacitate still functioning droid units. In the midst of them stood two stationary clones, one adorned in blue, the other in gold. Despite the smoke in the air and the smell of burnt flesh and circuits it was as close to peace as the officers had had in weeks.

“Thanks for the assist, Rex. It’s always a pleasure to fight with the 501st.”

“The pleasure is ours, Cody. Whatever it takes.” The unspoken words hung in the air. Whatever it takes to win, to save clone lives, to protect the Republic. But those three couldn’t coexist. Sometimes they would be lucky, and their victories were won with minimal casualties. More often, duty and the Republic came first. The clones were disposable. If even the Jedi could be discarded for the Republic, the clones were just ornaments to be marveled at and thrown away when the novelty has worn off.

Cody nodded. “Whatever it takes.”

Nearby, three Jedi stood looking towards Yerbana City. Two human males dressed in robes, one in black and one in white, and one togruta female, also dressed in black, wearing a loose tunic over a bodysuit not unlike that of the clones.

“What do you think is next?” Ahsoka Tano looked away from the city to Anakin Skywalker.

“I don’t know, Snips.” Anakin turned from the city, back towards the battleground on the bridge. In the smoke he could just make out the shapes of two men standing side-by-side in the carnage. “The men need to rest. We never anticipated the Outer Rim Sieges would last this long.”

“It is a siege, Anakin.” Obi-Wan Kenobi turned to follow his former padawan’s gaze. “Though I wouldn’t pass up a drink at Dex’s Diner right now.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but neither would I.” Anakin scoffed. He bent over slightly to elbow Ahsoka’s arm. “Might even slip you something under the table.”

“Anakin-.” Obi-Wan was cut off by the beep from Anakin’s comm. Anakin answered with triumphant glee.

“Skywalker here. What is it, Admiral?”

“Sir, we’ve just received a transmission from,” the Admiral Yularen paused to find the right words, “a person of interest. You had best take this transmission here in person.”

“We’ll be there shortly, Admiral.” Anakin turned to Ahsoka as Obi-Wan walked away to hail a gunship. “Guess that drink will have to wait.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Master.”

Captain Rex watched the LAAT/i take off, its door sealing around three unmistakable beings.

“Don’t get comfy, Codes. I think we just got our next assignment.”

Cody turned to follow Rex’s gaze. “I think you may be right, old boy. I have a feeling we’re not going to see each other for a while.”

---

The three Jedi moved quickly from the hanger to the briefing room, the padawan trailing slightly behind the two knights to accommodate the clones and officers rushing around the Venator.

The briefing room doors hadn’t fully opened when Anakin spoke. “All right, Admiral. What’s so important you brought us all the way back here?”  

Yularen gestured to the holotable, where three Mandalorians were displayed, each in the distinct armor of Death Watch.

“You-.“ Ahsoka started, interrupted by Obi-Wan, who lay a hand on her shoulder.

“Lady Bo-Katan.” Obi-Wan stepped forward graciously. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“I have urgent information for you.” Bo-Katan removed her helmet and turned towards the Jedi. “The Nite Owls and I have located the renegade Sith Lord, Maul. If we move swiftly, I believe we can capture him.”

“How did you come by this information?” Obi-Wan’s calm voice betrayed none of his racing thoughts.

“We have been tracking Maul’s movement for several months. One of my people was able to obtain some transmission codes from the Pykes on Oba Diah, which helped us pinpoint some of his previous locations. And now, we know that Maul is on Mandalore in the city of Sundari.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged a look. Obi-Wan turned back first. “You’re certain of this?”

“He arrived two days ago.”

“So why not take him yourself?” Ahsoka cut in from behind her masters. “You know where he is.”

Bo-Katan’s scowl morphed into a look of shame. “I don’t have the numbers needed for a siege.” The Jedi generals had expected as such, and Obi-Wan gave a small nod for her to continue. “Without a complete lockdown of the city, Maul will escape again. That’s why I’m proposing a joint operation. If we are successful, you’ll have Maul and I’ll have Mandalore.”

Obi-Wan raised his hand to stroke his beard “If Republic forces aid you in your assault it will break treaties that are 100 years old. We will effectively be drawn into yet another war.”

Bo-Katan shrugged. “What’s one more?”

“Well,” Anakin cut in this time, “we’re not finished with our first one yet.”

“I will advise the Jedi Council of this development.” Obi-Wan took a step back from the hologram. “We need to be sure of our decision on this matter.”

“There’s no time!”  Bo-Katan slammed a fist down into the palm of her other hand. “Maul’s influence on Mandalore is destroying my people. He murdered my sister! I thought she meant something to you.”

“She did,” Obi-Wan’s expression fell for a moment before he regained his composure, “and still does. But I cannot allow my feelings to cloud my judgment. The Council will decide what our course of action will be. I will inform you of our decision in due time.”

“Maul will have escaped long before your council reaches a decision! Mandalore needs action, now!” The hologram faded and the room was left in silence.

“Master Kenobi, with all due respect, shouldn’t finding Maul be a priority right now?” Ahsoka stepped out of the shadows of the room to join her superior officers at the holotable. “We believe that there is a Sith Lord in the Senate. Wouldn’t Maul know who this Sith is and his goal? This is an opportunity that we can’t afford to miss.”

Obi-Wan sighed and smiled ruefully at Ahsoka. “I agree with you, Ahsoka. But this matter is clouded by the dark side of the force. We need to be certain that this invasion will be worth the risk. The Council must consider the matter before we take any action.”

“Of course, Master Kenobi.” Ahsoka sighed after the Jedi master left the room. She had no faith in the supposed wisdom of the Jedi Council. Not anymore.

Ahsoka was still unsure if rejoining the Order had been the right choice. Perhaps it had been one made out of fear, fear of the unknown world outside of the Order and the war. She would’ve lost everything. Not just her lightsaber and her rank, but her friends; Anakin, Obi-Wan, Rex, hell- the entire 501st. She would have never found the courage to look Rex in the eye and tell him that she was walking away. Not when she would see his face every day in the clones around the galaxy. Not after all they’d been through.

Anakin lay his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it softly. “I hope this isn’t about that drink.”

Ahsoka forced a small smile. “It’s not, Master. I’m just,” she stopped to find the right words, “concerned about the ability of the Council to make the right decision.”

“Obi-Wan will convince them.” He said it so confidently that Ahsoka believed him. He had never lied to her or hidden his thoughts. After her return to the Order, he had strived with her to find the peace that she needed to feel at home again. He had been the one to suggest her new robes. Still unconventional, some Jedi found black to be a troublesome color for a Jedi, but they reminded her of Anakin and the clones. The bodysuit had been specifically modified for her from one that the 501st had donated when the subject came up in their presence. Maybe the Council had betrayed her, but Anakin and the clones had always stood up for her. Even outside of the 501st. She had received apologies from Fox and Wolffe, though while she was sure that Wolffe’s was genuine, her own apology to him certainly was, she had a feeling that Rex had contributed to Fox’s. Or perhaps Cody, who was the man’s batchmate and the only clone officer in her immediate circle that had acted like nothing had changed between them. Maybe it hadn’t. He’d never hunted her down like the others. Though she had seen him try to deck Fox once at a military dinner after she had been restored as a padawan. That had also been the only time she’d seen Rex drink, and she wondered if the events were related.

“Of course, Master.” She followed Anakin and Admiral Yularen out of the briefing room and onto the bridge of the Venator. While the men discussed the battle and what lay in store for them, she walked over to the windows and watched the parade of gunships returning to the cruisers. One stream returning to her cruiser carrying the 501st, the other stream returning to the cruiser beside them carrying the 212th. She stayed at the window even after the lines of ships had ended, turning her gaze down to the planet below and letting her mind wander.

“How are you feeling, Commander?” Rex. She hadn’t noticed his arrival on the bridge, but she was certain he’d been there long enough to know what was being discussed. She could tell him that she was doing fine, even well, but he would’ve known that it was a lie. He’d told her once that the tips of her lekku twitched when she was lying. She didn’t believe him anymore. When she was younger, she’d try to hide her lekku when she was about to lie to him. She’d been awed at how Rex always seemed to know anyways, and a little ashamed when she realized why later. She’d move on from that now to believe that he just always knew. Maybe Jango Fett had been a mind-reader, more likely it was the Force. While the clones were not Force users, there had been many times where Ahsoka was sure that they were at least sensitive to it; knowing a brother had been hurt or died, beginning to execute orders before the command was given, the way Rex always knew when she was hurting.

“I feel uncertain, Rex. Why would Maul emerge from hiding now? And if the Jedi Council doesn’t approve an attack against him, what will he do? He must have a plan.”

Rex sighed. “I don’t have the answers, sir. But I believe that we will find out soon.”

“What do you mean?” Rex turned towards the back of the bridge and Ahsoka looked just in time to see the closed doors open to reveal a satisfied Obi-Wan.

“The attack on Mandalore has been approved.” Obi-Wan had just paused for a breath when a clone shot up from the command console.

“Sir! Grievous is attacking the capitol, he’s attacking Coruscant. General Shaak Ti is being dispatched to protect the Chancellor, but they need reinforcements!”

“How long until we can be there?” Anakin moved onto the command walkway to look down into the pits of the bridge.

“Within the hour, sir.” Another clone.

Anakin turned back to Obi-Wan. “You go to Mandalore, we’ll take care of Grievous. With any luck, this will all be over soon, and we can join you.”

Obi-Wan shook his head almost imperceptibly. “There’s no such thing as luck.”

“Good thing I taught Ahsoka better.” 

Obi-Wan smiled and turned to depart. 

“Obi-Wan.” Anakin called after him. Obi-Wan stopped and looked back. “May the Force be with you.”

“Goodbye, old friend. May the Force be with you.” And with that, Obi-Wan departed the bridge.

“Admiral Yularen, set a course for Coruscant. We leave as soon as Obi-Wan’s shuttle is clear.” Anakin walked to the end of the walkway to stand beside Ahsoka and Rex. All too soon, the stars outside the transparisteel began to blur as they entered hyperspace.

---

An hour later, two starfighters streaked over Coruscant. One yellow-grey, the other maroon-white. Only two, but two was enough. They dodged in and out of the debris, taking out a number of Buzz droids and Vulture droids, before coming to a stop in the hanger bay of the Invisible Hand.

In Coruscant’s atmosphere, gunships would bring the jetpack troopers of the 501st to the aid of citizens floundering in the aftermath of the attack and the weakened Coruscant Guard. Captain Rex would lead the effort to destroy all remaining droids as Commander Fox dealt with the civilian casualties.

Far away from Coruscant, a Venator pulled out of hyperspace over Mandalore. The hanger bay doors slide open, and gunships carrying the 212th Attack Battalion swarmed out of the ship towards the planet.

The end of the Clone Wars had begun.

[yet-another-saberface]

Interim Fic: Chaldea Commons

I finally finished it! This is pretty short, around 2000 words, but it was still fun to write! And it sets up something that’s going to basically be a central location for future slice of life stuff, so... Yeah. I hope everyone enjoys this!

I’ll be doing Orleans next, so look forward to that!

“Please tell me there’s something for me to do today,” I sigh, leaning on the wall just outside the command room. It’s been almost a week since we finished up the summonings, and while getting to know all of the Servants has been interesting… I can only sit around chatting and reading and asking things and such for so long before I start to feel like I’m procrastinating. 

“Nope~!” Da Vinci responds. “We’ll let you know if anything pops up!” 

I sigh again, pushing away from the wall and starting to head back to my room. “Thanks.” 

With nothing to do, my mind races in circles, trying to identify anything worth doing. Gather more materials? I already spent most of the morning doing that. I checked the logs. I’ve got more than I’ll probably need until the next batch of Servants gets summoned. More practice fights? That’s a bit useless when I already know how to use all of my Servants. 

Something. There’s got to be something. 

I’ve already read through the books I borrowed. Should I get more? That’d be redundant. But what if in the next singularity I end up needing specific knowledge on a field of magecraft I didn’t refresh my memory on? Well I mean, it’s possible. Not likely, but possible. 

How many fields did not read up on? I can’t even remember at this point. Probably only 1 or 2. Let’s put that on the back burner for now, we can always ask for info over comms while we’re on the field, right? 

Okay, so, no point to fighting, no point to reading, what else is there? 

“Senpai?” I’m snapped out of it by Mash, who I hadn’t even noticed. “Is there… A reason you’re standing in the hallway staring up at the ceiling?” 

“...Not really,” I admit. “But I’ve got nothing better to do at the moment.” I glance around the hallway to find it just as empty as usual, before turning to Mash. “You got anything interesting going on?”

“Actually, I was looking for you, Senpai.”

“Oh? What for?” 

“There was a place you didn’t see on the tour I wanted to show you!”

“Sounds great, what direction?” I reply, immediately feeling less tired. 

“Uh… this way,” Mash says, and begins walking the way I assume she must have come from. 

We walk through the halls, none of which look any different from one another. Despite having been given a tour after Fuyuki, I still get lost at least once a day while looking for a specific room. I’ve got no idea how the rest of the staff seems to know where everything is… And from what I’ve heard, it seems like the Servants agree with me. 

It would be easy to deal with if people tended to get lost in a predictable fashion, but if someone gets lost, it seems like you’re more likely to get lost yourself than to find whoever was originally lost. “Uh… Where are we going Mash?”

“There,” she says, pointing to a large set of double doors at the end of the hallway. The walls right in front of them aren’t like the rest of Chaldea - instead of the pristine white walls, they’re hewn from rock, as though the passage was carved out of the mountain Chaldea sits on… It probably was. 

Mash pulls open the doors, revealing a huge cavern with stone walls, illuminated by balls of light floating near the ceiling. On the other side of the room, part of the cavern has been further sculpted to form a sort of stage. It’s mostly empty, with the exception of some folding chairs in the corner, a cart with a projector on it, and what appears to be a drag-down projection screen attached to the top of the stage area. There are several other doors around the edges of the circular room… They probably lead to all the empty housing quarters or the labs or something.

“This was Chaldea’s assembly room before… Before Fuyuki. There isn’t really much use for it anymore, so I was thinking we could turn it into some sort of common area, since Chaldea doesn’t have one at the moment.” 

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all week…” I say quietly, gazing around at the lights, and the sheer size of the place. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, uh, well, I was thinking that maybe we could carry some couches in from some of the staff lounges that aren’t being used at the moment, and look through the storage closets for blankets and such, and see if we could find anything else after that.”

I start bouncing on the balls of my feet. This is just what I needed. 

“All right then, let’s get to it!” I say cheerily. “It’s make-a-big-cave-a-hangout-space-time!” 

As we’re walking over to the first lounge area, I start sorting through all of the ideas suddenly flooding my brain. 

“We don’t have like… A board game closet or something, do we?”

“...Board games?”

“Mash, don’t tell me you’ve never played a board game.” 

“I’m sorry to say I haven’t, Senpai,” she responds. 

“Okay then, we’re fixing that, one way or another. If I have to storm into Da Vinci’s workshop and demand Monopoly or Sorry or whatever, so be it.” 

“...What?” Mash asks, clearly a little lost. 

“Don’t worry about it for now, it’ll all make sense once I take care of it. And it’ll be fun! Probably. It could also be frustrating. But it’s both! I should see if there’s a way to get video games… Does the internet even still work?” 

“In here, Senpai,” Mash calls, opening a door into a small lounge area. For the most part, it’s just as bare as the other rooms in Chaldea, but along one room is a single couch, big enough for maybe 4 people at most, with teal cushions. “We’re going to have to carry it, is that okay?” 

“Actually… That might be a bit of a problem,” I reply. 

“Why?” “I… How do I explain this? I’m weak, physically. And not just, like, compared to a Servant. By human standards, I am not the person you call when you need help with hard labor. I can try, I guess, but I doubt I could lift something half as heavy as this…” 

“All we can do is try,” Mash says with a smile. “My strength as a demi-servant can hopefully allow you to carry one end.”

“Hopefully,” I reply. “Should I walk backwards when we’re carrying it? I’d feel more confident with you navigating.” 

“Sure thing, Senpai!” 

Picking up the couch isn’t easy, that’s for sure. In the beginning, Mash is able to pick her end up off the ground quite a bit, while I can barely lift mine more than an inch. After lots of scrambling and trying to use my legs and back to lift it more, I eventually get it such that I’m more holding the couch than lifting it, which is still difficult, but at least it’s off the ground now. 

I walk backwards out of the room, letting Mash direct me instead of constantly glancing over my shoulder. After just 2 corners, we have to stop to put the couch down. My arms feel like they’re on fire, and my legs are already starting to get sore. My back isn’t exactly happy with having to stay arched while carrying it either… This would be so much easier if we had a third person or something.

“How many of these were you planning on moving?”

“Well, I was thinking we could start with 5, and move more if things start getting crowded?”

“I don’t think I can move that many…” 

“Do I even want to know why there’s a couch in the middle of the hallway?”

I look up to find that, somehow, despite the sheer size of Chaldea, Caster has stumbled into the same hallway as us. 

“I’m saved!” I yell, jumping up off the couch. “Well, maybe,” I add, sitting back down as calmly as I can. “I can’t carry this anymore, please bail me out, Caster.” 

“Where are you even taking this?”

“There’s uh, this cave, at the back of Chaldea. We were gonna move couches and stuff there so it could be… A common room or something? I dunno,” I explain through a yawn. 

“Eh, I can get behind that,” he responds. 

“Senpai, do you think you can navigate for us, then?” Mash asks.

“Uh… sure. Yup. Definitely.” How the hell am I supposed to find it when everywhere in Chaldea looks the same?

Surprisingly, after getting us severely off track and running into the windows, I manage to get us back to the assembly room, where we set the couch down roughly in the middle of everything. 

“Great, now we just need 4 more of those,” I say. “Roughly. And then it’s time to figure out what else we’re stuffing in here. But… There’s gotta be a faster way to do this…” 

“We have all day, Senpai,” Mash reminds me. 

“Not if we’re playing Uno later, we don’t. I know what we need to do.” 

And that was how I found myself storming into the command room and demanding the right to use the intercom. 

“Eva, you’re not supposed to be in here,” Roman reminds me. 

“I know, I know, I’ll only be a second.” I grab the microphone and start fidgeting with the controls, trying to figure out how it works. 

“Just let her,” Da Vinci says. I can practically hear her grinning. 

“Why should I? The last time we let her back in here, she didn’t leave for 6 hours and no one else was working because she was doing the work of practically the entire command room.”

“I know that glint in her eyes. She’s got an idea~”

At that moment precisely, I can hear the air fill with a slight static. The intercom is on. I let out a cheer, and the entire room jumps from how it echoes throughout the building. Perfect.

“So uh, I didn’t really have a planned message for this, but I figure that everyone should know… There’s this big assembly room in the back of the building that we don’t really have use for anymore, so we’re turning it into a common room for people to hang out in. But it’s gonna take forever if almost no one is working on it. So, now everyone knows… And uh… Yeah. Just find me or the room or something and we can let you know what we need help with, and if we’re lucky we can finish before tonight and play Uno! Thanks everyone!” I flip the switch I’d hit a few seconds before, turning the intercom off again. 

“That was all I needed!” I say, running out of the command room, just as promised. “And Da Vinci! I left a list of games on your desk that I don’t think Chaldea has lying around! I hope you don’t mind making them if you have time!” 

 “No problem~!” She yells back. 

I get lost at least 4 times over on the way back to the new common room - if only I’d run into the windows at the edge of the building again, it would have been so much easier. Why can’t there be landmarks to make navigation easier? Maybe that’s the next big project. Put decorations in the hallways to make them distinguished from one another. 

I stash that idea in the back of my mind to write down and bring up later. 

But by the time I do find the room again, surprisingly, the other couches have already been moved in, along with a few armchairs. Mash is stashing blankets in some storage containers along the wall, Caster and Saber are carrying huge stacks of pillows to set down on the newly placed furniture, and Rider is directing Emiya and a staff member in carrying an empty bookcase across the room. 

“...What did I miss?” I ask. “How long was I lost?” 

“Only around 20 minutes, Senpai,” Mash says, walking over to me. “Things sped up a lot after you asked for help.” 

“Yeah, I guess they did… Did I mention, by the way, that this was a really good idea and I’m probably going to be forever grateful that we did this?”

“No, I don’t think you did, Senpai. But I’m glad you think that.” 

“It just kinda… Already feels more like home.” 

Oop- Tags.

@contractgreen​ @panyum​ @withanina​ @campanulabell​ @delfinaschiffer​ @princessaslan​ @armageddon25​ @patproductions​ @xviicprc​ @eldritch-flowers @rankeluck @areeta9 @bitter--edge @uncommoncritter @blackcherrybombbomb

[amphtaminedreams]

Filling the Met Shaped Hole (No, Not Like That): The Best Red Carpet Looks of Awards Season 2020

Hi to anyone reading,

I want to jump straight into things and ask a question. Which is the best Met Gala theme of the last 5 years and why is it Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination?

Seriously though, despite the fact that I’m not sure anything will top Heavenly Bodies with the preceding and succeeding Met Galas being relatively disappointing (the camp theme definitely could have been taken further and lets not even talk about the Comme Des Garcons disaster), I still get excited for the gala every year, staying up til whatever hour of the morning so I can see all the fashion live. Of course, it makes complete sense that this year’s event has been postponed until October given the circumstances but the chosen theme of Fashion and Duration had the potential to be quite interesting, so I hope we do eventually get to see it; whilst I don’t miss endlessly scrolling through photos of every white male celebrity wearing the exact same suit and tie to the point where fangirls claim Harry Styles to be a pioneer of breaking gender norms because he wore a pink top, I long for the days where we could all temporarily coexist in peace and harmony thanks to the internet’s collective dragging of the Kardashians for paying no attention to the theme whatsoever. We should’ve guessed life as we know it was about to be flipped on its head when they actually turned up in something interesting last year.

What I’m trying to say is that I would love nothing more than to jump back in time to when tomorrow morning’s top Google search would be best Met Gala looks, and not how many lives did Boris Johnson’s fuckery cost us today. So in honour of the lack of trivial content, I thought I’d fill the Met shaped hole in our lives (amongst many other unfilled holes; today the freezer door at work hit me on the ass whilst I was putting ice cubes out and I think for a split second I got all flushed) by putting together a collection of my personal favourite red carpet looks from this year’s awards season and their respective afterparties: the BAFTAs, Brits, Critic’s Choice Awards, Golden Globes, Oscars, SAG Awards, and the Grammys to finish with.

Enjoy!

British Academy of Film and Television Arts Award (yes, that’s the BAFTAs but I needed a longer title)

(L-R: Zoe Kravitz in Dior, Rooney Mara in Givenchy, and Scarlett Johansson in Versace)

I am a British fan of television and arts but I will gladly say it: of all the awards ceremonies, the BAFTAs is hardly the most exciting, and the red carpet even less so. As I said, lots of boring men in boring suits and middle aged women being dressed by stylists who seem to think we’re dead from the neck down by the time we hit 40 and dress us accordingly so. Any hint of a décolletage explicitly forbidden.

There were a few good looks, however. From left to right, above we have Zoe Kravitz in Dior, Rooney Mara in Givenchy and Scarlett Johansson in Versace, who looks so amazing I almost forget that 1). Versace is going down the drain and 2). Scarlett Johansson would stand in front of a forest and take the role of a tree if she could. Which, along with her whole defence of Woody Allen, is really shit-she’s genuinely great in Marriage Story and an otherwise talented actress. As for Zoe Kravitz, she is up there with Robert Pattison as one of my biggest crushes right now and looks amazing in literally everything she wears, and Rooney Mara is consistently low-key yet elegantly dressed. 

(L-R: Greta Gerwig in Gucci, Florence Pugh in Dries Van Noten, Renee Zellweger in Prada)

Renee Zellweger proved an exception to the rule when it came to women over the age of 40 generally having clueless stylists-her dress is beautiful, very reminiscent of the delicate, demure beauty of 50s icons such as Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn. Florence’s dress, I actually really loved. It didn’t seem to go down all too well with actual Florence Pugh fans but red and pink together is an elite combo; I’m still firmly on the “surprised that it works but I’m into it” train. I mainly included Greta’s dress for the green velvet, to be honest; it’s disappointingly low-key for Gucci but nice enough all the same.

(L-R: Andrew Scott in Paul Smith, Charlize Theron in Dior, Daisy Ridley in Oscar de la Renta, and Emilia Clarke in Schiaparelli)

I was particularly excited to see Emilia Clarke in Schiaparelli-yes, I adore her because she played Daenerys Targaryen and I was ride or die for that bitch but also whenever I see her interviewed she has the most exuberant energy and honestly I want to be best friends. It’s not the most interesting dress Schiaparelli has ever put out there, but I like the fact that she went for something unique all the same.

Forest green is a colour I find hard to resist which is why I included Andrew Scott’s otherwise kinda basic suit (points for it being velvet) and Daisy Ridley in Oscar de la Renta. As elegant as the dress is, I would love for her stylist to have really leaned into the forest nymph vibes I’m getting and do something a bit less uptight with the hair and makeup; like imagine loose curls with tiny braids and hair rings and a dark lip and a slight smoke around the eye and...yes, I have very specific visions, I know. As for Charlize Theron, her work with Dior is the only reason I care about the brand; there’s definitely a case to be made here for giving Maria Grazia the benefit of the doubt, assuming that she tries all the prototypes on women who look like Charlize and that that’s why she’s happy to send dresses that are otherwise relatively underwhelming down the runway. 

The Brit Awards

(L-R: Charli XCX in Fendi, Ellie Goulding in Koche, Hailee Steinfeld in Fendi, and Harry Styles in Gucci)

In my opinion a much better reflection of quintessential British style than the BAFTAs, I originally ruled out including any music award ceremony red carpets in this post until I saw Maya Jama and Charli XCX’s looks. Consider me pleasantly surprised by Hailee Steinfeld’s cobalt blue burnout dress, a classic incarnation of the regal bohemian aesthetic Fendi channelled in their 2019 haute couture show. Plus Charli’s emo take on Glinda the Good Witch is also Fendi, driving home for me just how much I love their collections. I don’t know if I’d be sure about Ellie Goulding’s dress on the rack but the simple styling makes it work and she looks gorgeous, and Harry Styles looks just as pretty in a Gucci look that is MADE for him.

(L-R: Adwoah Aboah in Vivienne Westwood, Celeste in Gucci on the far right! I’m not sure who the guy in the middle is, I’m sorry and if anybody knows drop me a message and I will correct this immediately!)

Unfortunately, Harry Styles and Celeste didn’t get to pose together because this is really a perfect his and hers Gucci look; I feel like seeing one outfit next to the other would really highlight the quirky elegance of each. That being said, it feels criminal to talk about elegance without including Adwoah Aboah in Vivienne Westwood in the sentence; the dress is obviously stunning quality on its own merit, but Adwoah is what elevates it from unremarkable to ethereal. Fuck the weird ass knight figure that’s currently on top of the Brit Award, this woman is the definition of statuesque! Put her on top of the trophy you cowards!

And just to get it out of the way, when it comes to the guy in the middle, to quote Keke Palmer:

Sorry to this man.

Honestly, I saved all the red carpet photos from a Nylon (I think it was Nylon?) article back when the awards aired and towards the end of the photos they stopped including names-this happened a few times when I was looking through red carpet galleries. I reverse image searched where I could but not every photo turned anything up. If anyone does know who this man is, message me so I can include his name. He looks sick, and as far as suits go, this one is built upon and accessorised enough that it’s actually a look rather than the same old variation of a suit we’ve seen a million times before that may as well be the straight man’s designated red carpet uniform. 

(L-R: Maya Jama, Neh Neh Cherry in Bottega Veneta, Laura Whitmore)

And now the woman that forced me to include the Brits red carpet in this post in the first place: Maya Jama. Don’t get me wrong, my mind isn’t blown by this dress on its own, I probably prefer Laura Whitmore’s (Jaded do a similar newspaper dress and I’ve resisted adding it to my basket for 6 months now, this is the ultimate test of whether or not I finally cave), but Maya looks fucking MAGNIFICENT. The fit, the gloves, the confidence with which she carries it, it’s all SO good. Considering the timing, this is basically her Princess Diana revenge dress levelled up, 2020′s Jessica Rabbit moment. 

(L-R: Maya Jama, Ellie Goulding, Kendall Jenner)

Obviously anything is gonna be a step down from the red carpet look but Maya’s Brits afterparty outfit was cute too, if a tad Pretty Little Thing. 

Don’t ask me what Kendall Jenner was doing at the Brits afterparty btw, because I have no idea. We live in a world where the Kardashian-Jenners just seem to occupy every public space possible and I’ve begrudgingly accepted it at this point. I don’t have the energy to question it-and it helps that green catsuit is actually Very Cool™. 

For the last of my favourite Brit Awards looks, we have a few more afterparty photos-from left to right we have Charli XCX again, Lizzo, and Anne Marie. It was Charli posting her dress on Instagram that sent me searching for afterparty looks in the first place; apparently wearing nothing but feathers and crystals is something that appeals to me, and the more I read that statement, the more it sounds spot-on. I’d categorise it as gothic glamour hoe, and slot it in with the rest of the night-out clothes in my wardrobe that I think I’ll finally have the balls to wear out of sheer desperation once this lockdown is over. The Blossom to Charli XCX’s Buttercup here, we’ve also got Anne Marie looking extra AF and I loveeeee it; it’s an ensemble somewhere between a high-end version of Alaska Thunderfuck’s candyfloss Sugar Ball dress from season 5 of Drag Race (Alaska DID deserve to win AS2 nation, rise up) and a low-key version of a Katy Perry California Dreams Tour costume. I don’t call it low-key as a drag, just a regretful admission of the fact that maybe wearing a cupcake bra which squirts whipped cream out of the boobs is a bit too much for most of us. 

Critic’s Choice Awards

(L-R: Alison Brie in Brandon Maxwell, Chloe Bridges in Azeeza, Cynthia Erivo in Fendi, Florence Pugh in Prada)

I was going to say the Critic’s Choice Awards is kind of America’s version of the BAFTAs but then I remembered that the BAFTAs is really the only big TV and film awards ceremony we have here in the UK and that it’s kind of sad that I have to compare our most high-profile red carpet of the year to L.A’s most low-key one. Getting Cynthia Erivo and Florence Pugh to infiltrate is the best we can do. 

THAT BEING SAID! 

They both look amazing. This is Florence’s best red carpet look of this year, imo (she the prettiest icicle I’ve ever seen), and Cynthia Erivo’s arm must ache from serving the entire awards season. And in Fendi! Taste!

Side note before we move onto the next set of looks: has anybody else watched Alison Brie in Mad Men and Community simultaneously and experienced the extreme cognitive dissonance that comes from watching her play a tragically nerdy (relatable tbh) 18 year old and an overly-sophisticated 30 something married to an ad man in the 60s at the same time? Weird, but anyway! The orange dress with the red lipstick is channelling Marina Diamandis’ Froot era style subtle sex appeal and is a timeless, playful combo. Put the hair up into a beehive and it’s Megan Draper on a date in Cabo-don’t know much about the place but I know the sea is aqua and the sun seekers are blindingly white and the cocktails are plentiful (and whatever colour you want them to be), and all that together is a juicy palette if we’re talking cinematography. The Mad Men directors are out there somewhere shaking their fists at the sky that they never got to consult me on that, I’m sure. 

(L-R: Phoebe Waller-Bridge in Dior, Saoirse Ronan in Erdem and Zendaya in Tom Ford)

Zendaya’s red carpet look was the stand out of the Critic’s Choice Awards for sure; the skirt I can do without but I hope that hot pink metal breastplate ends up on display somewhere because that is ART, and she is the perfect person to wear it. The Tiffany Pollard “she's so powerful” meme was made for this moment. 

Also, can we talk about Phoebe Waller-Bridge backing up my Dior 2019 Haute Couture wasn’t *that* bad hypothesis? Because unless I’m mistaken this is one of the dresses from that collection and it is quite beautiful. Yeah, black mesh isn’t going to start a revolution or anything but it’s so delicate looking it almost seems out of place on a red carpet-I don’t know if it’s the structure of the bodice or the tulle but I can totally see this in a gothic ballet, whether that’s sensible in theory or not. Probably not. But then again I did quit ballet when I was 10 after months of getting people to near poke me in the eye on the way out of class so it would look like I’d been crying and I didn’t have to go to my lessons after school. So what do I know? Fuck all, in case that wasn’t clear. I also feel a little vindicated by Saoirse wearing one of the Erdem dresses I loved from last year’s collection-if multi-award winning actress Saoirse Ronan’s probably ridiculously well-paid stylist liked it enough to pick it out for her then I guess I’m doing okay in terms of taste levels.

(L-R: Olivia Wilde in Valentino, Lucy Hale in Miu Miu, Mandy Moore in Elie Saab, and Margaret Qualley in Chanel)

The last few Critics Choice Awards looks I picked out above aren’t thrilling or anything but they’re cute enough to include-from left to right we have Olivia Wilde in Valentino, Lucy Hale in Miu Miu, Mandy Moore in Elie Saab and Margaret Qualley in Chanel. It’s kind of besides the point, but Margaret worked with Chanel throughout awards season and I just wanted to add my two cents in here and say that I think she’s the perfect person to collaborate with (also think Laura Harrier would be a good match, anyone agree?) and that in a similar vein, I urge Miu Miu, the creative directors of which I’m sure are eagerly awaiting the opinion of irrelevant Tumblr user amphtaminedreams, to work with Lucy Hale more often. I feel like if girl stopped starring in those shitty Blumhouse horrors and did something a bit more sophisticated she’d fit the brand right down to a T.

The Golden Globes

(L-R: Cynthia Erivo in Thom Browne, Dakota Fanning in Dior, Jane Levy in Steven Khalil, and Janina Gavankar in Georges Chakra)

Finally! I hear you cry! A more exciting red carpet! It’s not the Oscars, but celebrity stylists still pulled the big guns for this one, the Golden Globes probably being considered the second most prestigious American awards ceremony of the year. Plus Dakota Fanning was there! Big yay for me! She and Elle can practically do no wrong in my eyes and are probably the only 2 women that could take on Dakota Johnson and Jennifer Lawrence when it comes to established red carpet style. 

Cynthia Erivo did it again, of course, as slick, as dignified and as regal as she was at the Critic’s Choice. The woman really has got this power stance thing locked down; she always seems so cool and confident in everything she wears that the whole getting dressed up to go out out out (we call going to the club going “out out”, but I’d say a red carpet is a slightly bigger deal than my local club with the sticky floors hence the 3rd out) thing looks like second nature.

(L-R: Zoey Deutch in Fendi, Karamo Brown in Grayscale, Lucy Boynton in Louis Vuitton and Kat Graham in Georges Hobeika)

Lucy Boynton was another of my Golden Globes stand outs, and in general is someone who I really look forward to seeing at red carpet events. She (or her stylist, I don’t know how much of a role she plays!) always seems to commit fully to an outfit and sees it as part of a whole concept where the makeup, hair and accessories are equally as important and that is a girl after my own heart. 60s space age empress is the theme here and I’m all about it-well, either that or a feminine editorial take on the tinman from the Wizard of Oz but the former sounds a bit cooler and does way more justice to how good she looks so we’ll go with that. Quick shoutout to Kat Graham too because she looked absolutely radiant. 

(L-R: Shailene Woodley in Balmain, Winnie Harlow in Laquan Smith, and Zoe Kravitz in Saint Laurent)

The trio above I really couldn’t skim over, Winnie Harlow especially; my America’s Next Top Model grudges aside, she consistently turns it out at every event she’s invited to. She’s another woman that wears pieces with such confidence that they look like they were actually made on her body-even if the garment itself isn’t the most breathtaking in the room, she’s the one that draws my attention. Though she’s got these dainty, other-worldly qualities about her, what you’d expect to be a gentle presence is firm and commanding and whilst the sharp drama and glitz of the dress probably helps, that’s just the way Winnie Harlow is naturally, based on her other red carpet appearances. 

Zoe Kravitz is an interesting one because, on the one hand, her looking amazing with that bone structure (I would trade a vital organ to look like that any day) is a given, but it does also seem like she went out of her way to do something a bit different this past awards season. I have always loved her street style for its trademark edge and the androgynous, oversized silhouettes that she leans towards, and the overt femininity of her red carpet dresses is that grungy, skater girl aesthetic completely flipped on its head. It’s cute, and if anyone can pull a dress as kitschy as this off, it’s Zoe. She’s got that just rolled out of bed look we all dream of that screams “I’m over this shit” whereas the rest of us have to rely on dark circles to get the message across. It’s very weird to think that she and Shailene Woodley were in Divergent together, especially since Zoe in particular has changed so much since. 

My main note with Shailene was just that I got excited to see that Balmain dress off the runway-it was one of my favourites from the S/S 2020 collection (IIRC, mostly on the basis that I’m pretty sure it wan’t haute couture), and it looks good! Not wildly good because I’m not sure the fit of the dress is inherently all that flattering, but still good-she makes it work.

(L-R: Taylor Swift in Etro, Sofia Carson in Giambattista Valli and Scarlett Johansson in Vera Wang)

I know a lot of people online didn’t seem to like Taylor Swift’s dress, but she looks cute, imo. I will say that I’m surprised it’s Etro! At first glance I would’ve thought Carolina Herrera or Oscar de la Renta or something along those lines. And predictably, I think Sofia Carson looks flawless. If you’ve read any of my other posts you’re probably sick of hearing it but I really can’t resist anything that is this modern Disney princess, like powder pink layered tulle? Feathers? What did you expect me to say, ew? I think deep down my clothing preferences will always be that of a 9 year old girl and you know what, that’s okay. Sometimes. Well, when it comes to red carpets. That’s when you can kinda get away with it.

(L-R: Bell Powley in Miu Miu, Billy Porter in Alex Vinash, and Charlize Theron in Dior)

There’s a few things worth mentioning when it comes to the above outfits. Firstly, and most importantly, I need to proclaim my love for Billy Porter. No man is doing it like him, honestly. To compare Harry Styles in his pink suits is unfair. The drama and the beauty and the flair that Billy brings every awards ceremony is on another level and that’s all I have to say about that. If you disagree, I’m gonna need a bullet pointed essay-I am that firm in my opinion.

Second, Bell Powley in Miu Miu semi confirms the direction their PR team tend to head in when choosing women to work with. I might be totally alone here but I feel like she and Lucy Hale both have one of those porcelain doll faces which work really well with Miu Miu’s signature girlish silhouettes and overly-ornate details. 

And thirdly, just to restate my earlier point: someone give Charlize Theron a pat on the back for bringing some life to a Dior design. That is all.

(L-R: Jodie Comer in Mary Katrantzou, Joey King in Schiaparelli and Kaitlyn Dever in Valentino)

All the newcomers really turned it out too, which is a sentence I type through gritted teeth; to call Jodie Comer of My Mad Fat Diary origins a newcomer pains the former depressing 2013 black and white Tumblr user in me, though I suppose to the US audiences uncultured in the ways of British teenage angst Vilanelle is her breakthrough role. And how Vilanelle is this dress too!? It’s bold and it’s attention-grabbing and it’s fun and it is definitely very theatrical female fictional villain that you were inexplicably drawn to as a child before you realised why as an adult-”oh, it’s because she was hot”. 

Joey King in Iris van Herpen was a pleasant surprise too considering that when I first looked through the red carpet photos I only knew her as the girl who was in that shitty Netflix original-having watched her in The Act, I apologise for the dismissal! And I admire the sartorial choice! I adore Iris van Herpen designs but as a short girl, wearing one of her dresses to a red carpet event is a risky decision-I hate to admit it because casting a diverse range of people for shows is something I have come to expect of my favourite brands, but the appeal of a lot of IvH pieces comes from the movement of the garments on standard willowy runway models. Fortunately, the styling is really complementary here, and whilst it can’t be denied that the dress itself does swamp her a bit, I liked that she and her stylist stepped out of the box. 

Kaitlyn Dever’s red carpet look is obviously a lot more typical, but you can't go wrong with a Valentino dress, and this one in particular is so suited to the aura she gives off-it’s young and it’s fun and it’s fresh and the intricate floral print, otherwise muted if not for the spring influenced pops of pink and red, is timelessly pretty.

(L-R: Akwafina in Dior, Saoirse Ronan in Celine, Beanie Feldstein in Oscar de la Renta, and Renee Zellweger in Armani)

Lastly, there was Saoirse Ronan in Celine-one of my highlights of the night; she looked phenomenal, a glacial toned dream, and it was pretty different to what I generally expect to see her in. I might be way off base and in need of a bit of a review of her red carpet style, but I feel like she usually leans more towards pretty than edgy with regards to her styling at these kinds of events and a loose fitting, gun metal glittered slip dress is, imo, the perfect way to hit that previously uncharted midway point between the two.

(L-R: Kate Bosworth in Prabal Gurung, Kathryn Newton in Valentino and Sarah Hyland)

Now onto the afterparty looks, and I’m not gonna lie, they’re usually the highlight of the ceremonies for me; I feel like the initial ceremony is all about looking respectful and maintaining that whole dedicated actor image, whereas it seems the literal point of these showbiz parties is a competition to be the best dressed person in the room. Competition really makes people step their game up, and we always get to see more young talent whose style tends to be more current than that of the people we see on the red carpet. 

I’ve got to say, as annoying as I found her character in The Society, I have to overlook that gut instinct of irritation when I see Kathryn Newton and accept how stunning everything going on here is; honestly, she looks like an angel, and I feel like the team at Valentino must reeeeally like her to put her in that dress.

(L-R: Alexa Demie, Ashley Benson in Georges Hobeika, Maude Apatow and Barbie Ferreira)

Obviously I was super excited to see the Euphoria girls on the red carpet, especially Alexa Demie-she does 90s/early noughties inspired glamour better than anyone else on the young actor scene right now and her personal style and the sass she does so well as Maddy Perez shines through every time. Whilst Barbie Ferreira’s look is more casual and achievable for the rest of us in terms of wearability, it’s just as interesting a take on the same period; the delicate pink makeup, hair and jewellery with the 90s inspired slip dress in light teal is a red carpet take on soft grunge for the ages. As for Ashley Benson, she always looks gorgeous and that’s all I’m gonna say before I get emotional and start going into a rant about how her and Cara Delevigne’s relationship was one of the only good things about this shitshow of a year and how now that they’ve broken up the single flame of hope inside me has been extinguished and how their sex swing is gonna get so lonely with them caught in the middle of an ugly custody battle and-

You get the idea.

(L-R: Storm Reid, Sophia Bush in John Paul Ataker, and Sydney Sweeney)

(L-R: Billie Lourd, Paris Hilton, and Camila Morrone)

The Oscars

(L-R: Charlize Theron in Dior, Cynthia Erivo, and Florence Pugh in Louis Vuitton)

Ah, the Oscars. This is where the big money is really spent, and bad decisions are made-in fairness, this year’s winners were a lot more satisfying than usual and I think all of us felt that Parasite was a well-deserved win. I really thought it was gonna be Once Upon a Time in Hollywood just as a bit of a token gesture to Tarantino considering it’s his 9th film, though undoubtedly his worst of the ones I’ve seen, so I was relieved that this wasn’t the case. That being said, it still pains me to see the horror genre being ignored by the academy-in my mind, Florence is here for her performance in Midsommar just as much as Little Women. 

At the risk of getting repetitive, just assume my opinions on Charlize Theron in Dior here are the same again, that Cynthia Erivo is still bringing goddess energy (this is probably my favourite of her looks), and that against the opinion of the masses, Florence looks divine in this colour. I mean, when I say the masses I just mean the people I follow on Twitter, but still, I just wanted be an excuse to be dramatic so that I could insert a meme.

(L-R: Natalie Portman in Dior, Regina King in Versace, Scarlett Johansson in Oscar de la Renta, and Sandra Oh in Elie Saab)

Once again, Scarlett Johansson’s stylist is doing God’s work; this outfit is everythingggg-the Oscar de la Renta dress is probably my favourite thus far. Like we’re talking angel, but make it fitted and sexy, and I hope you read that in the Tyra Banks voice I intended because 2 memes in a row would rob me of any credibility I’m building as a fashion account and I’m not ready to trash that for bad memes just yet; give it a couple of mental breakdowns and I’ll be there. Natalie Portman’s look was a favourite of mine too, with the cape over the top adding a sophisticated touch to the celestial, slightly bohemian feel of the dress. I initially found the detail of the names embroidered into said cape to be quite moving-in a dream world, directing would be my career of choice and so I really admired the statement-but finding out that Portman herself is the only director hired by her own production company ruined that for me a little bit. Then again, multi-millionaire celebrities making performative gestures for good publicity and not doing all that much to make any real change? Colour me shocked.

(L-R: Beanie Feldstein in Miu Miu, Brie Larson in Celine and Billie Eilish in Chanel)

Now, of all the Miu Miu looks so far, I think Beanie Feldstein definitely got the best one. The intricacy of the embroidery, the silhouette, the old Hollywood stye curls-it’s all so graceful. I’d say this is probably her best look of awards season and she and her stylist did a really great job.

And as for Billie Eilish...Guys...do you think she might be wearing...Chanel...by any chance? I’m not sure.

Seriously though, as far as an oversized tweed suit with the brand’s logo emblazoned all over it goes, I like this look. The acid green roots and the jewellery are what make it for me, adding to the grunginess of the outfit which is interesting against Chanel’s prim and proper aesthetic of the last few years. I know she has good reason for the way she dresses, but I’ve never quite been able to appreciate it-this outfit proves to me that her style doesn't automatically equal ugly and occasionally, she can make it work.

(L-R: Leona Lewis, Colton Haynes, Dita von Teese)

Elton John’s Oscars afterparty being the less exciting of the two big ones in terms of fashion-the other being the Vanity Fair afterparty which I’ll cover in a moment-I thought I’d whizz through it (posturing aside though, I bet Sir Elton’s party was a lot more fun).

(L-R: Chiara Ferragni, Donatella Versace, Bella Thorne)

This is a big statement considering Alexa Demie attended, but I think Chiara’s outfit and overall styling might be my favourite of the partygoers; if they decided to do a live action Barbie film in 2020 minus the PG ratio-because lets be real, she’d be a noughties Paris Hilton type and get up to some SHENANIGANS-this is the look that would become iconic. 

(L-R: Ashley Greene in Off-White, Alexa Demie, Sydney Sweeney, Annalynne McCord)

It was a hard decision to make though: I’m just as into Sydney Sweeney’s interpretation of burlesque come 1950s red carpet Barbie, Ashley Greene’s surprisingly delicate Off-White number, and Alexa’s dress and (as always) impeccable styling. That being said, Chiara’s clearest contender here for the best dressed of the night is Annalynne McCord. I know I'm one to throw similes around but she looks like an ACTUAL Disney princess-the dress is magical and an absolutely flawless fit. She carries it with such grace. I'm truly in love.

(L-R: Tessa Thompson in Versace, Vanessa Hudgens in Vera Wang, SZA)

As for the Vanity Fair Oscars afterparty, there were SO many iconic moments this year. SZA was the definition of the fire emoji, Tessa Thompson’s throwback Versace was the mermaid’s take on BDSM fashion I never knew I need to see, and I’d die to turn up to my graduation ceremony (here’s hoping for a successful attempt at the old uni shebang this time, lol) looking as elegant and simultaneously extra as Vanessa Hudgens did in Vera Wang. I mean, this was before Vanessa went on her dumb Instagram live corona rant because she was upset she couldn’t go to Coachella and I still kinda lived for her, mostly because of moments like this. She’s always been the queen of channelling a more hedonistic, carefree era and this dress is the most refined example of that boho decadence yet. It sounds dramatic to say but the rich purple is such a bold choice considering it’s a a colour we rarely see on the red carpet but now I’ve seen eggplant coloured silk I need it, lol. 

(L-R: Suki Waterhouse in Fendi, Lili Reinhart in Marc Jacobs, Lucy Boynton and Margaret Qualley in Chanel)

Then there was Suki, Lilly, Lucy and Margaret as well who all went full angel mode in some of my favourite runway looks of last summer’s haute couture week; Suki’s Fendi dress and Lili’s Marc Jacobs number were highlights of both their shows and there’s something even more magical about them both when the uniformity of the runway is removed. I also would go on about how much I love Lucy Boynton’s style for the millionth time but I think you get my point.

(L-R: Nicole Richie, Cynthia Erivo, Hunter Schafer, Billie Porter)

The more I look at the photos I saved from the Vanity Fair “red” carpet, the more I come to the firm conclusion that these looks are my favourite as a collective. Along with the elegance and sex appeal of the outfits above, we’ve got all these looks too which are so VIBRANT and fun and experimental. Billie Porter is absolutely majestic and continues his reign as the king of in-your-face, theatrical red carpet style, and Hunter and Cynthia look so radiant. Whilst Nicole’s look isn’t as colourful, she still brought drama with the satin gloves and the smoke lined eyes, and she is definitely ready to step on someone’s neck here.

(L-R: Halima Aden, Ella Balinska in Schiaparelli, Emma Roberts, Ciara)

(L-R: Kiki Layne in Michael Kors, Kim Kardashian in Alexander McQueen, Kylie Jenner in Ralph and Russo, Lashana Lynch in Michael Kors)

(L-R: Rowan Blanchard in Iris van Herpen, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, Stella Maxwell, and Sarah Paulson with Holland Taylor)

I’ve got to say, it’s really cool to see Rowan Blanchard in Iris van Herpen too; it’s interesting that as far as I know, she and Joey King were the only ones to wear her this awards season, both being up and coming actresses. It would be a good choice for the brand, probably best known for its futuristic, conceptual aesthetic, to also focus its PR efforts on the young potential inheriting that future. Orrrr it could just be that Rowan, Joey and I have the same (good, lol) taste-not gonna lie, from my experience of stalking her instagram Rowan Blanchard does make some unique fashion choices and her feed is full of bold outfit inspiration.

(L-R: Adriana Lima in Ralph and Russo, Alessandra Ambrosio in Armani, Billie Eilish in Gucci, and Donatella Versace in Versace)

Then there’s Billie Eilish, who is really on another level. This is her second custom made baggy suit of the night, this time Gucci. IMAGINE. Chanel and Gucci making custom pieces to suit your very specific style. Again, though, I really like this; whilst it’s very clearly a Billie outfit, it’s got a level of sophistication, cohesiveness and glamour to it that takes it to that I can admire. 

(L-R: Camila Mendes in Moschino, Barbara Palvin and Dylan Sprouse, and Chiara Ferragni)

Honestly, the Vanity Fair red carpet really belonged to young talent this year, and Camila Mendes in one of my favourite Moschino looks from the Picasso collection really seals it. She could’ve just gone for a basic pretty dress-this isn’t a natural choice-but she really does have the proud, regal look of a woman who knows some man is gonna paint her a portrait that will end up in a famous gallery one day. 

One last thing before I move on, though. How the fuck does Chiara Ferragni get everywhere?! And by that I don’t mean how does she get invited, I had the shock of finding out this woman I followed on Instagram because I liked her outfits and thought she was pretty is a hugely successful businesswoman in Italy long ago. Power to her. She’s a big deal! I get it! I just mean, physically HOW? How do you hit Elton John’s party AND the Vanity Fair party in one night and look this good? God really does have favourites, huh. Well, I guess in this hypothetical scenario where I believe in him anyway. 

The SAG Awards

(L-R: Dakota Fanning in Valentino, Kaitlyn Dever in Ralph Lauren, Scarlett Johansson in Armani, and Zoe Kravitz in Oscar de la Renta)

So, I kinda forgot the SAG awards existed and thought that my post was basically finished before I looked in my folder and saw the one dedicated to this ceremony. My initial reaction was like “oh, this is the shitty Oscars, right?” and I assumed the red carpet would be shit and that I could call it a night-it’s 3:30am, I wish I was calling it a night-but then I looked and saw that I had even more outfit photos saved in that folder than I did for my Oscar dedicated one. Because fuck, I want to to sleep, but the SAG awards had a surprisingly good turn out?! So maybe not as irrelevant a ceremony as I thought? Because Dakota Fanning turned up looking like some divine mythical being again, Scarlett Johansson pulled another incredible look out the bag, Zoe Kravitz was a modernised Audrey Hepburn, and Kaitlyn Dever read my comments about her dress being “timelessly pretty” and said “bitch, you really thought” before showing up looking hot as fuck. Truth be told, I think the SAG awards were first but in this universe where Kaitlyn Dever would pay any attention to my opinion of her outfit do we really care? 

(L-R: America Ferrera, Andrew Scott in Azzaro Couture, Camila Mendes in Ralph and Russo, Caleb McLaughlin )

(L-R: Lupita Nyongo in Louis Vuitton, Lily Allen, Nathalie Emmanuel in Miu Miu, Cynthia Erivo in Schiaparelli)

See, I was going to make a comment above how I took back what I said about Camila Mendes not just going for pretty dresses (which I guess I just did here instead-JUST TO BE CLEAR SHE STILL LOOKS STUNNING) and then I uploaded the next photo set and got distracted by 2 things:

1. How weird it is that British legend Lily Allen, who does not get NEAR enough credit for her smart her songs were might I add, is dating David Harbour AKA. Hopper off Stranger Things!?

2. How mad I still am about Game of Thrones and how dirty the writers did Nathalie Emmanuel (and Emilia Clarke and Lena Heady and Nikolaj Coster-Waldau and basically everyone else on that show but that’s another story).

In this same universe where Kaitlyn Dever cares about my opinion can we make the issues I have in the last bullet point not exist? Please?

(L-R: Sophie Turner in Louis Vuitton, Renee Zellweger in Maison Margiela, Phoebe Waller-Bridge in Armani, and Renee Bargh)

(L-R: Gwendoline Christie in Rick Owens, Madeline Brewer in Monique Lhuillier, Kathryn Newton in Valentino, and Lili Reinhart in Miu Miu)

Finishing off the SAG looks, we’ve got the four above. 

Once again, Kathryn Newton was Valentino’s blushing crown jewell; Allie Pressman hate aside, she really is the perfect dressing up doll for the brand. Fresh faced and poised, she has all the elegance and gentle femininity necessary to make floating down the runway as Valentino models do look natural, and Lili Reinhart did an equally good job being a Miu Miu girl. She makes that idiosyncratic cutesy-ness work, all the frills and fragility of a china tea set look easy where I’d just look like I’d been consumed by a charity shop doily. Madeline Brewer did a good job too, helping a Monique Lhuillier design pop in a way that it doesn’t usually. When your hair is bright red and your dress cerulean blue, coral tinted lipstick is a *ahem* choice, buuut in this case it paid off because the result is a look which demanded my attention-ML dresses are reliably pretty, however, they tend to be predictable. Madeline and her styling did a good job subverting that formula. To end the section, though, I feel it’s only fair to save my fave woman til last-probably one of the few people in the world that isn’t a Rick Owens model that can pull off his designs. Ofc, I’m talking about the queen that is Gwendoline Christie. If we’re talking embodying brands, she did justice like nobody else could to the spectacle of Owens’ formidable, out-of-this-world aesthetic. This is her version of the princess moment, and when you’re as striking as she is, nothing less would do. 

At least my girl Brienne of Tarth is thriving<3

The Grammys

(L-R: Ariana Grande in Giambattista Valli, Cardi B in Mugler, and Pia Mia in Julien Macdonald)

TBH, like I said with the Brits, I never planned to do any music award ceremony red carpets, just because I feel like the fashion tends to be more geared towards a younger audience buuuut I’m kinda glad I changed because Ariana looks INCREDIBLE. MESMERISING. TRANSCENDENT. JFC. There’s a reason the photo of her on her Wiki page has been changed to one from this night and it’s because she looks absolutely exquisite, like some kind of moon goddess with an R&B touch which I suppose is kind of her brand? Sometimes I go kind of lukewarm on Giambattista Valli and forget how mystical but at the same time frothy and indulgent and all around luxurious the pieces can be. This is a cupcake of a dress and I want to eat it. Cardi B has become a bit of an unexpected fashion icon and Pia Mia looks as hot-party-girl as ever but I feel to put anyone next to Ariana in this dress seems harsh because she just completely stole the show and I don’t even know if she won any Grammys.

(L-R: Josephine Relli, Gwen Stefani, Jameela Jamil in Georges Chakra, and Chrissy Teigen in Yanina Couture)

Other than Ariana, I’m not gonna lie, there was nothing wildly exciting, BUT I did think there were some beautiful colours out on the runway-plus for all her occasionally bad takes I really like what Jameela Jamil stands for and her style has always been very quirky cool. The electric blue tiled effect with the black mesh underneath kinda reminds me of a peacock, and contrasts wonderfully with the carpet-it’s very reminiscent of her T4 days. She’s one of those people that seems to get aggression directed at her that’s completely disproportionate to whatever it is she’s supposed to have done; sometimes the way she goes about saying things is wrong but the intention behind what she’s saying is usually good. Then again, the internet still despises Chrissy Teigen (in a way that’s kind of excessive considering what we seem to collectively let some people get away with) for a dumb AirPods tweet and I’ve included her too. THIS IS NOT A POLITICAL STATEMENT, this time anyway. I just think she looks good!

If I’m going to get controversial about anything, it’ll be Gwen Stefani. She looks stunning, the dress is stunning, and the boots are stunning. The outfit is not my problem! My problem is how she seems not to have aged at all. This woman is 50 years old! That she drank the blood of her Harajuku girls is the only explanation here. Can you imagine if she tried to pull that shit today? She’d get rightly accused of being a culturally appropriating weeb in about 10 seconds flat and we’d have to pretend to stop liking Cool and Hollaback Girl. 

(L-R: Finneas O’Connell in Gucci, Lucky Daye, and Shaun Ross)

(L-R: Tess Holliday, Dua Lipa in Alexander Wang, Tyler the Creator, and Grace Elizabeth in Giuseppe di Morabito)

Back to what I’m supposed to be talking about in this blog post: the fashion. And here, most importantly, Tyler the Creator looking like a cast member of the Grand Budapest Hotel. IDK why. But I love this man.

(L-R: Lil Nas X in Versace, Lizzo in Versace, and Shawn Mendes in Louis Vuitton)

(L-R: Billie Porter, FKA Twigs in Ed Marler, and Swae Lee in Giuseppe Zanotti)

See in general, the men were a lot more interesting on the Grammys red carpet. With the exception of Twigs, Dua and obviously Ariana, the men’s outfits are a lot more memorable; Billie Porter became the most fashionable meme on the internet, for god’s sake. And even when their outfits weren’t extravagant, they were just more interesting, imo, which is a rare occurrence. I didn’t expect Finneas O’Connell to be the writing half of Billie Eilish (the other half being Billie herself) I cared about and yet, in that Gucci blazer, here we are. 

(L-R: Jessie J, Hailee Steinfeld, and Madison Beer)

(L-R: H.E.R, Usher, FKA Twigs, and Matt Shultz)

Of the afterparty looks, my favourites are what we can see of these more casual outfits-I love what F.K.A Twigs and H.E.R are wearing, the headscarf with the leatherjacket on top is in particular very throwback rockabilly, and I’m even into whatever it is Usher’s got on.

(L-R: Olivia O’Brien, Amine, and Alrissa)

(L-R: Salem Mitchell, Machine Gun Kelly, and Sydney Sweeney)

Now, how to round this all up!? How to relate the confusingly persistent but very welcome presence of Sydney Sweeney on, like, ALL these red carpets back to the MET!?

IDEK. It’s been a long year. 

The Met Gala has usually come and gone before we know it, but with everything going on, it’s been the longest January-May I think most of us have ever known. I keep going on about COVID-19 in all my posts now but I have almost forgotten how to write an intro and outro because the pandemic is pretty much consistently on the brain and unless I have something right in front of me to use as a distraction, my mind tends to wander off into a very anxious place. I think, like many others, I feel frustrated and disappointed and angry with the way the situation is being handled by the people who are supposed to protect their citizens, and by how much of a fight some are putting up against measures that are in place to try and save lives. The point of this ramble, I guess, is that whilst we should never forget what’s going on and do the best we can to help prevent the spread of the virus, it’s okay to still care about mundane shit. Was this post one big long distraction for me? Probably. But if there’s something harmless you can do to keep your anxiety at bay, don’t feel bad for doing it. Contrary to popular belief, you can care about more than one thing at once. You can be sad that something you were looking forward to has been cancelled whilst still being sad for the people who are suffering because they’ve lost love ones or who have been forced into precarious living conditions. If talking about clothes on the internet is going to help you get through this pandemic, power to you.

If anyone has read til the end, thank you! I hope you are well! As always, feel free to reply to the post or inbox me with your thoughts! It doesn’t even have to be related to this post. If you’re struggling with everything going on, feel free to reach out too. I spend too much time on the internet anyway, lol! My plans are to finish my fashion week reviews and then I have a Lana Del Rey albums inspired lookbook which I pinched off the stans on Twitter (who I will of course credit when I write it!). For the time being, look after yourselves!

Lauren x

[legitlaur]

Deception // Mysterio

Pairing: Quentin Beck/Mysterio x Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: none

Summary: You’re a SHIELD agent with a dark secret. Meeting Quentin helps you open up and realize you can trust some people

next part>>>>

______________________________

“I stabbed him in the back, the exact same way he did it to me.”

You weren’t supposed to be on a plane to Venice, you weren’t supposed to be on a mission. Fury knew that, but he called you anyway. You told him no, he didn’t care. He said it was time to get out of your apartment, time to come back to work. You told him it was too soon, he told you it had been long enough. Somehow that man got you on a plane to Venice, Italy of all places. He didn’t tell you anything about the mission, he just said he needed you.

 Upon your arrival, there was a man in a suit with a poster that read your name. Classic SHIELD. 

The man gave you a file in the car, it briefed you on the situation. Elementals, these creatures were going to destroy the world. Sounded like SHIELD kinda stuff. The file had two personal:

Quentin Beck. 

A warrior from Earth 616. 

Elementals destroyed Earth 616

Fury must be really desperate if he’s getting help from strangers on different Earths. Not to mention you, the least able of any SHIELD agent. Yet here you were, in a car on your way to some secret location for a mission in Europe. You weren’t surprised about this Quentin guy however, Earth's greatest defenders the Avengers were gone. No one, not even Fury knew what was going to happen. 

Peter Parker/Spider-man 

Superhuman strength, web fluid 

Avenger

You met Spider-man once before, he was wearing his mask. You didn’t even know his name until you saw the file. 

The car pulled up to the tunnels of Venice. You walked in, recognizing a few agents at the entrance. You got chills as you went further down the tunnel, there were computers, holograms, and people wearing mostly black everywhere. Everything reminded you of him.

“Agent y/l/n welcome back,” Hill called.

Welcoming you back to SHIELD or back to life? You smiled at her anyway.

Fury turned around. “It’s about time. I’ve been waiting to do introductions all night.”

“Sorry.” you picked up your pace and followed Fury through more tunnel. 

“y/l/n meet Peter Parker”

A teenage boy. A boy who has his whole life ahead of him, yet here he was with SHIELD. You promised yourself not to let him get too involved the way you did.

“Hi ma’am, I’m umm Peter Parker. I’m Spider-Man.” His voice became strained, “Please don’t tell anyone my identity. I need to keep it a secret, to keep everyone I love safe.

You laughed, he really needed help. “I live a life of lies, that won’t be an issue.”

“And this is Quentin Beck,” Fury gestured towards the man wearing an interesting suit. 

You shook his hand, “Ah, you’re the warrior from Earth 616. Not what I imagined.”

Quentin brow furrowed, “What did you imagine?”

You shrugged, “an alien.” someone who wouldn’t stand out perhaps.

Peter and Quentin looked at each other with suspicious eyes, then all eyes fell back to you. They began laughing, filling the tunnels with echoes of laughter.

After a few more introductions and briefings Fury was finally free. Being discrete you whispered in his ear, “Can we talk privately?”

He nodded, leading you to a dim room with a few pipes, you were alone. “I’m listening agent y/l/n.”

“Why’d you bring me here?”

“I don’t understand what your asking,” his head hovered over yours.

You stared into his eye, “I am on leave, you can’t just call me back in. If you really wanted me working I want to be behind a desk, doing paperwork, using a computer. I can’t go back into the field. I specifically left because I couldn’t handle the field. So why am I in the field?”

Fury leaned against the wall, “You are a field agent, nothing changes that. I needed someone who I trust, someone that can look out for Mr. Parker. Someone who can help us keep Mr. Beck on our side. You are that person y/l/n.” 

Your blood was boiling, “You know why I can’t be in the field. You know Fury. I’ve trusted you with a secret and you discarded it.” Throwing your hands in the air, your voice began to rise, “There are hundreds of other agents. Pick someone else, I need to go home.”

Fury took two steps, filling in the small gap between you. His face was so close to yours, you could feel his hot breath on your nose. “Agent y/l/n you will stay in Europe, on a field mission until I send you home. That is, an order.”

Your throat was dry, tears would be spilling any moment. You’d made a promise to yourself the first day of SHIELD training. Never let anyone see you cry. You weren’t going to break that promise now, “Don’t expect much from me. After this mission, I’m done. I quit.” Turning on your heels you left the room.

Once you got into the hallway you broke. Keeping a secret from everyone in your life is hard. There's no one to confide in. No one knows. No one will ever know.

“y/n?”

You looked up, hiding your face through y/c/h hair. It was Quentin Beck, the last person you needed to see you like this. Fury wanted him to see how amazing SHIELD was, you crying in a dark hallway wasn’t a good look. 

“y/n I think you need someone to talk to.” He called again.

You laughed, “That's the one thing I’m not allowed to do.”

You could see the sadness in his face, “Who’s not letting you talk? Are you in danger, I can help you,” his voice became strained, “Let me help you.”

You wanted to, you wanted to tell him everything about your past. It was eating you up, you couldn’t live with the secret anymore.

He moved closer, cautiously. You didn’t move. His surprisingly bulky arm guided you through the tunnel. You didn’t know where he was taking you, but you were grateful someone was taking you away from that place. He led you up to a set of stairs, across a bridge, then through a small street. He stopped at a bench. “You need to sit down y/n.” His voice sounded like he really cared. That wasn’t possible, no one cared. At least no one cared about you. 

You listened anyway, when you sat down you realized how tired your body really was. You could’ve fallen asleep sitting up, on an empty street corner in Venice. 

Quinten was kneeling on the ground in front of you. You kept your head down, making sure not to look at him. There was a silence that felt like forever. You didn’t know what to do, all you wanted to do was sleep, but you couldn’t sleep. Your mind kept you awake, so all you could do was cry. You couldn’t stop, every emotion you bottled up over the past year was finally set free.

“I can’t” is all you could manage.

His warm hands brushed your hair back, his index finger lifted your chin. You were staring into his deep blue eyes. He looked so clean, so perfect. You knew you looked like a wreck. This was so embarrassing.

“What can’t you do?” His gentle voice comforted you.

You continued looking at his eyes, that was the only way you were going to get through this, “I can’t keep living like this. With this secret.”

He moved from the ground, sitting next to you he wrapped you up in his arms, “You don’t have to. Tell me, I’m from another world, remember.”

He was right, you had to get this off your chest. If you told anyone Quentin Beck would be a good choice. A random one, but a good one.

“Before the blip, I was blipped by the way. I,” you weren’t sure how to start, “I was married. He was a SHIELD agent too, that’s how we met. We had no secrets, not even secrets about secret missions. Fury hated that we were together. We didn’t care, we were so in love.” Becks hand squeezed your arm, giving you the strength to continue, “Our families didn’t know we were married, we had to keep everyone in the dark.”

“So one day we were on a mission together, a SHIELD submarine had been hijacked. We were fighting these people, trying to get to the hostages. When we were surrounded, I knew we were going to die. I told him I loved him, then I saw him smile.” you turned to look at this stranger in the eyes again, “It wasn’t a good smile. He looked evil. I watched as he turned his gun on me. My husband shot me in the stomach. Then he, he said ‘Hail Hydra’.” 

Your tears were making it impossible to finish the story. You closed your eyes, took a deep breath then smiled, “I died that day. I tried to quit, but Fury said I could be comms until I was ready to be a field agent again. After he shot me. The rest of our team managed to get control of the sub. I limped my way around until I found the man I devoted my life to. Pulled a knife out and stabbed him in the back. Fury thinks I did it for SHIELD because he was a Hydra agent. That’s where he’s wrong. I stabbed him in the back, the exact same way he did it to me.” you were silent for a minute.

“I murdered my husband.” you finally said it out loud. 

Beck didn’t respond, he kept his arms around you. You weren’t sure if he was processing this as a good or bad thing.

“You lost trust in the world,” he mumbled.

“What?” 

“The man you loved most, you trusted him with your secrets, your hopes, dreams, your entire life. He was your world. When you lost trust in him, you lost trust in the whole world.” Quentin explained, “When my wife died, my whole world died. Like you said, I died that day.”

“I’m sorry about your wife.” you didn’t even realize he had been married.

His smile grew, “She died because of the Elementals. If I stop them on this Earth, I feel like I’ll be avenging her.”

You took his hand and squeezed him, “She’ll appreciate it.”

“Thanks and the world’s not all that bad. There’s a man out there for you y/n. Someone who won’t lie about everything.”

Leaning your head on his shoulder you nodded, “Perhaps.”

a/n: Thanks for reading. not sure if there will be a part 2

[rorykillmore]

and this fic is for @propheticnightwing ! who let me have free range of what i wanted to write for her. i had to think about it for awhile because we’ve had so many wonderful dynamics over the years, but... i think one of the most defining and special to us is sly and carmelita. so i wrote a christmas fic for them! i also decided to do something a little different and set it in the midst of sly 2 because i love that game and i feel like it’s a really interesting, relatively unexplored time in sly and carmelita’s relationship.

also weirdly, this is the one fic that i felt compelled to write in past tense instead of present tense? idk why, it just felt right

but anyway fate, thank you so much for another wonderful year of our friendship. i know that this one has been particularly rough for you for far too many reasons and while i wish and hope things get better, it always kind of awes me how even when you have so much going on you always manage to reach out to me and make me smile. i’m speaking 2019 into an existence as a year that will hold good things for you and also many more meaningful rps, fun hangouts, and rounds of Hollywood Talk for us!! thank you for being there for me all these years. i really mean that.

“Enjoying the ambiance? You know, there’s a great view of the northern lights that’s only about a ten minute climb from here.”

 “I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for a view from a prison cell.”

There was nothing like being up north for the holidays! Or something. Sly figured he probably should’ve been feeling festive - and granted, he was cautiously optimistic about the gang having plenty to celebrate just now, with the Contessa arrested and Neyla evaded - it was just.

It was a little bit challenging to get into the holiday spirit when he was freezing his tail off and trudging through what felt like several feet of snow. And he was the one member of the gang who actually had fur.

“How you holdin’ up there, Murray?” he asked on cue, watching from his vantage point atop the sheer ice-and-rock formation he was settled on as the hippo worked to haul the satellite equipment they needed onto the back of one of Jean Bison’s biplanes.

“Righteous,” huffed Murray over the comms. 

“Not too cold down there?”

“I’m heated by the fire of my unrelenting determination, Sly!”

Sly couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Bentley’s voice crackled to life next over the line -- he was working from the van, so he’d lucked out this time around. One of the perks of being the team’s tech support, Sly supposed. “Just make sure no one gets the drop on him, Sly. Installing this equipment undetected is the very crux of this operation.” 

“I got it covered,” Sly assured him, adjusting the range on his Binocucom and scanning Murray’s surroundings just in case. Still nothing but empty, snowy wilderness. “You’re gonna let us know whether or not it actually works, right?”

“Affirmative. If everything goes according to plan, it should be fairly evident, fairly quickly. The next time Bison touches base with Arpeggio, I’ll be able to track their line of communication...”

“And we’ll be able to keep tabs on Arpeggio’s blimp,” Sly finished for him, unable to keep the eager edge out of his tone. “Nice.”

“And then maybe we can all go out for hot chocolate, or something,” Murray suggested. “I might have been exaggerating a little about the fires of determination part.”

Admittedly, it would have been a little more convenient for all of them if Jean Bison had chosen somewhere other than the rugged Canadian north for his base of operations, but maybe that would’ve defeated the whole point. It was fine, Sly assured himself. Everything had gone (almost shockingly) according to plan up until now. All they had to do was secure the rest of Bison’s Clockwerk parts, snag whichever ones Arpeggio had nestled away on his airship, and then the gang could finally take a well-earned vacation.

Just as he’d started to actually let himself feel relieved at the prospect, of course, something went wrong. Almost on schedule.

“Murray?” Sly murmured, suddenly snapping his attention and adjusting the Binocucom to hone in on the glimpse of movement he’d spotted in his peripheral vision. “Might wanna pick up the pace, pal. I don’t think you’re alone out here anymore.”

“What is it, some of Bison’s guards? I can probably take ‘em.”

“Nooot quite.”  Sly swallowed, taking in the (even from here) unmistakable features of the Interpol officer they all knew and loved.

Well. Former Interpol officer. And he guessed ‘loved’ might have been kind of debatable, depending on which member of the team you asked.

“Inspector Fox!” Bentley groaned, obviously having tapped into the Binocucom’s visual feed. “This is going to turn dire. Murray, how close are you to having all that stuff packed up?”

“Uhhhh....”  Obviously Murray was not quite as confident about facing off against Carmelita than he had been about taking on a half a dozen armed flashlight guards. “Gimme just -- another second --” 

Sly watched anxiously as he hauled the last piece of equipment on board and then scrambled for the pilot’s seat.  “She’s gonna hear the engine. I’m going in for a diversion.”

“Sly-- !” Bentley started to warn, but Sly was already on the move, making his way quickly down the rock wall with the help of his cane. He took the last few meters of his descent in a precarious leap, landing with a soft thump on the ground below and sinking a few feet further into the snow below him than he’d planned.

Predictably, the scuffle didn’t evade Carmelita’s attention. She rounded on him almost instantly, and Sly gave her what he hoped was a charming smile, trying to seem undaunted under the heat of her surprised, angry, (beautiful) amber eyes.

“Cooper!” she growled, her ears flattening.

“Inspector,” Sly greeted as pleasantly as he could, holding his hands up carefully in the air (although he wasn’t entirely convinced that would keep her from shooting him, at this point).  “Enjoying the ambiance? You know, there’s a great view of the northern lights that’s only about a ten minute climb from here.”

She leveled her shock pistol on him dangerously.  “I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for a view from a prison cell.”

“And here I was enjoying us actually being on the same side, for awhile.” Sly tried to figure out whether there was a subtle way to free his feet from the powdery snow they were now caked in. In all honestly, he hadn’t actually expected Carmelita to give up chasing him just because she was currently on the outs with the law -- her standards weren’t that flexible, even if Interpol’s apparently were. But it was as good a stalling tactic as any.

“You know as well as I do that bringing in you and your gang is the obvious way to clear my name.” She kept her gaze locked on him, and Sly didn’t dare move quite yet.

“Only because Neyla set us up,” he pointed out instead. Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say -- something flashed in Carmelita’s eyes that was a little less guarded, a little more raw. “Wouldn’t it be more satisfying if you got your job back because you exposed her? We could take her down together. -- You’d get the credit, obviously.”

As focused as he was on making sure Murray had time to get out of there, the offer was sincere. Still, he was a little surprised when she actually seemed to hesitate. “I don’t see what you or your gang stand to gain from having me reinstated.”

“Maybe nothing,” Sly admitted freely.  “But does it matter? You’re a good cop. We both know it. You didn’t deserve what happened to you, and Neyla doesn’t deserve to get away with it.”

He tried to radiate nothing but sincerity at her. He knew Bentley would gripe at him later - or pretend to - about how helping Carmelita time and time again only ensured that their jobs were that much more complicated, and their lives that much more dangerous. But in spite of it all -- Sly knew Bentley respected her too. And he knew he’d agree (begrudgingly) that clearing Carmelita’s name was the right thing to do.

So he watched her hopefully. Maybe he wasn’t imagine the way she wavered, or how her expression seemed to soften, if only a fraction.  For a second, Sly almost even thought she was going to lower the pistol.

But then her resolve turned to steel, and she was sizing him up again.

“If I want to clear my name, I have to prove I’m not willing to resort to the same tactics as she was. No matter what the cost.”  Carmelita took a slow step toward him.  “Working with a criminal just makes me look like a hypocrite.”

Sly wanted to say something else, even if the words hadn’t fully formed in his mind yet -- but then the unmistakable rumble of a plane engine broke the comparative silence of the wilderness around them. Murray had finally gotten the biplane up and running.

It startled Carmelita enough that she spun around, maybe having judged the noise to be closer than it was and deeming it a threat, and with a slight pang of remorse, Sly knew he had to take his chance.

He just hoped it wouldn’t make his earlier sentiments seem any less sincere.

Hauling himself up and out of the snow suddenly, he turned and made a run for it, making the snap decision that scaling the rock wall again was a more sure way to lose her than risking an open pursuit across the tundra. He’d made it up a few meters out of her reach by the time she’d turned and pinpointed exactly where he’d gone -- a moment he recognized for what it was when he heard a resounding, enraged, “Cooper!”

Now came the hard part. Sly sprung again, latching onto a higher crevice with his cane and using it to haul himself further up -- and that was when the first blast from the shock pistol collided with the wall, narrowly missing him.  Dodge and climb. He’d done it before. Was practically an expert at it, by now. The trick was to never stay in one place for more than a second -- so he sprung again, and then again, trying to make his ascent wildly unpredictable. Once or twice, the shock pistol blasts came so close that he felt the heat singe his fur -- but then he was up, all the way up, scrambling away from the cliff’s ledge.

He only risked pausing for a second to glance back at her. And he kind of wished he hadn’t -- the look on her face wasn’t as funny as it usually was whenever he managed to slip away from her. And even knowing that not all of her current anger and hurt was directed at him didn’t make Sly feel much better.

He slipped away before she got the chance to gauge what to do next.

“Everything okay, Murray?” Sly asked over the comms once he’d had a few heartbeats to compose himself.  

“Me and the supplies are airborne!” Murray affirmed immediately. “What about you? You get away from Inspector Fox okay?”

Sly hoped his slight pause wasn’t noticeable. “Five by five, pal. I’m headed back to the safehouse now.”

“That was pretty crazy, Sly.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Offering her Neyla was a smart move,” Bentley cut in reasonably, though Sly could tell from the slight edge to his voice that he was a little ruffled.  “Too bad she didn’t take you up on it.”

Sly contemplated staying silent -- but he knew if he let this weigh on him, it would probably sour things.  “I dunno, guys. I feel pretty bad for her. Her reputation’s in shambles all over some false charges, she narrowly avoided being brainwashed by a psychiatric maniac, she’s stranded out in the frigid middle of nowhere for the holidays -- and now every time we slip away from her just feels like another slap in the face.”

There was a moment of awkward silence on Bentley and Murray’s end.

“So... what are you suggesting, Sly? That you turn yourself in?” Bentley was clearly struggling not to sound dubious.

“No! Look, I know that’s not an option.” Even if he would’ve considered it under different circumstances - couldn’t hurt to turn himself in as long as he had a plan to break back out, right? - he knew the stakes were too high now to take a detour like that.  “I just... I dunno. I feel like we should do something nice for her.”

“‘Nice’?” Bentley still sounded doubtful.

“I think it’s a cool idea,” Murray put forward his vote of confidence. “I know Inspector Fox is, like... scary, and stuff, but I never wanted her to get hurt! But what can we do all the way out here?”

Sly didn’t answer right away.  In fact, it was a few moments before the answer came to him -- cheesy and, well, slightly crazy as it was.

“Can you guys do me a favor when you get back?” he asked suddenly.  “Just -- go into town and see what you can scrounge in the way of Christmas supplies, or anything like that. I’ll be back in a little while.”

“What are you planning, Sly?” Bentley asked slowly.

It would’ve taken too long to explain - and then convince them - so Sly only responded, “I won’t be long. Promise.”

But he changed his course as he spoke, wondering if he’d be able to gauge which direction Carmelita had gone in if he headed back to the cliff. Would she have tried to follow him, or given it up as a lost cause and gone back to... wherever she was staying?

He’d just have to hope it was the latter. He had some tracking to do.

It’d been a day and a half since Cooper had slipped away. Again. Not that she’d been counting. 

(She was trying to ignore the date in general, actually -- the inescapable fact that it was Christmas Eve was neither improving her mood or making her feel very festive.)

More often than not, Carmelita worked holidays anyway, if she was being honest with herself. It wasn’t like most criminals took the day off, and her family was far enough away to make visiting difficult unless she wanted to take a few days.

But there was something about this year that just felt sad.

Maybe it was the obvious fact that she’d lost her job, or had been framed by her partner for a conspiracy she’d had no part in. Or the reality that she’d missed her chance to catch the thief she’d practically spent her career hunting, yet again.

Hardest of all to admit was that it would have almost been nice to have his company, even if he technically would’ve been in her custody.

Scratch that. Hardest of all to admit was that she’d been tempted to take him up on his offer. That she was still sitting here, in the pitifully empty cabin she’d been stowing away in, questioning his sincerity.

Sincere or not, she knew she couldn’t have given him any other answer. Having her integrity damaged for her was bad enough, she couldn’t damage it herself. And yet.

Well, she was going in circles. Carmelita knew herself well enough to know that the only cure for that was finding some way to keep herself busy. So she rose to her feet, eyeing her coat and shock pistol where she’d hung them both by the door.

And then something thunked bluntly against one of the cabin windows. She tensed suddenly, her ears trained on the noise.

After another moment, it happened again, and this time she caught what had made the impact: snow.  Some idiot was throwing snowballs at her cabin! 

It was the stretch of long, bad days all stacked up rather than this one small thing, but Carmelita skipped the coat, snatched her shock pistol off the hook on the wall, and stormed out into the crisp winter evening.  “If this is one of you thugs’ idea of a joke --”

But it wasn’t Bison’s goons.

It was Cooper.

Tossing another snowball in one gloved hand, wearing a smirk so audacious that she had to stop and process his goddamn nerve.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he said to break the silence.  “Couldn’t let you spend it alone.”

Maybe if she’d stopped to think for a few minutes - maybe - she might have found the whole thing odd. It was reckless, even for Sly, to seek her out and provoke her with no warning or apparent cause.

But Carmelita didn’t have a few minutes.

What she’d had was a very bad past couple of days.

And it seemed he wasn’t going to let her stand around and dwell on it. He threw the snowball - it missed by a foot or so, Carmelita couldn’t say whether he’d actually intended for it to hit or not - and then he was tearing off into the night.

She found her voice again. A snarl. “You picked the wrong night to piss me off, raccoon.”

And then she was on his tail.

He’d planned this. She was sure of that now, although to what end she had yet to find out. Probably he and his gang had needed her distracted for some job they were pulling off, and she’d been stupid enough to take the bait.

That much had been clear when he’d led her on a wild goose chase for almost forty five minutes, with no apparent escape route in mind.  It wasn’t Cooper’s M.O. He had all sorts of places to duck into and hide around here, she was sure, but instead he’d kept her running for the better part of an hour.

By the time she’d figured out what was up, she feared it was probably too late to stop whatever Bentley and Murray had no doubt been up to all this time. But she also had to admit to herself, however furiously, that she couldn’t do any deeper investigation into the matter in this weather without her coat, so she’d eventually stormed back to her cabin, angry enough to spit hellfire.

She’d conjured a number of scenarios in her head by the time she arrived. The gang had pulled off a train robbery. Or they’d tracked down Jean Bison and robbed him directly. Or they’d gone for one of the local sawmills, for whatever asinine reason -- supplies?

The one possibility she’d discounted as absolutely too ridiculous, too idiotic even for them, was that their target had been her. And yet she was practically at her cabin door when Murray came bursting out of it, with Bentley scrambling frantically in his wake.

“Get a move on, Murray, Sly said we had five minutes -- five minutes ago --”

They saw her in that exact moment, and froze at the same time she did.

“Sly,” Bentley spoke slowly, presumably into his communications earpiece.  “We’ve, uh. We’ve got a problem.”

Carmelita stopped him there, raising her pistol again. “Not another word.”

“But Inspector --”

“This is low, even for you morons. Hands where I can see them.”

Bentley and Murray exchanged a very awkward glance, and then slowly lifted their hands into the air.

“Hey, look, we can explain --”  Murray started, but Carmelita cut him off with a look.

“Step into the cabin. And then you’re going to give back whatever you possibly decided was valuable enough to be worth all this trouble before I put you in handcuffs.”

Neither of them moved for a moment. She took a step forward, eyes narrowed.  “Now.”

Very slowly, Bentley turned - and then Murray after them - and they filed rather miserably into the cabin. As they should, Carmelita thought bitterly. She braced herself to take in whatever ransacking of the place they’d done (really, it wasn’t like she was keeping valuables out here, what had even been the point) before she followed them inside.

-- Was it brighter in here than when she’d left, or were her eyes still adjusting?

It took a moment to process that the extra light was coming from the sprawling, decorated Christmas tree in the corner. And the icicle lights strewn haphazardly around the frames of the cabin’s two windows. 

Purely out of shock, Carmelita lowed her weapon a fraction as she took in the rest of the scene in front of her.

It wasn’t just the tree, or the lights -- a small pile of presents had been bundled at the trunk of the former. A (kind of ugly, hand-knit) stocking had been hung from the fireplace, and on the table was a large plate of --

-- Holiday cookies?

“They’re store-bought,” Murray commented a little sadly, noticing where her gaze had gone.  “We couldn’t get all the ingredients we needed to make ‘em from scratch. But they’re really good! -- Not that I, uh. Tried one already.”

“I knitted the stocking, though,” Bentley provided helpfully.

Carmelita wasn’t sure what to say. She took it all in wordlessly for another moment.  “You broke into my cabin.  To decorate it for Christmas.”  She wasn’t sure if that made them even more stupid than she’d originally thought or not.  “ -- Why?”

Murray and Bentley exchanged another look before Bentley tried fumbling out an answer. “Because... ah... because...”

“It was Sly’s idea!” Murray blurted. Bentley elbowed him sharply.

For all her training and experience, Carmelita forgot momentarily that she was meant to be keeping her eyes - and her weapon - on the criminals. Her arms suddenly felt heavy enough that she had to lower them to her sides. Sly? 

“What are you talking about?” she demanded, managing to sound more suspicious than confused.

Bentley seemed resigned to the explanation, at that point, so Murray continued, “We were supposed to be out of here before you showed up, but uh... I guess Sly couldn’t keep you fooled as long as he thought.”

“He usually can’t,” Bentley put in dryly.

“But he felt bad about the other day, and the whole thing with the Contessa, and he said he thought you deserve something nice for Christmas.  ...We all did, I guess.”

Carmelita felt her cheeks warm underneath her fur. For a moment, all she could do was stare at the pair of them, not quite fully processing the reality of the situation. She knew she hadn’t exactly made the Cooper gang’s lives easy, now or... ever  - not that they deserved to have it easy, when they were thieving criminals - and yet they had gone out of their way to do all of this for her.

Sly had done all of this for her.

She couldn’t understand it.

“Why?” she asked again, because it felt like the only thing she could say.

This time a new voice answered. “Didn’t I tell you once that being on opposite sides of the law didn’t make us enemies?”

She whirled around, and her first, exasperated thought was Why do people keep waltzing into my cabin like they own the place? But even that was banished quickly from her mind when she saw Sly standing in front of her, once again.

This time, Carmelita wasn’t quite sure how to feel.

“Sorry for giving you such a hard time earlier.” Sly scratched behind his neck awkwardly, evidently a little fidgety in the wake of her silence. “We needed a way to get you out of the cabin for awhile, and... provoking you seemed like the easiest plan, I guess?”

Carmelita swallowed. “I can see why Bentley usually does the planning.”

Behind her, Bentley snorted briefly, and Sly even managed half a sheepish looking grin. Carmelita paused another moment. “If you think this means I won’t chase you anymore --”

“Didn’t even cross my mind,” Sly assured her lightly.  “Our lives wouldn’t be nearly as exciting without you. Just -- you deserve the night off. It’s Christmas Eve. Maybe for a little while, things don’t have to be so terrible.”

The shock pistol was starting to feel heavy and awkward in Carmelita’s hand. She laid her ears back against her head and considered him for awhile, almost overwhelmed by the sincerity in his warm brown eyes. She wasn’t oblivious, of course. Sly had flirted with her before, but she’d always assumed that was just... Sly. And there’d been the kiss they shared back in Russia, but Carmelita had told herself that was a ruse to ensure that he and his friends escaped -- mostly so she didn’t think about it so much afterwards.

Considering the possibility that what Sly felt for her was more serious than that had always been too dangerous. And considering the possibility that she returned those feelings had always felt too stupid. But who did something like this for someone they only considered a friendly rival at best?

At length, Bentley cleared his throat awkwardly to break the silence, and Murray added uncertainly, “We, uh... should we leave?”

Carmelita glanced back at them. And then she shifted her gaze forward to meet Sly’s again, hesitating. She could see the same question in his eyes.

“Tomorrow,” she said finally, “We all go back to doing our jobs.” Gingerly, but gaining confidence with every passing second, she took a step towards Sly. Then another. He tensed just slightly, and she paused.  “...But tonight, I think we could all use a break. Why don’t you boys stay.  ...For a little while, anyway.”

Sly’s ears lifted, and a smile started to spread across his face. Carmelita found herself returning it. Briefly - carefully - she lifted one gloved hand and touched the side of his face.  “Thank you,” she added more quietly.

Her hand dropped, but Sly’s smile didn’t.

“In that case,” Murray started jovially. “Who wants cookies?”

“There’s uh -- also a few presents for you,” Bentley provided, still sounding slightly apprehensive. “One from each of us.”

Carmelita half-turned towards the tree, unable to keep from eyeing it almost dubiously.  “Should I be afraid?”

“Only a little,” Sly assured easily.  “And -- hey, if you wanna pretend to be distracted for a few more minutes, we can put up some finishing touches. Maybe, say, mistletoe... ?”

Murray sounded like he might have choked on his cookie, and Bentley rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses.  Carmelita, for her part, made a show of rolling her eyes, but she couldn’t quite keep the smile off her face.

“Don’t push your luck, ringtail.”

[broccolianddandelion]

Chapter 201: Notes and observations

I WOULD LOVE TO SEE KENDO AND YAOYOROZU GO HEAD-TO-HEAD IN AN INDIVIDUAL MATCH-UP. The advantage should go to Yaoyorozu, but Kendo has shown that she is also a quick thinker, and Yaoyorozu is weakened by the amount of time it takes for her to make things. The difference could only be seconds, but that it’s enough time for Kendou to get in a physical attack. It seems like these two could be great friends and supports for each other as they continue their education.

As Tokoyami says, Komori’s quirk is repulsively strong. If there’s one surprise takeaway from this match it is that Komori’s mushroom quirk is sick. The image of Hagakure covered with mushrooms is gross. It doesn’t seem like blocking Tokoyami’s windpipe with spores is her ultimate move, so what else can she do? Kuroiro is also looking pretty intense here. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for Aoyoma to consider changing his hero name to something a little more concise. Can you imagine trying to talk to "Can't Stop Twinkling" over comms in a time-sensitive situation? Compared to say, “Deku” — short and to the point.

It seems short-sighted that heroism is apparently limited to the kind of people who can walk around and physically fight villains. This arc is about teamwork, and this particular match drives that theme home. Should Yaoyorozu emphasize physical combat in her training when her talents would be better deployed as a kind of leader-general who creates support items as needed? We haven’t seen any heroes like that, but if heroes are going to start working in teams, it would make sense for people to specialize, rather than continue with the expectation that everyone has to be an all-rounder.  Even Midnight sees it. 

On the other hand, there is the counterargument that Kendo’s successful physical attack is the precise reason why students like Yaoyorozu should learn more hand-to-hand defense. Yaoyorozu was an ultimate team player, allowing herself to be captured while having confidence in her teammates. And it’s not like she didn’t go down fighting.

To be fair, the lack of non-combat heroes could be an artifact of the educational system. This arc is also about correcting the “illogical” element of the UA entrance exam, which was biased towards students with strong offensive quirks. In contrast, this training exercise seems like a great opportunity for students to get a feel for teamwork in the post-All Might era. For example, Tokoyami has not shown himself to be a great strategist in this arc. His thinking tends to be very linear and focused on one goal rather than seeing the bigger picture. This is a boy who does very well implementing plans.

THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THIS. I see no reason why Tokoyami shouldn’t continue to play to his strengths in medium-range offense.  Still, Tokoyami can think on his feet. His capture of Kuroiro was nothing short of brilliant. I would never have guessed that a limitation of Kuroiro’s quirk is that he can squished into a ball as long as long as he’s couched in black. (Sidebar: Kuroiro’s crush on Komori is adorable. I like to see these kids acting like kids.)

It’s undeniable that Kendo’s best girl in this match, and she should take the win for what it is. She drags around two people and a fucking canon while tied up.

It’s interesting that we end the chapter with Kendo thinking that she didn’t deserve to win. I think it’s meant to drive home the point that despite her loss here, Yaoyorozu is …fill in the blank. Strong? Powerful? Strategic? Any of these are applicable. However, Kendo did deserve to win here (it’s interesting me to that although this is a teamwork arc, this match at least has been framed as Yaoyorozu vs. Kendo). Knocking out an opponent is a legitimate way to do things at UA. Kendo seems to think she and her team were more reactive than proactive, while Yaoyorozu had plans and backup plans. (Though one could argue the 1-A students were more reactive than the 1-B students, as the 1-B students had them often on the defensive.).

One thing that I thought was a little weird was that I was expecting some major something after Todoroki suggested that Yaoyorozo would be a threat to all four 1-B students at once.

I guess he meant that the support she could provide in her Lucky Bag would make her the most threatening member of the 1-A team.  Of course, Todoroki hadn’t seen I-B’s quirks at that point, and had no way of knowing how powerful their quirks are. (HOW did so few 1-B students advance in the Sports Festival?)

Speculation is rampant about the outcomes of the next three matches. This match proves that it is impossible to guess, because we don’t know enough about 1-B's quirks. There was no way of predicting that Tokoyami would be taken down by what is practically a biological weapon. From a storytelling standpoint, it makes sense that either Todoroki’s or Bakugou’s teams will have to lose for the stakes to be even by Midoriya’s match. This presents a conundrum, as both Todoroki and Bakugou could use a win at this point. Todoroki hasn’t had a challenging fight since Moonfish. We have yet to see Todoroki show off any flashy moves besides his Ice Wall; presumably he has something in the works for his fire side. And maybe I’ve read too much fanfiction, but Todoroki hasn’t exhibited the skills of a formidable combatant when he’s not blasting people with his quirk. In the Provisional License Exam, we can infer that he mostly relied on his quirk.

This is a weakness compared to students like Midoriya and Bakugou, who are both keen strategists and, as Deku vs. Kacchan 2 showed, absolutely stellar at combining their quirks with physical attacks.

If I had to make a prediction about whether Todoroki or Bakugou is likely to win his match, I would go with Bakugou. Bakugou was supposed to learn teamwork and empathy in his remedial training, and it would be anticlimactic for the outcome to be, “welp, guess he didn’t learn anything after all” the first time he is tested. We know he was able to cooperate with his classmates enough to play in the band for the Culture Festival. It’s time for him to be put in a combat situation.

I don’t think losing his match would be as hard on Todoroki as Bakugou, and not just because Bakugou hates to lose. Todoroki’s central conflict is with his father, and this training is low-stakes for his character development. He’s a competitive person and likes to win, but I’m not entirely sure he has a good handle on why winning is important to himself as an individual. He’s never expressed outright that he wants to be the number one hero; it has been implied that since he was groomed to beat All Might, he wants to be the top hero. We also know that Rei (and Midoriya) told him he can be a hero. But these are both externally derived motivations. I headcanon Todoroki as someone who has yet to make his own sense of what heroism means to him, and until he takes ownership over why he wants to be hero, he will continue to lack the fire (no pun intended) that drives Midoriya and Bakugou. His performance at the Provisional Licensing Exam was perfunctory at best until Yoarashi got him riled up. Something similar could happen in his match, UNLESS he gets inspired by the spirit of teamwork and goes all out for his friends.

[wordlesscaptain]

Tinder Bait: Part 1 (Steve x Reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warnings: language, Tony being Tony (definitely a warning in and of itself)

Prompt: “I’m very, very bad under pressure.”

Summary: Tony decides to meddle in your life yet again and sign you up for Tinder…but there’s a catch.

A/N: This is my entry for @e-g-b-o-k’s 500 Follower Celebration Writing Challenge. She is an AMAZING writer. Definitely check her out! The reader in this is a bit…feisty? I really can’t write them any other way. It’s also important to note that Steve holds a very special place in my heart, but I really do enjoy writing Tony so there’s a lot of him and his shenanigans in this. Here’s the first part! There are many parts to come!

Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

You had it pretty good. Well, pretty good for a recent college grad trying to enter the “real world”. You were fortunate enough to get a job at Stark Industries as a part-time receptionist. It wasn’t the most glamourous job, but you got to interact with a lot of famous faces. Of course, the job had its ups and downs, as anyone would imagine working for Tony Stark would. You had the pleasure of just starting working right before Tony made that killer robot, Ultron. You handled all the incessant calls and inquiries about that fiasco so well that Tony decided to hire you full-time.

An added bonus of working for Tony was getting to interact with the Avengers. You got well acquainted with the entire team in no time. You got along with everyone, some more than others. You, Natasha, and Wanda were extremely close, confiding in each other often. You regularly had girls’ nights together to get away from the testosterone of the rest of the team.

You meshed well with Sam, Steve, and Bucky. Sam and Bucky’s pranks on each other always amused you. You would sometimes join in, which would make the “victim” of the prank furious. They were a fun bunch. You and Steve were great friends. He always made sure to stop by and say hello to you every day if he wasn’t away on a mission. You two often got together when Sam and Bucky’s bickering got a little too much to handle. You also enjoyed sharing parts of the 21st Century with him that he hadn’t discovered yet. Overall, you really enjoyed being in his company. You had a soft spot for him, but you tried your damn hardest to keep that under wraps.

As for Tony, your relationship was…interesting. He was like an annoying brother, over bearing and caring father, and weird uncle all mixed into one. He obviously wanted the best for you, but didn’t always go about it the best way. He often dragged you into awkward situations, of which you had no way of getting out of. You were currently in his lab about to get involved in one of his crazy schemes again.

“Alright Tony, what did you call me in here for?”

“Well, I’m sure you’re aware that you’ve been out of the dating game for quite some time,” he paused. You stared at him. What was he getting at? “So, I took it upon myself to make you a Tinder account.”

“You did what?” you asked harshly.

“Signed you up for Tinder. You know, that online dating app where-“

“I know what Tinder is, Tony,” you snapped.

“Great, so I won’t have to teach you how to use it,” he continued.

“Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into that genius head of yours, but I don’t like the concept of online dating at all. It just seems so-”

“Nuh-uh, save it. You can voice your opinion in the briefing room. Let’s go,” he said as he led you down the hall with his hands on your shoulders.

“Tony, I have work to do. Those phones don’t answer themselves, you know,” you argued.

“Actually,” he paused with a smirk, “they do.” You groaned. You knew there was no chance you were getting out of whatever it was Tony had up his sleeve. You worked for him long enough to know that. You hoped the other Avengers in the briefing room would help change his mind. A slim chance, albeit, but a chance nonetheless.

When you got to the briefing room, Sam and Steve were already there talking amongst themselves. Tony cleared his throat to announce his presence and they turned their attention to the both of you. “Alright, now that everyone’s here,” Tony started.

“Wait, wait, wait. Where’s the rest of the team?” you asked. You needed all the help you could get if you wanted Tony to change his mind about this. You wished Natasha was there, not that Sam and Steve couldn’t help. She was just better at talking sense into that stubborn head of his.

“Sorry, kiddo. I’ve got the rest of the team tasked with something else,” he said. You were doomed. “So,” he continued, “as you all know, I signed our lovely Y/N up for Tinder. Sam, did you fill Gramps in on what Tinder is?” he asked. Sam nodded his head. You snapped your head in their direction with a look of disbelief.

“Hold on, you two knew about this already?” you asked. Sam nodded. Steve hesitated before he nodded as well. You stared hard at Steve. You thought he would be against Tony meddling in your life without your permission. He had definitely voiced his opinion when Tony had done so in the past. He adverted his gaze from yours, looking down at his hands. You couldn’t believe this. You turned to Tony and spoke again, “Tony, you’ve done stuff like this before. Many times, actually. But this is taking it too far.”

“Y/N, it’s not as bad as you think,” Sam commented. Maybe he was right. Maybe you were overreacting. You could always delete the account later. But Tony should’ve asked for your permission first, and the fact that he didn’t pissed you off.

“I don’t like online dating. I think it’s fake. Call me crazy, but I like meeting people the old fashioned way,” you stated. Steve looked up at you when you said this, but you were too busy fuming to notice.

“And how’s that been working out for ya?” Tony asked. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “That’s what I thought. Now if you’d please, Y/N, take a seat.” You did as you were told and sat next to Steve, not without giving him a disapproving look first.

“As I was saying, I signed Y/N up for Tinder, and she took it about as well as anyone expected,” he said. You huffed. “But I did it without the intent of finding you a boyfriend.”

“Okay…” you said hesitantly.

“As it turns out, one of our lovely friends at HYDRA happens to be an avid user of Tinder,” he said. You didn’t like where this was going, but you decided to keep quiet. “And you’ve got a date with him this Friday.” Your eyes grew as wide as saucers. Your mouth was slightly agape, but you couldn’t get any words to come out. You were stunned. Speechless. Why in the world would he think this was a good idea?

“I realize this all sounds,” he paused, looking for the right word to say, “terrible. But we don’t really have any other choice.”

“He’s right, Y/N,” Steve finally spoke up. You looked at him, still stunned. “We’ve been trying to track down this guy for months. He’s got intel on HYDRA’s new whereabouts and we desperately need that information before they decide to attack again.” He gave you a slight smile. You sat there in silence, still unsure of what to say.

“We need someone on the outside, per say, to try to reel him in. And that someone is you,” Tony added.

“Why not send Natasha on him? This is definitely her area of expertise,” you proposed.

“We did,” Sam said. “This guy caught onto her right away. That’s when we all decided we needed to send in someone he definitely wouldn’t recognize.”

“And you’re sure he’s never seen me? I mean, I work for Tony fucking Stark of all people. He’s not exactly subtle,” you inquired.

“Pretty positive,” Tony answered, ignoring your jab at him. “You’ve only every worked at the Tower. You’ve never visited SHIELD’s headquarters in DC and you know I don’t let any just anyone in here.” You nodded. Everything they were saying made sense, but you still weren’t completely comfortable with the idea.

“We also need someone we can trust,” Steve added. “We still don’t know who’s HYDRA and who’s not, so we can’t choose a SHIELD agent. We know you won’t double cross us.”

“But I’m not an agent. I answer phones all day. I have zero training. What if he tries something funny?” you asked, worry lacing your voice.

“We’ll be right there with you,” Steve assured you as he put a hand on your shoulder giving it a small squeeze. You gave him a slight smile. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. The Avengers had handled much worse so you knew you’d be in good hands.

“We’ll have you wear this the entire time,” Tony handed you a small ear comm. “That way we can record what he says and help you out if you need it.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “I’m going to need it.”

“Oh come on, Y/N, you’ll be just fine,” Sam laughed. “Just be yourself.”

“That’s the problem. I’m absolutely terrible on dates. Just awful,” you sighed. “I never hear from them again, so obviously I’m doing something wrong. I don’t want to mess this up for you guys.”

“Oh, don’t you fret, I will be there to help you every step of the way,” Tony boasted. You rolled your eyes.

“Yep, I’m screwed.”

“Yep,” Steve and Sam laughed.

Part 2

[jokermoreau]

A writing survey/tag meme. I wasn't tagged by anyone, I just wanted to do it. 1. Is there any scene from any piece you’ve written that actually scared you? If so, describe the scene. Not off the top of my head. Granted, I've not written anywhere near as much horror as I'd like. Working on it! 2. What genre do you feel most awkward writing? Probably mystery? Which is scary, because I'm kind of working on a mystery. I just feel like there are a lot of moving parts in the genre, and a lot of opportunities to leave gaping plot holes. I'm trying to suck it up and just proceed. 3. How many different types of writing do you write? Types of writing include novels, short stories, poetry, song lyrics, etc. Short stories, drabbles, roleplay threads/comms, flash fiction, novels (i'm trying, okay! It's hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. Maybe.), screenwriting. 4. How old were you when you first started writing? As a little girl, I wrote silly stories (mostly about horses. That's right, I was horse girl). I began to write "seriously" or with intent at around eleven. Posted my first absolutely abysmal anime fanfiction on fanfiction.net way back then. 5. How confident are you in your writing? It depends on the day. Some days, I feel invincible. Like writing is a true calling of mine, that I'm fucking great at it, blah blah. But other days I feel like I've lost my luster and haven't worked at it properly in so long that I've lost it. Lately, I've had more in between days than either extreme, which I think is for the best. 6. Have you ever written and posted anything that was very personal to you? I don't think so? I mean, at some level, everything I write is personal to me and means something to me, but nothing super raw is out there. 7. What inspired you to start writing? I'm actually not sure of any life-altering moments where I deciding writing was a hobby/thing I wanted to take a true interest in. I will say that for all of my life that I can remember, I've loved to write. Maybe I'm not a prodigy and maybe I'm not even good (who knows), but at the end of the day I truly love it. ANYWAY the question isn't about that. I think I started writing properly when I wanted an escape from my real life. 8. Which of your OCs do you relate to the most? Of all the OCs I've made in my life, I can't pin ONE down that is exactly like me. In terms of RP characters, I really really love my Gemma, but I don't think we 'relate' to one another all that well. If I had to pick one from my WIP, I'd probably pick Tyler, the protagonist's brother, because he's a goof with a heart of gold. He's just trying his best and sometimes he's just tired. 9. Have you ever written self-insert fanfiction? In high school, that was my brand LMAO. I wrote self-insert fanfic for me and my friends. Do I regret it? Yeah, but I also don't because I was writing 3k-4k words a day of shitty non-sense that brought me and my friends closer together, gave us some laughs (still does sometimes), and gave me writing practice. It was fucking awful work, but I was in a good mindset back then. 10. What is your favorite piece you’ve ever written about? I really love this one piece I did back in college. It was about a homeless guy, just a practice in prose, trying to learn how to describe things better rather than just stating outright. Showing vs telling, I guess. Anyway, that piece inspired me to write a script about the guy in question. It got me an A in screenwriting. 11. How frequently do you actually sit down and write? Not often enough. 12. How many hours at a time do you do research on your writing? I'm a bad person who researches as I write. Don't do that, okay? It's bad. 13. Do you like to branch out in your writing or do you tend to stick to what you know? A little bit of both? I never stick strictly to what I know or what I've personally done, because I am the most boring woman in the entire world. 14. What would your antagonist of your current WIP say to you if they saw you in person? Dude, I don't even know who the antagonist really is just yet. I'm working on that. 15. Do you consider yourself your OCs’ god or just kind of a guiding hand (or other? If other, please list)? Guiding hand. I plan things, I breathe life into them, give them a history and some vague semblance of a future, and then 9/10 times they laugh in my face and make me adjust on the spot. My protagonist was never supposed to be as meek as she is. One of my RP characters, Dylan, was supposed to be a womanizing trashcan man but he decided he was a tender hearted lover and I don't understand. Sometimes, the character knows better than the writer, I guess. 16. What do you think you’d be doing with your time if you’d never gotten into writing? Since I don't write half as much as I want to, probably nothing new. 17. Have you ever written a smut piece? Many. Hundreds, probably, in my life by now. And plenty are online for the world to see somewhere. 18. What was the first thing you ever wrote about? I was a kid, and it was probably about a horse or a cat. 19. What is the most creative creature you’ve ever created for world-building? I don't really make creatures. I tend to stick to realism. 20. Tell me one random fact about your WIP that you have yet to tell your followers. Uhh, I'll keep it vague because all my ideas are vague, but not everything will be as it seems??? I guess. LOL. While I wasn't tagged, I'm gonna tag @queenbirbs, @yooaeng, @sarah-crewe, @thefattestleiaorganasolo, @fusionwolf, @vivaladeadgirl, @saebyeolbes, @mrdrmn, @lunar-retrograde, @shepardcommander, @ehlodieyung & whoever else wants to because I’m curious!!!! I wanna know ur writing stuff xo

[cyanisbirdmom666]

Dark Skies - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Summary: Space seems fun at first, right? Well it is... until people on your spaceship start getting murdered by monsters.

Notes: Just another Among Us chapter.

Word Count: 2.2k

Trigger Warnings: none :)

“OK EVERYONE, are you guys ready?” Daisy asked as everyone sat down. The cafeteria tables were quite large, so the 12 of them all fit on one table. Rusty came out of the kitchen with all the seafood. Salmon chowder, baked cod, potato-brussel sprout hash, seared scallops, popcorn shrimp, hot crab dip, and an avocado and fennel salad. “I really hope you guys aren’t allergic to seafood.” he joked. They all laughed and dug in. The food was delicious.

After about 10 minutes of silent eating, Daisy stood up cleared her throat, “Ok guys, to start off I’m going to first ask for your ages. We all look pretty young, so no need to be embarrassed. I’ll start, and we’ll go clockwise from there. I’m 21 years old.”

“I’m 27.” said Rusty.

“I’m 25.” said Rosa.

“I’m 23.” said Violet.

“21.” said Azul.

“I’m 20.” said Sky.

“I’m 21.” said Chartreuse.

“31.” said Scarlet.

“I’m 24.” said Viridian.

“I am 21.” said Coal.

“I’m 25.” said Bronze.

“26.” said Ivory.

“Ok great! Let’s do an easy question first: why are you guys in space? I’m sure this will bring up some interesting stories... I’ll start, again. I like rocks. I’m a geologist and going to space to actually touch and handle space dust has always been a dream of mine, ever since I was a little girl that played with sand. That may sound weird to you guys, but, like, studying the moons, the dirt, and the lava in Polus was SUCH a wonderful experience!! 10 outta 10, I would definitely do this again. MiraSpace noticed my experience in the field, and offered me this trip. All I needed to do in return was conduct some research on the lava in Polus. I enjoyed every minute of it! Now Rusty, it’s your turn.

“MiraSpace needed a chef for this group. You only live once, so I took the opportunity to go to space. I don’t regret it. Space is pretty cool.”

Rosa stopped eating and cleared her throat, “Well, I’m an astronomer, so getting to study the stars and celestial objects up close was an opportunity I could not refuse. MiraSpace needed the research and I had already been working with MiraSpace for years, so I know I can trust this organization to send me into space. It’s been very pleasant so far.” Rosa finished talking and continued to eat.

“Well, I also had been working in MiraSpace before taking this trip. They wanted me to be the electrical and software engineer of the ship, and I of course accepted, even though the chances of this ship breaking down is really small.” Violet said, very confidently.

“I’ve never worked for MiraSpace, and the only thing I know about the organization was from what I heard on the news. Scandals, new programs they’re launching and stuff. BUT they did offer me a lot of bucks for researching weather in space, so I gave them a chance. So here I am, the ship’s space meteorologist.” Azul droned, obviously bored. He was staring at the ceiling.

“I’m a surgeon and MiraSpace contacted me, saying that they needed a medic for the ship. I at first declined, because I love Earth and flying gives me anxiety. Besides I didn’t really need the money, and space was never an interest of mine.They even offered to give me an assistant! BUT, then MiraSpace told me that if I was able to find an alien bird in Polus, I would be able to keep it. All I needed to do was get samples and data from Polus and be the ship’s doctor. I don’t know how MiraSpace found out I love birds, but they did and now they had me hooked. I accepted, so now I have two alien bird eggs on my helmet, and a bunch of data and research to sort out. I still don’t know who was assigned to be my assistant, or if I even have an assistant. But other than that it’s been pretty fun.”

Azul looked at Sky a bit confused, “Aren’t you a bit young to be a surgeon? You said you were 20? Aren’t surgeons like, really old? You’re not even at legal drinking age!” Sky shrugged, “I suppose I just skipped a few grades.” Azul gazed at Sky for another moment before returning to staring at the ceiling.

Chartreuse started, “MiraSpace wanted me to document everything we- well everything you guys do, and I accepted the position. The Skeld is my set and you guys are the actors. I’m just the movie director letting the drama unfold.”

Daisy giggled nervously, “But there is no drama here, silly! We all get along great!”

Chartreuse smirked, “There will be hon, there’s always will be drama wherever you go. I’m just patiently waiting. I know where to sniff out the dirt, darling.”

Daisy forced a smile, “You’re a funny one Chartreuse... but erm, I don’t really see your equipment? You’re not doing a very good job so far if you want to sniff out the dir-”

“Look up sugarcakes. I have cameras everywhere to record the latest news among the crewmates. And to make sure I’m documenting everything you’re doing of course. MiraSpace doesn’t want any funny business going on on their ships.” Chartreuse disclosed.

Everyone went from happy to very uncomfortable. They all (reluctantly) looked up and sure enough, there was a camera taped to the ceiling. How did it get there? They didn’t know, since Chartreuse was short. Coal immediately tensed thinking, is it possible that he put a camera in Electrical? Did he record the whole conversation??

“So Chartreuse, what are ya planning on doing with the footage eh? You wanna make a movie out of us or something? Or are you just going to turn in all the footage to MiraSpace?” Scarlet asked, a bit irritated. She did not want to be recorded.

“I have to give all the footage to MiraSpace but... MiraSpace didn’t stop me from bringing my own equipment so... perhaps I will make a movie out of this. It all depends on how good my footage is and how much footage MiraSpace takes. Enough about me though, we should probably keep playing our bonding game, yes?” Chartreuse said, still smirking.

Scarlet wanted to slap his stupid little smirk off his face, but she restrained herself. “I work in MiraSpace. I handle Comms. I will be spending most of my time in Comms. So, don’t bother me.” Or record me.

“I’m a psychologist and MiraSpace wanted me to study you guys’ behavior throughout the day.”

“Great! So not only are we starring actors in Chartreuse's space movie, but we’re also lab rats.” Scarlet said, exasperated.

“heh... I’m also supposed to study the crewmate’s health too... I guess Viridian and I are supposed to work together to monitor your overall health.” Sky mumbled timidly. She didn’t want to make Scarlet angrier, and she definitely didn’t want Scarlet to hate her.

“This must be a joke. MiraSpace NEVER told me any of this. They just said that the only thing I would be doing, was communicating back and forth with MiraSpace headquarters. They never said anything about being monitored.” Scarlet exclaimed.

Daisy laughed nervously, “How about we just continue the bonding? Coal I think you’re next?”

“MiraSpace wanted me to study plants in Polus.” Coal grumbled.

“Oh. Ok. Well, what about you, Bronze?”

“I’m just a physicist. MiraSpace hired me to study astrophysics and quantum mechanics out here.” Bronze sighed.

“I’m an aerospace and mechanical engineer. I’m supposed to work with Violet.” Ivory stated plainly.

Daisy nodded, “OK great! I guess we should stop the questions since everyone seems a bit tense... I have an idea! Why don’t we all group up and-”

“Why don’t we all just go to bed? It’s 11pm eastern time right now on Earth, and some of us seem a little cranky.” Ivory interrupted.

The crewmates looked back and forth between Daisy and Ivory until Sky blurted out, “Seems like a good idea, I’m pretty tired.” Sky stood up and started to walk to her room. The others nodded and muttered words in agreement. Only Chartreuse, Ivory, Rosa, Rusty, and Azul remained at the table.

“Aren’t you guys going to leave?” Ivory questioned. “Well I need to wash dishes and stuff...” Rusty muttered as he quickly grabbed a few plates and headed to the kitchen. Rosa looked around, “I was going to help him wash the dishes... there’s a lot and... and four hands are better than two!” Rosa hastily grabbed the remaining plates and rushed off towards the kitchen to help Rusty.

Ivory glared at Azul and Chartreuse, “And you two?”

“Oh nothing... he just happens to be taller than me and is helping me grab that camera.” Chartreuse said, pointing at the camera still taped to the ceiling, “I got some very good footage that I’d love to review. You can leave darling, nothing suspicious is going on here.”

There is definitely something suspicious about you two, Ivory thought as she headed towards the sleeping pods.

Azul Aegan

Now, why would I help this short little man retrieve his camera? Usually, I would walk away and let the person fend for themselves if they need help. But he’s different. This time it’s different. We both want something, and I know we can help each other get what we want. Hopefully Mr. Chartreuse is as smart as he seems. Just gotta wait for that annoying Ivory girl to walk away.

Once Ivory was away from sight, Chartreuse immediately asked, “What do you want?”

I should play dumb at first, just to see what I’m dealing with here, “What do you mean? I’m just being a nice guy by helping you with your equipment!” I said that in the fakest way possible. Whoopsies!

Chartreuse snickered, “Why would you be helping a guy like me? The guy who wants to sniff out you guys’ dirtiest little secrets? The guy who wants to record all the drama and your most private moments? Hmm?”

He knows. I sighed and said, “We both know that I want something, yes?”

He scoffed, “Yeah I can tell. But I’m afraid I can’t help ya with whatever you want. Or need. I work alone.”

“I think I can help you... create... drama.”

“Drama happens on its own darling. I don’t need help ‘creating’ drama. I’ve been doing this sort of thing for years hon.”

“Oh really? How come I’ve never seen a Chartreuse movie on the big screen, hmm? Please, don’t be so close-minded,” I demurred, “Think of it this way. I’ll be your starring actor. I mean honestly, if I- I mean we, don’t create drama, your movie is just going to be about a bunch of astronauts in colored suits doing space tasks!”

“Editing changes things.” Chartreuse said stubbornly.

“Your ‘movie’ will be more like a children’s film! But if you want that, that’s fine with me. I guess I’ll just go to bed instead.” I gave him the camera and started to walk away, a bit disappointed to be honest. I honestly thought he was smarter than this.

“Wait...” Chartreuse hesitated before saying, “What can you help me with.”

I turned around and sneered, “What are your thoughts on romance? I think that will definitely make your little project more interesting... I could even sprinkle in some extra drama for you...”

Chartreuse smiled, clearly on board with the start of my idea. Chartreuse leaned forward, “What sort of romance?”

Sky Aguamarina

Today was an eventful day. I was really enjoying the bonding until Chartreuse told us about his documenting plans. That sorta ruined the mood. But I do gotta say that Scarlet was overreacting a bit. I mean yeah, it’s weird to think that a camera will be following me on the way back home but it probably won’t even be that bad! I don’t think anyone has any big secrets that affect everyone on the ship, right? The only footage Chartreuse will get, is us just doing our tasks! Hmm... well since I got nothing else to do, I’m gonna write my opinions on everyone else in here.

Daisy Flaxer seems like a nice and fun person. I’m glad she’s in our group.

I feel like Viridian and I will get along really well! I can’t wait to work with him tomorrow.

Azul seems to only be here for money. No judgement, but I honestly don’t think he has any interest in space. Which is unfair to those who do want to go to space, but didn’t get to because of limited space. But hey, maybe this journey back home will interest him in space?

Scarlet Laulanga seems to be very moody. I’m kinda scared of her.

Ivory scares me. She’s very intimidating. But she seems cool. And really smart.

Coal scares me. He seems anti-social.

Bronze seems like a pleasant person to be around.

Rosa, Rusty, and Violet seem like really nice people. Rusty’s a really good cook.

Chartreuse was probably a snitch during his elementary school years.

I suppose I’ll add more once I get to know them better! I guess I should go to sleep now though. According to Scarlet, we’re supposed to get our tasks tomorrow (very exciting).

[ernmark]

I just re-read the Juno-was-briefly-still-a-cop au, and was wondering if we could get another chapter. Maybe him figuring out what the egg is? Or Peter's perspective on the time they've spent together? Or whatever you feel like, honestly. I just love that au a lot.

So this is actually an old ask that was re-asked recently, but the reminder got my brain working and I’m finally able to fill it.

 Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

I used to think of myself as a gentleman thief; now I’m starting to doubt I’m either.

A gentleman would walk Juno to the terminal, leave him with a fond farewell and something to remember me by. A thief would have the sense of self-preservation to get on that spaceship with him. 

Instead, I leave Juno on the steps of the spaceport and drive away without a second glance. I can’t look back. I don’t dare. If I do, my resolve will break and I’ll sweep Juno off his feet and into the stars.

The need to turn back leaves an ache in my chest. I want to do it. I could do it. It would be so very easy.

All it means is leaving Miasma to take the Egg of Purus for herself. I’ve met the woman; I’ve seen how she interacts with the world around her. With a weapon like that in her hands, all of Mars is at risk– perhaps all of the Solar system. If I leave now, I leave millions upon millions of lives in her hands.

I wouldn’t be affected, of course. I would get Juno and myself far out of harm’s way. He would have no way of knowing that I had prior knowledge of the tragedy, and even if he found out, he would tell me that there’s nothing I could have done.

Not because it’s true, of course, but because I can tell any story to paint myself in the best light. 

But I’ll know.

And so I stay. I can’t be certain if I’ll succeed, but I have to try. I don’t think I can live with myself if I don’t try.

It’s going to be difficult– it would be so much easier if I had a partner, but I had no allies on Mars except for Juno, and I won’t put him in this kind of danger. Better for him to be safe and happy somewhere far away from here. If I survive this, then I’ll find him again. I can take him on a whirlwind tour of the festivals of Orcinus, and we can be the saviors or the scourges of the Tau Ceti system, depending on how we feel. We can do all the things we planned. And if I don’t…

If I don’t, then I’ll know I made the right decision to leave him behind.

I drive through the martian desert until I hear a signal from the metal detector strapped to the outside of my car. 

It’s a fairly long drive from Hyperion City to the Oasis Casino, at least by local standards, and most of it is through empty wasteland. When the metal detector strapped to my car goes off, I know there’s not much chance of it being anything but the track of the Utgard Express. A bit of digging at the source of the signal proves me right, and I bury a remote signal disruptor along the track. With the push of a button, I can bring the whole thing to a halt, if only for a few seconds. It’s not long enough for me to board the train, especially if it’s somewhere on the other side of the planet at the time, and it certainly won’t go unnoticed, but it might give me the chance to get off.

Boarding the train remains a puzzle; fortunately, I know a man who’s solved it.

Brock Engstrom may be a second-rate pickpocket, but he’s been in this game too long to write anything down, especially not something as valuable as the way onto the Utgard Express. 

I would know; I’ve already searched his suite.

“How do I get onto the Utgard Express?”

“What is your name?”

“Pass.”

I’m desperate enough to consider less wholesome methods of getting my information out of him, but that won’t be worth much; if he lies, there’ll be no way for me to know until it’s too late, and I won’t have a chance to question him a second time. 

“What is your name?”

“How do I get onto the Utgard Express?”

“Pass.”

My best bet is to win the information from him in a game of skill. Not the card game, of course– with the way he’s cheating, I don’t stand a chance at another winning hand for the rest of the evening– but by catching him in a lie and forcing his hand that way. But even if I’m not playing to win, it takes all my faculties just to keep up with the game; every time my eyes rise from the cards, Engstrom speeds the pace. Whatever he’s doing is lost on me.

“How do I get onto the Utgard Express?”

“What is your name?”

“Pass.”

I’m going to lose.

If I explain my situation, he’ll flee Mars without giving me the information I need. If I threaten him, his bodyguard will kill me. If I drug him, she’ll kill me. If I go after her first– well, that’s another game entirely, and not one I’m any more equipped to win.

“What is your name?” 

“How do I get onto the Utgard Express?”

“Pass.”

His thin lips peeled back from his teeth, almost skull-like. “That’s enough, Rose. I was under the impression that you had either the courage to play or the decency to admit your cowardice. I was wrong on both counts.”

I know without seeing it that my smile is unconvincing. “Come now. Don’t tell me you’ve given up that easily.”

“I’m only giving up on this colossal waste of time,” he growls. “I will give you one final chance, Rose. One last hand. After that, I’m afraid I have other obligations to which I must attend.”

Behind him, the door opens, revealing a nervous bellhop with a keycard. The bodyguard looks up, but Engstrom’s eyes are on me.

“How do I get onto the Utgard Express?” I ask.

His counter carries all the weight of a guillotine. “What is your name?” 

There’s nothing for it. I take a breath. 

“There you are, Rose!” My thoughts derail as Juno Steel strides into the room with all the swagger of a dirty cop about to make a clean getaway. “I hope you’ve been keeping this old asshole entertained.”

Across the table, Engstrom rises from his chair. “Who is this buffoon and how did he get in here? Valencia–”

“Whoops, almost forgot to introduce myself.” Juno flashes a grin. “Detective Juno Steel. I’m with the Hyperion City Police.” 

Engstrom’s eyes harden. “You think you can just march in here like you own the place? You termites may have the run of that lousy hellhole, but we’re in the Oasis. You have no jurisdiction here.”

“Jurisdiction?” Juno snorts. “What, do you think I’m here to arrest you or something? No, I’m here to make you an offer.” He flashes a deadly smile. “Mayor Pereyra sends their regards.” 

The ire drains from Engstrom’s face. “Pereyra? What do they have to do with this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask. I don’t know exactly what Juno’s doing, but he’s given me enough openings to back him up. “They’re the reason we’re here.”

“March twenty-ninth, was it… eight years ago?” Juno grabs a chair and flips it around, throwing his arms over the back. “That awkward little hit-and-run, do you remember it? Left four people hospitalized. Could’ve gotten you in some real trouble, especially with the kind of stuff they found in your trunk. It was awfully generous of the mayor to make all that go away. They did you a real favor. And now they’ve sent us to collect.”

“You can’t be serious,” Engstrom sputters, rising from his chair. “That was settled years ago–”

Juno answers in something just short of a singsong. “That’s not how Pereyra tells it.” With an easygoing shrug, he pulls out his comms. “But hey, if you’re not interested, I’m sure they’ll understand.” He taps in a few numbers into the keypad, then pauses thoughtfully. “By the way, about that parking ticket last June…” 

I have no idea what that means, but I recognize a threat when I hear one. I also recognize that Juno is unfairly attractive when he’s in the midst of a con. 

Engstrom’s hands are wrapped around the edges of the table, so tight his knuckles are white. He looks a few misplaced words away from flipping it over on us, cards and all. “What… the hell… does Pilot want?” 

Juno signals me with a flick of his eyes, and I answer for him. “Isn’t it obvious?They want to make a withdrawal from the Utgard Express. We need your information to make that happen.”

“If that pastel-wearing politician thinks I’m going to give up the score of a lifetime–”

“Give it up?” I titter, as if the notion is hilarious. There’s only so far we can push Engstrom before he decides he would rather die with the secret. “We aren’t here to take the score from you, Engstrom. We’re here to invite you to join us. The mayor has their eye on a very particular prize; the rest is yours for the taking.” 

My mind is awhirl as I guide Juno back to my hotel room, but I push the warring emotions under the surface. Even when we’re in the relative safety of the room, I hold on to that calm facade. 

“I won’t pretend I’m not surprised,” I say, hanging up the suit jacket of my latest disguise. “I thought you would be halfway out of system by now.”

Juno’s confident swagger falls away, leaving behind a surly glare. “I changed my mind.”

“If you were going to miss me so much, you should have said something.” 

“You mean like you should have said something about your score?” The accusation in his tone stings, but I flash a weak smile.  

“I did, as a matter of fact.” 

It’s a shadow of our early time together, when he was all crossed arms and hunched shoulders and I spent half my time trying to defuse his suspicion.

What happened to the rest of it? The comfortable chatter over research, the closeness of a shared bed? Or did I leave that behind when I left him at the spaceport?

It’s a scene I don’t have the energy to play. The card game was exhausting in its own right, but I haven’t slept since I last saw Juno, and I’ve spent most of that time contemplating my own mortality. 

“You were talking about the Egg of Purus like it was goddamn Faberge. You never mentioned it was a bomb. Jesus, it wiped out an entire goddamn species. Do you have any idea what could happen if the wrong person got their hands on that thing?”

His fury scrapes over my raw nerves. “Do you think I don’t know that?” I hiss. “My employer is deranged, Juno. I can’t let her get her hands on this.”

“Then why the hell are you trying to steal it? It’s in the galaxy’s most secure vault. Why not just leave it there and walk away?”

“Because you don’t know her like I do. She’ll stop at nothing until she gets what she wants. If I don’t steal it for her, it’s only a matter of time before she finds someone else. The only way to keep it out of her hands is to find it first and destroy it.”

“And you couldn’t just tell me that?” Juno demands. “Dammit, I could have helped you. We could have worked on something together, instead of– what even was that back there? Was letting him cream you part of your big strategy?”

“No. It wasn’t.” I don’t need any more reminders of my failures. I don’t need any more reminders of how much I need him. “I appreciate your help, Juno, but you should get back to the spaceport. I can handle myself from here.”

“Engstrom is going to expect me to come with you on that train.”

“He knows we’re working together. I’m sure he won’t find it suspicious.”

“And if he brings that lady with the cigarette, then they’ll have you outnumbered. If you think for a second that they’re going to just let you walk away with the Egg–”

“I can handle it.” My voice is strained. What I can’t handle is any more of this conversation.

He takes a step toward me. “You probably can, but you’re not going to. I’m part of this. I want to see it through.”

He’s too close. Too close to the job, too close to Miasma. Standing here in this hotel room, inches away, he’s too close to me. 

If he doesn’t get out now, I might never let him go. 

“You don’t understand what you’re getting into.” It’s such a feeble resistance. “You don’t know this woman like I do. She’s dangerous. She’ll kill you if she gets half the chance.”

“All the more reason for me to stick around.”

“Juno, please, just go.” I’m begging now, and I don’t even have the energy to care. “I promised I would get you off Mars safely, and–”

“No,” Juno says. “You promised you would take me with you. And I’m going to hold you to it.”

[roseymoseyberry]

Samsara (2/?)

ahhh, i’m so excited that so many folks are interested in this fic! I was going to hold back on this chapter a little longer but, eh. Consider it a friday the 13th surprise.

This fic can also be found on AO3 now, though I probably won’t post this chapter there for a little bit longer. Eventually both blog and ao3 will be updated at the same time though.

I hope you enjoy~

(also, a car is mentioned in here, and I imagine it’s something like this guy)

Title: Samsara

Series: RID15 and TFP (and some tidbits grabbed from Aligned wiki pages)

Ship(s): Wildbreak/Knockout, Breakdown/Knockout

Tags/warnings: Reincarnation AU, hurt/comfort, verbal/physical abuse (though the worst of the physical abuse is barely described or off screen), past character death, age difference (but still consenting adult alien robots), a lot of filling in worldbuilding gaps and making shit up, and a lot of Wildbreak being a sweet boy who just needs some love and affection.

Fic Summary:

From the day he was forged, Wildbreak had felt like there was something missing; some motivation or drive or desire that had been left behind in the Allspark.

Something he should know but didn’t.

|Chapter 1|Chapter 2|

Knockout didn’t make it easy. Wildbreak had thought him fast before, but now Knockout was a demon on the road, drifting around corners while his engine roared.

But if there was one thing Wildbreak was proud of, it was his own prowess on the road. The Stunticons didn’t demand rule over roads without reason.

It was neck to neck, with Wildbreak slipping past Knockout a few times with an eager rev, and he would swear he heard the other car laugh before gunning his engines and fighting his way back to the front. Knockout even began to play dirty, bumping into Wildbreak occasionally, but Wildbreak knew every dirty trick there was in a race. He might have been young, but driving with his team was never polite or by the rules.

Knockout wouldn’t shake Wildbreak. Not when his spark pulsed wildly like it was.

And by some stroke of luck, after the sun had set and the stars were out, Knockout transformed, vents wide open as heat billowed out, and said, “Alright, alright. I guess you deserve something for that performance.”

The first time that they talked, Knockout had insisted that Wildbreak tell him all about his life. When Wildbreak had tried to say that it wasn’t very interesting, that Knockout wouldn’t want to hear about all that, Knockout had laughed and said, “It won’t be that long a story anyway, so relax and fess up.”

So Wildbreak had told him about Dragstrip, and about the Stunticons, and the various jobs they had taken over the span of Wildbreak’s life that had led them to Earth. It had been awkward at first, because Knockout was an Autobot, so surely he was judging Wildbreak for the symbol on his chest and all the illegal things he had done.

But Knockout never looked especially shocked. He just nodded and urged Wildbreak on.

It wasn’t until the very end that Knockout asked, “So what’s the end plan for you? If this whole Stunticon business doesn’t pan out?”

Wildbreak blinked at him, confused, because he had never considered what he would do without the Stunticons. But Knockout insisted he needed to come up with a backup plan.

“Loyalty just ends with a knife in your back.”

Wildbreak’s spark had twisted unpleasantly at that, aching like an old wound he didn't remember receiving.

Wildbreak promised that he’d think about it but only, he shyly added, if Knockout promised they could meet again.

It was probably one of the bravest moves Wildbreak had ever made.

And Knockout had laughed and said he’d stick around the area for a while. He wouldn’t give an exact timeline, but that was enough for Wildbreak.

“What’re you looking so happy about?”

Wildbreak’s expression turned sheepish in the face of Dragstrip’s scrutiny.

“Just a good drive, I guess.” When Dragstrip didn’t appear satisfied with that answer, Wildbreak continued, “Got to race a guy.”

Dragstrip made a face. “Why would you race with a squishy?”

Wildbreak shrugged as he settled on the slab he usually recharged on.

“Gave me a run for my money,” Wildbreak said, aware that while it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t the full truth either since he wasn’t correcting Dragstrip’s assumption. “So I dunno, it was fun.”

Dragstrip didn’t look convinced, but luckily it looked like he just couldn’t believe it would be fun to race with a squishy, not that he doubted the story.

“Whatever. And uh, did that help with your whole business?” Dragstrip asked, gesturing vaguely at Wildbreak, and it was clear he meant his spark.

Truthfully, Wildbreak’s spark felt more turbulent than it ever had before. But it was nice. It felt like victory.

“A little bit,” he admitted. “I think if I just keep driving sometimes it’ll straighten itself out, you know?”

“It better.”

The second time that they talked, it was a couple days later when finally Wildbreak could get away again. He made it to the same spot as before an hour before sunset and waited, anxious and worried that maybe Knockout wouldn’t show, that they would miss each other or that Knockout had simply decided he wasn’t actually interested.

But as the sun disappeared over the hill in the distance, Knockout’s engine gave away his arrival, and Wildbreak’s spark soared.

“Knockout! You showed up!”

With a transformation and a smirk, Knockout remarked, “I never miss an opportunity to be adored.”

Wildbreak’s optics went wide and heat spread up his neck and across his face, embarrassed and flustered. Knockout laughed, not cruelly but just amused, but it faltered a bit as his optics lingered on Wildbreak’s expression. And that look from before – almost like recognition and tainted by sorrow – took over, lingering this time as he ended his now forced chuckle with a cough. Knockout glanced away as he moved to flop down on the grass beside Wildbreak.

It was the first time Wildbreak had seen Knockout without total confidence and it nearly felt as if it had set his spark aflame with affection.

A wide grin split Wildbreak’s face despite his embarrassment, and he scratched at the back of his neck as he said, “Whatever brings you back works for me.”

Knockout snorted, teased him about being desperate.

But he didn’t seem to really mind.

And when Wildbreak asked him to talk about himself this time – “I don’t got much else to tell you about me anymore” – Knockout agreed.

Knockout told him that he had been a Decepticon up until the very last second when the chance presented itself and he jumped from the metaphorically sinking ship. He talked about how he had made his bed based on who the winning team would be, and maybe he had guessed that wrong, but the Autobots were a much more forgiving lot than Decepticons. The Autobots were usually open to picking up defectors—

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Wildbreak grumbled. “Backup plans and all that.”

“Just making sure to pass on my knowledge to the youth of today,” Knockout insisted with a sly look.

“It’s not like I was just forged yesterday.”

“Please. You’re so young that you’ve only ever known the Decepticons as synonymous with common criminals.”

“You’re not gonna start in on a ‘in my day’ lecture, are you?”

That brought Knockout up short, his frame going stock still before he sneered.

“I’m not old.”

Wildbreak couldn’t help giggling as he teased, “Aw gee, course you’re not. You only got what, a couple hundred years on me? Couple thousand?”

Knockout shoved him, but it was softer than what Wildbreak was used to, didn’t hurt in the least.

“Who told you you could talk back?” Knockout complained, and that did hurt. Wildbreak stiffened and looked down at his servos, twisting them together.

“Oh, uh, sorry.”

It was quiet for a moment before Knockout said, “What? Why are you apologizing?”

“For talking back?”

Wildbreak flinched when digits tucked under his chin, but Knockout was gentle as he turned Wildbreak’s helm back towards him.

Knockout stared at him sternly.

“You’re always allowed to talk back.”

Wildbreak’s optics grew wide as his processor reeled.

“B-but you said--”

“I was joking,” Knockout said, bending down when Wildbreak tried to look down, refusing to let him look away. “But obviously it was a joke in poor taste. You don’t normally get to talk back, do you?”

Concerned crimson optics seemed to take up all of Wildbreak’s attention as his tanks felt as if they were being crushed. His vocalizer failed him, so Wildbreak just shook his helm.

Knockout frowned.

“Not too late to jump ship.”

“They’re not that bad, though. I mean, they’re my team—”

“—And if Cons are anything like what they used to be, they’ll cut down a sweet thing like you without a second thought if it benefits them.”

Wildbreak felt sick because he wanted to defend the team, or at least Dragstrip, but he couldn’t. Not when he knew deep down it was possible. Not when he could still remember how it felt to be crushed by the gravity weapon that Dragstrip had demonstrated on him without any guilt. And not when his spark ached with phantom pain that Wildbreak couldn’t actually remember ever receiving.

And not when Knockout looked at him with old pain etched into the lines of his face.

“I’ll already told you I’d think about it,” Wildbreak finally managed, “and I am. Really.”

Knockout was quiet a moment longer before, with a sigh, he removed his servo and leaned back. “Fine. But this time you’re leaving with my comm link too in case you need it.”

Wildbreak nodded and, after a moment, flopped onto his back. The stars twinkled and Wildbreak wondered if Cybertron was out in that direction. A home that had never felt much like home, never felt welcoming, never felt quite right. It had been easy to just join a group that he thought wanted him and hope it would be better than the loneliness.

Oddly, Earth had felt familiar in ways that Cybertron didn’t.

And now, even with his tanks roiling, being here next to Knockout felt like home .

“So, uh. You think I’m sweet?”

Knockout’s ventilation came out choked before a soft smile curled his lips.

“I suppose I do,” Knockout admitted, leaning back on his palms and giving Wildbreak a sideways look. “Who knew I’d find pleasant company on this dirt ball?”

Wildbreak couldn’t help grinning at that. “What about your Autobot friends?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Bumblebee can be fine company. But he has some of the most obnoxious brats racing around and I think they’re rubbing off on him in the worst way. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he lives in some human’s scrap yard!” Knockout sighed dramatically as he clucked his glossa disapprovingly. “I barely lasted a few hours there before I had to leave and immediately wash off.”

“Then why’re you here?” Wildbreak asked curiously.

Knockout hummed contemplatively as he tilted his helm back, gazing up at the stars, the moonlight reflecting off his perfect finish and highlighting the angles of his handsome face. It was easy to get lost in staring at Knockout. “Visiting an old friend,” Knockout said softly, the casualness of his tone belying the sad curl to his lips.

But it was there and gone as he turned his helm back to Wildbreak, adding, “And besides, while I can’t say I care for their company, humans are masters of crafting a gorgeous automobile. I mean look at me! You just can’t find alt-modes like this on Cybertron.”

Wildbreak sat up, grinning as he said, “Right? They look so pretty! I’ve thought about scanning something, but I don’t know what would look good on me, and nobody else on the team wanted a new scan, so it felt weird to ask, you know?”

Knockout’s optics flashed bright as a wide smirk split his face.

“Do you want to find one tonight?”

Wildbreak’s spark thundered eagerly in his chest.

“Uh, I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh Wildbreak, darling,” Knockout purred as he swiftly and gracefully got to his pedes, “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I don’t mind at all. Now come on, up you get. We’ve got ourselves a trip into the city to make.”

Wildbreak stumbled a bit as he stood up, wide-opticked as he replied, “The city?”

“Of course. Ferrari is having a show there this week, so what better chance to slip in and find something that suits you,” Knockout insisted as he started walking towards the road.

“But how would we get in?”

“Come now. Don’t tell me you haven’t done a little breaking and entering before?” Knockout teased. That only had Wildbreak slack-jawed as he jogged to catch up.

“B-but you’re an Autobot! Aren’t you supposed to follow the rules?”

Knockout laughed as he finally hit asphalt and shifted into his alt-mode.

“Who said I was good at being an Autobot? Now hurry it up, we don’t have all night!”

Stunned, Wildbreak just nodded and transformed to follow Knockout. But after a few minutes of processing it all, Wildbreak felt excitement bubble up in his chassis. The sound clip of Knockout calling him darling played on repeat in the back of his processor.

“Hey, who’s Ferrari anyway?”

“I have so much to teach you, Wildbreak.”

Wildbreak couldn’t remember the last time he had had so much fun.

Breaking in had been shockingly easy, so much so that Wildbreak suspected it hadn’t been the first time that Knockout had trespassed into this particular building to check out cars. And they were in luck that the building had to have passageways large enough for cars to drive onto the main floor, so it wasn’t hard for them to get into the large room with ceilings high enough for them to stand.

And Knockout had been right. The cars were gorgeous.

They admired and discussed the cars, and now and again Knockout would pause, considering the car and then Wildbreak, before telling him to try scanning it. Some of them translated well to Wildbreak’s root mode, and some of them just left Knockout bent over snickering.

“Oh no, no no, absolutely not. Drop that scan immediately.”

Which meant that Wildbreak would pose and strut in the worst of the choices, enjoying the way that Knockout was torn between laughing and hissing over how awful they were.

Finally though, Knockout clapped his servos together and insisted, “There it is. I think we’ve found it. Go on, try it on!”

It was, in many ways, similar to Wildbreak’s cybertronian alt-mode. But it was sleeker, beautiful lines instead of aggressive angles. The little mirrors had to go, but otherwise it was gorgeous, and transforming into his root form showed that it translated well. Similar to what he had but nicer looking, both aesthetically and emotionally. It felt like a better fit.

“Almost,” Knockout said contemplatively as he circled him. Wildbreak squirmed a bit under the scrutiny. “Is the blue your natural paintjob?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Then switch to that.”

With a flicker, Wildbreak’s plating dropped the white and red from the disguise to reveal his forged coloring with its dark blue and orange and grey.

Knockout grinned.

“Oh yes, that’s it.”

“You sure? I mean, it’s kinda dark, and the color combination is kinda weird--”

“I would never lie when it comes to looks,” Knockout interrupted as he stepped closer. Wildbreak nearly startled when Knockout’s servo grasped him by the wrist, optics trailing along the expanse of his arm. With unexpected fondness, Knockout said, “I always did love the contrast of blue and orange.”

Wildbreak’s face heated and his spark went wild.

And even Knockout seemed to react to his own admission, stiffening and dropping Wildbreak’s wrist as he stepped back.

“Well, anyway. Do you like it?”

Wildbreak looked down at his own frame again, twisting it this way and that to see as much as he could, before shrugging. “It looks good from what I can see. And if you think it looks good, I believe it.”

“You’re awfully trusting,” Knockout commented.

“I guess,” Wildbreak admitted, “but I mean, you’re easy to trust.”

Knockout blinked at him before throwing his helm back and laughing, managing between wheezes to ask if that was a joke because no one would ever say that about him.

But Wildbreak meant it.

From the very bottom of his spark, he meant it.

But Knockout still snickered as he ushered Wildbreak out of the building, insisting that they get a move on before anyone showed up.

The ride back was full of Knockout’s stories, since the moment he said that he had been Megatron’s medic at the end of the war – that he had been part of the team that battled Team Prime – Wildbreak was out of his processor with excitement.

Better yet, Knockout did impressions of the upper ranks.

They were hilarious when they were just spoken, but once the two of them had reached the fork in the road where Wildbreak was supposed to turn to go back to his team, Knockout was able to contort his face and frame too. Wildbreak was non-stop giggles when Knockout stomped around as Megatron, servos behind his back and constant sneer on his face as he waxed poetic about every little thing before howling in faux rage. And while every Decepticon from the war that Wildbreak had met had a Starscream impression, nothing could touch Knockout’s. He pranced and he preened as he waved his servos around, wiggling the tires on his back as if they were wings, and Wildbreak could feel optic cleanser welling up from how hard he laughed.

It nearly hid the fact that while there was no way that Wildbreak would have ever heard these stories before, most of them sounded oddly familiar.

“—So needless to say, my assistant and I didn’t pay Starscream a lick of attention and still went to the race--”

Other than the vehicons, Knockout’s assistant was the only figure in the stories who wasn’t named. Knockout didn’t do any impressions of him. Wildbreak would almost think Knockout thought as little about the mech as he did of the vehicons were it not for the fact that the assistant featured in nearly all his stories. A constant companion.

Wildbreak’s spark pulsed hard with every mention of him.

“Is he your friend you’re visiting?”

Knockout stopped suddenly, mouth still open as if he was ready for the next part of the story, but it didn’t come out.

Instead he asked, “What?”

“The assistant,” Wildbreak said, shifting his weight on his pedes. “Cause, I mean, it doesn’t sound like you were really friends with the rest of ‘em. But you mention him a lot.”

Knockout’s mouth closed and his expression softened from the amusement of before. Wildbreak already regretted the question, verbally stumbling over himself as he said, “I mean, you don’t gotta tell me, just forget I even asked.”

“No, it’s fine,” Knockout finally managed. His servos drifted down to his sides, lightly propped on his hips. The huff that was nearly a laugh was humorless. “I just thought I was more subtle than that. Guess not.” Another ventilation cycled through Knockout before he said, “You got it in one.”

Wildbreak’s spark raced.

“What’s his name?”

“Breakdown,” Knockout said as his lips curled into a soft, sad smile.

Wildbreak’s spark thundered.

Wildbreak swallowed as he fought to keep the pain from showing on his face. He had learned to be good at that over the years and hoped it would fool Knockout.

“Huh. Weird.”

“What’s weird about that?” Knockout asked, optics finding focus again on Wildbreak’s face.

“Nothin’,” Wildbreak replied, shifting his weight again. “Just got déjà vu or something. Maybe I met him before?”

Knockout’s smirk was joyless.

“Only place the two of you could have crossed paths was in the Allspark.”

Wildbreak’s spark thrashed.

“Oh. Well uh, then I guess it’s just ‘cause I have ‘break’ in my name then, or something,” Wildbreak reasoned, his optics now glued to the ground. “Sorry about your friend. Sounds like he was a great guy.”

“He was.”

REACH OUT. TOUCH HIM.

“You miss him?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

HOLD HIM. MISS HIM.

“He probably misses you too.”

The ground crunched under Knockout’s pede, one step towards Wildbreak before stopping. Wildbreak didn’t dare look up at Knockout, afraid he’d see right through him, would see the confusing turmoil between his spark’s demands and his processor’s bewilderment.

“A-anyway, I should probably get going before anyone notices I’m gone,” Wildbreak stammered as he took a step back. “But I really wanna see you again. I promise I won’t make it awkward again or anything.”

After a moment of silence, a genuinely amused ex-vent escaped Knockout and a short-wave message hit Wildbreak’s comm. It was a commlink.

“It takes more than a little bit of awkwardness to scare me off.”

When Wildbreak got to the old buildings his team called their base, he shifted back to his cybertronian form, already missing Knockout’s gift but knowing he couldn’t let the others see it. He’d have to save his earth form for the few occasions he was alone or with Knockout.

Then, as quietly as he could, Wildbreak snuck towards his usual slab and curled up with his back against the wall.

Recharge was slow to take him though because there was nothing that could quiet his processor or his spark.

Breakdown.

The name kept popping up in his processor again and again, sometimes an inquiry, sometimes a statement, but never anything that Wildbreak understood.

Wildbreak couldn’t figure out if Knockout was helping with the hole in his spark or making it that much worse.

But either way, Wildbreak knew he would see him again.

Wildbreak had to see Knockout again.

[eve-the-egg-lover]

Sith, Spies, and a Whole lot of Lies

Chapter 2

*Yay, chapter 2!! It’s shorter than the first, though I don’t know if this will be it’s normal length. Anyways, enjoy :) 

For the first few moments after their eyes met, neither Rya, nor Theron moved a muscle. They just stared, eyes locked, mouths open, frozen in time. That was until the Director reminded Theron of his still open comm channel.

“Theron Shan, what the hell was that!? I swear, if you just started a gang war I’ll…”

“Call you back.” Theron spoke, adding in a whisper, “Disconnect.”

With the director’s interruption, time seemed to flow once more, along with all the dangers that came along with it. Rya sprung to her feet, igniting her blood red lightsaber, and Theron whipped his blaster from its holster.

She looked the same as she had on Rishi. Long, golden blonde hair tied in a bun, pale skin flushed with just a bit of pink, ice blue eyes piercing as she refused to even blink. Stars, she was beautiful.

Sometimes, Theron had imagined them meeting again. Sure, lots of them involved a lightsaber at his throat, but the sudden heat from the blade made him realize how easily she could end his life right then and there. The question was, would she?

              Pulling her lightsaber had been purely instinctual. A foolish instinct here, but standing face to face with Theron made her do and say a lot of foolish things.

              “Theron.” She put sternly. “Put the blaster down.”

              “Not until you deactivate your fancy glow stick.” Theron responded, not wavering from his stance.

              Gritting her teeth, Rya let her grip relax, the blade deactivating with a hiss. Theron lowered his blaster, leaving them suddenly very alone. The air was still thick with tension and from her current position, Rya could escape through the alleyways… but Theron would most certainly give chase.

              “Rya…” Theron broke the awkward silence. “What in the nine Corellian hells are you doing here?!” His voice rose with every syllable until he was practically shouting.

              It was understandable. If she were to ever stumble upon Theron on Dromund Kaas… actually, she had no idea what she’d do. She at first suspect he was doing work for the SIS, just as he was probably suspecting she was doing work for the Empire. Which she was (not that telling him would help her case). Telling him “I can’t tell you” would pretty much tell him I’m doing work for the Empire, and lying she wanted to see him would… well, that was all she had. Unfortunately for her, there was no way she could make it convincing.

              “I…. uhhhh…. I was just site seeing.” She spluttered. Stupid.

              “Wow. For a crafty Sith Lord, you sure have a way with words.” Theron narrowed his gaze, shaking his head from side to side.

              Rya swallowed, racking her brain for something else she could say. Her previous elatedness at seeing Theron had all but disappeared, the understanding of how complicated she’d suddenly made the situation dawning on her.

              “You shouldn’t have followed me. I could have killed you.” Rya said suddenly.

              Theron’s caution turned to outright anger. “Following you? I was trying to help you! I’m assuming that weird man has something to do with why you’re here!”

              Rya sighed. So it had been just another bar patron. Gritting her teeth, she ran her fingers through her hair, the loose wisps that had escaped her bun ghosting over her hands. She’d just exposed herself to the last person she’d wanted to see on Coruscant, all because she’d been overly paranoid. “Great.”

              “What did you say?” Theron returned, his hand moving back towards his blaster’s holster.

              “You weren’t supposed to know I was here.” Rya answered. Not the best choice of words.

              “That doesn’t help your situation.” Theron grumbled, crossing his arms and glaring. Sighing, he put a gloved hand up to his forehead. “You know I’m going to have to turn you in right?”

              Rya paused. And he caught it. Just a flash in her eyes for the briefest instant.

              Fear.

              Theron had always found it strange. Rya, she’d never been like the other Sith. Even Lana, as strange as she was, had never been quick to admit when she was afraid, or when she was uncertain. Nor was she ever willing to show gentleness or kindness. A weakness for Sith he supposed. Rya on the other hand… well, maybe she didn’t walk into fights with her heart on her sleeve, but she most certainly was not afraid to show such “soft” emotion. There was a tenderness to her that whatever training Sith went through hadn’t seemed to have been able to beat out of her.

              Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. “You must know what would happen to me should you do that.” She chuckled, her throat clenching a bit.  

              Theron swallowed. Unfortunately, he did know what they would do. Some flashy war trial where she’d be paraded around by the Senate, blamed for everything  she may or may not have had a hand in doing, before being executed. Malcom would probably have a hand in it, she was a war criminal after all. And then when that was all said and done, she’d either be locked in the deepest depths of Belsavis to rot or be executed.

              He could not deny what she had done. She’d killed so many from the Republic. She’d destroyed the War Trust, intentionally broken the Treaty of Coruscant, and reignited the war. Hundreds of thousands were dying because of her actions. Why was he even contemplating this?

              His mind wandered to Jyvora. He could still hardly believe the Jedi Code spouting girl was a former Sith Lord. Not to mention Rya’s sister. She’d committed atrocities in the name of the Sith and the Empire as well. The difference was, she defected. She gave secrets in exchange for a chance to start over as a Jedi in the Republic. Something told Theron Rya wouldn’t agree.  

              “You’re right. I do know what they’d do to you.” Theron admitted, shifting his weight to his left leg. “And you know why.”

              Rya looked to the ground this time. All early traces of her anger dissipated. “I know.” She laughed. “Guess the Coalition on Yavin IV or taking down Revan wouldn’t help my case.”

              Theron chuckled in response, but quickly stopped himself. Sighing, he ran a finger through his hair.

              “I can’t let you do that Theron.” Rya finally spoke, crossing her arms. The more they talked, the higher the chances she’d let her emotions win. She needed to leave now.  

              “And I can’t let you harm the Republic.” He responded, his eyes closed.

              “I’m not here to do that.” Rya attempted to assure in vain. She knew she could not hurt Theron to escape, yet her feet were glued to the floor.

              Theron chuckled. “Sure. Because you think I’m stupid enough to trust a Sith.”

              Rya furrowed her eyebrows. “You trusted Lana.”

              “Yeah, and look where that got me.” Theron grumbled.

              “You trusted me.” Rya pointed out. “You said on Rishi you knew I’d come and get you.”

              Theron grumbled something, placing his hands on his hips, his eyes seeming to take an awful lot of interest in a soaked flimsi on the ground.

The silence that passed between them gave Rya a chance to think. The logical, ultra-heightened part of her mind battled against the emotional torrent flooding her system. She hated the profound impact simply speaking to Theron was having on her. She was a kriffing Sith Lord, not some giggly actress from Vette’s holo-vids. Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. She clenched her fists at her sides. Passion only worked if it was short lived. What she felt for Theron on Rishi when he’d been captured had driven her to wipe the Revanites guarding the compound from the galaxy. Had given her an incentive to defeat Revan at all costs. That passion had fueled her, delivered her to victories doorstep. But passion fades with distance. So why did she still feel this way? It was taking all her self-restraint to deny she felt anything for Theron. Kriff, if he had been an Imperial it would have made everything so much simpler.    

“I’m not asking you to trust me Theron, I don’t expect you to. Just know, if you try and stop me the whole galaxy will suffer.” It was all she could do to keep her raging emotions in check. Playing at Theron’s feelings was manipulation, plain and simple, but it was all she had. Going any further, using what had happened between them was her last resort.

              Theron laughed. “You know, lying to me only makes this worse.”

              “I’m not lying Theron.”

              “Of course not, because Sith always tell the truth.” Theron had begun moving towards her, but she refused to back down.

              “Not every Sith is evil, Theron. Look at my sister. You trust Jyvora, she was Sith.” She pointed out as Theron glared.

              “Jyvora left the Sith because of their twisted ideals you still serve.”

              “How do you know I still serve the Empire?” she spat, suddenly realizing how close Theron had come.

              “Isn’t it obvious? Why else would you be here?”

              Even in the dark, Rya could feel the emotions rushing over Theron like a tidal wave. The one, dim light in the alleyway cast shadows over Theron’s face. Rya could see the hazel of Theron’s eyes, the outline of his broad shoulders, his soft brown hair, the feint shimmer of his implants. The only other time she’d seem him this clearly was on Rishi. Then he had been bruised and bloodied, vulnerable. He’d winced a little every time he moved, his pride and confidence damaged. But here… now… towering over her, there was no inkling of that man. The anger from their argument made his eyebrows furrow, his nose scrunch just a little at the top, his lips downturned into a grimace. Lips that hadn’t wanted to leave her own when she gave him what he’d never realized he’d wanted. They had been soft and gentle, even in their hasty eagerness. Lana and Jakkaro’s long prep time had given them a lengthy opportunity to  “get to know one another.” The memory of what Theron and she had done on Rishi caused her face to flush considerably, and she was suddenly grateful for the darkness of the alley.

              Theron hadn’t even realized he’d been walking towards Rya until he had to look down to meet her eyes. The dark hid her features, but Theron knew she still looked the same. Sharp cheekbones, an upturned nose, clear skin, and ice blue eyes, her features unchanged from any kind of dark side corruption. He’d learned of Sith who used Sith alchemy to keep their features eternally youthful, but he simply could not fathom Rya taking such drastic measures. And yet, he knew the skin beneath her clothing was scarred from years of combat. On Rishi, he hadn’t taken the time to study them all, but he remembered a few. The slashes on her arms and the bite marks on her back from a Nexu. The raised skin on the side of her abdomen from being impaled by a collapsing pipe when her former master tried to kill her. The four gashes on her back from a Teratanek she had fought on Korriban.

              He felt the blood pounding in his ears as he took his time studying what features his eyes could make out in the dark. The softness in her eyes and the slight flushing of her cheeks told Theron Rya was doing the same. It amused him he was not the only one so distracted.

              He hardly remembered Rya reaching up to press her lips softly against his. Or when he’d wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her a little so she didn’t have to stand on her tiptoes. He could feel her thin fingers running through his hair, her warm breath on his face when they momentarily broke apart to breathe. She tasted of alcohol, a burning, bitter taste of something so strong and intoxicating with just a hint of sweetness, so like her. Oh kriff, Theron what are you doing? He thought to himself as his lips left hers and began a trail down her jaw to her neck.                  

              “Theron…” Rya let out a breathy moan as Theron nipped at her neck, his arms pressing her to him. Her mind was racing, heat building in her core. Stars, she wanted him. But she also didn’t want to catch whatever strange disease was lurking in the stagnant pools of water. “Theron,” she said again, trying to get his attention. He pulled away, breathing heavily. She could feel his need pressed so close to him. “Theron, not here.”

              “My place.” Theron whispered huskily, leaning down to kiss her neck again, but letting his grip on her loosen.

              Rya couldn’t stop herself from thinking what a terrible, terrible idea this was. But the warmth of Theron’s hand when he took hers in his own quieted her mind. Right now, there was no Empire, no Sith, no spies, no war. It was just them.