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agenericplaceholdername · 2 months ago

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This is actually really interesting to consider -- I'm not sure if you meant this as a prompt for discussion or not, but I suppose based on the length of this response I had some thoughts to say. I'm not sure I believe all the arguments made here, but just an alternate perspective.

To be fair to Lloyd, despite the years since S5, only in S7 does he actually try to be a master (which he succeeds at by the end of the season) and at no point does he take on students (until DR).

As for learning Spinjitzu, the Ninja learn Spinjitzu in the pilots by doing the training course a couple of times and suddenly "the key is ready to be found" when they fight the skeletons. Lloyd learns Spinjitzu after 0 training (he complains to Kai, "When will I learn Spinjitzu?" in the same episode* that he does Spinjitzu for the first time, with zero Spinjitzu training in between** -- must be a Green Ninja thing). Nya learns Spinjitzu off screen - and it's unclear how long this took (although she had been training on the same course as the Pilots Ninja and had been able to do Spinjitzu when possessed by the Overlord). We know it took weeks for Wu to teach Aspheera Spinjitzu.

Much like Sora, Lloyd and Nya also take a whole season to reach their true potentials through Wu's training. Meanwhile, the other four unlock the true potentials only after Wu leaves them. And despite Wu's demands to train, it's only the competition to become the Green Ninja and the later threat of the Serpentine that forces Kai, Jay, Cole, and Zane back into shape to begin with. Meanwhile, Lloyd learns from his mistake of directly copying Wu in "Crossroads Carnival" (S1, E3) and lightens up, causing Sora to be slightly more open to training in the first place.

I'm not entirely sure what's up with Arin's Spinjitzu, given that after learning it from Ras's teachings, there are red shatterspin-esque particles in it. We also never see Frak do Spinjitzu, so it seems like what prevented Arin from doing Spinjitzu was not an inability to do the technique (if it was, then Frak would know the technique as well) but some sort of mental block which Arin conquered or suppressed by accepting Ras's teachings of "taking from life what you need" and "forcing the world to work the way you want it to."

Lloyd's students also do learn quite a bit from him, with the Ras fight in "The Battle of the Second Monastery" (the S1P1 finale) designed to show how far they've come by beating the adversary who took them out easily in the season premiere. Season 2 walks back on this with Arin upset about how little he's progressed. That being said, while Lloyd doesn't teach him Spinjitzu, Arin still has learned from Lloyd. Ras tells him he hasn't gotten any better from their first fight, but he's lying. When Ras first fights Arin, he stops Arin's kick with one hand and throws him to the ground, ending the fight in under five seconds. When Ras fights Arin in "The Forest of Spirits" (S2, E9), he still beats Arin with ease, but Arin is far more resilient and Ras uses his hammer against an unarmed opponent. Lloyd also helps motivate Sora in the Tournament of Sources and (sorta) provides her with the wisdom that helps her win the whole thing.

Kai might be a better teacher - I'm not sure. He doesn't teach Lloyd Spinjitzu (he learns that on his own) and I don't know how much credit he gets for training Lloyd generally (since the rest of the Ninja were involved with that). I don't think he trains anyone after that (minus him telling young Wu to be confident in S9) up until S15, where he's teaching a class of children to "obliterate your enemy before they see you coming" (excessive force)***. He dislikes this so much that when Cole and Zane show up, he leaves with them despite having a kindergarten class later that day. I hope their parents got their money back. He then trains Wyldfyre (on Lloyd's advice) and does successfully teach her self-control. However, much like Lloyd with Arin and Sora, he doesn't teach her Spinjitzu.

Incidentally, both Kai and Lloyd are able to train villages to defend themselves (Kai and Lloyd in S11, Lloyd -- with Arin -- in DRS1).

The show has been building to a contrast between Lloyd and Ras's teaching styles since S2P1, with some focus in S2P2 (thanks to Frak), but now that Arin is with Ras, I'd hope that the writers are planning to address what specifically Lloyd did wrong and how he can learn from it. Right now it seems like Lloyd is a bad master for unspecified reasons -- did he not push his students hard enough? Did he put too much pressure on Arin to be "the greatest of all the Ninja"?**** Was he too overprotective (see him going with Arin and Sora to Imperium vs Wu who intentionally sent the Ninja on missions alone)? Was he not receptive enough to their concerns (like Arin wanting to find his parents)? Is he unwilling to be critical when needed (unlike Egalt)? All of these are potential options but the narrative doesn't pick one, so I get the frustration.

FWIW, my view on it is that Lloyd's biggest asset (and what caused him to lose Arin) is that he views the Ninja (including his students) as his family. He is protective of his family, he inspires them but also puts them on a pedestal, he avoids being critical, etc. This is what ensures Sora feels accepted and ultimately willing to tell her parents that she "has a new family now ... that loves me for who I truly am," unlocking her true potential. Meanwhile, Arin saw the Ninja as a symbol, a symbol of hope -- if they could come back, so could his parents. As he spends more time with them, his greatest fear isn't just that he'll disappoint his parents when he finds them, but that he'll view the Ninja as his family instead of them (S2, E3). Arin leaves for a bunch of reasons, only some of them related to Lloyd, but fundamentally, he becomes fixated on his "real" family, while Lloyd and the rest of them are an imperfect substitute. Ras would never pretend to be family to Arin; their relationship is purely transactional. The story isn't about Lloyd's way of demonstrating how to punch vs Ras's, it's about the difference between them as people -- caring vs efficiency, patience vs force, etc. I hope (assume?) that S3 develops this.

In addition, the closest we get in S2 as to the difference in philosophy between Lloyd and Ras is that Ras thinks people (ie Lloyd) are too busy passively waiting for the world to harmonize. I doubt Lloyd is supposed to learn that Ras is right about this - but a synthesis of those teachings -- one must accept the motion of the universe with a more proactive approach (helping shape the flow of that motion) -- might be the move.

----------------------------------

*Pirates vs Ninja (S2, E2)

**the closest thing we see is him randomly unlocking super strength while training with Jay

***Farewell the Sea (S15, E1)

****(DRS2, E6)

Maybe Lloyd just shouldn't be a master.

He's clearly not very good at it. He's been trying it since season 5, and his first real students both take FOREVER to make any progress. Sora takes a whole season to unlock her powers, but apparently isn't taught spinjitzu in any of that time- the literal first thing we see taught to any of our characters in the original show. Arin somehow makes backwards progress with Lloyd, and then after doing like three poses with his friend seems to get it instantly.

Like... seems like he's just not very good at teaching. Maybe he should hand the position over to Kai, he's got a natural knack for it, a lot more experience, and a much higher success rate as far as I'm concerned. Master Kai for the win.

#the real master should be Cole #taught Frak so well he beat Zur #Ras was so mad he kicked Frak out #totally get your point here though #the narrative hasn't yet failed to develop Lloyd's problems as a master #since S3 is a perfect opportunity to push him to improve #but we do need to understand what specifically the narrative thinks he's doing wrong #maybe the point isn't that Lloyd is making identifiably wrong decisions #but that even what seems like good advice can fail #the issue is that Lloyd hasn't yet learned from it #“It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness. That is life.”#ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #ninjago lloyd #Lloyd garmadon #ninjago sora #ninjago arin

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littlemisspascal · 4 years ago

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The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 2

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,400

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: plot plot plot, mild descriptions of violence, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, sloooooooooooooow burn – seriously, we’re just getting started so it’s gonna be a bit before feelings are involved, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: The plan right now is for there to be 3 parts of Chapter 1. Tumblr isn’t doing a good job notifying my taglist, so I apologize if I bother anyone reblogging this a few times trying to get it to work. Thank you everyone out there for each like, comment, ask and reblog! The support means the world to me 🥰

Part 1 Part 3

Cross-posted on AO3

The village is a small community with less than a hundred citizens living there total, yet it is visible from miles away due to the bright paints used to decorate the houses. Murals depicting the village’s history and its residents adorn every house with details added by each new generation so that no one is ever forgotten. Back when visitors would pass through, they would always compliment the village’s beauty, but there is nothing beautiful at all about the electric fence the Imps erected shortly after seizing control, emitting shocks harsh enough to kill.

Originally the stormtroopers said it was to protect the village from threats, but nobody believed the lie. The only threat to the community was the Empire. They don’t bother making up excuses anymore, now they like to remind everyone the whole village is their prisoner, usually by a show of violence so unbelievably malicious it stuns everyone into compliance.

There are some horrors time will never erase from your mind.

Juni trees grow beside the fence outside the perimeter, the only species of tree amongst the shrubbery and turu-grass, and they are tall enough for their thick orange branches to extend over the uppermost wire. In the mornings, Ahsoka climbs out your bedroom window, slides down the sloped roof of the house and leaps onto a nearby branch. You follow after her, trusting that she won’t let you fall when you stretch out your hand for her to catch you and lift you up using a bit of Force to give you a boost. The two of you sneak back inside the village using the same tree, only instead of leaping at the house, you drop the short fall onto the ground beneath. Five years and the stormtroopers haven’t caught onto your trick yet.

Except now the tree isn’t an option. Not when you both are half-carrying, half-dragging two-hundred pounds of flesh and metal.

Hiding behind a clump of coyal bushes, you and Ahsoka scout the entrance booth where a pair of stormtroopers dressed in their characteristic white armor stand guard, holding blaster rifles. There are others on patrol, walking along the fence and checking its integrity, gradually stepping further and further out of view, but they will be back eventually. Your window of opportunity is limited.

You adjust the warrior’s arm over your shoulders, quietly groaning when your muscles protest the heaviness. “What are we going to do? Stormies might share one brain cell, but they’re definitely going to notice this heap of metal we’re carrying. And as soon as they find out we don’t have passes, they’re going to start shooting.”

Passes are only given to a handful of the community’s traders each week. It is a three day ride on a repulsorlift speeder to the capital where they have a short span of time to sell their goods and then return home within the week with essential supplies. To ensure no one tries to run away, the Imps set up strict rules. If the traders are late, even if only by a few minutes or due to reasons outside their control, the rest of the villagers pay the price. Usually the punishment is a public beating, but sometimes the stormtroopers get creative and tie their chosen victims to a pole overnight by their head-tails.

Nobody, not even the younglings, sleep those nights.

“We’ll be fine,” Ahsoka answers, firm and confident, gaze fixed upon the gate. “Just follow my lead. I’ve got an idea.”

She doesn’t spare you a second to protest, stepping out into the open and forcing you to follow or else drop the warrior’s body.

The stormtroopers spot the three of you immediately, relaxed postures stiffening with alarm, and you have to remind yourself over and over to breathe, to not let them see any hint of the anxiety buzzing beneath your skin.

“Hold it right there!” One of the stormtroopers orders when the distance between you and them has shortened to a mere three feet. You freeze at once, heart pounding as fast as a thimiar’s seconds away from being eaten. A quick glance at Ahsoka reveals no fear in her expression. She stares at them indifferently, as if she is about to talk about the weather.

“Explain yourselves.” It is not a request.

You squirm, nearly knocking your head against the warrior’s bowed head, on the verge of losing your composure, when you notice Ahsoka lifting her arm.

“You will let us pass,” she says, adopting a suggestive tone while waving her hand in front of their visors.

They respond in unison, seemingly entranced. “We will let you pass.”

You bite your lip as you and Ahsoka pass between the stormtroopers and through the gate, not wanting to break the spell by letting loose the barrage of questions forming on your tongue. What your sister had done was as amazing as it was frightening. She had manipulated them with such confident ease you are certain this isn’t the first time she has performed the trick on someone.

“When did Aunt Shaak teach you that?”

“She didn’t,” Ahsoka replies lowly, casting a quick glance around. “I taught myself.”

Your skin prickles as you also become aware of the increasing number of eyes staring at you. With the sun fully awake and bringing morning light with it, several villagers are carrying on with their daily routines outside of their homes. Most of them seem a mixture of confused and concerned about the stranger, but you spy the Elders looking displeased by the new addition amongst their ranks.

You are not looking forward to being inevitably summoned and interrogated by them.

“How?” you ask, copying her hushed cadence. Then, a pulse of panic blooms in your chest. “Have you ever—?”

“No, I haven’t messed with your mind before. Never even considered it,” Ahsoka interrupts, sensing your worries. “I don’t practice often, but when I do it’s just harmless little suggestions. Like convincing Huno to give the younglings an extra sugar biscuit when he has some to spare or persuading Jaelee to go to bed early when I know she’s been overworking herself. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t really sure the trick would work on those bucket heads since I’ve never tried it on two minds at once before. Lucky us, right?”

You nearly trip over your own feet. “What?”

Is she being serious right now? They would be dead right now if her gamble hadn’t paid off.

Ahsoka pretends not to hear you, nodding her head towards the blue-painted house up ahead. “C’mon, Maar probably already knows we’re coming.”

Maar Vashee has been the village’s healer for a little over fifty years. The purple-skinned Togruta helped deliver you and Ahsoka, and was considered by your mother when she was still living to be a dear friend. Her connection to the Force is especially sensitive due to her intricate relationship with the flora of the planet, using various herbs and plants to create remedies, and as such she developed a type of sixth sense where she instinctively knows when her skills are needed.

Entering her home that doubles as her clinic, you find Maar had indeed anticipated your arrival and set up a cot to place the warrior upon. Once he is laid down, you roll your aching shoulders, biting back a wince as the movement irritates the headache lingering at the back of your head.

The warrior hadn’t made one noise the entirety of the trip bringing him here. Even now as he rests on the cot, his breaths are so quiet you would fear he wasn’t breathing at all if not for his chest moving. You touch his hand impulsively, laying yours over his gloved one. There is no response, not a twitch or spasm.

A sharp gasp of surprise has you whirling around, eyes landing upon Maar standing in the doorway between the clinic and her living quarters. She clutches a glass jar of spotted red herbs labeled nysillin against her chest, staring at the warrior like she is looking at a ghost.

“Maar,” Ahsoka calls out softly, coming to stand by your side. A long moment of silence passes before the older Togruta manages to drag her gaze away to focus on you and Ahsoka, green eyes a bit too wide-eyed and haunted. Your sister’s gentle tone remains when she inquires, “What’s wrong? Do you...do you know him?”

Maar chokes out a brittle noise sounding like a cross between a dry laugh and a derisive scoff. “Personally? No.” She moves closer to the cot, the white circular markings around her eyes softening with what you confusingly identify as sympathy. “I’ve heard stories of his kind though. Years ago, many considered the Mandalorians the only ones capable of defeating the Imperials.”

“Holy frak,” you gasp before you can stop yourself.

As a youngling, your mother used to tell you stories about the fiercest fighters in the galaxy known as Mandalorians. They lived on Mandalore and had a special connection with their weapons, a bond nobody else could understand or mimic, trained to handle guns and knives as soon as they could walk. They defended the galaxy from unlawful rulers and the threat of enslavement, unafraid to spill blood when they knew peace would follow. Your mother told you they never lost a battle. Defeat was a word unknown to them.

At least until—

“Mandalorians were wiped out during the Decimation of Alderaan,” Ahsoka interrupts your thoughts, voice pitched high with disbelief. “And the few who lived were hunted down shortly after. The Imps made sure there weren’t any left to challenge them.”

As if triggered, you recall a detail from your brain glitch, a thought that had crossed your mind when you were flying through the storm. You had been looking for Aldera, the capital of Alderaan.

It’s just a coincidence, you think. But a voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your Aunt Shaak counters, there are no coincidences.

And as much as you loathe admitting it, that voice is right. Having the image of a mudhorn slip into your brain shortly before you find a warrior—no, a karking Mandalorian of all people—with the same creature on his armor? It is too precise to be a coincidence. Your paths were meant to cross each other.

If only you had the slightest clue as to why.

Maar sets the jar down on a nearby table, then picks up the Mandalorian’s wrist to check his pulse. “That is what we all thought,” she agrees after a minute of counting has passed, dropping his hand. “His armor is characteristic of their kind. Nothing in the galaxy is as strong or valuable as their beskar. Let’s pray to Ai our beliefs about the Mandalorians’ extinction are mistaken,” she nods towards the unconscious warrior, “especially for his sake.”

Realization creates a sickening pit in your stomach.

Regardless of the status of his kind, when he wakes up his whole world is going to be flipped upside down.

Three hours later, not much has changed except the room is brighter, afternoon sunlight pouring in through the window, and smells sweet due to the bowl of herbs Maar left simmering on the table near the Mandalorian’s head, explaining the aroma will cure him of his hibernation sickness as he breathes it in.

“He’ll wake up when the marg sabls open tomorrow,” Maar told you with a gesture towards the potted red-and-pink flowers in the windowsill. They grow all over Shili, popular because they open their petals in a sunburst shape every morning.

Ahsoka comes and goes, blessedly not criticizing your decision to sit at the warrior’s bedside when you have a list of chores to complete—doubled now that you lost your bet with Ahsoka earlier. She intercepts curious younglings hoping to sneak a glimpse of the Mandalorian whose presence has become known throughout the village. Nothing stays a secret long in the community. Gossip spreads as quickly as colds and takes twice as long to get over.

If the stormtroopers catch on, the consequences will be disastrous. For once, Ahsoka shares your fears, admitting she isn’t capable of tricking a whole platoon.

“The Elders aren’t happy,” Ahsoka says in-between sips of bone broth. “They think it’s too dangerous having him here.”

You swallow your mouthful, shaking your head. “I think it’s the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

Averting your gaze towards your lap, you scratch at an imaginary stain on your leggings. “Just a feeling I have.”

Ahsoka leans forward in her seat, pointing an accusing finger at you, causing your head to jerk back up. “The Force connected with you again, didn’t it? I knew you were acting weird before we found him.” She frowns, hurt flickering in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I never wanted to be special, Ahsoka,” you reply honestly. “I never wished or prayed to have visions, to have these random details pop into my head, to feel others’ emotions so strongly it’s like I’m trapped inside their bodies. There is nothing cool or entertaining about it. It’s…” Your voice cracks embarrassingly, forcing you to take a pause. You inhale a shaky breath. “It’s terrifying.”

“I had no idea you were struggling so much,” your sister murmurs, voice soft with contrition.

“How could you when I didn’t even want myself to acknowledge that I was?” you counter, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders as the truth sinks in. “I tried to ignore it all as best as I could. If not for meeting our friend over here,” you tilt your head in the Mandalorian’s direction, “I’d probably still be in denial. But I can’t ignore the Force this time. Not when the message is this important.”

“What is it?”

“We were meant to find him. To bring him back with us. I think—I believe he’s important. Remember what Maar said? About how people used to believe Mandalorians would beat the Empire?”

Ahsoka’s brow furrows incredulously. “You really think one warrior can defeat Emperor Gideon’s army? The rebels have been trying for years and the Emperor is always one step ahead.”

You can’t help deflating a bit, shoulders slumping. “Well when you put it like that…”

“Have you considered an alternative reason why he’s important?” she asks. When you don’t answer right away, she takes it as a cue to continue, “Maybe you’re right and he is going to change the galaxy for the better. But he could also be a warning. The Imps wiped out his kind, what if they plan to do the same to us?”

Your lips part to respond, only to close again wordlessly. You thought by accepting your brain glitches as messages from the Force they would become clearer, easier to understand. A lantern guiding you through this maze of darkness epitomizing your life.

But you have never felt more lost.

Falling asleep is a mistake.

You didn’t know this when you rejected Maar’s suggestion to head home and sleep in your comfortable bed instead of curling up on her spare cot that squeaks whenever you move. The prideful side of you believed it was best if you were the first face the Mandalorian saw when he woke up because he would remember you and the promise you swore. He would trust you to explain everything to him.

Within a second of waking up, you realize how naive you were to think you had even a shred of influence over him.

The sound of something shattering has you nearly tumbling off the side of the cot, jerking awake with a sudden burst of fear. You blink rapidly to clear the haziness of sleep from your vision, struggling to make sense of what you are seeing.

Pieces of Maar’s ceramic bowl litter the floor along with bits of charcoal and ash. Ahsoka and the Mandalorian stand on opposite sides of the room, staring each other down, poised to fight. The Mandalorian has a vibroblade clenched in his hand, while your sister crouches low, fists raised. You know Ahsoka can hold her own in a fight, even without the advantage of a weapon, but fear winds its way down your spine, cold and slimy, when you can’t help but notice how small she looks compared to him. Not only because he is a few inches taller, but because he also exudes an undeniable aura of intimidation: his unwavering silence, the skilled manner he wields his knife, even the sharp gleam of his beskar pieces reflecting the pale morning light has your chest tightening with dread.

The clinic’s lights flick on right as Maar announces her presence by cocking a blaster pistol. It is the Mandalorian’s own weapon, removed from his holster when Maar examined him earlier. “Alright,” she says to the room at large as she fully enters, dressed in her sleeping robe. “Let’s all settle down. Blood isn’t an easy stain to clean and I’d prefer it if none was spilt.”

You see the moment the Mandalorian decides to comply, shoulders loosening beneath the pauldrons and stance shifting from defensive to neutral, as he processes he doesn’t need to fight his way out of here. The vibroblade is sheathed within his right boot in one fluid motion and it is startling, truly, how quick he transforms from a dangerous threat to a potentially dangerous threat.

Ahsoka is reluctant to yield, staring him up and down for a drawn out moment that does little to soothe your frayed nerves. Only when Maar pointedly clears her throat does your sister finally obey, straightening to full height with a hand propped on her hip, the picture perfect image of nonchalance. In another life she would have made a fantastic actress in a holovid drama.

“That’s better.” Maar nods, satisfied. “Now why don’t we—”

The Mandalorian moves so quickly that you jerk in anticipation of attack, eyes widening to the size of moons as you watch the pistol fly out of Maar’s hand and straight into his outstretched one. Your lungs seize up, a single thought flashing through your mind. This is it, the moment we all die.

Except instead of shooting, he re-engages the safety mechanism and promptly holsters the gun at his side where it belonged. Without saying anything.

Ahsoka’s slack-jawed expression would have been comical if it hadn’t matched your own stunned face. Even Maar, who has witnessed over fifty years worth of shocking spectacles, looks awed by the unexpected display.

You recover first, somehow managing to piece together the right words to ask a coherent question. “Are you a Jedi?”

It is only because you are staring directly at him that you notice the virtually imperceptible tilting of his head. “I’m a Mandalorian,” he answers bluntly, oblivious to how your heart skips a beat. “Weapons are part of my religion. It’s important to earn their trust.” He addresses Maar then, adding, “Especially if they’re stolen from us.”

His baritone voice has changed from when he spoke on the ship. Without the exhaustion wrapped around his vocal chords you are able to hear his normal timbre. Due to the modulator in his helmet, it has a husky quality, an intriguing mix of smoke and honey. But that is not what has your montrals prickling and your spine straightening.

“I disarm all my patients,” Maar replies, back to being her cool, calm, and collected self. “I would have given it back—”

“How old are you?”

You don’t realize you have spoken until two pairs of eyes and an expressionless visor look at you.

The Mandalorian’s fingers curl and uncurl at his sides once, twice. “Nineteen,” he answers after a few seconds of lapsing silence.

“Oh Ai,” Maar murmurs, vocalizing your own thoughts.

All this time you have been thinking of the Mandalorian as a man beneath the amor. A hardened and seasoned fighter who has seen a lifetime of bloodshed and violence. But the reality is he is only two years older than you. Standing right on that thin, blurry line between being seen as a teenager and being considered an adult.

“Who are you?” the Mandalorian asks, glancing first at you then your sister and back to Maar. Frustration and wariness blend together, sharpening his voice. “Why am I here? What happened?”

Ahsoka meets your eye with a question in her gaze, one you don’t have the answer for: where do we even begin?

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rose-of-oz · 3 years ago

Note

“How is my partner more badass than me?” for Genesis x Kirk, please? @dancingsunflowers-ocs 💛

(SEND ME OTP PROMPTS!)

Thanks for this!!

Gen was never coming down to a planet's surface with Jim again. Never. She didn't care if he tried to pull rank for once and order them, she wouldn't do it. Because if this was what happened every time a landing party went down, they were pretty sure she didn't have the patience to constantly deal with it.

When Dr. McCoy had first informed them that the Enterprise had recieved a distress signal from a remote planet, long thought to be uninhabited, and that Jim wanted her to go down with the party to treat any potential injured parties, Genesis hadn't thought anything of it. They, like the rest of the Enterprise crew, had assumed the signal was coming from a ship that had crashed on the planet, and that the crew of said ship just wanted to get off the desert wasteland on which they'd found themselves.

That was not what it was. Not even close.

As it turned out, the small desert planet wasn't as uninhabited as everyone had thought. There was, in fact, a race of people who had been living under the dunes for centuries, humanoid but having adapted to the limited water and dry, arid atmosphere. Only it turned out that, after centuries of only having each other to reproduce with, these people needed some fresh blood to help bring up their birth rate. And Genesis, of frakking course, was the only female-bodied member of the landing party.

Which led to their current predicament - backed up against a tall sand dune with a group of sand people surrounded them, pointing weapons that, while not as sophisticated as blasters, were very sharp and deadly-looking. The landing party consisted of only Gen, Jim, and a young freckled crewman whose name she unfortunately could not remember, but there was four sand people, all with sand-colored skin, bald heads, and fierce, determined expressions on their faces. As well as, of course, those pointy weapons.

"Give us the woman," growled the sand person who appeared to be in charge, "and no one will be harmed." The lead sand person appeared to be female-bodied as well, and had golden thread stitched into her dark green tunic that the others did not. Her voice, like the voices of the other sand people that Gen had heard, was rough and scratchy in a way a voice only is when the speaker has gone a long time without water.

"You won't take them," Jim said firmly, shifting his stance so that his body partially blocked Gen's own from view. He hadn't drawn his own blaster yet, though the young crewman had, but it hung from his belt in clear view of the sand people, an obvious warning.

"She will be well taken care of," the sand woman said to Jim, as if to reassure him, though her voice became no less threatening. "Our child-bearers always are. She will be given first pick of whatever our hunting parties bring back, and she will not be required to work. All we ask in return is that she reproduce as much as possible, so as to boost-"

"You. Won't. Take her," Jim repeated, his voice closer to a hiss.

And Genesis appreciated his willingness to protect her, really they did, but as she continued to gaze at the blaster hanging from Jim's belt, a plan began to form in their head. It wasn't a great plan, and really she would have preferred to have more time to think it through properly, but it was all they had right now, and she probably wouldn't have a lot of time to come up with anything else.

Well, here went nothing.

"Actually," Gen spoke up, stepping out from behind Jim and making eye contact with the sand woman, "that doesn't sound too bad."

The sand woman looked surprised, and her eyes, containing irises of pure black like some kind of rodent's, lit up. "You would consent to becoming a child-bearer?"

"Well, I don't see why not." Genesis started to walk towards the sand people, making sure to slow down as they passed Jim and praying that he would do what she expected him to. "You make a very tempting offer, after all."

Blessedly, Jim did just what Gen had expected and gently grabbed their arm as she passed him, meeting their eyes with an expression that was pure confusion.

"Genesis?" he asked quietly, barely hiding the hurt beneath the confusion in his voice, and oh, Gen's heart squeezed at that, but she couldn't make any kind of move to tell him the truth without risking the sand people seeing. So they kept her face stone-cold and impassive, checking out of the corner of their eye to make sure no one was watching her hands as they reached forward and gently eased Jim's blaster out of the holster.

One advantage to spending most of one's childhood in the company of those who made their living stealing other living beings: you got to be pretty quick with your hands.

"I'm sorry, Jim," Gen said in a purposely cold voice, then turned away from her captain and boyfriend, making sure to quickly tuck the blaster into the back of their belt as she made their way toward the four sand people. If Jim or the crewman noticed the blaster, she could only hope against hope neither of them gave it away.

Stopping directly in front of the leading sand woman, Genesis squared her shoulders and looked into the woman's black eyes, trying to look confident in the descision the sand people believed they had just made.

"I will go with you and reproduce for you," she told the sand women, fighting hard to keep the nervous tremor from their voice. "But you have to let these others leave immediately, without harming them. I am valuable to them as a medic, you can't blame them for not wanting to give me up."

There was a moment of silence in which the sand woman appeared to be mentally arguing with herself; clearly, she wanted to punish Jim for trying to keep Gen from her. But eventually, her shoulders slumped just slightly in reluctant concession, and she nodded once.

"Alright," the sand woman said, not even noticing as Gen's hand slowly reached around her back to grasp the blaster's handle. "If you come with us now, your friends may leave unharmed."

"Good," Genesis replied, giving her sweetest smile - then yanked Jim's blaster from their belt and slammed it into the sand woman's head.

The other three sand people let out a collective yell and charged forward as their leader crumpled to the dunes, out cold, but Genesis hadn't excelled in her hand-to-hand combat course at Starfleet for nothing. With a few well-placed punches and only a single shot from the blaster, the remaining sand people lay on the ground around Gen's feet, their weapons lying unused beside them.

Brushing hair out of their face, Genesis turned back around to look at Jim and the crewman, her forehead stinging where one of the sand people had managed to slice them with his weapon. She couldn't help the smile that broke out on their face at the two men's expressions: the young crewman was staring at her with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, and Jim was beaming at them, his eyes full of pride.

"Sorry if I worried you," Gen apologized, walking back towards Jim and holding the blaster out to him. "Didn't have a lot of time to really think that plan through."

"Oh, it's alright," Jim said softly, taking the blaster back a second before he swept Genesis into a kiss.

The crewman let out a startled squeak behind them, but neither Jim nor Genesis cared; their lips moved passionately against each other, each person trying to wordlessly express their relief that they'd both made it through this okay and Dr. McCoy wasn't going to have to tell Spock that one of his partners was captured or injured.

"Did you know," Jim murmured as they finally broke away for breath, "that I regularly look at you and ask myself, 'How is my partner more badass than me?'"

"Of course you do," Gen responded flippantly. "I'm practically an Amazon from those old Greek myths."

"Yes, you are," Jim laughed, pressing another kiss to the top of Gen's head. "But we should get back to the ship; Spock's likely pacing a hole in the command centre's floor by now."

"And completely denying that he's worried," Gen chuckled. "Because he somehow thinks that the entire crew isn't aware of us by this point."

Letting out another short laugh, Jim beckoned the young crewman close while Gen took out her comm device and asked Scotty to beam them up. And as that familiar light surrounded the three of them and began to carry them home, Gen finally spoke the words that had been on her mind since they'd caught her first sight of the sand people.

"I am never going to a surface with you again."

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @raith-way, @reyofluke-ocs, @guardiansofheroes.

#oc drabbles #my ocs #ot3: a romantic enterprise #ch: genesis welton #oc: genesis welton #ocapp #ocappreciation #ochub #allaboutocs #fyeahstartrekocs #star trek oc #fic: all the stars #ship: spirkton

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shewhospeakswiththunder · 5 years ago

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Perhaps you’re feeling bored at home or, if considered an “essential” worker like me, you need a little fun and stress relief. Here is my masterpost of fic recs from my two years of reading so far. Maybe you’ll find something new, or reconnect with an old favorite. Either way--

Enjoy! 😷💕

Reylo Fics that Deserve All the Love

Near Kinsman by englishable

Englishable is just one of the best writers I’ve encountered in fandom. This historical western mail order bride AU is top notch quality.

The Masochism of Self-Defence by greyorchids

The Reylo dynamic in this Boston PD AU is steamy, but also heartfelt.

So Much Thin Glass by walkingsaladshooter

Never knew I loved modern day Gothic AUs until I ran across this one.

Heaven Forbid by DarkKnightDarkSide

I was stunned by the author’s creativity in this Priestlo fic. So smutty. So... inventive 😉🔥

Sonder by deathbyhumidity

Two strangers passing each other by on the train. Soft, dreamlike, somber, poignant. Modern AU.

And Still I Would Remember by Inmyownidiom

A Victorian era AU of two souls that parted and come crashing back together.

So, You've Decided to Glamour a Human Girl. by selunchen

Faeries AU! Ben, a fae, and Rey, a human. Shenanigans ensue.

Live Long, and Prosper by SaintHeretical

For the Reylo Trekkies. Hell, even if you don't do Star Trek, read this. PHENOMENAL.

Mr. Solo & Miss Wellfound by LinearA

“Regency/Victorian AU, Ben sees Rey's stockinged ankle by accident.”

Diyari by Nervoustouch

Modern archeologists AU. Snarky banter with dashes of Indiana Jones, The Mummy, and Sahara vibes.

Drawn to the light of your burning sorrows by Kyriadamorte

The Mothlo AU you didn’t know you needed. Both gritty and soft.

Crown Glass by RebelRebel

Fantasy AU, with lots of beautiful imagery and engaging character dynamics.

Kohelet 3:16 (Call Me A Cab) by LinearA

NYC Jewish Leia and Ben. Skillfully layered plot, nuanced characterization. Smut is HOT.

By the Shores of Varykino Lake by hipgrab (merrymegtargaryen)

Unhealthy dynamics, definitely read the tags. “There’s a lot of fucked-up-ness”, in the author’s own words. But it’s good writing. Fair warning.

Let Me Put My Darkness In You by ArdeaJestin

Canonverse. Hux is an insufferable, pompous ass and Kylo Ren writes terrible, melodramatic poetry.

Wintertide by Zabeta

Whimsical and primitive in turn, this lives up to the style of a true fairytale AU.

The Forty Thieves by PoetHrotsvitha

Peaky Blinders/Gangsters AU. Rey starts as Ben’s bartender and ends up as so much more.

I Said to My Soul, Be Still by LinearA

Dark!Rey takes her man. 🥵🔥💕

Hux's Rousing Pep Talks by Riels_shorts

This fic is hysterical. It’s not Reylo, and I don’t care. My list, my rules.

It's All I Can Do To Leave You Alone by TazWren

Office AU. Silly, spunky, with a bashful Ben.

Sip the Honey Sweet by dietplainlite

Anne of Green Gables-esque/Edwardian era AU, the title really says it all.

The Pull to the Light by HarpiaHarpyja

Entrancingly macabre. This modern/fantasy/monsters AU catches your attention from the get-go, and never lets you off the hook.

lay then the axe to the root by sciosophia

All the Bronte goodness, plus smut.

The Golden Age by TourmalineGreen

Golden Age of Hollywood AU in which Ben is a jaded actor in serious need of an image fix, in the form of fresh-faced actress Rey.

Never Be Your Curse by Kate_Reid

Kylo Ren is a go-go dancer in this AU. That was enough to get my attention 😘

Gallows God by Killtheselights

Bursting with deliciously grim imagery, an intelligent take on Norse mythology.

Thunderstorms, Clouds, Snow, and a Slight Drizzle by aNerdObsessed

Who doesn’t love an ugly sweater Christmas party? Ben Solo, that’s who. All the nostalgic wintertime feels in this modern AU.

Though My Soul Has Set in Darkness by englishable

It’s not long, but it’s good. A lyrical dive into the mindspace of child Ben Solo. A true gem. Also not technically Reylo. Still don’t care.

I Dare You by tinylittlebrain

Daredevil Kylo has pissed off ER doc Rey Kenobi for the last time. Spicy!

stuck in colder weather by redbelles

Professor Ren stops grad student Rey from biking home in a snow storm. And takes her to his home. You can guess where this goes 😉

Between Sky and Sea by nessalk

Serious Indiana Jones vibes with a Caribbean flair. Painstakingly researched, and moments of true beauty and joy.

But Before Tomorrow by Kate_Reid

Such good writing. Canonverse.

The Sword of Prince Hector by englishable

Exploration of what redemption might feel like for Ben, canonverse.

if compassion be the breath of life, breathe on me by Victoryindeath2

All the angst and unknowns that we were left with in the wake of TLJ are soothed in this canonverse piece.

build a ladder to the stars by redbelles

An exploration of events post-Crait. Fantastic, beautifully written.

nor are we forgiven (which brings us back) by TolkienGirl

Both Kylo and Rey get to see what life would have been like if they both got exactly what they thought they wanted after TLJ. Fascinating read.

Forsworn by Erulisse17

This Mando/ST crossover has everything you could want--action, witty banter, space romance! So much fun!

Reylo Favorites & Classics

One Shots

59 Minutes by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)

For Science by KyloTrashForever, ohwise1ne

He Made It Through the Wilderness (somehow he made it through) by LovesBitca8

light carries on endlessly by lachesisgrimm (olga_theodora)

Grey by ocjones

The Idiot's Guide to Flirting by Violetwilson

High School/College AU

I Caught Fire by KyloTrashForever

Mountain Springs High School by animal

Epithumia by pontmercy44

Soul Searching by OptimisticBeth

Office/Workplace AU

Sensual Storytime by andabatae

The Food of Love by LovesBitca8

Historical/Dystopia AU

Hiraeth by Ferasha

a manner of virtue by neonheartbeat

The lamb's thirst by animal

Wanted by Inmyownidiom

She Who Would be Queen by sasstasticmad

go i know not whither and fetch i know not what by voicedimplosives

ABO

Knot My First Time by KyloTrashForever

Canonverse/Canon-divergent

variations on a theme of you by diasterisms (Reydar)

i will be the wolf by diasterisms

Sky Marked Souls by AnonymousMink

The Death of Kylo Ren by nymja

World In My Eyes by sasstasticmad

i'm always in this twilight (in the shadow of your heart) by diasterisms

Catch Me I’m Falling by violethoure666

Sword of the Jedi by diasterisms

You'll Be the One to Turn by postedbygaslight

Dark Crown by Violetwilson

Harry Potter AU

Nocturnal Studies And Other Peculiar Magic by WaterlilyRose

Otherwise Modern AU

Pretense by Celia_and

Insta-heart by slipgoingunder

Serotonin and Dopamine by pontmercy44

The Elusive Mating Dance of the Porgus Adorabilis by andabatae

Hanging by a Moment by crossingwinter

WAR DOGS by fulcrumstardust

miles from where you are by Mooncactus

Charcoal by luvkurai

Stay by jeeno2

coarse and rough and irritating by frak-all (or_ryn)

Blades Crossed by the-reylo-void (Anysia)

Embers by sciosophia

Mitan, Midi by animal

Janus by englishable

Say My Name by Graendoll

Thank You for The Music by hipgrab (merrymegtargaryen)

darling, so it goes by akosmia

This is the Sign You've Been Looking For by RebelRebel

Broken Things by midnightbluefox

One-Night Stand by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)

The Rebel Side of Heaven by jeeno2

On The Bumpy Road (To Love) by violethoure666

we could plant a house, we could build a tree by Like_A_Dove

I’d Like My Obituary to Hint at a Sequel by Violetwilson

Only If You Want To by Violetwilson

Not Reylo, Still Awesome

Gingerflower/Gingerrose, Armitage Hux/Rose Tico

Between Sand and Sea by Brit Hux-Tico (birchwoods01)

If Ever I Would Leave You by Weddersins

Her Yellow Rainboots by Weddersins

Merrical, Cal Kestis/Merrin (Jedi: Fallen Order)

The Stars Alight by FlyingMachine

Heavy Ice by FlyingMachine

Caltrilla, Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri (Jedi: Fallen Order)

No One Else by xanderwilde

call it what you want by xanderwilde

tear you to pieces by xanderwilde

Dramione, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy (Harry Potter Universe)

Now Is A Gift by SenLinYu

Sex and Occlumency by Graendoll

Zutara, Katara/Zuko (Avatar: the Last Airbender)

oracle bones by an orphaned account

Fics by Me

Virtue Ethics

Reylo College AU (completed)

Dr. Ben Solo, adjunct philosophy professor and part-time martial arts instructor, discovers a young woman in his Intro to Philosophy course whom he thinks may not actually be enrolled at the University.

Chiasmus

Reylo Role-reversal canonverse AU (WIP)

Scourge of the galaxy, Kira Ren, is tasked by the First Order to eliminate the last of the Jedi. When she captures hotshot podracer Ben Solo to extract Luke Skywalker’s location from him, things do not go according to plan.

This Dance of Light, This Sacred Blessing

Snapshots of a modern Reylo AU. Smutty, prosey one-shot.

Listen Up, Kid

Canonverse Reylo Post TLJ one-shot

The ghosts of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren's past are back to haunt him with a vengeance. A well-meaning, familial kind of vengeance. Or, A Star Wars Carol.

Ben’s Body

Reylo Modern AU (completed)

Rey is an up and coming sculptor specialising in human shape and form. Her new next door neighbour has a body to die for and she's determined to preserve it in marble forever. Now she just has to convince dashing and reclusive Ben to model for her. Preferably naked.

Growin’ Up

Reylo High School AU (completed)

Ben Solo was supposed to only be ruining his own life with his bad decisions. Rey Niima was just trying to pay attention in class. Both get stuck in detention.

Seven Texts, 2 AM

Reylo Modern AU, smutty one-shot

Ben has good reasons not to have sex with his neighbor, Rey. She has other ideas.

Song of the Forest

Reylo Fantasy/BatB/Fairytale AU (completed)

Once upon a time, a girl with an unknown past appeared on the doorsteps of a lord’s manor, and now the forest at the edge of the lord’s property is calling to her.

A Season of Frost & Warmth

Modern Reylo P&P AU (completed)

When Ben shows up to a Halloween party with no costume, it only confirms Rey’s certainty that he is the world’s biggest jerk. Until it comes to light that maybe... he isn’t.

Follow Me Home

Modern Werewolf Reylo AU (completed)

Rey gets stone drunk and brings home a big cute husky she found in an alley. The next morning, she finds a naked man built like a fridge sleeping on her living room floor, and no dog in sight.

The Gentleness That Comes

Reylo Modern AU one-shot

Underground boxer!Ben is resigned to his life of violence, until he meets a pretty new bartender one night.

Unlikely, Unbidden, Unbound

Gingerflower canonverse AU (WIP)

General Hux is imprisoned by the Resistance when the First Order falls. He had known his death was coming, it was simply a matter of course. He’s disappointed to learn the Resistance has other plans, and an unwavering policy of giving people second chances.

@thereylowritingden @reylofic @nancylovesreylo @grlie-girl @lilia-ula @greyforceuser @tazwren @mhcalamas

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moocowmoocow · 4 years ago

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Femslash February 12 - Green

Laura Roslin truly believed she had taken the last steps of her life when she set her feet on Earth. At first she was confused when she opened her eyes and found herself in a hospital. A kind doctor explained to her that he had given her an implant that would eliminate her cancer, but since hers was so advanced it would take several days to disappear. Laura shuddered in relief and wept.

Now, she and others were negotiating to find a place for the remnants of the Colonial Fleet. Adama was on Mars, Lee on Tycho, Kara on Medina and she on Earth. That’s why she was leaning on the arm of the Secretary General as they walked through her property. Much to her annoyance, Laura felt tears welling in her eyes again.

“Are you OK?” Avasarala asked.

“I’m fine. It’s just been so long - years probably - since I’ve seen so much green.” Laura swiped at her eyes. “I promise you, I don’t cry all the frakking time.”

Avasarala looked at her, amusement in her eyes. “I don’t doubt it. I apologize, Madam President, I’m still trying to get used to the linguistic differences.”

Laura squeezed the other woman’s arm. “I doubt very much that you’ve invited me here to discuss the differences between frak and fuck.”

“I need to know if in your travels you encountered the protomolecule.”

Laura had still not told Avasarala about the Cylons or how the basestars following them through the ring gates had disappeared. She would keep these things to herself until the Fleet was resettled somewhere in this system. “No, Madam Secretary, we did not.”

She could tell Avasarala didn’t buy it. It was an opening salvo. Laura hoped she’d be able to trade information for the safety of her people. She had spent too much of the last years of her life on the run to easily trust this woman.

“We’ll discuss this more at dinner,” Avasarala said. Then much to Laura’s surprise, Avasarala reached out and cupped her cheek. “It’ll just be us tonight.”

Laura thought she could use this but knew even this seemingly simple attempt at seduction was anything but. She wasn’t dealing with the political novices of the Quorum. This woman had worked her way to the top in society of billions. “I look forward to it,” Laura replied. And she did. It was an unexpected luxury to engage in political games without the worry of humanity’s extinction. It was unexpected to still be alive.

“Good,” Avasarala replied, her mouth quirked in a slight smile.

#chrisjen avasarala #laura roslin #the expanse #bsg #avasarala x roslin #femslash february

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there-must-be-a-lock · 5 years ago

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Partying and Poker Faces

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Word Count: ~3350

Warnings: Errbody gettin drunk. Terrible zamboni puns.

A/N: No, seriously, it’s just random drunk conversations. They are ridiculous. It’s fun. Thanks to @stunudo, @fookinghelljensensthighs, @lastactiontricia and everybody else in the Slack chat who listened to me ramble and helped with Nutcracker jokes/Winchester band names. Hair clip scene inspired by this post.

Part 6 of the Rockstar AU!

The “Wayward Sons” World Tour: Pre-Tour Kickoff Party

. . .

“Okay, seriously though, my friend found all these pictures of them at Bonnaroo walking around with a girl with blue hair, right? So she did a side-by-side analysis and she swears it’s Harry Styles in a wig. Like, honest to god.”

“Who’s Harry Styles?” Spencer asks, putting his book down and rubbing his eyes as he comes out of his reading trance.

“Only the love of my life,” Penelope tells him.

“Penelope,” Emily interrupts. “You are not allowed to ask him if he’s really friends with Harry Styles.”

Penelope deflates slightly. “But -”

JJ tells her, “You are definitely not allowed to ask if you can have Harry Styles’s phone number.”

Penelope rolls her eyes. “Apparently there’s a whole group of crazies who think he and Sam are actually dating. There are conspiracy theories and everything.”

“Let’s just outlaw the subject of Harry Styles altogether,” JJ says hurriedly. “Okay?”

“Oh my God, I wouldn’t actually ask. Are you ready yet, Em?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Emily replies, glaring at her reflection. She’s been trying to even out her wings for like half an hour now. “I look like a raccoon.”

“So… normal then?” Spencer asks, with his cheekiest smile.

“Uh oh, we’ve got Sassy Spence tonight,” JJ says. She grabs Emily’s arm to tug her away from the mirror. “You’re gorgeous. Let’s go.”

“Forward, march!” Penelope orders. “To Suite 202!”

. . .

“So then Sammy asks if she’s his daughter,” Dean finishes.

Hotch and Spencer laugh; it makes Hotch look about ten years younger.

“What did she say?” Spencer asks, tucking his hair behind his ears again. With his legs crossed in his ratty Chucks, he looks too young to be drinking.

“Just said ‘I’m his wife,’ ice cold, and walked away.”

“You should’ve seen the look on Sam’s face,” Cas adds. He settles down next to Dean, handing him a fresh drink and sitting close. For a moment Dean forgets that they’re allowed to be close, that he’s not in public any more, and then he puts an arm around Cas, smiling to himself.

“What about you?” Dean asks.

“I haven’t gotten starstruck since Kurt Cobain,” Hotch answers. “But you should ask Spencer what happened when he met David Byrne.”

“Spencer, what happened when you met David Byrne?” Cas asks with a smirk.

“Well… you know how Freud talked about seeing the Acropolis for the first time? The feeling of derealization?”

“No,” Dean says, raising his eyebrows. “Should I?”

“What you have to understand is that my mom was playing me the Talking Heads while I was in the womb,” Spencer continues earnestly. “Remain In Light, mostly, because it came out that year, but — anyway. Research shows —“

“David Byrne is his Acropolis,” Hotch translates. “He didn’t speak for almost two hours after they were introduced.”

“And I get the feeling there aren’t many things that render him speechless,” Cas says dryly.

. . .

“Hey there, hot stuff,” Penelope says, and she sits in the empty spot next to Derek on the couch. She almost kicks Spencer as she does so; he’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, hunched over one of the acoustic guitars that everybody’s been passing around.

“You know there’s another chair, right?” asks Sam, who’s sprawled out in one of the armchairs opposite their couch.

“Trust me, it’s pointless,” Derek tells him. “He hates chairs.”

“That’s not true,” Spencer says absent-mindedly, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I like the ones with wheels.”

“Wait, you play keys, right?” Sam asks, watching Spencer pluck out a quick, dexterous open-tuned thing that Penelope is pretty sure he’s improvising.

“And synths,” Spencer says, pushing his hair out of his eyes again. “But also… a little bit of everything, I guess.”

“Guitar, bass, drums, violin, cello, saxophone, clarinet,” Derek rattles off proudly. “What else? There are some weird ones.”

“Didgeridoo!” Penelope adds.

“She calls it my didgeri-don’t,” Spencer says, and it’s true; it’s her least favorite instrument, which is unfortunate because it’s one of her favorite words.“And there are a few things I built, I guess, but haven’t really named yet.”

“That’s awesome,” Sam says, looking suitably impressed.

“You need a goddamn haircut, Pretty Boy,” Derek says, as Spencer tries to get his hair out of his eyes again.

“Don’t listen to him,” Sam tells Spencer, running a hand through the shampoo-commercial situation he has on his own head. “And don’t let my brother start in on you, either.”

Penelope rummages in her purse for a second and pulls out a neon green butterfly clip. She combs some hair back from Spencer’s forehead, twists it, and secures it so that the butterfly is right on the crown of Spencer’s head.

“Thanks, that’s much better,” Spencer says, giving her a quick smile over his shoulder. Sam stifles a laugh.

“Hey,” Derek says, in an undertone. “Got any more of those?”

“I love the way your brain works,” Penelope stage-whispers back. She digs around until she has a whole handful of aggressively colorful glittery barrettes (some are shaped like flowers, some have pom-poms) and passes half to Derek. She leans down and starts to braid a little section of hair near Spencer’s temple. He doesn’t seem to notice.

. . .

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Hotch asks, as he starts mixing himself a drink. “I don’t think we met at the surprise show.”

“Jack,” the kid says, with a sweet smile. He’s all fresh-faced and earnest. Hotch has concerns.

“I’m Aaron, but everybody calls me Hotch,” he says. “What‘s your part in this whole circus?”

“I’m their guitar tech,” he chirps. “Cas is my uncle, also. He’s the one who got me the job.”

“Uh-huh. First tour?”

He nods. “I’m excited! This is going to be great.”

Hotch has a feeling this is going to be trouble.

Jack has a hand on the whiskey bottle when Hotch notices and asks, “How old are you?”

“He’s twenty,” Charlie interrupts, snatching the bottle from Jack’s hand. “Down, boy.”

Jack shrugs, not seeming particularly bothered, and wanders away with his soda.

“Good to know,” Hotch says wryly.

Charlie gives Hotch an apologetic look and says, “I feel like a spoilsport. Like, let the kid have some fun, right?”

“So you followed all the rules when you were his age?”

“Well, no, not so much, although I wasn’t into drinking so much as… um. Mild felonies.” She wrinkles her nose expressively. “But I have strict orders from Cas. He might look like a teddy bear, but Cas can be scary.”

“Felonies,” Hotch says, trying to keep a straight face. Charlie nods.

“Hacking, mostly?” she says tentatively. “There was some… environmentally focused cyber-terrorism, I guess you’d call it.”

“You should talk to Penelope, she used to do that sort of thing as well.”

Charlie looks over dubiously at Penelope, who is pulling up the hem of Derek’s shirt and showing off his abs, Vanna White style, for Sam’s benefit. Sam looks shockingly unaffected, so odds are he is straight, in which case, Rossi owes Hotch some money.

“Really. She was actually contacted by the FBI, they wanted to hire her, but.” Hotch smiles at the way Charlie’s mouth falls open. “She has a whole… sordid history. They used to call her the Black Queen.”

“Are you… what?” Charlie asks incredulously.

“I know, it’s a ridiculous name, but —”

“No, that’s — I can’t believe it,” Charlie stutters. “Really?”

Hotch raises an eyebrow. “Really. Does that mean something to you?”

Charlie shakes her head, eyes wide. “You don’t understand, she’s a legend. She’s like a frakking rockstar.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, like an actual rockstar,” Charlie insists. “Not that you’re not a rockstar, I didn’t mean — holy crap.”

“Would you like me to introduce you?” Hotch offers.

Charlie goes pale. “I don’t — um.”

“I think you’re the first person who has ever been intimidated by Penelope Garcia,” Hotch muses.

Charlie does a quick shot of whiskey before nodding. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

. . .

“I am so fuckin’ glad I don’t have to deal with this every night,” Bobby says gruffly, with an expansive gesture at everyone in the room and their varied levels of inebriation. “We’re too old for this shit. Don’t know how you still want to go out on the road.”

“Of all the groups I’ve managed, believe it or not, this one’s the easiest.”

Bobby looks across the room to where JJ is passing around shots and Emily is talking everybody into a game of Truth or Dare, as a “bonding exercise.” Spencer is clinging to Morgan’s back like a gangly white Yoda; Morgan, who’s serenading Sam with “Wonderwall” (Sam is covering his ears and looking pained) doesn’t seem to notice his weight.

“I don’t believe it, actually,” Bobby tells Rossi, who shrugs.

“They take care of each other, really. No ego involved, with any of them, which is rare enough in this business.” Rossi pauses as Penelope shrieks; Hotch, who is standing between her and Charlie, looks vaguely alarmed, but nobody seems to be in any real danger. Rossi adds, “They may act like a bunch of assclowns sometimes, but they’re much smarter than they look. I told you, didn’t I?”

“Fair enough,” Bobby says. He’d called Rossi on a whim, looking for an opener for Dean’s surprise show and hinting about “discretion” and “liberal types,” trying not to give too much away. He’d expected Rossi to put him in touch with a friend of a friend, or something. He didn’t expect this to work out so well.

Bobby’s not used to things working out well. It’s a nice change.

“Good to see you again, anyway” Rossi says. “You’re coming out to a few more shows, right?”

“Course. I’ll be around here and there.”

“Bet you’ll miss them soon enough. I was bored stiff when I was retired,” Rossi says.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to get those two through their teenage years,” Bobby grouches. “Just about put me in an early grave.”

“They seem like good kids,” Rossi says. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since they were… how old?”

Bobby can’t help but smile at that. “Yeah, they’ve got good heads on their shoulders. They grew up. Just in time, too. I kept tellin’ them, success is going to change things, but I don’t think they believed me. Idjits.”

Rossi nods knowingly. “Cheers to success, then. And old friends.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

. . .

“Pastor’s son, in the church,” Emily says.

“Twins,” Dean replies smugly.

“Nice.” Emily gives him a fist-bump. “Backstage during a performance of The Nutcracker.”

“I’ll be very disappointed if there were no nut jokes.”

Emily smirks. “Well, there were no actual nuts involved, but the fairy did, in fact, taste like sugar plums.”

“Yeah, okay, not bad,” Dean says. He clinks his beer bottle against hers and they drink. “On top of a zamboni.”

“You mean zam-bone-y?”

“Thank you! Sam rolled his eyes so hard I thought they were gonna fall out when I said that.”

“The Roxy.”

“Green room? C’mon,” Dean scoffs. “Amateur hour.”

“Nope,” Emily says triumphantly. “In the crowd, during a Guns N Roses show.”

“Okay, that’s fuckin’ awesome,” Dean laughs.

“It really was.”

Dean’s eyes flick across the room, following Cas, who just deadpanned something that’s making Hotch double over with laughter. Dean’s eyes go crinkly at the corners as his smile gets even brighter — a full-on megawatt movie star smile — and his expression is so sweet and soft and utterly adoring that Emily melts a little bit.

“Gross,” she says, elbowing Dean. He elbows her right back.

“Shuddup,” he mutters.

“No more twins for you,” Emily sing-songs.

“Worth it,” Dean says firmly, and even she can’t think of anything snarky to say to that.

. . .

JJ can only understand about one in five of the words Penelope and Charlie are chattering to each other, so she gives up and leaves them to it. She’s slightly concerned they’re plotting to take over the world, or something. They don’t seem to notice her leaving.

Dean and Emily are side by side on one of the couches, both slouching, with their feet up on the coffee table and beers resting on their stomachs, giggling about something as if they’ve been lifelong friends. The whole tableau is unexpected, but not in a bad way.

There’s something about Dean that JJ just didn’t like, at first. It’s mostly that he’s too likable. In every interaction they’ve had, he’s been incredibly charismatic, warm, polite, funny… but it’s not him.

JJ is an expert at getting people to trust her without ever showing her hand. She recognizes a bluff when she sees one.

She’s been watching Dean, whenever he thinks she’s not paying attention. He lets his guard down, sometimes, when he’s with his brother or Cas, but there’s a well-disguised wall that goes up when he talks to anyone else. It’s defensive fortifications camouflaged as charm.

Apparently Emily’s shoved through whatever wall Dean usually puts up when he’s around strangers. Emily can do that to a person, though. JJ knows that better than anybody.

Emily’s clearly teasing him about something. He’s grinning, boyish and bashful and genuine, and JJ likes him a hell of a lot more, suddenly.

She heads over to join them on their couch, sliding over the armrest to sprawl halfway over Emily’s lap and cuddle in close.

“Are you two still playing Truth or Dare? This doesn’t look very daring.”

“Debauchery pissing contest,” Emily informs her.

Dean is watching her, and his walls are up again: pleasant smile slapped on his face, eyes calculating, playing it close to the chest until he figures her out.

She raises an eyebrow and prompts him: “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me?”

He looks suspicious, but he goes with it. “What’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” JJ says primly, and for a second Dean’s actually thinking about taking her seriously. She rolls her eyes. “Kidding. Middle of a Guns N Roses show.”

He looks confused for a second. Then Emily and JJ high-five, and Dean barks out a laugh.

“I didn’t know you —”

He hesitates.

“Swing that way?” JJ supplies.

“Yeah, that.”

“Most people don’t, and we’re gonna keep it that way. Understood?”

Dean seems surprised by the sudden sharp edge in her voice. “Gotcha.”

“I used to think she was crazy for not coming out publicly,” Emily tells Dean, but she’s looking at JJ with a little half-smile on her face. “But now that people are starting to give a shit about us, sometimes I think she might’ve had the right idea.”

“Don’t lie, you love being an ‘inspiration to the youth,’” JJ says, with mocking finger quotes. “And you’ve been disappointing your mom for years, she’s used to it. Mine would probably have a heart attack.”

“Yeah, but the number of times I get that fucking ‘Does that mean you’re attracted to pans?’ bullshit, I swear to God…”

Dean’s looking at JJ again, but this time it’s less calculating and more admiring. He nods slowly like something just started to make sense.

“Helluva poker face,” he says approvingly.

JJ grins. “Yours isn’t too bad either.”

. . .

“I gotta ask,” Spencer says, slurred and slow. “How’d you choose the band name? The Ceiling Fires?”

Sam shrugs. “It was a recurring dream that Dean and I both used to have.”

“Weird image.” Spencer makes a face as he undoes one of the tiny braids Penelope left in his hair. “Not that — weird isn’t a bad thing. It’s memorable.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Dean called it that as a joke, to start with, I think, but...” Sam rambles. He’s right at that point of drunk where words just keep rolling off his tongue. “Feels like a long time ago. I mean, I did not in a million years think we’d end up here.”

“Linear time,” Spencer comments.

Sam waits for him to finish the thought, but apparently that’s it.

“Linear time,” he repeats agreeably. “It’s not just… time, though, you know? It’s the whole deal. Success, I guess. People listening. Expecting you to look a certain way, or… I don’t fucking know.”

Spencer nods pensively, combing his fingers through his hair again. “We did a magazine photo shoot the other day and they wouldn’t let me wear any of my own clothes. I like my clothes. And people keep asking if I’m dating anybody.”

“Yeah, I’ve been getting that question too.” Spencer doesn’t know the half of it. Sam laughs to himself, rubbing his forehead, and takes a big gulp of his drink.

Spencer pulls out another barrette with a grimace. “I mean, why would anyone care if you’re dating… who was it? Harry Styles?”

Sam chokes and spits whiskey everywhere.

“Who —” he wheezes, and has to stop to cough. “Fucking — how did you know?”

“Wait, really?”

“What?”

“Penelope said it was just a stupid rumor,” Spencer says. He’s squinting at Sam like he’s seeing double.

“Shit.” The adrenaline rush is going a long way toward sobering Sam up. He shakes his head and tries to pull himself together. “Shit. I just… shit.”

“Is that a big deal?” Spencer asks, with a mild sort of confusion. “Penelope made it sound like a joke. She called it a conspiracy theory.”

Sam stares at him, open-mouthed, before dropping his head into his hands with a groan. “Yeah, let’s just keep calling it a conspiracy theory, okay? I already owe his publicist a fucking… fruit basket, or maybe just a lot of wine.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t actually know who that is,” Spencer offers. Sam laughs weakly. “No, really, I won’t tell anybody. Even Penelope. Especially Penelope.”

Sam studies him for a second. He looks earnest enough, in a boozy, unfocused way, but Sam’s learned the hard way that most people can’t be trusted.

Still, worth a try.

“If you could — yeah. Please? Just… please don’t tell anybody.”

“Believe me,” Spencer says. “I know how it goes. If you let people see the things that matter…” He trails off, his eyes sliding to a point somewhere over Sam’s shoulder, and his voice gets unexpectedly clear and fierce. “People can be vicious. I wouldn’t give them a weapon like that.”

Sam’s pretty sure he shouldn’t feel so reassured — Spencer still has a glittery butterfly clip sticking out from behind one ear — but he is, somehow.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

Spencer shrugs, like it’s nothing, and settles the guitar in his lap again. “Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.”

“Oh hell no,” Sam grumbles, and throws a couch cushion at him.

. . .

“Okay,” Hotch says decisively. “Everybody have their room keys?”

“Aww! He’s like the world’s cutest drill sergeant,” Charlie says. Hotch scowls at her, but he has a feeling it’s not very intimidating. She just giggles.

“Rossi?” Hotch asks, looking around and doing a quick head count.

“Went to bed an hour ago to listen to the latest episode of his fucking true crime podcast,” Emily says.

Hotch frowns. “Without me? Sneaky bastard.”

“Of all the weird fucking hobbies…” JJ mutters. “Hey, Morgan, is it my turn to be the jetpack?”

“Fuck no. I am way too buzzed to be carrying any of you home tonight. You can walk.”

“I’m not sure I can, actually,” Spencer says morosely. He looks like a rag doll, sitting on the floor, propped up by the side of the couch.

“Somebody come get Schroeder,” Dean mumbles, from where he’s curled up on the couch with his head in Cas’s lap.

“We got this,” Penelope says determinedly. She grabs Spencer by the wrists and hauls him to his feet, and they lean against each other heavily, somehow managing to stay upright.

Sam opens the door for them, smiling bemusedly as they all start to trail past: Morgan first, uncharacteristically wobbly on his feet; Emily and JJ, with their hands tucked into each other’s back pockets; Spencer and Penelope, staggering dangerously; and finally, Hotch bringing up the rear.

“Thanks,” he tells Sam, and waves at the others. “See you tomorrow.”

Before the door closes behind him, Hotch hears Dean say, “It’s gonna be a fun tour.”

#criminal minds x supernatural #crossover #cm #spn #criminal minds fic #supernatural fic

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thelordofdarkreunion · 4 years ago

Text

Magnificent Scoundrels- Rock n’ Roll

This one is definitely a little late. Took me a while to write it, and I had to make several changes. It might be a bit awkward in parts, but that is because I have tried to portray each character faithfully and tried to have them do what they would actually do in the battle scenes. As per usual, I own none of these characters except for Thomas Drake. Enjoy! (Side note: I figured out how to use the “read more” so this won’t be as long in the dash!)

In the hangar of the Normandy, Adam Vir and Master Chief waited. The Chief was currently flipping through everyone’s communication channels.

“Do you really trust this guy, Captain?” That was the internal communications of the Enterprise.

“No. And his group of armsmen is putting me on edge. But we control this ship and we have transporters and they don’t.” The rest coming from Kirk’s crew was all military and technological jargon. He flipped to the Apocalypse's internal communications.

“So, the question is: since it’s a fruit, tomato, mixed with sugar, is ketchup a smoothie?” That was Drake. Of course it was.

“Well, by that definition, yes,” said an unfamiliar voice.

“But ketchup has vinegar in it. And if you think smoothies have vinegar, well, then you really need to reevaluate your life’s choices,” replied someone else.

“An excellent point! Indeed, what is a smoothie? Does vinegar belong in your smoothies?” said Drake. Master Chief shook his head and changed channels. He had a feeling that if he listened to that conversation for much longer, his head would implode.

“How did he get that stuff? Twenty suits of carapace armor, five crates of hot-shot lasguns, ten crates of normal lasguns, a crate of chainswords, and two power swords, all with Imperial markings!” That was Kasteen, commander of the Valhallans. “And, Cain, what was that thing? An Exitus rifle? I’ve never heard of it.”

“That last one’s the one that worries me. The reason I know of it is because of my work with Inquisitor Vail,” replied Cain.

“Shit. You think he stole it from the Inquisition?”

“The only people who have access to those are Inquisitors and Vindicares.”

“Oh he’s beyond frakked.” The Chief cut the communications as Shepard walked into the hangar bay. He was wearing a full set of black combat armor with a heavy helmet. Vir, the other occupant of the hangar, looked up from where he was fiddling with his own armor.

“Shepard. Pleased to see you.” His one good green eye gleamed from under a shock of blond hair. “Are we ready to go?”

“Give me a sec.” Shepard turned to the hooded and violet masked figure that was present with him at the Scoundrel’s first meeting. “Tali?” he asked the figure. “Are they going to know we’re coming?”

“No, commander.” It was a feminine voice, with a strange and slightly mechanical accent that emanated from the suit. “The engineers aboard the Enterprise and Apocalypse are quite good at what they do. It would be interesting to know what all these new people have! Technology-wise, I mean. The possibilities of-” Shepard cut her off.

“Good to know, Tali.”

“Right. Sorry. Got carried away.”

“If you’d like, I’ll give you a tour of the Apocalypse,” cut in Drake’s suave voice over their earpieces. “That, of course, extends to the rest of you.” Master Chief keyed his comm.

“You’ve been listening to us this whole time?” he asked.

“Well, I can’t talk about vinegar smoothies forever, now, can I? To get more to the point, Cain and I are in position, and Cooper and Quill are on their way. This thing all depends on you, so I suggest you get down here before they notice fifty Imperial Guardsmen and fifteen mercenary armsmen hanging outside their front gate.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going.” They boarded the shuttle, Master Chief having to hunch his massive frame to avoid banging into the doors. The ride to the muddy-brown planet below them was smoot and silent. From the window of the transport, they could see the silhouettes of the teams’ starships above them, gleaming in the weak yellow light of the nearby sun. The atmospheric entry was much smoother than either Vir or Master Chief had ever felt, and the shuttle landed on the planet much faster than they expected. The shuttle’s three occupants disembarked quickly, professionally, and set out in a trot to the distant specter of the military base. They arrived on schedule, and found a small electrical access passage, barely tall enough to squeeze through, exactly where Drake’s map said it was.

Drake checked the timer on his wrist computer. His armsmen and several Imperial Guardsmen cluster around him, waiting expectantly.

“And...nine minutes and twenty-five seconds for Shepard to get his ass in gear and get planetside. If you had more than ten minutes, pay up.” There were grumblings in the crowd, while money and liquor exchanged hands. One of the armsmen looked up.

“Captain, how long for the other timer?” Drake checked his wrist again.

“...nineteen minutes and twenty six...twenty seven seconds since we got here, and they still haven’t noticed over a hundred armed hostiles sitting outside their front gate.” He made a clicking noise with his tongue. “Sloppy. If you bet under twenty minutes, you're probably going to be losing something.” He glanced over to where Cain and Jurgen were leaning against the compound’s outer wall. “How are you two holding up?”

Cain looked up from a mug of steaming liquid in his hands. “Fine. These people still haven’t noticed us?” Drake snorted.

“No. I’m really good at what I do, and they’re really bad. Honestly, I’m not quite sure how they managed to steal the thing we’re after in the first place.”

On the other side of the compound, Peter Quill paced.

“What’s taking them so long?” he hissed. Gamora, his green-skinned second in command, looked up from where she was sitting and sharpening a sword.

“Relax. We’re fine.”

“I know…” Quill trailed off, paced more, then turned back. “Do you think that these people know what they’re doing?” Cooper, who had been silently checking his weapons up until this point, spoke.

“Shepard is supposed to be a hero, and a special forces operative, based on Drake’s briefing.” Noticing Quill’s blank look, he gave a very good incredulous stare, considering he had his helmet on. “You didn’t read it?”

“Uh...maybe.” Cooper and Gamora both shook their heads.

“Shepard’s is apparently very good. At least, according to Drake. And the problem with that is we don’t know if Drake is telling the truth about anything.” Quill considered this. He did have a point.

Shepard, Vir, and Master Chief squeezed through the narrow metal electrical duct and into a small, dimly lit concrete room in the basement of the compound. They brushed plaster dust off themselves before looking up. Shepard tapped his wrist and some sort of glowing orange hologram sprang to life, covering his let forearm. The others leaned in and recognized it as Drake’s map of the compound.

“Right. So we are here,” Shepard highlighted the small room. “The item is here.” He traced a path throughout the sun-levels to a large main room in the center of the basement. “We need to stay low and follow this path.” Shepard glanced up and pointed at Master Chief. “You’re a super-soldier, so you’re taking point.” The Chief nodded.

“Copy that.” He unslung his weapon, dropped into a crouch, and proceeded forward, the two others following him. They walked through the concrete and metal halls, weapons at the ready, searching for any sign of life. Despite being over seven feet tall and clad in bulky armor, Master Chief moved with the deadly silence of a professional soldier. Twice they were almost caught, but due to their superior training and skills, they melted into the shadows as enemy patrols passed by. Through more hallways they made their way, hearing the laughter and occasionally fights of mercenaries. The enemy here was no more alert than they were on the main level, allowing the three to pass through the labyrinthian passageways undetected. They reached a large open area, where Master Chief suddenly gestured for a stop. Peering past the Chief’s massive shoulder, Shepard could see why. The open room was littered with mercenaries, lounging around with weapons still holstered. By his estimate, there were about twenty of them. Too many to take on without raising the alarm. Shepard cursed quietly under his breath, then pressed a finger to his ear.

“Drake,” he hissed. “We’re blocked. There’s a group in our way. We need a distraction.”

“Distraction you say?” The three could feel Drake’s smile over the audio. “Give me twenty.”

Outside the Compound

Drake slid up to the compound gate’s outside audio panel. He slid a knife under a small plate at the base of the panel and slid a small rectangular device from his belt into a slot.

“Let’s see here…” he muttered to himself. “Are you stupid enough to connect the PA system to the main computer? Yes...yes you are.” He tapped several buttons on his wrist computer and took a deep breath.

Inside the Compound

Shepard and Vir jumped as Drake’s voice crackled from the building’s PA system.

“Attention assorted idiots. I am Captain Thomas Drake. You may have heard of me. I am here, waiting just outside the front gate. I am going to kill you all and take back the black box. Come and get me.” The message abruptly terminated, and cheery music started playing.

“Private Perks is a funny little coger with a smile, a funny smile. Five feet none he’s an artful little dodger with a smile, a funny smile. Flush or broke he’ll have his little joke…” Shepard, Vir, and even the superhuman Master Chief started at the loudspeaker as the music played.

“Drake, what the hell are you doing?” asked Shepard.

“Creating a distraction,” replied Drake, just as cheerfully as the song.

“Telling the mercenaries to come and kill you and playing Smile, Smile, Smile is not a distraction,” stated Master Chief flatly.

“You sure about that? Look in front of you,” said Drake. Sure enough, the mercenaries occupying the room had grabbed their weapons and were hustling up the stairs to the main level. Shepard’s mouth opened and closed like a landed fish, then he sighed.

“Fine, let’s go.” As the last of the mercenaries trailed from the room, the three Scoundrels slipped by on their way to the item.

Outside the Facility

Drake glanced at his wrist computer and nodded at a group of armsmen.

“Four guards in the compound beyond the gate. There, there, there, and there.” He gestured at four spots beyond the wall. The armsmen nodded and took positions near the gate. “Overriding and opening the gate in three...two...one go!” Drake pressed a button and the massive armored gate swung open. The armsmen stepped forward and fired. The four mercenary guards pitched forward, dead. Drake nodded at the remaining Guardsmen and armsmen. “Right. Through the gate and set up a firing position. They’ll be coming, probably disorganized, from the main door.” He pointed at a large armored set of double doors that led inside the main facility. The soldiers nodded and readied their weapons. Drake pressed another button on his wrist.

On the other side of the Compound

“Cooper, Quill, this is Drake. The mercenaries are going to attack our position while Shepard, Chief, and Vir steal the thing. Get behind them.”

“Copy that,” replied Cooper with a nod. He looked at the large wall in front of them, then took a step back and jumped. Thrusters on the back of his suit activated and propelled him onto the wall. He turned his head to Quill and Gamora. “You two coming?” Quill scoffed.

“I can do that.” He pressed a small button on the top of his boots, and the heels lit up with the orange wash of jet boosters. Without the grace of Cooper he landed wobbly on the top of the wall. “See? Easy.” Gamora muttered “showoffs” under her breath and accepted Quill’s offered hand to boost her over the wall. Cooper dropped into the interior compound without a sound.

“Right. This way.”

On the Other Side of the Compound

The heavy armored doors opened and mercenaries, in various stages of preparedness, scrambled out, only to be met with the full firepower of one hundred and three well trained soldiers. The Imperials’ lasguns spat crimson death that flickered through the muddy air to impact with chests, legs, arms, and heads, burning away flesh and vaporizing the internal organs of the unprotected. The fire from the Apocalypse’s armsmen was no less lethal. The boom hiss thump of plasma infused ammunition contrasted with the whining crack of lasguns as small blue and purple explosions blew apart the mercenaries. Within seconds, the attacking mercenaries were dead.

“Let’s go!” called Drake as he led his armsmen into the interior. Cain nodded at the Guard.

“Forward. I’ll take up the rear.”

In the Basement

The mercenaries vault, the storage place of the item Drake was contracted to retrieve, stood in silence over the barren concrete room. Harsh yellow lights glared from the walls and seemed to be swallowed by the shadows in the corners. Two guards, weapons held at the ready, stood in front of the vault. The air split with two cracks. The two guards fell, two holes blown through their heads. Master Chief, weapon at the ready, entered the room, searching carefully for any other enemies. There were none. He nodded at his two companions.

“Clear.” He shouldered his rifle. “Now how the hell do we get that door open?” Shepard stepped up to the vault door. A small, rectangular computer was built into the wall. Shepard pressed his forearm, and once more the orange hologram appeared. He tapped the hologram several more times, and the vault door sprang open.

“Impressive,” noted Vir.

“I gotta get me one of those,” muttered Master Chief. They stepped through the circular entrance of the vault, and into the room beyond. The room was...unimpressive. It was cluttered with objects, weapons, and boxes of no discernable value. Master Chief keyed his comm. “Drake? We’re in the vault. What are we looking for?” There was a whine then the boom of a plasma discharge, which culminated into an abrupt, high pitched scream. Drake’s ragged breathing could be heard on the other end of the line.

“What? Sorry. Uh...you’re looking for a black box, about half a meter by half a meter. Should be somewhere pretty prominent.”

“Here it is!” said Vir. He held up a black box of the exact length and width.

“Drake, we have it.” There was a scream and the crackle of Imperial lasgun fire on the other end of the comm. “What is going on up there?”

“We’re fighting the mercenaries…” Boom! Hiss! Crack! “...shit. We appear to be winning at the moment. Get up here and kill or capture anyone who gets in your way.”

“Copy that.” Master Chief looked at Shepard and Vir. “Let’s move.”

Cooper, Quill, and Gamora advanced stealthily through the twisting passages of the mercenaries’ compound, weapons at the ready. For some reason, there was absurdly cheerful music blasting through the PA system. If Cooper had to guess, he would say that Thomas Drake most definitely had a hand in this. He sighed to himself, shaking his head, then abruptly stopped and held out his hand. Gamora instantly stopped and crouched, weapons at the ready. Quill almost ran into him. Ahead of the group were two guards, rifles out, looking more competent than any opposition they’d seen today. Quill raised a gun, but Gamora pushed it down.

“Quiet. If we go loud, they might have time to radio that we’re here.” Quill nodded, magining to look mollified behind the red lenses of his helmet.

“Right. My bad. What do we do?”

“I got this,” replied Cooper. Before either Quill or Gammora could say anything, Cooper tapped a device on his wrist. Immediately, his form shimmered and distorted, turning translucent. He took off running, and both watching pairs of eyes lost track of him. Gammora thought she saw a faint blur of movement at the top of the hall, near the ceiling, but dismissed it as her eyes playing tricks. And, just as they started wondering where Cooper had gone, he appeared just as suddenly and silently as he had appeared, this time directly behind the guards.

Quietly and casually, he stepped behind the first guard, wrapped his arm around the guard’s throat in a chokehold, drew the guard’s sidearm from its holster, and unceremoniously shot both guards through the head. Quick, brutal, efficient. Cooper tossed the pistol aside and hefted his own rifle.

“Let’s keep moving.” Gamora stared at him.

“Impressive. I need one of those things. What are they called?”

“Invisibility Cloak or Pilot’s Cloak. You can get them pretty easily from where I come from. Or you could ask Drake. I’m sure he stole a bunch of them.”

Drake’s plasma gun spat a ball of molten death at an enemy mercenary. It melted through the mercenary’s thin armor, blasted through his bones, and disintegrated his organs. The mercenary only had time for a half scream, half whimper, before his chest was opened all the way through and he dropped to the ground, dead. One of the Imperial Guardsmen whistled appreciatively.

“A real plasma gun. Can’t believe you have one.” Drake grinned beneath his helmet.

“Cost me a pretty penny. But definitely worth it, I can assure you.” His earpiece crackled to life. “Hang on.”

“Drake? Are you behind the music?” asked Quill’s voice.

“Why yes, I am. Do you approve of my selection?” Drake replied.

“Actually, I was wondering...do you take requests?”

“Of course I do! What is your request?”

“Hooked on a Feeling by Blue Swede,” replied Quill with no hesitation.

“An excellent choice! Give me a moment.” Drake pressed another button on his wrist computer and spoke into it with an excellent approximation of a radio D.J.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that has been Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag and Smile, Smile, Smile, an old favorite from the First World War, written by George Henry Powell. And next up, by listener request, is Hooked on a Feeling by Blue Swede! If you would like to place a request, even if you’re on the opposing side, please, feel free to contact me.” He cut the transmission. One of the Valhallans turned to her sergeant.

“This guy’s weird.”

“Eh, could be worse. We could be fighting tyranids. Or necrons,” the sergeant interjected with a shudder.

Master Chief turned to look at the nearest PA speaker.

“Well, this is definitely something new.” He turned to his two companions. “You two don’t seem very surprised by this.”

“Honestly, I am not surprised by anything at this point,” Shepard said with a shrug. He turned to look at Vir. “What about you?”

“Happens to me all the time. What’s a battle without some good music?”

Jack Cooper shook his head incredulously as the song piped throughout the compound.

“I have seen a lot over my time in the Militia, but yet I have never been in a battle more bizarre.” He sighed and fired a burst of shots at a mercenary. “Oh, well.”

The Imperial Guard and the Apocalypse’s armsmen, led by Cain and Drake, sliced their way through the enemies ranks like a knife through wet paper. They stood no chance. Anything not eliminated by lasguns or assault rifles was obliterated by Drake’s plasma gun. Drake was leading the charge, cutting down everyone who opposed him with methodical precision. Drake turned, the eye slits of his helmet winking cerulean blue.

“Well, I think we’ve-” He never had a chance to finish, as a particularly large mercenary barreled past a corner and tackled Drake. Squeezed underneath the larger man, Drake could not get enough leverage to shove him off or hit him hard. The two combatants rolled and grappled with each other, the armsmen and Guardsmen daring not to fire for fear of hitting Drake. The large mercenary grimaced and tried to slip his hands under Drake’s helmet to try and throttle him to death. Drake reached up and placed his left hand on the mercenary's chest.

“Overcharge!” he yelled to the air. A sharp whine filled the air, then the crack of discharging electricity. The mercenary flew backwards, twitched spasmodically for several seconds, then lied still. Drake got up to his feet shakily. “Well, that was a...shocking experience.” Several of the soldiers groaned. “C’mon. Forward!” They ran through the maze of dimly-lit hallways, slaughtering anyone they met, until they got to a large room filled with computers overlooking the passageways of the basement. It looked to be a control room of some sorts, and it was absolutely packed with enemies. They seemed to realize the superiority of the Scoundrel’s firepower, and so, instead of trying to fight them bullet to bullet, they charged.

Cooper, Quill, and Gamora rounded the corner of the hallway at a run. The screeched to a stop when they saw what was happening in the large room in front of them. A massive group of enemy mercenaries were battling it out, hand to hand, with Drake and Cain’s forces.

“Well, we can’t shoot for fear of hitting our own side, so…” Quill trailed off.

“So we take them from behind,” replied Cooper. “You two know how to fight hand to hand?” In response, Gamora drew a sword.

“Well, I guess that’s a yes,” said Cooper. He looked over to see a heavily muscled woman bodily pick up and throw Drake through one of the glass panes overlooking the basement. “Oh boy. Better get in there.” They charged.

Vir, Shepard, and Master Chief emerged from the basement’s tunnels and into a pit-like room overlooked by glass panels. Suddenly, one of the panels shattered and Drake flew through and landed on the concrete floor fifteen feet below. He groaned and slowly got to his feet.

“Oh hey there. Fancy meeting you here.” Master Chief held out a hand to steady him.

“Are you alright?” Drake cracked his neck.

“Maybe. Hopefully. Doesn’t much matter. Let's get up there.”

“If you’re really O.K.”

“Yep, I’m good. What’s the fastest way up?” Shepard pointed to a set of stairs, but before he could say anything, Master Chief took a running leap, grabbed the broken window’s ledge, and hauled himself up.

“Or...or that will work.” Vir shrugged and made the same running jump at the same window. With a whir of powerful prosthetics, he made it in much the same way Master Chief had. Not to be outdone, Drake jumped for the same window. He only made it halfway up the wall, but grips built into his forearms and greaves took over and he hauled himself up. Shepard still stood at the bottom and shook his head.

“Ok then. I guess I’ll just take the stairs.”

The vast majority of the wild melee was focused near the middle of the room. There, the mercenaries desperately fought against the soldiers of the Imperial Guard. The mercenaries had thought to take the enemy off balance by charging them, a tactic seldom used in an age of automatic and plasma weaponry, but had not counted on soldiers of other universes, used to fighting in different ways. The Guardsmen had fixed bayonets, and now wielded the twenty inch blades with lethal efficiency. However, despite the Guard doing most of the fighting, it was by far the Scoundrel captains who garnered the most attention. Each fought with their own style, was a death-dealing whirlwind.

Master Chief fought with a precision that only a genetically enhanced super-soldier could. A strange, teardrop-shaped plasma sword was held aloft in one hand, and he brought it down with murderous exactness. Each stroke was backed by the massive strength of his seven foot frame, and gut through armor and bone as if it didn’t exist. He was a one man killing machine; he was a SPARTAN super-warrior. None stood in his way for long.

Ciaphas Cain used the same practical and lethal fighting style as he did in his duel with the Drev. His chainsword hummed and its teeth whirred as it cut through muscle and sinew, raising great gouts of blood into the air. In his other hand he held a laspistol, which cracked off shots at any who were beyond the reach of the deadly teeth of his sword.

Jack Cooper fought with grace and style. He danced around the enemy, using the extra speed and mobility of his Pilot’s suit. His combat knife slid between ribs and through throats, and shots from his sidearm rang out, blowing ragged holes through heads and torsos. His legs lashed out in the form of powerful kicks, still with a Pilot's grace, and landed on kidneys and knees, knocking his opponents to the ground where he finished them at his leisure.

Adam Vir fought with a spear, a most unusual weapon of choice. Nevertheless, he was just as deadly as the rest. The spear sand through the air, catching and impaling his foes. It twirled in intricate patterns, and blocked and flicked aside incoming attacks as if they didn’t exist. He lunged forward towards a panacing mercenary, twisting the spear at the last second so as not to get it stuck in the suction of flesh, then spun around to block an incoming attack.

Thomas Drake fought dirty. No trick was too low or underhanded. His left hand crackled with electricity, stunning and killing any he punched. A keen-bladed knife was in his right, and he stabbed groins, gouged eyes, and slit throats with impunity. He bellowed reactive insults while he fought, calling in to question his opponent’s lineage and stature as he charged and hacked and stabbed.

And Quill...well...he entered the room at a run, then promptly slipped on a puddle of blood and fell face first into the cold concrete floor.

The Scoundrels gradually whittled down their enemies, one by one, until there was only a small group, fear in their eyes, huddling against the back wall. The Scoundrels advanced, weapons drawn, and the mercenaries raised their own, prepared for one last defiant gesture. Then, the air shimmered and distorted, and Kirk and a group of Enterprise crewmen, weapons drawn, appeared as if from nowhere.

“Hands up,” said Kirk with probably more amusement than was really necessary. Slowly, the mercenaries lowered their weapons and put them on the ground. The Scoundrels looked at each other for a moment before Cooper broke the silence.

“Okay. That was...underwhelming.”

“What do we do with them?” asked Shepard, gesturing towards the prisoners.

“Eh. I say we just leave ‘em here,” said Drake with a shrug. The others stared at him with incredulity.

“Wait, wait...you were the one advocating orbital bombardment earlier!”

“Well, we have the thing now. No need to kill them, no need to do anything with them really. We can just pack up and go. Leave them here.” The Scoundrels looked at each other and seemed to reach an agreement.

“Fine. Let’s go.” Kirk looked over to Spock and spoke to him in an undertone.

“You know, this didn’t end that badly. None of the redshirts died!” As if on cue, one of the Enterprise’s crewmen, clad in black pants and a red shirt, fell over clutching his chest. One of the Imperial Guardsmen knelt down to check on him.

“He’s dead, sir! I think a heart attack.” Kirk shook his head.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

After the mercenaries had been herded in the basement and the Scoundrels’ forces were trailing out of the compound, Cain pulled Drake aside.

“Drake, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Of course. What’s on your mind?” Cain looked around to make sure no one was listening.

“Those weapons. The only way you could have gotten several of them was if you stole them from the Inquisition.”

“And if I did?” replied Drake.

“The Inquisition is not an organization you want to steal from.” Cain loosened his chainsword in its scabbard. Drake smiled.

“Funny, actually. I can. You see, those weapons I found in a small hidden stash. Apparently, a rogue and very dead Inquisitor named Filidarus Calzik had hidden them on the very edge of Imperial space. No one would have ever gone for them, no Imperial would have ever found them.”

“I know of them, now that you’ve told me,” replied Cain, his hands still on his weapons. Drake laughed, the exact same laugh as when he told the Scoundrels he knew their secrets aboard the Apocalypse.

“Interestingly enough, weapons were not the only thing I found in that stash. There was also a computer. Which is why I know Calzik’s name. And, on that computer, was...an incomplete manuscript. An...autobiography.” Drake smiled again. “Your autobiography, my dear Cain.” Cain turned a shade of chalk white. “Now, consider, if you will, my dear Cain, the fascinating consequences if the contents of that autobiography were to be released to the wider Imperium. So, yes, I’m quite sure I can get away with stealing from the Inquisition. Because, no one will ever know anything is missing. And if they do, they’ll never know it was me, because everyone who knows it was me will not be saying anything about it, now will they?” With a final parting smile, Drake spun on his heel and strode away, leaving Cain in the semi-darkness of the compound’s hallway.

That’s it. Hope you like it. As per always, feel free to contact me with any complaints, concerns, compliments, questions, requests, or if you just want something cleared up.

#magnificent scoundrels #warhammer 40k #empyrean iris #halo #mass effect #star trek #titanfall 2 #guardians of the galaxy #crossover #story

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