#I might draw something for whichever ship wins I guess

[fluffykitteninabox]

pick your favourite out of these

[oveliagirlhaditright]

If all of your favorite shippings from different fandoms had a movie night together (yes, shippings, I think that's way more fun!), who would show up (there is no limit) and how would it play out?

Oh my gosh. This is a hard, but fun question. LOL. Though I’m worried the answer will end up more boring than you’re hoping for, but let’s hope not.

I’ll also probably only limit this to my top top ships, because I have way too many. Though there will still be a lot here! Also, let’s just assume that everyone will get along for some reason, even though some of them would have reason not to.

So, SoKai’s there (from Kingdom Hearts). Because of course they are. And while Sora and Kairi really are there to watch the movie--and cuddle, because they’ve earned it--Sora can’t help talking to everyone throughout and trying to get to know them, because he’s just a sociable person like that. And Kairi mostly joins in with that. But because of this, they probably have people telling them to shut up during it. Though RokuShi, Namiku, and probably NeShiki come to their defense.

Roxas and Xion (KH) are super into the movie, because they’re still kind of amazed at the existence of films in general. Since they were essentially babies in the Organization, who knew nothing about life. And while they know more now--like when Roxas had those false memories in the Virtual Twilight Town--they’re still amazed by the simple things.

Riku and Naminé (KH)... Naminé is drawing, of course. Probably things from the film. And Riku is by her side, just happy that she’s happy. But he (aside from Buffy) is probably the one person on edge, judging everyone because he doesn’t think some things are right about some of these people Lawlight.

Yes, Light and L (Death Note) are there... And they’re probably bored of the movie. It’s not clever enough for them. They’d much rather watch some murder investigation and try and figure it out--also, can I say what a miracle it is that L ventured out in the first place?--and this is when Riku begins to get uncomfortable and Buffy probably says something like, “Okay, if I hear one more thing about murder, some serious slayage is about to occur.”

So... Bangel (Buffy the Vampire Slayer). So, this is some happy-isa ending after Angel takes on Wolfram & Hart and doesn’t die. The curse is still a thing. But Buffy and Angel have decided to try and be together without it, since Buffy almost lost Angel. They’re happy to be together enjoying the movie, of course. And a lot of cuddling is happening. But not too much, because they can’t get too worked up. Because again: curse. Also, if they’re watching some crappy movie--which they probably are--Buffy pipes in every now and then to give the characters wittier lines than they actually had, and everyone actually appreciates her for that. Angel may also notice Naminé’s artwork, praise her for it, and begin drawing during the movie himself... He draws Buffy watching it, of course.

Jace and Clary from The Mortal Instruments. They’re doing more PDA than anyone... but still nothing too bad, that would anger most people. And Clary might have joined in on giving the characters better lines with Buffy. Buffy and Clary probably strike up a friendship. Jace is really the person annoying everyone during the film, because he can’t keep pointing out everyone’s stupid choices and the lack of logic... which is true, but come on my man.

Max and Logan from Dark Angel. So, bored with the movie--as I said above--L and Light begin trying to solve a case while everyone else is engrossed. Logan notices this and joins in as Eyes Only. He and L also become friends, when they realize how much they have in common... I want this to be a happy AU where Light isn’t Kira, or has been redeemed, but it’s probably not. And he’s now worrying that Logan could be a threat to him too, and probably plotting to kill him. Max somehow senses this and throws food at him, though she plays it subtle. Like, “Hey, stop making me waste good food to get you to stop glaring at my hubby.” Oh, and Max is making herself at home with all the food. Because our girl loves to eat, and to relax. She and L might get into a fight over the sweets, though. And our transgenic super-soldier girl would of course win.

Madoka and Homura from Madoka Magica. It’s probably at this point, that Homura also notices something is wrong with Light. And she wants to get Madoka away from this scene to protect her. Because of course she does. But Madoka turns her down. And for the most part, Homura will never do anything that Madoka doesn’t want her to do. Madoka probably is somewhere between bonding over drawing with Naminé and Angel, and asking if she can be friends with Buffy and Clary and try and say funny things, too. They agree, of course. So Homura is sandwiched between Madoka and all her new friends, and she really can’t complain about that at all.

Noctis and Luna from Final Fantasy XV are also snuggled together, and they write secret notes to each other during the whole thing. Because even though they’re now finally together in person, they’ve just sort of gotten used to communicating that way.

Zack and Aerith from Crisis Core are probably being disasters, who are trying to build a flower wagon while everyone else is watching a film. But, hey. That’s just them. Aerith also probably joins in on the ad-libbing the movie thing.

Meanwhile, Cloud and Tifa from Final Fantasy VII are really close to the screen--Cloud is in love with this movie--and Tifa is trying to help explain things to him. Why? Because On the Way to a Smile talks about how Cloud doesn’t even know some vegetables and fruits’ names, because he decided to try out for SOLDIER at a young age and then had his mind shattered because of Mako poisoning, trauma, etc. So... if they’re watching a movie about cooking or something, Cloud could seriously make a mistake like, “Oh, so they’re using sour cream for this baked good. I didn’t know you could do that. But I guess it makes sense.” Tifa - “No, Cloud. They’re using cream cheese.”

Neku and Shiki (The World Ends With You) are enjoying watching the movie close together. And Neku is quietly humming during a lot of the singing parts, which makes Shiki blush and her crush on Neku grow even stronger (he may even be singing to her). And no one cares, because Neku actually has a nice singing voice. During the film, Shiki might attempt to make clothes based on the main characters’ outfits, that everyone is then amazed by.

And maybe I’ll add Tidus and Yuna in from Final Fantasy X. Tidus is trying to convince Yuna to just have a good time with him and have fun watching the movie--and she wants to--but she also senses something is wrong. And is prepared to pull her pistols out to stop someone from doing someone heinous, or to perform a Sending if someone dies here... whichever comes first.

And what the heck, did I just write? LOL.

Some other pairings I love that weren’t featured here, because I didn’t know how to fit them in and this probably already has too many people: Zidane and Garnet from Final Fantasy IX, Percy and Annabeth from Percy Jackson, Will and Elizabeth from Pirates of the Caribbean, Raoul and Christine from Phantom of the Opera, Eren and Mikasa from Attack on Titan, Snow and Serah from Final Fantasy XIII, perhaps Clark and Lana from Smallville. And maybe even Yozora and Nameless Star from Verum Rex, even though them and Noctluna are cut from the same cloth, etc.:)

Thanks for such a fun ask!

[forasecondtherewedwon]

There would be a joke here about interrupting your regularly scheduled programming, but what even is that on this blog anymore? Je ne sais pas.

I wrote a fic for yet another fandom because I don’t know how to stay in just one! So, if anyone watches Deadly Class...

Rats’ Waltz

Rating: E (NSFW BELOW THE CUT) Pairing: Petra Yolga/Billy Bennett Chapters: 1/1

‘The Lady in Red’ played itself out and Petra let her arms slide down from Billy’s shoulders. His eyes darted nervously and he clasped a hand around his opposite wrist, throttling it. She wondered what was going through his mind. She’d always thought she’d known, before, but it was so different with him here in front of her. His words, the way he’d said he loved her, were easy to brush off; dismissing Billy and everything he was… that would be impossible after they’d danced, holding each other like that. If she wasn’t careful, he was going to figure out that she had a heart after all.

“How do I look?” she asked, watching his face steadily as his gaze zoomed down the length of her dress and shot back up to her eyes. It was mercury in a thermometer plunged into boiling water. It was the last ride on a condemned rollercoaster.

Billy’s laugh came out mostly through his nose.

“Like a princess.”

Petra pinched his bicep, hard, and he flinched away, almost dancing again, but more like the frantic, mosh pit shit that he and Lex practiced. The kind of dancing that god intended the populous to headbang along to.

“We could burn it off,” Billy suggested excitedly, fishing from his back pocket the lighter that had recently unleashed Lex’s pyrotechnic mayhem on the sky over Kings.

“Ah,” Petra halted him. She laid a soothing hand over Billy’s jittery one. “Good in theory, but I’m pretty sure one of those Sweet Home Ala-bitches got me with a blast of hairspray, and I’d rather my head didn’t go up in flames.”

She raised her hands level with her temples and made an exploding gesture, complete with sound-effect. Billy lowered his chosen instrument of chaos and Petra watched his nimble fingers push it deep into a front pocket of his pants. His hands were nice; she hadn’t really noticed that before. Then again, the chunky cast on his forearm generally arrested the eye.

Billy shifted, jumpy and overactive, and let out a giddy laugh.

“Me too, unless it’s metaphorically. I support your punk-given right to be a rage monster.”

Petra offered a tender half-smile.

“You had that handled tonight. You stood up for me.”

“It was retribution,” Billy said, sounding psycho-tough and stabbing a pointed index finger at the floor.

“It was anarchy.” Petra grinned. “And it was beautiful.”

He jerkily shrugged his shoulders.

“What’s a Rat got ‘cept other Rats?”

She nodded.

“You look out for your own. Your own,” Petra repeated, fainter, and reached up to cup Billy’s cheek.

He was too soft―not his face, though she doubted he’d ever shaved out of necessity―believing that she wouldn’t yell sike! or pull some other shit to punish the trust in his eyes. After she’d already hurt him, hurt him on purpose at Shabnam’s party. She was clearly bad for him and he was bad for her, a bad alliance in a place like this, not exactly hell, but maybe the clammy space between hell’s toes.

She kissed him because that seemed like a better idea than waiting to see if he’d do it first.

Billy pulled her back in, following her with his mouth when a breath snuck between them. Petra could feel him shaking, but she didn’t exactly know how to touch him. Damn green-mohawk’d livewire. He was so the opposite of casual.

“You’ve done this before, right?” she checked, drawing her face back from his.

“This this?” He puckered his lips to demonstrate kissing. Petra’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh,” Billy said, “this. Yep.” His vigorous nodding told Petra he’d caught on.

Yes, she meant sex, and yes, she knew he wasn’t a virgin. The way she’d asked probably made her seem like she didn’t know, but shit, it was supposed to have come out ringing with mockery, not soft and insecure. Ugh, she sounded tragically preteen.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” she snapped at him.

Billy’s jaw tightened and Petra felt the whole scene teeter at the edge of a cliff she hadn’t known they were on. He’d say something about Viktor and then she’d get defensive and shut him out and then he’d get frustrated by the ineffectiveness of the way he always tried to break down her emotional walls with a battering ram even though this had never worked in their entire history and then―

“Do you… have something to contribute?” Billy asked, rocking on his heels.

Petra got her nostrils to un-flare from her pre-emptive surge of anger.

“I haven’t,” she said shortly. Less words meant less room for feelings to leak out of the corners of her mouth like drool when the dentist took too long prodding at your molars. Jesus, when had she last been to a dentist?

Billy’s features showed exaggerated confusion: forehead rumpled like bedsheets, eyes wild, etc. Petra sighed.

“Done this,” she clarified, her eyes careful on his. “Not with anyone who mattered.”

“Viktor was…?”

“There. He was there. Frankly, I’d rather get the taste of him out of my mouth sooner than later. Metaphorically,” Petra added when something caught fire behind Billy’s eyes.

“Look, we can forget all about what I said before, ok?” His confession at Shabnam’s was what Petra took this to mean. Billy laughed awkwardly, self-consciously. “Things don’t have to be that intense between us, but I also don’t wanna be mouthwash.”

“It came out wrong,” she admitted, inexplicably pissed at herself for having to apologize for something. “You wouldn’t be mouthwash.”

“Well… good,” Billy decided. “I’m a person, Petra.”

“You’re a cold-blooded lizard-man if you don’t shut up and kiss me again soon.”

“Shit,” he laughed, hesitantly cupping the sides of her head like he thought she might knee him in the nuts. Honestly, it still wasn’t completely off the table. “I know you’re not exactly overflowing with emotions, but there is this thing called romance.”

“I don’t do romance.” She hoped her eyes hadn’t just gone as wide and dreamy as it felt like they had. Fuck.

“Guess that’s all on me then.”

As his face tilted towards hers, Petra anticipated a kiss that came down hard and hungry, like the one she’d given him. Apparently, that wasn’t how things went when Billy led. She should’ve learned from the dancing.

His lips brushed hers and something deep inside her jerked loose like a vending machine dropping a soda. Petra felt fizzy. Their mouths hadn’t fully connected when Billy’s tongue skated slickly along her lower lip. What the hell. She could feel this getting her wet; normally it took several minutes of her chosen paramour’s determined fingering (post- several minutes of her determined instructions) to do that. It was her body throwing her words back at her, a reminder that no one else she’d messed around with had mattered. What a disturbing revelation though. Not only did she have feelings for Billy, she was also hot for him. The hits seriously just kept on coming.

Moaning was inevitable when Billy’s tongue stroked fully along hers and dragged it back into his open mouth. Petra half-mourned the fact that the Nazi she-devils hadn’t played dolly right down to her underwear, because the ones she was wearing were still her own and they were going to be a bitch to hand-wash with bulk-bought soap in the communal ladies’ room. A soft “uh” sound found its way out of their interlocked mouths and her hands gripped the front of Billy’s shirt. Instead of pulling back the way Petra dreaded he might, he moved his hands down from her hair, rubbing the back of her neck. Thank god he hadn’t given her some innocent startled face. Not a good complement to how badly she wanted to ride his thigh.

Petra stayed close, pressing both palms to his chest. Well, what a pleasant surprise―this skittish little skateboarder had the gentle swell of non-steroid-enhanced muscle under here. Lean but firm. Felt like his body had adapted after so many rounds of combat class, even if his brain hadn’t. (Petra rarely saw him win a bout. He just wasn’t great at anticipating his opponents.) As she ran her hands across his chest over his t-shirt, Billy dropped his straight to her ass. Kind of amazing that he could find it under the fucking puffy dress. Petra assumed the credit went to some inherent ass-finding skill only present in teenage boys.

He pulled her in, which was when she felt his erection. Again, the dress had been deceptively puffy because, against Billy, all that fluff compressed in a manner usually only observed in spray-cheese. Petra’s heart thrummed and popped like a bassline.

“We can’t get caught,” she said, drawing back to give him a dead-serious look.

Billy rolled his eyes.

“No shit.”

“After the poisoned darts tonight, which we are definitely getting nailed for at some point, we can’t afford any more trouble from the Man.”

“Yeah, babe, talk socialist to me.” He chuckled, kissing her neck, but Petra pried him off. “Ok, ok! You’re right.”

“We can’t stay here,” she said, beginning with the obvious. “Somebody’ll be back to clean up once they get those lowlifes medical attention.”

“Can’t go to the dorms. Roommates.” His grasp on her ass loosened as he thought; it was kind of cute how Billy looked when he concentrated. Ugh, god, no. Focus on the problem, Petra.

“Plus someone would hear us and either go for snitching or blackmail.”

“Oh yeah? You think you’ll be loud?” He grinned.

“I may have left my weapons in my other ball gown, but I can still break you, Bennett,” she warned.

“Promise?”

Petra grabbed his hand and yanked, heading for the door. She stopped short of dislocating his shoulder, but she knew Billy got the message.

“So, where we goin’?” he hissed as they glanced left and right, slipping out into the hall.

“The Rats’ Nest.”

Dumb name―the bastard offspring of their group’s label and a ship’s crow’s-nest―and it had stuck since whichever Kings’ class hooligans had invented it. It was a room on the roof, where all the Rats hung out. Not a stairwell or storage, the rooftop shed was their pinnacle, their dirty confessional, their canvas for graffiti practice. Mostly, it was where guys got their first blowjobs and girls got their first sour taste of the patriarchy. It would do.

“Grim,” was Billy’s assessment. Petra wouldn’t and couldn’t argue, but it was what they had.

“Yeah, I won’t be lying on that floor. Hope missionary’s not your favourite position.”

“Have you wondered?” he asked sleazily as they climbed the stairs to the roof.

“No.” Yes. “But then again…” Petra glanced at Billy over her shoulder. “…everything about you screams ‘submissive,’ so maybe not missionary.”

He bounded up to get ahead of her, swinging the door open.

“Is that what you want?” Billy let the door close slightly so that she was delayed right next to him.

“What?” She was confused and it was better self-defence to wrap that confusion in barbed wire and come off irritated instead.

“Do you want me to be…” He glanced down, practically jumping in place as he bounced on the balls of worn sneakers. “…submissive? Is that what you like? Petra,” Billy said, suddenly staring her right in the eye, “tell me what you like.”

Her eyes widened in discomfort, almost giving her a headache, and she pushed past him, stepping out onto the roof. Clear night tonight. Not even a lingering hazy of smoke from the boys’ cheap firecrackers.

“Fuck off.”

“Ooh, you’re so scary.”

Billy danced around in front of her, walking backwards as she strode ahead.

“Why do you want both of us to feel like shit?” he prodded. “Downstairs�� we were… We were getting somewhere, dammit. What do you want from me? You want me to like you, then hate you, then like you, then hate you! Do I have to say it again?”

“Just get in the Nest. I’ll blow you if you’re lucky,” she said dryly.

Billy backed into the little room’s door and crossed his arms.

“No. I love you.”

Petra sighed impatiently.

“You wanna get laid or not?”

“Be a bitch all you like,” he said. “I’m still going to make you see this is worth something. That’s why I want it to be good. You’re not helping yourself by putting that mask back on.”

She clenched her hands into firm fists, but when she went to hammer one into Billy’s chest, all the force went out of it. Her knuckles just barely dug into his skin. His heart pounded back from underneath. They didn’t stare at each other long before Billy surged forward and kissed her.

“I love you, Pet,” he mumbled against her mouth.

“A light touch,” she offered, meeting his eyes as he drew his face back to look at her. “I’m tired of being used and abused.”

“Light touch,” he confirmed. “Got it.”

Petra took one last look at the stars, then reached around where Billy had leaned away from the door and yanked it open by its stiff handle. They entered and he found a box filled with broken bottles to keep the door ajar for the luxury of late-night, city sign light and fresh air. It still smelled like beer and something even funkier, though thankfully not like urine as the only Rats nasty enough to piss up here (all males, go fucking figure) considerately did so off the edge of the roof, hitting the occasional unsuspecting pedestrian.

Billy was watching her and Petra felt insulated with him for the second time tonight, though the first had only been an illusion provided by the music.

“This is a good idea,” he told her.

“The best.”

They were kissing again and Billy was up to his old tricks, getting every little bit of feeling out of her lips and doing it as tenderly as possible. She was insane for liking him this way, Petra realized, because only liking him was going to make her life hell. It would torment her days, find her in her sleep. He’d be kissing her like this in her dreams, the prick. She knew he would.

His hands were gentle too. Clutching at her waist, but moving eagerly to her breasts when Petra tugged the top of her dress down. (Her attackers had declared that the black straps of the bra she’d had on completely ruined this wedding cake vision they’d made of her. Like the rest of her other outfit, she bet the bra was currently bobbing in a toilet bowl.) She wondered if guys could really be like this, on the condition that they were sufficiently surprised to be getting what they wanted…

Nah, they were trash. But not Billy. His hands were warm on her as they dug inside the dress and cupped her boobs. Petra inhaled sharply through her nose when his rough thumbs circled her nipples with inhumane slowness. Her breath came loud in the small space. It felt as though they were miles from the school, or anything.

Billy gave her a last, firm kiss on the mouth, then continued pressing them into her yielding skin; up under her jaw, down her throat. Her heart beat hard. Like a total amateur, Petra gave herself away by grabbing the back of Billy’s mohawk when he smoothly licked over her nipple, but he didn’t get aggressive. He was the perfect gentleman, if that’s what you called the spastic boy you took to the blowjob spot. He was her new definition, anyway.

“Touch me already,” she blurted.

He laughed.

“Just trying to do what you said.”

“I said light, not slow.”

“That’s part of the romance,” Billy informed her, hiking up the hem of her dress.

“It sucks.”

“Thank you.”

He ran his palms up the outside of her thighs and she got goosebumps. Trying to stay calm, Petra put her hands on his shoulders―a stabilizing gesture.

“You seem taller,” she said nervously. Billy just smiled in confusion.

His hands brushed very gently over her hips and the ratty black lace of her underwear. They were a little old, but Petra hadn’t seen any she liked as much as these, and she wasn’t just going to steal cheap ones. She had standards. Better standards for what went on her body than who went in her body, most of the time. But then, tonight, she was getting it on with Billy while wearing something so truly hideous that Petra would’ve tried to murder herself if she’d been someone else and seen her wearing it.

“You look really beautiful. Nothing to do with what they did,” Billy clarified, palms rubbing over her hips, dress frothed up outrageously between them, “just… your face.”

She exhaled as he snagged her panties around hooked fingers and dragged them down.

“Lift your feet,” he requested.

“Why?” she asked, already doing it.

“Well, it’s not like the ground’s spotless and these…” He bent and retrieve them as she stepped out. “…cover a pretty sensitive area.”

It was bizarrely intimate to see Billy holding her undergarments and Petra glared so as not to blush. Prick.

“What am I supposed to do with them now? I’m lacking the over-teased heap of chemically-enlarged hair that I assume Brandy uses to solve feminine problems such as these.”

Billy shrugged.

“I’ll keep ‘em,” he offered cheerfully, stuffing her wadded up underwear into the back pocket of his pants.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Just for right now.”

“Or longer.”

“For as long as you last,” she taunted.

“I will give you the opportunity to renegotiate possession after you’ve seen me last.”

Petra let out an exaggerated, sarcastic gasp.

“Gosh! Really?”

He smiled and then leaned into her, pinning her firmly to the wall. She was pretty sure Billy felt her smile when they kissed, so she bit his lip to balance the scales. Once again, he somehow knew she didn’t mean it and was not deterred. That was how Petra realized she hadn’t broken Billy’s heart properly back at the party. Or maybe she had and he was just a quick healer. The rough cast pressing into her shoulder was a decent reminder.

“When do you get this off anyway?” she asked, touching the cast, then grazing her fingers up the black sleeve covering his arm above it.

“You almost sound like you care,” he accused, grinning and raising his eyebrows. Petra gave him an acid look.

“I’m asking for the sake of my own comfort, dweeb. If we do this again, I don’t wanna feel your plaster digging into me. Shut up,” she said to his awed expression. “I said ‘if.’”

Billy smiled and went back to kissing her. Petra kept her mouth tense and unyielding, but only for a couple of seconds. If Frenching was the kind of thing they graded at this wacko school, this idiot might actually come top of the class. She gave up on just going through the motions and fully gave back to him everything he was giving her, her arms folded around the back of his neck. Billy moaned a little and tilted his hips into her.

“Go ahead,” she panted, breaking away.

He pulled his face back just far enough that her eyes didn’t un-focus when they looked into his. Lowering one hand, then the other, he bunched the skirt of the world’s ugliest dress back into position. She could feel the texture of his pants against her thighs, but he kept his hips back now. Staring steadily into his eyes, Petra leisurely unwrapped her arms from around him and caressed down the front of his army-green T-shirt. Billy shivered and she smirked a little. She popped his button and unzipped his fly without glancing away from his face. He, meanwhile, was doing an exemplary job of not ogling her boobs. The heat from his crotch was practically enough to toast a marshmallow by, but Petra didn’t touch him yet.

“You first,” she dared.

With a visible swallow, Billy fisted the material of her skirt in one hand and slipped the other beneath it. Tentative fingertips located the poke of her hipbone. She didn’t know if he was aiming high and right on purpose, or just curious about her. Petra wondered, for a second, what it would be like to have her entire body touched by him. She wondered how it would be to touch his. The Rats’ Nest was no place for total nudity, unless you wanted to see what kind of diseases you could contract.

She stepped one foot outward, then the other. Billy took a shaky breath and inched his fingers down to cup her. It nearly killed her―worse than being stabbed, poisoned, strangled, or any of the other shit that had been done during real fights or just over the course of gaining the stellar education Kings was supposedly providing. This absolutely asshole! With his unhurried tenderness and goddamn reverent expression. Petra’s head knocked back against the concrete wall. He hadn’t even done anything yet. This was all the mere fact of his hand’s position; feeling it and knowing it was there.

The large studs on the cuff around his wrist were cold when they made contact with her abdomen, but she was pleased to have him holding her closer, more securely. It was almost like claustrophobia―this light-headedness in a small space―as Billy’s seeking fingers spread arousal over her clit. Petra thought he might mock her for being so wet (it was something she might have done, to pierce the atmosphere choking her with meaningfulness). He didn’t.

If it was up to her to play the mean card, she’d have to make a crack about how hard he was already, how desperate. Except it wasn’t funny, even in a make-fun-of-him way, when Petra gripped Billy through his underwear. He let out a shuddering exhale, clamping his eyes closed and flashing them open again a second later.

“Could you lay off that for a second?” he requested, sounding a little lightheaded himself. “This is kinda already too good to be true, and I don’t want to prematurely ejaculate all over our, you know―”

“Romance,” they said at the same time. (His tone was a little less sarcastic than hers. Ok, a lot.)

Billy grinned and kissed her with a swift peck that bumped Petra’s skull against concrete. This was still Billy, after all. But then, yes, he did have some surprises.

“I hope your hands are clean,” she said seriously as she moved her fingers to his ragged belt loops and he rubbed a little faster across her clit.

“I went to the bathroom right before we stormed the dance, and I always wash my hands. I’m a classy guy.”

Petra snorted out air, but her inhale was all moan. He was hitting her just right. She hadn’t… she hadn’t even told him what to do. If he’d just stroke the tiniest bit to the left. God, he did it.

“What’s your secret?” she gasped.

“Huh?”

She shook her head to tell him nevermind, because she was coming, stretching up on her toes in the stupid shoes that were the only things between her feet and a dirty needle or ancient glob of gum. Billy rubbed more forcefully―and swore significantly more forcefully than that―to pull her through the orgasm and out the other side. Petra didn’t specifically remember closing her eyes, or letting her head slump forward to rest on Billy’s shoulder, but evidently, those things had happened, because here she was, breathing his scent off his T-shirt.

Slowly, he removed his hand, wiping his fingers on the ass of his pants. Petra’s eyes were wide now, staring hard at nothing as she kept her head down for a minute longer, mentally getting a hold of herself. He’d touched her lightly, like she’d said. He’d paid attention to her response and adjusted his technique (though it truly baffled her to think of Billy having a technique for anything―except maybe rolling a joint) accordingly. What could she do… what could she say to that?

“I lied,” Petra admitted. She raised her head and pushed her hair the correct amount off her face.

“Well,” Billy began, smoothing a hand down her arm, “if it’s about something that’s gonna tear my heart to pieces, could you maybe save the truth for later?”

“I like rough and fast,” she said, holding eye contact. “In the past, I’ve tended to be the dominant partner because guys see the black hair, and the black clothes, and the black makeup, and that’s who they want to think I am because they don’t give a shit about who I actually am. But I’m not some Goth fantasy who wants their sexual experiences to revolve around teasing out some asshole’s kinks―a surprising amount of time literally involving their assholes. And I hate light touches,” Petra added. “Usually. Except not with… I guess not with you.”

He was staring at her. He wouldn’t quit staring at her. She was going to have to drive the heel of her horrible shoe into the top of his foot. Then he did something worse than the staring. He said her name, softly.

“Petra.”

She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck like she had when they’d danced and kissed him. He held her―tight, then tighter. Something was surging inside her and it wasn’t the desire to maim that she constantly felt around almost every person inside the building they were standing on top of. This whole thing had been a very dangerous fever dream.

They were kissing fiercely and it terrified Petra, but it was a horror she wanted to wrap herself around. She tasted it, her tongue twined with Billy’s, and nothing had ever been sweeter. Restless, she twisted with and against him, getting her hands to his hips. They broke the kiss wetly and abruptly. Petra stretched the band of Billy’s underwear away from his abdomen, then yanked them and his jeans downward. He leaned back―just his upper body.

“You want me, take me,” she said. “I want you to.”

Billy nodded rapidly and Petra found herself nodding back. She was turning in his arms as he quickly lifted her heinous skirt again. His hand came around, feeling her waist, then dove down, seeking her from the front as his hot erection prodded from behind. With less reluctance than she would’ve had not high on lust, Petra slapped her hands to the well-tagged wall and tilted her hips back. Billy quickly drove in. He was blunt and spontaneous and he started to say something, but Petra reached back and covered his mouth. No apologies necessary for giving her this. She returned her hand to the wall as he dragged back out.

“Oh, Jesus, Petra.”

His breathing sounded shivery. He bucked forward and she stretched into the feeling. Finally, Billy gave up on keeping her dress out of the way and grasped her hips with both hands.

“Please,” whipped out of her mouth before she could press it into her arm. Arms were useful tools for self-defence, physical or verbal, but she didn’t want the first kind and the second had just failed her.

Billy thrust harder and Petra’s eyelids closed briefly as her eyes rolled back. On the next forward swing of his hips, she met him in time and they released an obscene duet of pleased moans. God, they’d circled each other for so long―him: bouncing up and down, her: still and largely silent. Now, Petra considered that she shouldn’t think so harshly about his neglect to anticipate attacks. She’d been blind here. Blind, blind, blind.

She struggled to keep her eyes open. Her nerves were catching and sparking like exposed wiring, hands tensing into fists before she flattened her palms back out on the wall. Billy was in the grips of his desire. He had one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, holding her body to his, and the other making the descent to her clit, which was not so easy now that he was pounding into her, shaking them both. Petra felt his hip bones when he thrust inside and held himself there for a long second. It seemed like he was pushing as hard as he could, feeling all of her, every time. Her spine felt like he’d scratched a match straight down the length.

There was a desperate noise, a needy whimper, and Petra couldn’t place it.

“I know,” Billy told the sound. “I know, I know.” His voice cracked into a groan of craving that made her squeeze around him greedily. “I can’t… much longer.”

Petra dropped one palm from the wall and fumbled for his hand, settling his fingers optimally on her clit. He scrubbed violently and she came in seconds. Yes, he listened, and no, he did not fuck around. The orgasm left her reeling and quaking. She couldn’t tell if she was hot or cold, up or down. Billy kept stroking at her until she moved his hand away. Somehow, their fingers stayed tangled together as he tucked this arm around her too, hugging her from behind. The texture of the cast didn’t matter so much now.

“No condom, I’m guessing,” Petra said as dryly as she could while he continued to do things to her that made her jump and angle her hips for more.

“When am I ever ready for anything?” he panted, laughter just underneath.

She thought quickly as Billy’s thrusts grew shallow.

“On the dress,” she said.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

He pulled out and Petra turned quickly to face him, smoothing the skirt down for a change, to ensure it received the most coverage possible. She was less prepared for watching Billy jerk himself off, and apparently, so was Billy, his eyes a little wild and afraid. Petra slowly looked him up and down, then reached out and slid his t-shirt up his stomach to see more skin. He didn’t stop stroking.

“You look good,” she said, holding his gaze carefully.

Billy’s eyes clamped shut and his forehead crumpled. Petra guided his free hand up to her breast; he gripped. She felt a wave of flush go over her skin as he released in a jagged jet along the skirt. The top was undone anyway, so Petra wriggled out of the rest of it while Billy leaned into her, then hauled him close. She was naked, apart from her shoes.

While her hands climbed up his back under his t-shirt, Billy hiked his pants up and delicately tucked himself back in. Then he fell against her the last tiny bit of the way, his weight pushing her to the wall. Petra laughed and stroked the back of his mohawk flat, then clawed it back the other way with her fingers.

“How long are you gonna let me hold you?” he asked after a minute, speaking into her hair.

Petra turned her face to his shoulder and smiled.

“Until I think of some other way to cover myself. I’m not putting that dress back on.”

“Oh!” He let go of her. “Hang on.”

With a twitchy motion, Billy shrugged out of his black button-down shirt. It got hung up on his cast, so he rotated his arm while tugging the sleeve; Petra stood there, arms crossed over her chest. Shyly, he extended the shirt to her and she slipped into it, noticing him completely turn his head to look away. She buttoned it up. The fact that the shirt would cover her ass solved part of the problem.

Billy’s gaze squiggled over her quickly when he faced her again. His mouth tensed, probably trying to contain a smile. With a steady hand, Petra touched his cheek and lightly kissed his lips.

“I know how we get you out of here,” Billy said, his smile appearing slowly, at the same speed his eyes opened as she drew back.

He reached an arm back and hooked the neck of his t-shirt from behind, tugging it awkwardly over his head. When he got his elbows trapped and started to flail, Petra assisted his escape.

“How is this helping?” she checked, unconsciously clutching his shirt to her stomach.

“Streaking, Pet!”

“Oh god,” she groaned, but as she thought about it, she knew it would work. Mr. ‘I Climb Over Tables Instead of Walking Around Them’ was good at attracting attention.

She gave a half-nod, but Billy was already yanking his pants down, too committed to his harebrained plan to think about her agreeing or not. He caught her looking as he lowered his underwear.

“Next time,” he informed her, “we’re doing my favourite position.”

Petra was still trying to deaden the look in her eyes and keep her gaze over his left shoulder. She sighed heavily for effect.

“Fine. What is it?”

He grinned.

“Missionary.”

Startling herself, Petra let a laugh burst out and shoved Billy by the shoulder, almost toppling him as he idiotically attempted to remove his clothes without taking his shoes off. (Not that she blamed him for keeping protective footwear in place. Fucking Rats’ Nest.)

“You’re not serious,” she shot back.

“You’ll find out.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and straightened up. “Uh, can you hang onto these for me?”

She accepted the rest of his clothes, wadded into a sloppy ball.

“The panties, uh…” Billy floundered.

“You’ll get them back with everything else,” Petra promised. What the hell.

He grinned again.

“Also, next time, condoms.”

She raised an eyebrow. Not at his second use of ‘next time’ though. For Petra, that had been decided before she’d hit the first orgasm. Maybe even before they’d gotten up to the roof.

“You’re not actually going to buy them, are you?”

Billy scoffed, swinging his arms, naked apart from his sneakers, already almost in motion.

“What do you take me for? Some capitalist dupe? I’ll steal ‘em like a good boy.”

“What a relief,” she said.

“What is?”

“Just, you.”

He blushed.

“’K, if we ever wanna do this again, I gotta run.” Billy sprang forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Love you, Petra. Gimme a head start.”

She stood in the Rats’ Nest doorway, holding Billy’s clothes, and watched his bare ass as he bolted for the stairway. He flung the door open and pounded away down the stairs screeching ‘London Calling’ at the top of his lungs.

Glancing at the dress she’d intentionally walked across on her way out, Petra smiled wickedly at the thought that she could come back up here and burn it. Maybe bring Billy.

Quietly, she hopped the box of broken bottles and ran to the stairs, heading for her dorm. Billy’s voice was echoing everywhere. She wondered what trouble she was going to have to help him fight his way out of when Master Lin picked his punishment. Moron just had to be a hero.

[amwritingmeta]

‘Tis the season to Be Jolly, Falalalala and Give Away!!

Hello, lovelies!

Guess what day it is? It’s GIVE AWAY DAYYYY! (well yes obviously because already stated) (but also) It is my BIRTHDAYYYY! And what’s more fun to do on your birthday than give shit away to the people who enrich your life? NOTHING!

Alright, here we go, here are the things you could get your hands on if you reblog or like this post. Yes, that’s right, both options are... optional.

So I’m planning to do this Give Away by hand. That’s is right - by hand. Meaning I shall write down each and every one of you on a piece of paper and put you in a bag and twirl you around and draw names out of that bag.

Simple Rules:

Heart this post --> I write your name once and it goes in the bag on one piece of paper

Reblog --> I write your name three times and your name goes in the bag on three separate pieces of paper

(yes, if you heart this post AND reblog that means your name goes on four separate pieces of paper)

Pay It Forward

If you spot something you think someone you love (or have a secret crush on and you want to tell them using colourful things and your SPN obsession) would absolutely adore, if you’re selected the winner I’ll give you the option to Pay it Forward and your loved one (or secret crush) might find themselves the sudden owner of Awesome Shiny New Things. (aw yiss) More details on the bottom of this post, my peeps!

Ready for the things you could get your (or someone you love or have a secret crush on’s) lovely hands on? Here we go!

1. Dean Lean Fighting Machine (with the biggest heart)

Items one journal (Things I Can’t Say Out Loud) (this journal will make you dig down deep) (only an option for those ready for this) (you’re ready for it) (it’s awesome) (because you get to fill the Wild West themed journal with your thoughts and emotions using an awesome horse pencil). There’s also a Go Fish card game because, you know, Dean secretly harbours a yearning to go fish. The Wizard of Oz ref speaks for itself, right? (somewhere over the rainbow) (and all that) ;)

2. Multi-Coloured Survival Kit

If you want to go through life without unicorns, I’m not going to judge, but they make everything better, so I would seriously consider hitting the reblog button simply for this option. Colouring book (with loads of amazing quotes btw), tote bag in a bag, lip balm (LIP BALM with a UNICORN on it) and playing cards for those quiet moments in the shared motel room. What more could you ask for? (Misha riding a unicorn with Jensen behind him?) (well I’ve seen that gif so...)

3. Make Things Write

Are you an angel? Were you an angel in a past life? Well then, here’s the perfect writing kit for you! A lovely silver hardback notebook with angels on the front and the Heavenly light shining on two figures waiting to be let into their mutual forever, accompanied by a crimson red feather pen with a gilt tip. That’s right. A gilt tip, y’all!

4. Wish for This?

The lovely Rachel Miner did her awesome Be the Clarence You Want to See in the World campaign in the summer and if you missed it, here’s your chance to get your sweet paws on some lovely and supportive merc. This T-shirt is a size M. There’s also a bracelet from Misha Collins’ I Wish For This campaign and never forget about the Pay It Forward option! (I will ship to anywhere in the woooooorld!) (free of charge of course)

5. GISHWHES ME, BABY

Or Misha Me, Baby -- whichever you prefer. A lovely GISHWHES traveling case and an I Wish For This bracelet. This case is bigger than it looks and perfectly awesome. (yes I bought one for myself as well)

6. Do You Believe In Magic?

If not (you should) this Unicorn Quotes Booklet will entice you to believe and gallop around your neeeeeigh-bourhood (okay I’m worried now) (but if you do - please send pictures). There is also one of those fabulous I Wish For This bracelets. (yeah I fell in love with them)

7. Guess the Episode!

Okay, so I would have loved for you to name the scene when Dean digs around in a Hello Kitty bag, because it is so damn fantastic, but I’m not going to do that. Bonus if you CAN name it, though! This is totally related to an episode anyway, and there’s a small surprise inside. (it’s a tiny wooden Knots-and-Crosses game) (it has yellow flowers) (and red hearts) (shhhhhh)

8. Merchandiiiiiiiise

So this lovely Supernatural merc was brought over from the States by the wonderful @tinkdw (thank you, my dear) and it’s a gorgeous choker necklace and a kickass keychain and yah, you want it? Come and get it! :P

9. I Like Emoticons

Okay, so this book doesn’t actually literally pertain to Cas because this yellow smiley isn’t technically an emoticon - it’s an emoji - but I couldn’t resist it with that pink background. Hot pink. Dean pink. And rainbow markers because we all need rainbows in our lives and especially to mark things. In rainbow. :)

10. Colour Me Happy

You know you want to. You know you want to go to town on this Supernatural colouring book. Go to town in all the colours of the universe and, as you frantically fill them boys in with all the hope, you think: Live, Be Happy, Breathe, Feel Content, There Is Peace - For You Are Done! (too final?) (sorry!) --> you’ll think encouragingly Carry On My Wayward Sons!!

And that’s all that’s on offer, folks!

Winners

Will be drawn and announced on January 4th, 2018

Will be selected by Old School Draw Out of Bag By Hand

It’s First Drawn, First Serve

100 names will be drawn for the 10 prizes. 10 names per prize. (if I generate that much interest...) (*screaming ghost face emoji*)

The winner has 24 hours to Claim Their Prize or the chance to Claim a Prize will be passed to the next name on the Winner List for that specific prize

Pay It Forward

If you win and you absolutely do not win what you’d like to have for yourself, but you do win a prize that you feel would brighten up the day and be a perfect fit for someone you know, you can put into motion the Pay It Forward option. All you have to do is give me your friend’s or family member’s address (or secret crush’s address) and I shall mail the gift there for you with a note to explain what the heck it is an why they’re getting it. :P

And let me restate: if you win I will send you the items free of charge. Of course!

To every single one of my Followers: I love you, you are awesome, and I would make this exclusively for you if I believed in coercing people into following me by dangling bait in front of their eyes. But I don’t. This Give Away is open to all. Like and reblog - that’s it. But if you follow my blog, know that you’re the reason I am even doing this at all. You inspire me to stay on tumblr. You make me want to write meta and post it. You lovelies are what makes this whole experience so amazing and worth while and fun and engaging. I love you!! Happy Holidays! 

And to all - a good night. ;)

PLEASE NOTE: This GiveAway is from Christmas of 2017 and is closed. 😊❤️

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (an SWTOR story): Chapter Fifteen- Legacies

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

Comments are always appreciated! If you prefer, you can also visit:

Archive of Our Own

Fanfiction Dot Net

Legacies

15 ATC. Rakata Prime.

If it was uninhabited, this would be a beautiful planet. The view from the landing zone, white sand beach and pristine water as far as she can see, makes her wish for a bathing suit and a drink with a little umbrella in it. The pieces of wreckage do rather spoil the scenery, though, and if her experience on Tatooine is anything to go by she’s guessing the natives aren’t friendly.

Still, Nine strips down to her undershirt while she waits to review the mission parameters, letting the sun shine on her shoulders. It’s hot, after all, the warmth a pleasant change from the chill breeze of Manaan; maybe she’ll even manage a hint of a tan. (Probably not. Probably sunburn and more damned freckles, but one can hope.)

She’s also pretty sure, as she bends to lay her jacket on the Nightshrike’s steps, that that ‘pub agent’s staring. When she looks back over her shoulder his sightline flicks upward about two degrees, settling on her back holster.

Definitely staring. Hm.

“My eyes are up here, Republic.”

He blinks, then gestures toward the small of his own back. “Just looking at your holdout.”

“My holdout. Really.” She turns fully around, drawling out the words in amusement. “Assessing my weaknesses?”

Theron- she should use his name, since the four of them seem to be stuck together for the time being (a Sith Lord, a Cipher, an SIS agent and a Wookiee- a list that ought to end with “walk into a bar,” really)- shrugs. “Let’s call them limitations, if we’re pretending to be friendly. Don’t you worry you can’t draw it left-handed?”

“Very diplomatic of you. But,” she says, lifts her right hand and waves at him as she twists her left behind her back, drawing the little blaster and bringing it forward for him to see, “limitations are for amateurs. Modified release. And a centered holster gets in the way of my rifle.”

That might have been a nod of approval; not exactly a chatterbox, him. “Fair. I’m ready when you are, by the way.”

She crosses back over to where he’s standing, looks over the planned route on the map projected onto the side of Jakarro’s ship. “I didn’t realize there were still this many Rakata alive.”

“Outside of this planet, there aren’t. There were more a few hundred years ago, from what I’ve read, when Revan was here. But ever since the Star Forge was destroyed this place has been pretty much off limits.” Theron gestures toward one of the larger pieces, a colossal shard of twisted metal at least a quarter-kilometer long. Three whole sentences in a row- that’s the most he’s said since they all left Manaan. She might actually be winning him over. “They’re dying off, little by little.”

“Normally I’d call that hypocrisy,” she says, “but given the first Rakata I met tried to turn an entire research base into cybernetic slaves, I’d call it good riddance. And didn’t Revan want to use the Star Forge? It looks an awful lot like he blew it up.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t know the story, clearly.”

“Not really, no. I know Revan was a Jedi and then a Sith and then a Jedi again, and then he tried to kill the Emperor and ended up imprisoned for three hundred years.” Until you idiots let him out and he tried to build another army, she doesn’t say. She’d read some of the Revan dossier, years ago, but they were focused on weaknesses then, not deep details of the man’s biography. “We don’t focus on Jedi history much.“

“That’s-” he clearly wants to add something more, but bites his lip- “that’s the very short version, yeah. You’re missing a pretty big chunk out of the middle. But no, he tried to use it the first time. The second time he came back to- he destroyed it, that time, so it wouldn’t be used.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Like I said, Jedi history’s not my thing.”

He shrugs and turns back to the map as Lana comes striding down the exit ramp.

“Are you ready, Cipher?” Lana, too, looks to the map. “Feel free to bring whichever of your crew you prefer. Jakarro’s agreed to be our distraction, so he’ll be heading out momentarily. I’ve tracked Darth Arkous and Colonel Darok to the temple complex here-” she points- “which is your destination. On arrival, confirm target presence and activity.”

“Wait. I thought we were all moving on the temple together. If they engage I’m going to need more than a two-man team, especially with a Darth in play.”

“Avoid direct engagement unless absolutely necessary. Jakarro will be nearby, and we’ll be monitoring you from the shuttle here and providing remote support. We need to figure out what they’re doing before we decide on a plan of attack.” Lana continues marking points of interest with careful swipes of her finger along the projection: the temple and an adjacent courtyard; a few villages along the shoreline; further inland, a stone circle with-

She eyes the map dubiously. “Is that a rancor?”

“Yup.” Theron reaches across and adds sharp claws and pointed teeth to the drawing. “Also recommend not engaging the rancor. Take the long way around.”

“Noted.” She flips him off and turns back to the Sith Lord. “Seriously, though, I’d be happier with a four-person team. I can only cover two with my generator, but can’t Theron-”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have stealth equipment with me. If you’re going in cloaked, you’re better off letting me slice from here.”

She arches an eyebrow at that. If he was involved in the Republic’s strike on Korriban in anywhere near the same capacity Lana had been for Tython he must be fairly high up the food chain, but he’s not dressed like it; as far as she can tell he’s got two pistols and probably a holdout but no longer-range guns, no decent melee weaponry, no poison, minimal armor and now no stealth. She’d pulled his dossier on the way from Manaan, though it didn’t tell her much- he’s been active a few years longer than her so he’s probably a few years older, but no codenames, a few vague links to old missions but nothing concrete which means either he’s never gotten caught or, if he did, he killed his captors. If that’s how the SIS supply their elites, no wonder she’s run circles around every ‘pub agent she’s ever met.

(Hunter didn’t count.

Hunter wasn’t SIS. And in the end, when she slipped her collar, broke free of the leash Hunter used to drag her by, she put a round straight through that bitch’s head.)

“Your people don’t give you much in the way of kit, do they?” Glancing in his direction again, she gives his gear another once-over. “You- oh, dear. You are a field agent, aren’t you? Not that there’s anything wrong with data analysis, of course, but-”

“I am not,” he narrows his eyes at her, lip curling in irritation, “a desk jockey. I can handle myself just fine.”

“Oh, I bet you can.” She grins. The expression on his face is somehow familiar- she’s sure they’ve never met before, but he reminds her of someone that she can’t quite place. It’ll come to her eventually, she’s sure.

(Lana giggles.

Oh, shut up, you.)

She ends up bringing Temple; she can still use more practice with stealth and Lana and Theron keep promising, even as they finalize the route and Jakarro takes off along the path toward the first village, that it’s just a scouting mission. She hooks the little camera over her ear, connecting the cable to her transmitter so they’ll have visual. Get in, report, hold position. Easy.

So of course it goes to complete shit less than an hour in.

The attack on the village should have drawn the Rakata guards off the shoreline path. They should have all been chasing Jakarro by now, but instead they’re fortifying the watchposts with more guards and trained beasts, fleeing the villages like cowards but running straight into her path at the same time. She and Raina get past the first two by skirting along the water’s edge but the third’s a problem- they’ll either have to wade and risk being heard, or try to get up over a rock outcropping that takes them dangerously close to the beasts.

She signals; Temple nods, and she draws her pistol and her knife, just in case, as they head up over the rocks.

They would have made it. Halfway past the guards a little sliver of loose stone goes sliding down the cliff face, though, and hearing the noise one of the creatures turns its head, takes a deep sniff- and looks straight at Temple, growling. The Rakata beside it huffs and raises a hand.

They freeze, too late.

She shoves her down as an arc of lightning takes a chunk out of the ledge above their heads and the debris breaks their stealth field. After that it’s messy, six Rakata and four warbeasts between the two of them, and even as she gets her generator up again and they wade into the sea to try to purge the scent of blood from their armor she can hear alarm klaxons sounding all the way up the coast.

“The coast route’s a no-go.” She hisses into her transmitter. “We’re blown. Requesting extraction plan from Watchpost Gamma.”

“I’m not so sure. The main complex is still quiet.” Lana answers back, her tone less confident than her words. “The alarm doesn’t appear to have reached them yet. Keep going.”

She pulls Temple into an alcove as a patrol team moves past their position. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this op. Reroute me, but I’d be ready to move in if I were you.”

“Take the right-hand path from your position,” Theron chimes in. “It’ll take you inland.”

“Past the rancor.”

“Right through it.” He sounds entirely too smug. “Unless you don’t think you can handle it?”

He’s trying to goad her, of course- it’s the favorite pastime of rival agencies since the dawn of the modern age, when they’re not actively trying to kill each other- and she isn’t going to fall for it that easily. Beside her, Temple rolls her eyes. Cocky bastard, she mouths, and she grins and nods agreement. “Watch and learn, Republic. Watch and learn.”

One can’t sneak past a rancor, not really. It’s got far too keen a sense of smell and even after their quick salt-water bath there’s still enough blood and enough sweat in their armor for a hunting species to pick up. The best she can hope for, then, is to turn the surroundings to her advantage; she gives Raina and her sniper rifle a boost up onto one of the standing stones around the ring where the creature prowls.

Still hidden, she creeps from the shadow of one stone to the next, gets back behind and downwind of the rancor and raises her knife, signaling up for the first shot as the field around her flickers out and-

She catches sight of the Rakata chief out of the corner of her right eye just before he closes on her and has just enough time to duck; his staff whips through the air above her head and she dodges, rolling forward through the rancor’s legs. A rifle shot takes it between the eyes and it roars, stomping, as she dives forward again.

“You could have mentioned the clan chief.” She has to shout to be heard over the bellowing as she peers around a pillar, launches a shock dart straight at the charging figure.

“Hold on-” Theron again, accompanied by a very loud metallic bang- “Lana’s meditating again, and I lost visual for a sec there. What are you- oh. Well, you’ve got him contained now, right?”

“For the next ten seconds, at least.” She gets around the Rakata as his limbs twitch. Her knife can’t cut through the ceremonial collar at his neck so she slashes at the backs of both legs before he can turn. “Are you two trying to get me killed?”

(Of course we weren’t, Lana huffs indignantly. It wasn’t well-scouted, yes, but-

I realize that now, she grins. But I didn’t have the best track record with SIS or the Dark Council at that point, remember. For all I knew, someone had put both of you up to taking me out.

I suppose you have a point.

She shoves another biscuit into Lana’s mouth. Of course I do. Now stop interrupting.)

“Don’t be-” he sighs. “Look, we’ll have better intel when you get to the temple. I’ve got about three-quarters of their the surveillance system sliced and I’m working on the last few now.”

The chief’s slower now, at least, staggering around and toward her as a flash off Temple’s rifle sight warns her out of the line of fire. “You’d better. I don’t do suicide missions.”

The shot, unlike her blade, gets through the collar just fine, and with no further distractions the rancor, too, goes down in relatively short order. It’s a shame they haven’t got time to take the teeth and claws- the last time she fought a rancor she’d had Vector and Doctor Lokin go over the corpse; Lokin had needed rancor bile for his research, for whatever reason, and they’d sold the sharp bits at the Mandalorian Enclave for a pretty sum- but the noise of its death has drawn a crowd, a tight phalanx of guards approaching over the rise of the hill.

Just in time, her generator recharges, and they sneak carefully away toward the temple complex.

The building itself is massive in a way that reminds her more of Korriban than Dromund Kaas. The courtyard fans out around the temple in all directions, great stone steps drawing one’s eye up to the high spire in the center, flanked by rough-hewn statues of a masked and hooded figure.

Revan. Fucking Revan, again.

When they’d raided the Foundry the rest of the strike team swore up and down that Revan had died. (Herself, she’d gotten thrown head-first into a pillar and spent the last moments of that desperate fight in stunned semi-consciousness. Not her finest moment.) He couldn’t have survived it, they said, all that lightning, even though he hadn’t left a body behind- that sometimes happened, apparently, with particularly powerful Force-users. His dream of a droid army, at least, had been quite thoroughly quashed.

They’re trying to build an army too, this group of conspirators, so she supposes it makes sense they’d end up here. Their plans on Manaan had failed- Rakata technology there, as well- and there must be some functionality left in that ancient temple. Was that what they’d been looking for in the archives on Korriban and Tython? Maps to ancient places, long lost to living memory. Places like the Foundry, like the Star Forge that used to fill the sky here…

But why?

Theron’s voice in her ear derails her train of thought. “Hey. I’ve got visual on the temple and… um. Did you bring any ion grenades with you?”

“Only two.” She pauses. “It’s cyborgs again, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Augmented soldiers in a cordon around the entrance. Human, this time, but the tech looks a lot like what you described from the underwater facility.”

“How many?”

Silence for a moment, then- “Four? No. Six, and one in heavier armor.”

She sighs.

“Too many?”

“I’ll manage. Where’s Jakarro?”

“Close,” Theron says. “But loud. You get backup or surprise, not both.”

That’s an easy choice. “Surprise, always. Keep him clear.” He knows the protocols, she hopes, or they’re all in trouble. “Requesting radio silence.”

“Copy that. Await your all-clear.” The channel clicks off. Not entirely useless, then. Good.

The heads-up did help. She gives Raina the second grenade and they split off a hundred meters out, the range on their synchronized generators just enough to let them flank the cordon from each side of the wide staircase; the grenades drop all the soldiers, their augmentations overloaded and sparking, leaving just the commander- who, of fucking course, has a rocket pack and another six cyborgs-

No. Another dozen cyborgs, in two separate waves.

Still, she manages. She always manages, though there’s a long scorch mark across her chest where she got too close to the commander’s downdraft by the time they’re done and Raina’s got a graze along her left thigh that’s left her limping. As the other woman presses a kolto autoinjector against her leg, the needle triggering with a soft hiss, her earpiece chimes, then chimes again.

“I thought I called silence, Theron.” Now that they’ve a moment to rest her left shoulder’s hurting, too, a dull wrenching ache, and she rolls it backward and forward. “And it was eighteen Void-damned cyborgs, not six, so you’d better have good news for me or I am really going to be very cross.”

“I’m afraid it’s more bad news, Cipher.” Lana sounds strange, distracted, her words slurring together. (I remember that. I had a terrible headache, Lana says. I was hearing Revan even then, but I didn’t know it… it was just a roar. Like sticking your head in a turbine.) “Arkous knows you’re coming, and they’ve got a shuttle on the roof. You may have to engage after all- we can’t afford to let them escape again.”

“You’re on your way, I hope.”

“Yes, but-”

She flicks the tip of the transmitter with her fingernail and gets twin yelps in reply, which serves them right because they’re going to get her killed and she is not going to die here, not today. “Let me guess- but you’re not sure you can get here in time.”

“No. We can get there, but Darok just fired up the turrets and I can’t get into that part of the security grid remotely. Going to need a distraction to be able to land near the tower.” Theron’s still trying to slice in, probably, given the amount of clicking in the background.

“How lethal of a distraction?”

“The goal is still live capture, if at all possible,” Lana says, her voice a little clearer.  

She grumbles under her breath. She can hear Jakarro across the courtyard, so it’ll be three on two (the droid doesn’t count); those still aren’t ideal odds, though if she can foist Darth Arkous off on the Wookiee… well. It’s something. “Oh, all right. Shall I do it without armor, too? It’ll be an extra challenge, if you’re going to handicap me anyway.”

That earns an unamused huff from Lana, and, over the continued terminal noise, a muttered I’ve got cameras on top of the tower, right?

“You’re still transmitting, Theron. Moving to intercept.”

She imagines him blushing as she and Raina and now Jakarro, too, bounding up the steps four at a time behind them, fight their way through the entrance to the main temple, through the halls and up the turbolift to the shuttle platform.

In the end it didn’t matter.

Darok and Arkous were never going to surrender, never going to let themselves be taken alive, and she kicks herself for not suspecting the Revanite connection sooner; it explains so easily how they’d ended up here, following in the footsteps of a dead fool, though the Revanites had deeper roots than she’d imagined. She thought they’d stomped out the last of that heresy years ago, when she’d exposed the leader of their cell on Dromund Kaas- but she’d never followed that through, distracted as she was by the destruction of Jadus’ Dominator. Clearly, at least a few of the rats had dodged the trap.

She’d left her transmitter wide open while they’d fought, and as Jakarro gives Darok’s body one last ferocious kick she slumps against the rooftop console to nurse her bruised ribs and get the perimeter guns powered down. Opening the holoterminal and a slicing channel, she catches her breath as Theron and Lana flicker into view, side by side.

“You heard all that, I hope?”

“Heard and felt- the colonel is dead, too? I sensed Darth Arkous’ passing.” Her expression dour, Lana shakes her head. “It’s a shame they wouldn’t say any more.”

Theron’s shifting from foot to foot, fidgeting with his datapad. “I’m pulling data now, but there’s not much here. Damn it, we may never figure out what they were really up to. They were building an army for someone, but-”

“We’ll- oh-” Lana flinches, eyes scrunching shut as her face contorts in pain, and she staggers for a moment. “Something’s coming.”

(And to think I used to envy you that mind-reading thing, she says, nudging Lana teasingly. It seemed so useful.

It is, sometimes. But it’s hard to control. One ends up- she nudges her back, two fingers prodding at the side of her neck- seeing things one wishes one hadn’t.)

The ship’s already darkening the sky when she looks up, the figure projecting from it nearly half again the height of the tower and looming high overhead like something out of a nightmare, all cape and hood and mask and-

Raina ducks out of sight; Lana’s staring, eyes wide, up at the figure, and Theron’s gone pale and quiet and his lips move, silent- she told me he wasn’t dead, she knew-

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She rests her hands on her hips, scowling upward in the general direction of its face, if it can see her at all. “Revan. I’m pretty sure I killed you.”

***

I don’t remember Theron saying that. Lana turns her head, eyebrow a perfect arching question mark. Who did he mean, she?

She shrugs. I assume he meant his mother… I’m not sure, actually. But you remember the rest of what happened after that, don’t you?

Lana nods. We should have waited for you on the beach, but Revan’s flagship was firing on us, too. Splitting up seemed the safest option. Then by the time I made it back to Vaiken, the death warrant was already active. Arkous’ failsafe must have kicked in the moment he died, and the word of a Darth, a Dark Council member, even posthumous, against mine-   She shrugs. I ran, and hoped you’d get my message.

And Theron did the same, and Jakarro. I only slipped the net by virtue of not technically actually existing, I think- it wouldn’t work now, not with the old Minister gone, but he used to wipe my dossier once a month. It made it rather difficult to pin me down.

Lana grins at that. A trick I wished I could have replicated, but no such luck. So it was quite a relief, really, when you showed up on Manaan again, though I’m not sure Theron felt quite the same.

He said he was glad to see me. The pillow beneath her head’s gone flat; she fluffs it carefully, and settles back down. Although asking for a mutual debriefing may have been pushing it just a little too far.

(Stuttering out a denial, he’d blushed so hard his scalp turned pink. Oh, Force, he was cute when he blushed.)

***

Up next: Best-Laid Plans, in which the rest of what was supposed to happen in this chapter actually happens (they got chatty and we’ve got a schedule to stick to, here), we spend New Year’s Eve on Port Nowhere, and a rescue on Rishi brings two truths to light.