#Lockdownfest

[shealwaysreads]

I’m Bella, I write, I rec, I mod fests, and I regularly lose my mind over fictional characters - expect multifandom bullshit alongside art, poetry, and anything that makes me smile.

I write: here on Ao3 and here on Tumblr.

I rec: My series of bookcover recs are here and my sterek rec lists are here.

I mod: for @hdsudsfest and @seasonsofcapri and the lovely one-off @lockdownfest.

My attitudes: ship and let ship, don’t like:don’t read, kinktomato, and don’t be a dick.

Most of my writing has been for drarry, and I continue to love the vibrant, talented, compassionate, insightful, queer community I found in that fandom. JKR and her ongoing appalling bigotry have stymied my inspiration for creating for drarry, but I still reblog and celebrate my friends art and tag anything related to Harry Potter with hp

In the last year or two I’ve fallen in love with Captive Prince and have loved running the Seasons of Capri fest - I tag anything related to Captive Prince with capri

Stiles/Derek was the ship that dragged me to Tumblr via Ao3, and I still adore them - if you’re looking for them I always tag with sterek.

The hot firefighters have finally got me - I’m on the buddie bullshit in a big way, they’ll be under buddie, naturally.

If you want a smile check out my invocations of shared humanity tag.

[lockdownfest]

Lock Down Fest (20-30 March)

Lock Down Fest is a non-anon, self-posting, multi-ship and multi-fandom mini fest that is designed to bring comfort to everyone staying indoors under quarantine restrictions at the moment and to all of us experiencing fear because of the pandemic. Anxiety levels are high and the news is distressing, so we want to invite everyone to use this time to be creative and spread joy. LDF will run from 20-30 March; announcements will be made here.

We want everyone to be encouraged to participate and to follow the fest, but we also appreciate that reading about the virus can be upsetting for many people. For that reason, we’ve decided on a twofold theme:

a. Getting Stuck In/Isolated Together (which doesn’t need to involve the virus in any way whatsoever)

b. Quarantine-inspired, if it occurs during the current pandemic. Works MUST be tagged with the tag: “Covid-19 Related” on AO3.

All kinds of fanworks are welcome with no minimum or maximum wordcount for fics. There is no claiming time nor the need to sign up. Simply, 1. visit the collection on AO3 and post your work when it opens, then 2. email: quarantinefest [at] gmail [.] com with a link to your fanwork.

If you don't wish to write or draw, you can always contribute by offering beta services. Feel free to DM one of the mods and we'll post a list with those volunteering to beta in the next couple of days. We'd appreciate it if all fics are beta-read.

Most importantly, please ensure you tag your work as “Covid-19 related” on AO3 if it takes place during the current pandemic, so as to give the chance for readers to exclude the tag, if they wish. Be mindful of your tags: if they deal with a pandemic anyway (historical or fictional), do tag and warn accordingly. If your work doesn't comply with this requirement and we can't get hold of you via the email provided, your work might be removed from the collection.

Lock Down Fest is open to everyone over 18 years old.

Your mods,

@magpiefngrl​ @nerdherderette​ @tackytigerfic​  @shealwaysreads​ (our fantastic and speedy banner-maker <3 )

[momentofmemory]

lockdown flashfic

Fandom: Tom Holland Spider-Man (MCU)

Timeline: Post-Endgame, Pre-FFH

Warning: Quarantine/Pandemic reference

Characters: Peter Parker, New York

Words: 752

Author’s Note: There’s a live stream of Times Square running and that, combined with the lockdown challenge from last month, inspired this. Very short because I wrote it basically from start to finish in the past hour, when I should have been winding down for bed.

[read the expansion on ao3]

>>if there’s no neighborhood

Empty is not a word Peter’s ever thought to pair with the streets of New York.

Plenty of other words, for sure.

Chaotic. Loud. Crowded. Sweltering. Freezing. Destroyed. Rebuilt.

But New York—New Yorkers—are tough like that. A thousand and one paradoxes wrapped into one.

In hindsight, it’s probably something they could’ve seen coming. Alongside Earth’s sudden influx in population (or rather, repopulation), there’d been a resurgence of old diseases—and the introduction of new ones, thanks to the accompanying alien invasion. With housing up in the air for so many people and the recrowding of cities, it was probably only a matter of time before something spiraled out of control.

It just would’ve been nice to have more than a couple months between global crises.

There’s a rhythm to his city: the way it pulses with life and death and cheering and weeping. Its streets are its veins; its people its lifeblood. But tonight, they’re just—

Empty.

(Peter doesn’t know how a city that’s so quiet can feel so loud.)

As it is, Peter’s not even sure if he’s supposed to be out. Vigilantism has always been on the fuzzier edges of the law, so it’s not like he’d expected to see his name listed under essential jobs, but—well. Swinging some two hundred feet above the ground probably covers the appropriate social distance guidelines.

He normally keeps his patrol to the confines of Queens; content to leave the other boroughs to their own vigilantes, but tonight he just keeps swinging—pausing only to do an extra backflip for the lonely kids staring out from their fire escapes, or to run a quick errand for at-risk tenants afraid to leave their apartments.

(He’s never been more grateful for the antimicrobial properties built in to his suit; he takes as many grocery trips as he can when he realizes the potential.)

Eventually he makes his way across the bridge and into Manhattan; he doesn’t realize his aimless swinging has a goal after all until he drops onto the flag pole looking over Times Square.

It’s a bizarre sight. He can see the pavement, for one; strange patterns darkening the concrete from where cars normally sit or pedestrians walk, and one of the restaurant dining areas has been cleared out—all the empty chairs stacked mournfully by the fence.

There are no tourists, gawking up at the sky and crowding the sidewalks. There are no car horns, blasting out their displeasure at the others’ existence. There are no voices, tripping over each other in a blend of tongues and emotion.

The large screens rotate on unbothered. Traffic lights tick on and off for no one. Pigeons coo from the eaves.

Rationally, Peter knows the empty streets are nothing like the carnage left behind in the wake of the first Snap, but he can’t help but find the silence oppressive. Can’t help but wonder how long.

Two cars pass by. A bicycle. Three pedestrians, separate: keeping to opposite sides of the pavement to avoid contact. Peter watches as one of them halts at the edge of street and nods to the other. She smiles, and quickly crosses—the first only proceeding once she’s past.

Peter blinks in surprise.

He’s lived in New York his entire life—just like May, just like Ben. So there’s not much he doesn’t know about its inner workings.

He knows there’s no such thing as jaywalking; that finding a cab at five p.m. is hopeless; that driving is always, always slower than the train, no matter what the cabbie says. He knows how to argue in six different languages even if he doesn’t know how to say hello; knows all the bodegas with the best deals; knows that the train is simultaneously the most hallowed and most godless place in the entire city.

And he knows, most importantly, that no one ever willing gives up the right of way on the street.

He watches the two New Yorkers leave until they’ve both either rounded a corner or simply walked out of sight, then sinks lower into his crouch in thought.

During the Blip, New York’s streets were empty because someone decided to take.

But now—now New York’s streets are empty because millions of people decided to give.

Give time, to find better options. Give space, to the overcrowded hospitals. Give resources, to the ones that need it most.

After a moment, he fires a web at a nearby building and swings down.

He starts stacking chairs.

[spnsmile]

SPN CODA 15X13

“Hey, what’s going on?” Dean calls when he spots Cas and Jack preoccupied with the table.

“Oh.” the Nephilim flickers dull, soulless eyes over the hunters who just came back from a wild goose chase.

“Jack-” Castiel begins warily but too late.

“Cas was just telling me to eat his heart.”

Absolute silence reigns in the Bunker. A stillness too painful with hiking tension and pounding of hearts.

Jack couldn’t possibly understand it, but the way he saw how Dean had looked at Castiel scared him. Sam’s stare was pure bafflement, but Dean’s?

It was indescribable. The Nephilim couldn’t even put it into words. What was it that made him wary of Dean when he woke him up inside the cowboy room?

That feeling with a gun pointed on his head? It’s the same feeling except… Dean didn’t need his gun to have the same effect. The Nephilim couldn’t help glancing at the angel who tried to keep up with the hunter in a battle of eye contact, but he soon failed. And when Cas fails to have eye contact with Dean? There’s that one word that popped up his head and it spelled one thing.

Disaster.

It’s Sam. It’s always Sam who breaks the ice and for that, Jack will always be grateful.

“Cas, that’s not helping.”

Castiel diverts his eyes to Sam with tightness on his throat. “I know, I just…”

“He did tell me it’s only for the last resort.” Jack pipes up, trying to be helpful. He wondered if it was, but the way Dean’s eyes glints dangerously in his direction has him clamping his mouth. It’s like that gun again, heavy and… Much more. But Dean’s expression closes at once and he is turning away before anyone can speak again.

“Great. Uh, yeah you guys have some good talk. I’m gonna go take a shower.” he waves his hand and goes, leaving Sam sighing heavily while Castiel swallows hard.

Very hard. And then the angel just stands up too and trails after Dean’s footsteps. Jack exhales so loud and leans back on his chair with large eyes at the entrance to the corridor where Castiel’s back disappeared.

He turns to Sam with dry lips.

“That was… Scary.” he shifts on his chair while Sam slowly takes the space Castiel just left. By the looks of his face, Sam has plenty to say and Jack would rather have that than Dean’s whose silence can kill.

“Jack… Let’s talk.”

***

The footsteps in the corridor are heavy. The scurrying footsteps behind him are lighter and barely touching the floor with his pace.

“Dean-”

No answer.

“Dean!”

The hunter doesn’t bother as he turns to the next corridor till he’s in front of his room. He pulls on the doorknob when a hand slams it shut from his back.

Castiel finally catches up behind him.

Dean grits his teeth but he doesn’t turn. He closes his eyes patiently with a throbbing vein at the side of his head. He gotta cool it down.

“Cas, I want to enter my room.”

“Dean, I-” Castiel’s voice is all over the place the way it cracks and hesitates over his words.

That’s unfair. He shouldn’t be the one feeling broken. Dean hates the shaken tone. The way it sounded to him, Cas was certain wit what he wanted to happen.

“Your hand. Take it off, I want in.”

“Dean, you know I only said that as a last consent in case there’s no other choice. And I-”

“It’s okay. I get what you want to do.” Dean opens his eyes.

Clarity is there. Cas is doing, saying what he thinks must be done. And Cas has always been right about stuff, always looking far ahead unlike him who can only see as far as his shoes, only live in the moment and act at the moment.

If it’s being objective compare to being emotionally controlled, then it’s probably Cas who gets the right call.

Dean isn’t good when it comes to his priorities and he thinks he never will be, so he left the table before he could say anything horrible.

He’s done being horrible to Cas.

“Dean, let me at least explain. It’s not anything sacrificial or me throwing myself away-”

“Dean…”

“It’s alright, I just gotta sort stuff.” he can’t look Cas in the eyes. He chews his dried lips and at least gives a side glance to his best friend. “It’s fine, Cas… I’m not…”

“I still want to talk,” Cas says quickly, eagerly.

“Fine. Talk."

Cas seems ready for the crossfire. He never did back down from the hunter.

"Dean, you're angry about the "heart but it isn't what you think it is."

"Oh sure. Because there's a metaphor for offering their hearts to get eaten! Jack said it clear! How else am I supposed to interpret that, Cas!?" Dean bites down his bottom lip tight. The pain doesn't even register, he could make it bleed and it wouldn't make a difference.

What bothers him is the angel still acting like it's no big deal.

"This heart thing isn't a coincidence. Just how many angels do you think are still out there?" Cas doesn't even know any pedal breaks and Dean's just itching to tackle him but at that closed space?

"Yeah, noticed that huh? Good. Spot on."

Castiel frowns while he clasps his hands together.

"I think we would be blinding ourselves at the possibility. But, it's as Jack said... it's a last resort if needed be, Dean and I... I am just as much willing to bet my life on Jack if that's what it takes to win."

A win. Dean hung his head as he remembers. This isn't just about them anymore.

"I know." he just nods again, throat burning like he's just taken the strongest whiskey. A win they needed badly where sacrifices will happen. How could he forget? "I know," he repeats more firmly with heart sinking. 

"If you know..." Cas tilts his head, voice gravelly. "Then why are you still angry?"

"I'm not. I mean... What do you want me to say?" he flickers a lookup, the force in the meeting of their eyes are full static this time, silent with intensity and meaning but its the quiver of resignation in his deep voice that gets Cas leaning forward with all intent to invade space.

"At least don't leave me behind. Stop walking away from me while we're both here." Castiel says behind his ears and the shiver that runs on his spine jolting a reaction over his pants. "I'm trying here, Dean."

Try harder." Dean's voice is rough as he wills calm, summon it with all his heart for his body to stop aching for touch.

"Dean..." Cas's voice now turns resigned and it's unfair. Dean turns his head from the front seat and locks eyes with the angel and just lets him see everything. It's futile to pretend a wall still exists between them. Not with the pooling heat inside his jeans.

Not that he needed Cas to know...

"I'm not angry that you think you have to make that call... Hell, every year I make one single wish you and Sam would kill me."

"Dean-" Cas just looks hurt so Dean finally gives in and raises his body from his chair, feet stepping carefully on the front sear before hooking it on the other side.

Castiel watches him dive on the next empty seat at the far end with his bowlegs making it easier to land. After a few more shifting of legs and ass, Dean sits up beside the angel and sighs.

"S' matter with me saying it? How this ends, its gonna be ugly, you just gave a very good example of one. There's no happy ending here, Cas, and there's no point pretending. We know what's waiting for us there. There's no saving the day without all of us kicking god's bucket list, but..."

But...

He looks up with as much determination enough to gey Cas attention when he adds-

"You will not lose yourself to Jack. Don't make it horrible for him, man. I've been there...me wanting you guys to kill me, I just want it to end." Dean peers at the blue round eyes, initiating the end of distance this time when he slides closer to the angel. Dean nods at the angel seriously.

"Jack may be soulless now, and he got a mission. But you don't let yourself die on his hands because at the end of the day? That blood? It's what will make Jack. You make him promise to do the horrible and he will do just equal horrible to everything. That's what you need to see. You get to die... and you get to destroy Jack at the same time. D'you really want that to happen, Cas?"

Castiel stares at him. Just looks and this time, the blue eyes don't look as confident. Dean blames himself for doing that so he gives him an apologetic look.

At least Cas looks like he will listen now. That's enough for the rocks grinding down Dean's stomach to disappears much to his relief.

He can convince Cas. He can convince his angel to take it all back. Convince Cas there's still a way other than him being another sacrifice. Dean can do all that part later on, but at least, he wants Cas safe. Wants him okay. Just... Wants him.

He wants Cas.

Cas looks soft and lost the way his eyes fall down his hands, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he takes in Dean's words. Out of instinct, Dean caresses his smooth cheeks without thinking. Cas looks broken and maybe Dean feels the same way too because that's how it's always been. They damn broken people together, repairing the other.

His touch lights life back in the blue eyes. Before he knows it, Cas grabs a fistful of his collar but stays an arms-length away, leaving Dean with heart up his throat and butterflies flapping inside his guts.

"Cas-”

"I don't want to... I can't leave Jack..."

"Yeah, sure." Dean feels a tinge of jealousy, but he cannot be selfish now. Cas has found another reason, another being to be faithful to, to be loyal to and Dean's not cutting it with him being at the center of all death and destruction.

He gotta let go of his angel too.

"Stay with Jack. He'll need you when all of this is over. He's already lost his mom and I don't think we need to look up my hand for palm reading, we know I won't make it there,"

Cas grip on his collar tightens.

"I told you to stop saying that," he growls,  pulling Dean even closer enough to leave the hunter crosseyed. "I'm not going to lose you, Dean."

"It's okay. I'll get there in the end anyway."

"I don't want to lose you." Castiel falls silent for a moment.

"You won't." Dean wished he could believe that himself. "It's you I'm worried about."

"Why?" Cas wraps an arm across Dean's chest, head comfortably on top of the man's chest.

"Cas, you basically just told Jack to go all "The Ripper on you. And you know who's the big bad wolf behind my back... Let's not make promises here."

"Dean." Castiel pulls Dean so they're facing each other again. I don't want to lose you."

Dean just kisses his lips in answer. Sweet and very much in need, he lets Cas lead this time until he is breaking away.

"Tell me," Cas says gruffly, letting Dean up a little so their eyes meet again.

"What."

"Tell me to stop wanting to take you away." he confesses, "To bring you somewhere safer where nothing like this can hurt you... Can take you away... Please, Dean."

Dean opens his eyes. He could feel Cas's body tensing. Could feel Castiel's forlorn soul in need of consolation. Half of him wants to tell the angel he can't. Half of him wants to tell Cas there's no escaping their fate this time. No resurrection, no reruns of the show but just...fucking cold-

"Dean..."

It was said with urgency and need that has the hunter reacting on instinct. Dean slinks his hands around the angel's chest  He grazes his forehead past the wet lips and damp cheeks. Cas had been crying.

Pained, Dean reaches and cups Castiel's face like its everything he needs on his hands. The angel looks at him, eyes wet from tears and how could Dean not say it? How could he even doubt it?

"Then we win."

Cas blinks. "What?"

Dean grits his teeth. "We win..we don't let that bastard win. Cause as much as you want to take me away, I wanna do the same thing. But... Our feet wouldn't take us far. Running away will only give us grace time, but it won't solve anything..."

He wipes the tears away, hating the way Castiel is breaking to pieces about something that hasn't passed. Dean decides he doesn't want that. He embraces Cas again.

"We're gonna win this with us both living... All of us... We're gonna win this to live, not to die, you hear me, Cas? Let's not think of dying while living, hear me?"

Castiel nods, burying his face on Dean's neck with fingers holding the man's arm tight and at that moment, Dean's heart swells. He remembers everything he has been fighting for since the beginning. At that moment, he felt like he can protect everything. Protect Cas and his family and they'll be damned if anyone tries and stops him.

The nip on his neck reminds him of another thing. He pulls back to look the angel in the eyes, Castiel who follows his neck with lust dancing in those blue eyes, eager and wanting. In love.

Protect Cas he will. ✨

Aw! I found the keep reading hehe. Also full form on A03 but that's EXPLICIT tag so... ❤ anyways :)

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

Trouble In Here

read on AO3

2.5k, Jaskier/Geralt, M-rating, for @lockdownfest

Summary: Jaskier accidentally barricades himself into Geralt’s room when he’s been cursed, forcing them to isolate together.

[greyias]

FIC: The Waiting Game

Title: The Waiting Game Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Angsty angst angst Synopsis: The worst part about all of this was the waiting. Theron hated standing on the sidelines as everyone else risked their lives. He needed something to do. Anything to keep him distracted from his own thoughts. Spoilers: So many spoilers. For the end of Onslaught and its epilogue, for 6.1/“The Task at Hand” and for the upcoming storyline in 6.2. Warnings: Considering what’s going on in the world right now, I’m tagging this as “Covid19 related”, as parts of this may be uncomfortably familiar with the current state of events. There’s also a lot about Theron and his very fraught and complicated relationship with Satele in this. So if you’re not a fan of her, or you just think she’s the worst, you should probably skip this. Because I love her and their very complicated dynamic.

Crossposted to AO3

The crash was loud enough to hear from the senior staff meeting room.

It pulled Theron from the datapad he’d gotten lost in, and had him poking his head out the door into the hallway. He managed to just catch sight of Scourge’s dark armor disappearing around the corner as the Sith stormed off. Not that Theron hadn’t gotten used to Sith temper tantrums since coming to live on Odessen, but it still was enough to pique his curiosity.

Stepping out further into the hallway, he could just make out both Kira and his wife talking solemnly at the door that Scourge had stalked away from. Whatever the conversation was, both Jedi were clearly concerned. Grey gave the little astromech at her side an affectionate pat on the head, before she looked up, squinting down the hall until she caught sight of him. They were all far enough away where Theron couldn’t see their expressions clearly or even eavesdrop on what they were talking about, but the tense postures let him know that something was amiss.

As he walked up, he could see the remains of the crates that had splintered upon impact with the wall, and the rows of cracked monitors ringing the room. He quirked an eyebrow as he looked back at both Jedi. “You guys felt like redecorating? Not sure that ‘Warzone Nouveau’ is going to catch on as an aesthetic.”

Kira shot him a look, but he couldn’t quite decipher what it meant. Maybe she didn’t find his joke funny. Of course, he’d gotten that look a lot. Things had been a little awkward since she and Scourge formally joined the Alliance, but Theron hadn’t been able to figure out if they were just having a difficult time adjusting or if something else was going on.

He was saved from pondering on that further by his wife gently laying her hand on his arm. “Let’s take a walk.”

A familiar feeling of dread settled in his gut, and he swallowed before fixing a smile in place. Even if he had a feeling what this was about, he could pretend for a few moments more. They were quiet as they made their way to the elevator, and were about halfway down when he finally decided to break the silence.

“So, are we walking to any particular place?”

“I thought a stroll in the woods might be nice.”

“Are we going on an adventure?” His humor was a little forced, but he was trying for normalcy here. It’d been a while since they had that. About as long as since Kira and Scourge arrived on Odessen.

“Not the same type of adventure as the last time,” she said, a lilt of amusement tinging her voice.

“Pity.” Even if they were alone in the elevator, his voice was just a murmur as he leaned in closer.

He wasn’t really planning on doing anything inappropriate, was just angling on getting a reaction out of her, but the lift’s doors opened up onto the crowded walkway before he could push it any further. He let out a frustrated sigh and straightened up before anyone saw and got any ideas. The last thing he needed was to start rumors about improprieties in the lifts. Not that he really cared about the rumors about himself, but he’d already caused Grey enough trouble with his undercover stint. He didn’t need to give people more reasons to whisper about them.

Even if they were married.

They ambled on out, towards the cantina. He was trying to act casual, normal even, but Grey hadn’t said anything about what that conversation with Kira was about. Or why Scourge felt the need to redecorate the room quite so violently. But Theron had an idea anyway. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because her hand found his and intertwined their fingers together.

When Theron had gone undercover, Grey had still been wearing the armor from her time before her carbonite sleep. Sometimes he’d wondered if she had worn the giant pauldrons, embroidered cape, and heavy gauntlets as some sort of armor against all the change in her life. But since his return, she’d adopted a new outfit. A much simpler garb, a deep blue tunic that was very Jedi in fashion. As silly as it sounded, it felt like some sort of evolution — like she was somehow more comfortable in her skin and her role in a way that she hadn’t been before. 

He liked it though, from the way the color of blue set off her eyes, to how the long trailing scarves on the tunic liked to pick up the wind when they stepped outside. The change from the heavy gauntlets to fingerless gloves was also a benefit, and especially nice in moments like these, as he was able to feel the warmth of her fingertips against his.

Of course, he’d also changed things up a little too. The long gray overcoat had long been discarded — the charred hole in the back where he’d been stabbed wasn’t a keepsake he wanted to hold onto. While he hadn’t abandoned his old style completely—his old, faithful red and black jacket was definitely still around—Theron had felt the need to integrate a little bit more variety into his style. Like the lighter coat he was wearing now, with a set of fingerless gloves of his own.

They were a little more comfortable to wear when he was just working around the base, and the tactile feedback of his bare hands was nice. He was of course referring to the fingers intertwined with his. For a few moments at least, the soft reassuring pressure and warmth of her touch chased away the anxiety welling up in the pit of his stomach. Although he supposed the gloves helped with the coding too, and his endless research with the HoloNet and beyond.

The sight of the two of them walking hand-in-hand didn’t raise too many eyebrows at this point. There had been a time where he’d tried to strictly keep the personal side of their relationship behind closed doors — but that had gone out the window a long, long time ago. At this point, Theron was pretty sure that the only person who scoffed at the public displays of affection was Lana, and that was just habit. Well, and maybe Grey’s older brother would make a comment or two about how disgusting and saccharine they were. But the jerk was probably just trying to get a rise out either of them with that sort of thing, because he got bored easily. It was like having a large, very old and very loud toddler as a brother-in-law. Sometimes Theron was thankful that he was an only child.

For now though, he and Grey were content to walk in companionable silence, meandering through the cantina, and out into the woods. It was springtime on Odessen, and it was a nice day. The variations in the season on the planet was still something that Theron was adjusting to, even years later.  If he had to pick a favorite, though, it would be spring. The fields beyond the military hangar would fill with these beautiful white flowers, and the sight of them brought to mind his homecoming from Nathema. The frequent rains kept the air humid, especially out here in the forest where there was less sunlight filtering through the canopy to speed up the evaporation. It made the ground smell fresh and new — and it reminded him of life.

These days, he really liked that reminder.

The temperature was still just cool enough where wearing a jacket outside wasn’t uncomfortable and gave him an excuse to draw his wife in a little closer under the guise of sharing warmth. She leaned into the embrace, and was happy to just walk along in ambling steps for a few more moments and let this quiet moment of peace linger. 

Then she let out a sigh, long and wearied, and it told him that whatever she was about to say next wasn’t going to be good news. But he’d already suspected that from Scourge’s temper tantrum.

“The quarantine has failed.” Her voice was quiet, ringing with an air of defeat she let show where no one but him could see.

His blood froze in his veins, his own steps slowing to a halt. “What do you mean ‘failed’?”

“The transport with Satele—where the infected were being contained—it’s not responding to our signals, and there was no sign of it at the next scheduled stop.”

That certainly explained the Sithly destruction. Theron couldn’t even blame Scourge, as a thousand conflicted feelings began to well up within himself. For the past few weeks, he’d been trying his best to keep them tied up. Like he was rolling every single thread of worry and anger and anxiety around each other, like it was some nervous ball of string. He wouldn’t let it unwind, he couldn’t. But the news picked at the fraying edge near the end, and if Theron wasn’t careful it could unspool into a mess that he’d have no hope of cleaning up.

The breath he blew out was long, whistling past clenched teeth. He needed to say something, because Grey was staring at him in the way she always did. Full of concern and warmth and understanding — and he loved being on the receiving end of that but also hated it because it just picked at that loose thread more. Her fingers shifted in his, holding him just a little tighter, and he let out another breath, giving her hand a squeeze in return. He swallowed, forcing the rising lump in his throat to go back down where it belonged, and managed to seize that thread of unease before it snagged on something and undid the tattered fabric of his composure.

He was fine. He just needed to focus. That was all. Preferably on the problem at hand.

So that’s what he did. “What’s our next step?”

“Right now Teeseven is heading out with an escort and as many probe droids we can spare. They can scan and sort through the data faster than we can.”

“And there’s no chance of them getting infected,” Theron pointed out sourly.

“That too,” she added with a sigh. “It’s just safer this way.”

She was right. Of course she was. The droids could do the job faster than anyone, cybernetics or no. He just hated being on the sidelines. Doing nothing.

“Do we know… how the ship disappeared?” He hated the hesitation in his voice, in the question itself. Hated the emotion in betrayed, even if he was sharing it with the safest person in the galaxy.

“No.” She gave his hand another squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

He’d had a nightmare last night. Where that ship of the damned had landed in some busy spaceport. Some place like Kuat. Or Nar Shaddaa. Or even Coruscant. And as the passengers of the transport walked out among the unsuspecting, all of the hapless victims fell into line one by one. And at the front of the crowd was someone that looked remarkably like his mother — but was definitely not her. The woman with Satele’s face had sightless, unseeing eyes that glowed with a malevolence. When she spoke, it was not the soft, calm measured tones he’d come to know, but with a deep chilling voice of a long vanquished ghost that Theron had first heard back on Yavin. Then the woman that was not his mother had turned on the unseen watcher and attacked.

Theron had awoken with a start. A fine sheen of sweat soaking through the thin sheet covering him. Somehow he hadn’t made enough noise to stir the woman sleeping next to him, still cocooned in all of the blankets and comforters on the bed. It had taken him a few moments to reorient in the darkness of their bedroom, let the familiar stone walls ground him back in reality. To remind himself that the dream had just been that. He hadn’t wanted to wake his wife to talk about the nightmare, even if he’d lain awake for a long time afterwards. Trying to shake the images from his head.

If someone were to ask him, Theron would tell them that he didn’t believe in ill omens. The timing of the dream with today’s news was just a coincidence. Or it was the product of a stressed mind trying to cope. His subconscious just trying to get him to pay attention to the things he kept pushing to the back of his mind during his waking hours.

In the light of day, he could see more clearly what was wrong with the dream. The last time the ship was seen, everyone on it was in a comatose state. Trapped in both a nightmarish slumber and stasis. The only thing amiss before today was the Force rumblings from Kira and Scourge that some thing was joining the consciousnesses of the infected together. His subconscious had just morphed that into something familiar — something a lot like Ziost. Another thing he didn’t like to think about.

There were a lot of things he didn’t like to think about. Too many mistakes and unpleasant things in his past to dwell on — and getting through the day right now sometimes felt like walking a very winding and narrow path to keep his thoughts focused and productive. Rather than take one of the branching paths into speculation about what was waiting for them when the ship was found.

As much as he tried to stay focused though, his mind still strayed. And he thought about Satele. A lot. He’d thought he’d excised that particular bad habit a long time ago. When he was growing up, he and Ngani Zho had talked about his mother, of course. Zho had never kept her a secret from Theron, and had told his young charge about his favorite student. For the longest time, Theron had this image built up in his head of this perfect, heroic Jedi that he’d someday meet. If he just tried hard enough, focused enough, and applied himself enough, he’d finally be able to wield the Force, and he’d have a chance of meeting the fabled woman that Zho talked about.

Even when both he and Zho had still been foolish enough to think that Theron had a chance at becoming a Jedi, they had never talked about mother and son ever being able to have that type of relationship. It would have been against those strict detachment edicts, as would have Satele taking her flesh and blood on as a Padawan. Even if the Force had deigned to grant him the ability to wield it like the rest of Revan’s bloodline, he probably would have had someone else train him. Maybe someone like Gnost-Dural. But if Theron was being honest with himself, not something he did often, in some of his more carefree moments as a child he’d imagined the two of them fighting side-by-side with lightsabers in hand.

He’d tried to scatter those stupid, childish notions away when he’d left Haashimut. Along with the selfish, immature longing for his mythical heroic mother to come save the teenage runaway when the shadows grew too dark during the night. He told himself that at thirteen he was too old to be wanting his mommy, especially since he’d never even met her. He reminded himself at fourteen too. By fifteen, he’d just about beaten that feeling away with bitterness. And at sixteen, he’d just learned to forget he’d ever even had the want to begin with.

Theron was approaching forty years old now. He was married and mostly happy with his life. There was still a small part of him, a part of him that he liked to pretend didn’t exist — to pretend had never existed — that still wanted his mother. Maybe not the one that he had, but that mythical, heroic figure of his childhood musings. Perhaps it was human nature, he thought, to crave the security and comfort provided by a parent.

A long time ago, before Ziost and Zakuul, before he’d even met the woman at his side, Satele had told her son that she would always be there for him if he needed her. All he had to do was ask. That same part of him he liked to pretend didn’t exist panicked at the thought that he might not have that anymore.

They’d never had a chance at a normal relationship. Not when Theron had been a young boy, dreaming of being that idealized Jedi like his mother before him. Definitely not as a bitter teenager out to prove that the galaxy was wrong about him. Nor even as adults, when they were working towards a common cause. Outside of a professional capacity, almost all of their conversations devolved into arguments — and since Theron was being honest with himself at the moment — a lot, though not all, of those had been started by him. Clinging to that old bitter feeling because the alternative meant opening himself up to being that scared, vulnerable kid again.

But not everything had been bad. They were precious few, but he did have a few pleasant memories with Satele. Most of them had been after Yavin, but before the Ziost incident. 

Mostly he remembers taking afternoon tea on Coruscanti terraces, a pleasant breeze teasing the air. He and Satele would take a break between the endless debriefs on the Revanite incident. Even during these moments of downtime, Satele would sit straight, posture perfectly poised as if she’d forgotten how to relax. Theron would sprawl back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the table just to see if he could get a reaction out of her. Maybe get her to lecture him on proper decorum. He’d been careful not to kick any of the serving ware, just act like a bit of an uncouth ass.

She hadn’t lectured him though, just let a small smile quirk at the corner of her mouth. As if his attempt to rile her was both transparent and amusing. She would ask him politely about work, careful to keep the subject on something he was comfortable with. As if just the act of having this time together was enough for her, even if they never said anything of substance. 

It was funny. He hadn’t realized how much he’d actually enjoyed those quiet moments. At the time he’d just been focused on how awkward it was, trying to navigate the weirdness that was getting to know this stranger who was somehow not so strange. Now when he looked back on it, the awkwardness had faded, and the good stood out more. Time had a funny way of distorting things.

Theron didn’t know what he wanted at the end of all of this. He wasn’t sure if he and Satele could ever really have those quiet moments out on a Coruscant terrace now. Hell, he wasn’t sure if they’d be able to maintain a civil conversation. All he knew, as that when he was faced with the prospect of it, it crystalized in his mind clearly — he didn’t want his mother to die. She would one day, he knew that, by old age if nothing else. But he just wasn’t ready for that eventuality yet — even if they didn’t talk or hug or do any of the things normal families did. 

He was just not ready to live in a world where he didn’t have the opportunity to… do something different. And he didn’t want the last things expressed between them to be anger and bitterness. He didn’t want her to leave life thinking that he hated her. Because he didn’t. He just… just…

Without even realizing it, Theron started walking again. His pace brisk as if he could somehow escape the place that his mind had taken him to. Grey’s grip around him tightened but she kept in step with him, despite the fact that his legs were much longer than his and she was practically jogging to keep in stride. She was just there, a quiet, comforting presence at his side. Willing to wait on him to be ready to talk, always so patient and understanding.

He didn’t say anything yet, but slowed his steps a little so she didn’t have to try so hard to keep up even as he lifted his eyes up to the canopy. Counting the branches above as a way to think about something else.

Several years ago, this was the path that Grey had disappeared on when she had tried and failed to get intel from Valkorion for a mission. Where that ghost had stranded her out in the wilds. Where had Satele had found her, taken care of her — brought her to the ship that the former Jedi Grand Master had called home. Grey had eventually told him about all of what had happened, including all of the belongings and keepsakes that had been stowed away. Including some old toys Theron had when he was a child — and a locket with a picture of him after he’d joined the SIS. For a woman who had based so much of her life on not clinging to attachments, Satele apparently had quite a lot of things she was attached to. 

He still hadn’t figured that part out. Most people wouldn’t hoard the past possessions of children they didn’t want. Nor steal holos from sealed government files to have a memento of their long-lost son. There was a part of him that wanted to see Satele again so he could demand why she had those. The rational part of him knew it would be a stupid question, because there was really only one logical explanation.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure if hearing her say it aloud would make it better or worse. Hearing his mother actually tell him in words that she cared for him — maybe even loved him — would it make it easier or harder to accept whatever her fate was?

And beyond everything to do with Satele, and all of his stupidly complicated family drama, there was the woman at his side. His wife, his partner. One of the few people who was immune to the sickness that had overtaken his mother. The one who supposedly could walk into the heart of the contagion without fear of infection. Theron should have all the faith in the galaxy that she would save the day. Because she had never let him down, not once since they’d met. 

Yet the question still hovered. What if? What if she’s not immune? What if whatever had taken over Satele and all those following her took Grey too? 

Theron couldn’t lose his wife. He just couldn’t.

He knew that he would lose some unquantifiable part of his life if his mother died, even if he didn’t understand what that would look like until it happened. But he knew what his life would be like without the woman at his side. He’d already lived through that hell for nearly five years. He knew the emptiness of waking up each morning alone. Of the anger and impotent rage that never went away. Of the grief that bled away the brighter, happier moments. How even sleep wasn’t an escape, because then the day would just start over the moment he woke up.

It was why he’d so willingly thrown himself into danger when someone was conspiring to kill her. Better him than her, he’d thought. It was both a selfless and selfish desire. Keep her safe from harm — save himself from the pain again.

When he looked down from the canopy, it took him a moment to realize how far they’d walked. He blinked, breathed, and tried to reorient himself. Reminded himself to not pick at that thread of anxiety and what ifs. To not look too far beyond this moment. The future wasn’t guaranteed, only the present.

“Is there anything that I can do?” he finally asked, deciding not to ruminate on how long they’d probably been walking in silence.

“Right now, the safest thing to do is let Teeseven do his work.”

“So all we can do is wait?”

“It could be a few days. Or weeks. Or months. I can’t give you any certainties.” She let out a sigh. “I know it’s not ideal.”

Of course it wasn’t. Theron wasn’t good at waiting. For all his childhood training, all of the meditation techniques and special education that Zho had given him, he’d never quite been able to cure Theron of his natural impatience. His drive to just do. It was probably written somewhere in his SIS personnel file, hell, Lana had probably scribbled it in every single margin of his Alliance personnel file too. “Impatient.” ”Impulsive.” “Keep away from trains.”

Theron hated standing on the sidelines as everyone else risked their lives. Or in this case, as a bunch of droids did the searching for him. He needed something to do. Anything to keep him distracted from his own thoughts.

He hated this.

The waiting was killing him. Part of him wanted this to just be over. See where the cards fell and then let life get back to normal. He was also dreading the end of the waiting. The moment it ended, it meant that the danger arrived. Whatever this infection was building towards, something in his life was going to change. He could lose his mother. He could lose his wife. He could lose them both.

So the waiting was a blessing. And it was a curse. And right now, it was all he had. All he could do was focus on the present, even as the future came barreling towards them.

“You know, we’re already in the woods,” he said.

“We are.”

“What do you say we get lost here for a while…” Theron let his voice drop low, and watched as a little warmth raced into Grey’s cheeks. “We could have us another adventure.”

She snuggled in closer, laying her head on his shoulder. The proximity lit up a fire in his gut, and for a few moments, it knocked away that fraying thread of unease. In this moment, it was just the two of them.

“You know, I think that sounds like a good way to spend our time.”

And so they walked on, hand in hand. Still waiting. Together.

[rainbowsparroww]

“And when things hurt you, Clark and I will always be there to help.”

“Let us take care of you.”

-would you lie with me (by Ionaperidot)

[wolfywordweaver]

Fic Teaser

Here’s a teaser for my @lockdownfest work:

As he looked around the darkened room he felt all the cheer dissolve. The television was off and Sirius' computer was open but the screensaver was going. There looked to be an abandoned lunch on the stove untouched and no signs that anyone was even home. Which was strange because Sirius was definitely home.

"Love?" he called out again softly as he slipped off his pumps and set them by the door. He heard a groan from the bedroom and panic swelled in his chest. All the statistics of COVID-19 ran through his mind as he rushed into the bedroom and immediately knelt by the bed beside the curled up figure. "Fuck, are you running a temperature? Have you been coughing? Are you-"

The interrogation died on his lips as he saw the miserable face peek up from the pillow, red-rimmed eyes and tear streaked face. 

"It's not that," Sirius croaked, voice husky and raw from apparently a lot of crying. 

Remus felt his stomach drop even further than he thought possible. 

"Oh. Oh, sweetheart..."

[mia-cooper]

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Star Trek: Voyager Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway Characters: Kathryn Janeway Additional Tags: Sick Fic, Quarantine, Personal Logs, Epistolary, Silly, Innuendo, Photoshop therapy Summary:

The terrible trials of a captain in quarantine.

Posted for the Lock Down Fest 2020.

[lockdownfest]

LDF: Some Prompts

This fest was born from a desire to provide distraction and comfort to all of us struggling with anxiety during these difficult times, and we’re overwhelmed by the interest and excitement this idea has received. We’re all going through an unprecedented experience for our generations, and the need for comfort is imperative. We know: three of us are self-isolating or in quarantine, and one is a medical professional in a hotspot. We’re in the thick of it, and we know first-hand how soul-destroying it is to have to stay isolated, to worry about loved ones, and to check the news obsessively without being able to do anything about it--except self-isolate.

We’re grateful to all you who thanked us in DMs or replies; all of you who have already volunteered to be a beta; to all of you reblogging/liking the announcement, and to all of you creating for the fest as we speak. Fandom and creativity is one of the best coping mechanisms we can think of. Taking our fears and worries and turning them into art that brings joy to others is how we can show solidarity to everyone suffering.

We can’t wait to see what you create! But for those still seeking inspiration, below is a list of prompts. They’re general, but feel free to reblog with your own, fandom-specific suggestions.

COVID-19 RELATED:

Character(s) stranded at airport/hotel due to travel ban. 

Character singing on the balcony to comfort the neighbourhood. Someone accompanies them with a musical instrument. Soon, it’s a concert.

A young, healthy person offers to do the shopping for the people in their neighbourhood who are elderly or immunocompromised; they leave the shopping outside the door and are reimbursed by e-banking. To cheer people up, perhaps they leave a flower with the shopping. Perhaps the people receiving the shopping start leaving small gifts for them.

Neighbours are posting notes through each other’s doors offering support if people have to self-isolate. Person A posts the note, person B contacts them, a correspondence begins.

Two characters are usually workaholics and never home, but now they're stuck in their flats and they start to spend a lot more time out on their balconies. Their eyes meet across the street but it's too far away to chat so they have to communicate with gestures/ holding up signs.

Some humour: Fighting for the last loo roll in the supermarket.

A character needs to be isolated separately from their family/partner/roommate. The only contact they have for two weeks is talking on the phone/through the door.

Fluffy comfort fic - Person A has a cold/flu and person B looks after them (doesn’t have to be covid-related).  

established relationship - person A in one country which has locked down, person B just over the border - cue hijinks over remote communication.

ISOLATED TOGETHER: 

Getting accidentally locked in a bookshop/other store in the evening. (this has happened in London) 

 Hiking in the mountains when the weather changes abruptly for the worse. Luckily, there’s a shelter nearby where you can wait out the (snow) storm.

Pirates or sailors: Shipwrecked on a island with some/the rest of your crew.

[keldae]

Can you do The 50. They are scared but don't want to admit it so they takes the other hand please ? 🎵

The outbreak had come completely out of nowhere. One moment, Xaja was walking down a narrow alley in Coronet City that still bore scars of the latest round of Sith bombardment; the next, the unholy screams had broken out, mingling in a roar that still sent fear racing through her veins. She and Theron had somehow managed to break into an abandoned building and hide before the first rakghouls had come tearing around the corner – some still looking vaguely human, others looking as fully transformed as if they had been on Taris for years. She felt like her heart hadn’t settled down yet, no matter that they had gotten the door securely locked and barricaded with a heavy metal table, two floors below them; no matter that the rakghouls hadn’t yet picked up their scent; no matter how much she tried to meditate away her fear.

T.H.O.R.N. had been alerted, but it would take them some time to arrive on Corellia. Alliance forces were working with Republic troops in the meantime to try and keep the rakghouls from invading the entire planet. From how Theron frowned every time he looked at the updates from Lana on his datapad, the situation was grim. Civilians were hunkering down in their homes, or hurrying for the relative safety of the spaceport, or CorSec’s bases, or even the Green Jedi Enclave; right now, Xaja didn’t know how many of them had made it without being swarmed by the mutant rakghouls now crawling around the streets.

She risked a peek out the window into the alley, sighing worriedly at the view. A handful of rakghouls wouldn’t have been a great issue – she and Theron could have fought their way through that. But this was a scale she hadn’t seen since the Kaon disaster, far too many for her and Theron to handle. They might make it ten feet out of their refuge before being killed or worse – and wouldn’t that be an ironic fate for her? The Alliance Commander, survivor of assassinations, carbonite poisoning, Ziost, and having Valkorion riding along in her brain, meeting her end at the hands (… claws?…) of mutant plaguebearers?

She couldn’t do that to Theron, crouching beside her, his worried frown a mirror of her own. And she couldn’t do that to their son, hidden away on Odessen under Senya’s watchful eye.

And she definitely was not going to experience Death By Rakghoul while Malgus still (somehow) lived. That just wouldn’t do. There was no way in the nine hells that she was going to let that undead bastard outlive her.

She flinched at the sound of a rakghoul’s growl on ground level, a couple stories below her, and found herself reaching for Theron’s hand. He offered her a small, tight smile as he wove his fingers into her own and tightly squeezed. At least, if they had to be trapped by rakghouls and too afraid to try and make a break for it, they were together.

Not daring to speak out loud, Xaja raised her free hand and signed a word to Theron. Beacon? He nodded – the extraction beacon had been set a few feet away from them and was live. Lana and Sorand, between the two of them, had to know where they were, and T.H.O.R.N. would know where to find them… assuming they hurried up and got to Corellia before the rakghouls started breaking down doors.

Moving as quietly as she could, Xaja scooted closer to Theron, one of her lightsabers resting on her lap in easy reach. She gave him a smile as he lifted their joined hands to kiss the back of hers, then settled in beside her, one blaster drawn and ready to shoot at the first hint of danger finding them. All they could do now, if they wanted a hope of survival, was to sit still as the sun descended over Coronet City, listen to the sounds of the rakghouls besieging their hideout, and wait for a rescue.

[momentofmemory]

if there’s no neighborhood

Rating: G Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 1,160 Relevant Tags: Peter Parker Loves New York, Quarantine, Post-Endgame, Canon Compliant, Hopeful Ending

Empty is not a word Peter’s ever thought to pair with the streets of New York.

Plenty of other words, sure. Chaotic, loud, crowded. Sweltering, freezing, humid. Destroyed, rebuilt, upended.

But New York—New Yorkers—are tough like that. A thousand and one paradoxes, wrapped up in a single space.

Read on Ao3

[80sbandsandmusicians]

Midge Ure plays acoustic Fade To Grey and more as part of Let’s Rock Lockdown Fest for charity - Child Bereavement.

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

Darkest Before The Dawn

read on AO3

1.3k, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor, No Rating, for @lockdownfest

Summary: Lena ends up diagnosed with a serious virus. Kara gets a little panicky about this news and worries enough to visit her.

[gentlestbeast]

can I suggest this as a prompt for @lockdownfest ?

Ok, so I was reading this news story:

So far so normal, right? But then:

Like what. And then:

Like, I think Alaska State Trooper Ken Marsh wants to be a romance novelist. 

[rainbowsparroww]

“We’ll always be here for you Bruce. We’re partners.” She pressed her cool hand against his forehead, and he breathed a sigh of relief."

-would you lie with me (by Glove23)