#and get to comms within a week or two. thank you ���

[eastgaysian]

compiling a far from comprehensive list of palestinian fundraisers i'm aware of that are far from their goal (less than 25% raised) and/or stagnating. i will try to update this post at least every couple days - please check the op for updates.

if you can donate at least USD $15 (€14, CAD $20, kr160, £12) and dm me proof, i'll offer a colored sketch commission akin to these drawings (more details here). [EDIT: not accepting new donation comms at the moment until i've worked through my backlog; check back in a week or two!]

even if you're not able to donate that much or at all, please share, and follow the links to the fundraisers - there's much more important information for each one than i'm able to quickly compile into one list.

(created aug 2, updated aug 15)

Hazem Khalil (hazempalestine) - vouched for by bilal-salah0, who has been vetted - €6,015/50k (USD $6,556/$54.6k) raised to evacuate 7 family members

Mohammed Haboub (mohammedhaboubsblog) - shared by 90-ghost - kr85,347/300k (USD $8,108/$28.5k) raised to evacuate 4 family members, along with paying for rent and medical expenses - URGENT RENT + MEDICAL COSTS

Walid Al-Qatrawi (waled-family, waledps) - shared by 90-ghost, instagram - €2,164/€50k (USD $2,362/$54.6k) raised to evacuate a family of 5 with a child on the way - GOFUNDME HAD TO BE CLOSED, DONATIONS STAGNATING SEVERELY

Bilal Abed Rabou (bilalassadabedrabou) - verified by 90-ghost - €7,169/80k (USD $7,814/$87.3k) raised to evacuate a family of 3 + living and education expenses

Israa Alazaiza (isra-elazaiza, sarah-family) - verified #236 - CAD $5,480/48k (USD $3,946/$34,593) raised to evacuate 9 familly members - DONATIONS STAGNATING

Abdelmutei Al-Habil (abdelmutei) - verified by 90-ghost - €8,985/50k (USD $9,794/$54.6k) raised to evacuate 7 family members

Heba Al-Anqar (heba-baker) - shared by 90-ghost - €3,170/60k (USD $3,455/$65,499) raised to evacuate 7 family members + provide for living expenses - DONATIONS SLOWING DOWN

Salahaldin Hor (salahaldinhor) - shared by 90-ghost - €5,032/40k (USD $5,485/$43.6k) raised to evacuate 5 family members + medical and education expenses

Mohammed Atallah (mohammed-atallah) - shared by 90-ghost, organizer's instagram - €11,542/82k (USD $12,581/$89.5k) raised for a bone grafting procedure + rebuilding family home

Fatima Alanqar (fatma93-gaza) - shared by 90-ghost - €4,730/20k (USD $5,156/$21.8k) raised to support a family of 7

Mohammed Matar (matarmoh) - verified by el-shab-hussein - €1,119/€20,000 (USD $1,220/21.8k) raised to evacuate 5 family members, including a 6 month old baby daughter

Mohammed Iwais (mohdiwais) - shared by 90-ghost - kr156,227/500k (USD $14,842/$47.4k) raised to evacuate 10+ family members

Ahmed Abu Shammalah (ahmed8311) - verified by el-shab-hussein - €12,051/100k (USD $13,136/$109k) raised to evacuate 8 family members and provide living expenses - DONATIONS STAGNATING

Wafaa Resh (wafaaresh) - shared by 90-ghost, tiktok - €26,122/100k (USD $28,473/$109k) raised to support 15+ family members

Musab Abed (musababed) - shared by 90-ghost - £3,780/8k (USD $4,838/$8.7k) raised for living and education expenses

Fadi Zakkout (burningnightgiver) - shared by 90-ghost - CAD $10,310/50k (USD $7,423/$36k) raised to evacuate children who have been separated from their parents; their daughter Wafaa needs insulin

Malak Dader (malakabed) - verified by 90-ghost - €5,646/€25k (USD $6,154/$27.2k) raised to support a family of 6 with living and medical expenses + education

Shymaa Taiser (shymaafamily) - #141 - USD $10,878/$50k raised to reunite a father with his children in Gaza and provide for medical expenses

Yousef Hussein (adham-89) - shared by 90-ghost - USD $11,001/50k raised to evacuate 6 family members - DONATIONS STAGNATING

Sujoud Al-Sarsawi (sojid222) - #155 - CAD $10,587/45k (USD $7,623/$32.4k) raised for a single mother and her 3 children - DONATIONS STAGNATING SEVERELY

Siraj Abudayeh (siraj2024) - #219 - CAD $36,515/82k (USD $26,291/$59k) raised to rebuild a family home

[meowpupp]

as a thank you for hitting 1k followers, and an apology for my absence, I would like to share my take on poly!141.

poly141! x recruit!reader. 1.5k words. mentions of sex, although no smut. yet.

you're a sweet little thing. smart as a whip, nerdy, and confident. having spent most of your post highschool graduate years studying, youve acquired numerous impressive qualifications. while most people your age in university were out partying, getting blind drunk, hooking up, you were studying.

a tech genius. that's what laswell had sold you as to price. he had been hesitant to allow any new members at all, especially ones so young. and yet, taskforce 141 sees two new additions. the newest little tech genius who's climbing quickly through the ranks, and another soldier. someone by the name of roach.

at first, you weren't amused. as a woman in the military, your life was already difficult enough. being assigned to an all male taskforce felt like your worst nightmare. but after some convincing from laswell, and realizing this would be the fastest way to make a name for yourself, you sign the papers.

your first week is smooth, albeit awkward. you and the other new recruit, roach, get along fairly well. he's funny, a little dorky, but obviously skilled. he isn't as intimidating as the others, being almost as young as you. you find yourself gravitating to him often, often staying up late together, eating meals together, and even training together. you make quick friends.

and so, it's only natural that you both end up becoming… closer. late night talks turn into makeouts, and makeouts turn into grinding. it's somewhat clumsy however… as if the two of you can quite place the power dynamics.

the others, however, are much more of a challenge to get along with. you're cautious, aware these men have been in this business much longer than you. the four of them- price, ghost, gaz, and soap- are a power unit. it takes weeks for you to find your place within the team.

price tries to be welcoming, although it doesn't quite work. there's this sense of authority and power around him that makes you feel small, almost submissive. his gruff voice sends shivers down your spine each time he speaks over comms, panties growing wet each time he gives you a direct order.

it's almost as if he knows, whispering your name rather than your military nickname. his voice sounds almost seductive. it makes you feel like a pervert, imagining him growling in your ear each time you get off.

price has a way of always remaining in control and not just with you. the power dynamics within the task force are subtle yet well established. there seems to be a chain of command that follows their ranks. price on top, then ghost, then gaz and soap. you notice how they all drop casual innuendos, their affection for each other, corssing over the boundary of just friendliness.

ghost barely looks, let alone, speaks to you for the first month. you're unsure if he even likes you. on the field, he's sharp and alert. you occasionally hear him share banter with the others, but never feel brave enough to join in. the man is intimidating, almost three times your size, a quiet sort of confidence and dominance that follows him around. he's the one you train with most often.

ghost is ruthless. he slams you into the matt, somehow always ending up between your thighs, his big hands holding them apart and pinning you down. you can't help but memorise the sight. your Lieutenant, panting, slightly sweat as he holding you in such a lewd position, glaring down at you.

it's your favourite fantasy to think about late at night as you touch yourself, unaware that the walls are so thin that ghost himself hears you whimper his name. he strokes himself in time with the slick noises of your cunt, imagining how desperate you must look.

gaz isn't intimidating, per say. he isn't distant like ghost or unapproachable like price. the man has such a casual confidence and arrogance around him. he's the first to speak to you, ask you about yourself. throughout your career, you've met many military soldiers. most the men fit into two categories, misogynistic dicks who don't believe you have a place within the ranks, or disgusting perverts who want a quick fuck (most of them have wives, even kids.) but gaz is refreshing. he fits into neither.

he often starts conversations with you. asking questions and truly listening as you speak. little do you know he records each one, saving them for when he's alone late at night. something about the way you speak, your tone, the quiet rasp or accent, it makes him stupidly hard. he's not above recording you while you workout, standing just close enough to capture each huff and grunt as you lift. it's those recordings that get him off the quickest, wondering how whiny youd sound if he held a vibrator to your clit, didnt let up until you were crying and covered in slick.

and soap. the man is difficult for you to read. your first impression is that he's one of those men who fit into the ‘misogynistic asshole’ category. apart from your initial meeting, he practically ignores you.

you can tell its not deliberate. he just seems more immersed in the natural, pre-established dynamic of the taskforce. the one that doesn't include you. it takes a while, but after a month or two, your interactions become more common.

he turns out to be very respectful- even helpful. due to your background in tech, you skipped a few ranks when you joined. soap helps you in the shooting range. standing behind you, body pressing into yours from behind, correcting your posture before you fire.

you even create games with each other. he gives you little quizzes. theyre normally about gun components, military jargon, or even field upgrades. with each quiz he promises a ‘reward.’

its embarrassing whenever you blush and grow wet when he says it. the rough growl of his voice, combined with the accent he has, all makes you dizzy. you don't even notice how he plays it up, practically purring out the word, smirking as you squirm, making sure to graze his fingertips over your hot skin.

it's obvious that after a month or two, that roach is significantly more acclimated than you. it feels unfair. your relationship with each member is steadily growing, yet something about how roach interacts with them is so different. it's like you're missing a puzzle piece.

it isn't until one night when you're venting your frustration that roach reveals the reason he's clicked with them so quickly.

“It's like an initiation,” he smirks, eyes flicking away from you, “think of it kind of like…. hazing.” his eyes are almost predatory as he meets yours again, so unlike the goofy persona he usually has, “if you like, I could speak to price. they have started to discuss inviting you in.”

it's as if everything made sense now. it wasn't your fault. it was another case of discrimination, you being left out because you didn't fit into their stupid boys club.

ever since that conversation with roach, you have become frustrated, irritable, and short with them all. you fulfilled all your required tasks but refused to engage with them any further. denying invites to the pub, ignoring gaz when he tried to speak, training alone, no longer asking soap for help.

after about a week of this, price calls you to his office.

a sick sense of unease and anxiety settles in your gut. the man is so intimidating, and this surely wasn't a positive meeting. you've never been in a position like this. all throughout school, you were a grade A student, and within your years in the military, you've always maintained basic respect and politeness. you've never been in trouble with a CO.

when you step into his office, however, all your expectations are subverted. price sits at his desk, smoking a cigar. roach leans against it next to him. the two of them are speaking lowly.

price notices you first. his eyes carry an emotion you haven't seen before. lust. he's staring at you as if you're some sort of prey. with a smirk, he blows out a large puff of smoke. it curls around him, only making him more intimidating.

“if you were feeling excluded, sweetheart, you should've made me aware.” he leans back in his chair. suddenly, the room feels so small, your body getting hot, “id be more than happy to include you.”

roach walks towards you, guiding you further into the office. he doesn't let you sit, however, instead standing behind you, hands groping your hips. his fingertips slip under your shirt, brushing the sensitive skin of your stomach.

he kisses your neck, “price wants to see how pretty you are,” his hands slide further up, taking your shirt off, “let's give him a show, yeah?”

cont.

[daddysfangirls-dc]

The Arrangement

Ch 1 Old Habit

Damian Wayne x OC!Female

Next

Damian sighed, and she began to move, unlatching herself from him and moving away. He looked at her, confused. " I know that sigh. It's your 'I have to leave' sigh." Despite her thoughts and feelings, she moved away, allowing him to begin his departure.

"I didn't realize I had become habitual."

"No, I've just known you long enough to see the small tell." She watches him as he puts on his mask and heads for her window.  " Robin?" he turns back towards her. " Thank you, and Good Luck." And he vanishes into the night. 

-

"Looks like you're falling back into old habits," Tim flinched so hard that he swore his heart stopped. He blamed his sleep deprivation on why Jason got so close without being noticed. He needed sleep. 

"Stop," Tim whined as he tried to swat Jason's hands away from his laptop. 

"Stalking Robin truly is a pastime for you," Jason teased as he scrolled through the pictures of Robin, aka Damian.

"What a minute, go back!" Tim was sure his heart stopped this time as he flinched so hard he fell out of his chair. Fortunately, Dick caught him and sat him up straight. Tim was going to bed after this.  

"Who is that?" Dick asked. Tim rubbed his face before looking. Robin stood next to a girl in a red and black Kimono with the League of Assassins insignia. 

"I don't know"

"When did you take this picture?"

"I don't know"

"How-"

"I haven't slept for 73 hours. I am surviving on power naps, energy drinks, and caffeine. I don't remember everything. Forgive me if I miss a few details."  While complaining, Tim worked to get the details of that photo and other similar photos. He knew that things could slip past him with his lack of sleep and had programs to back up his work on such occasions. He pulled up the dates and locations on each photo.

"All of these took place within the last week or so," Dick said, scrolling through the details. 

"I didn't get my first clear picture of her until today. Haven't run it through any database yet."

"We'll take it from here. Got to bed," Jason said, pushing Tim out of his seat. 

"But-"

"Nope, time for bed," Dick said as he pulled Tim away and towards the door. Jason could hear Tim's weak protest down the hall as they went. " Tim is snug as a bug," Dick said smugly when he returned. Tim was too tired to fight Dick's swattling. A Win in his book.

"Nobody," Jason said as Dick sat down at the counter next to him. " Every database, every agency, this chick doesn't exist."

"Not a surprise," Dick said " It is the league. Does he know when or why she came into town? What's her relationship to Damian?" 

"I don't know; there are no notes. All I got was pictures, nothing else. At least not that I can find."

"We'll have to talk to Tim when he wakes up. And look into her. We'll also keep a closer eye on Robin during patrol. " 

It was obvious from the body language that Damian not only knew the girl but was comfortable with her. While Dick was suspicious and cautious, especially with the league, in the case of Damian, he did not wish to jump to conclusions that might get him hurt. They'd wait. Damian was home now and in bed; they'd wait until they had more information and more people. They'd wait. 

-

"We can't keep meeting like this," Robin said as he walked up to her, as she tied up the unconscious men. She wore her usual black and red kimono and mask but was bare of any weapons aside from her grabbing hook. She tried never to carry a weapon in Gotham at Robin's request. She looked at him, confused. " Almost every time we meet, it is surrounded by unconscious thugs. It's the standard now."

He didn't say anything, instead calling Oracle to tell her that he had come upon a drug bust and handled it on his own. He'd take the lecture later. He listens for the chorus of disapproval for a bit, then mutes his comm again. She hung her catch, and the two left before the police arrived.

"has my mother contacted you?"

"Not yet. Then again, she thinks I'm still in South America. I finished my mission earlier and didn't tell," she said, leaning back against the wall. He looked over the edge, watching down below.

"How many days do you have left?"

"Three, not including tonight."

"Time is in our favor then."

"Only if you let it be. Do you have plans after this?" she asked, leaning on his waist as he leaned over the edge. 

"No"

"Do you want to come over? Watch a movie? and have late-night snacks. Just spend a late night together."

"Acceptable"

"Come to my place when you're done," she said as she saluted him and then disappeared into the shadows. He'd go back to her safe house later on. And spending some alone time together without beating up thugs. He'd like a light of peace or semi-peace. If only for an hour or even 30 minutes. Just time with her. 

[1wh4re1]

Rivers and Roads

Chapter 3: The Spaces Between

15 weeks (4 months) 

Morning sickness is a fucking lie you think. You’ve been sick practically all day, every day since you found out. Your desk drawer contains a multitude of saltines and bland snacks, along with the anti-nausea meds the doctor prescribed at your appointment two days ago. The snacks also help with the heartburn and indigestion that have been making an appearance as well. 

You aren’t showing yet, the doctor told you that that was normal. Some women do not start to show until around 20 weeks. You’re thankful for that, planning to work as long as possible before you really start to show. It’s also nice because you haven’t had to spend any money on maternity clothes or put in a request for the standard issue maternity fatigues. 

It’s almost laughably easy to avoid Ghost, even though it hurts to do so. He’s hardly ever on base anymore, and when he is he’s, well, a ghost. You were on comms for a mission last week and it was icy between you two, to say the least. 

Gaz visited you when they arrived back on base, checking in on you. You haven’t told him why you’ve been on desk duty and you know he’s concerned, but you haven’t told anyone but Price. And that was purely out of necessity. You told him to visit you more often though, it gets a little (lot) lonely in your office sometimes. 

-------

19 weeks (5 months) 

You once again hold ultrasound pictures, dumbfounded at the miracle that is your baby. 

A baby girl at that. You’re overjoyed, you were waffling between what gender you were hoping they would be and decided that you would be happy either way. 

The baby now looks less like a little blob and more like a tiny human at this point, little arms and legs visible. The whole ultrasound she was rolling and moving and you were surprised you couldn’t feel it. The technician told you that you might not be able to feel it until about 24 weeks. 

You finally told Kyle. He had caught you vomiting in the trashcan next to your desk when he popped in for a visit. Honestly, you think he might be more excited than you. You’re pretty sure he’s already bought a “World’s Best Uncle” t-shirt. When you tell him it’s a baby girl he just about swoons, and eagerly tells you about his niece who just turned two. It’s nice to have someone else to share this with, his excitement is contagious. You show him the most recent ultrasound pictures, watching the smile spread across his face. When he looks back at you to point out something you can’t help but smile back, matching expressions of glee on your faces.

--------

25 weeks (6 months) 

The orange glucose drink the nurse gives you is vile. It tastes like synthetic orange syrup and you’re not sure how you’re going to finish it within the allotted five minutes, let alone keep it down for an hour after that to complete the screening. 

You sit in the waiting room alone as the hour ticks by. You’re browsing housing sites as you wait. You haven’t made the decision yet but you think you might retire once you hit maternity leave. You want to be there for your little girl, to be there for every milestone she hits. Her first laugh, her first steps. All of it, and you know that won’t be possible if you stay in the military. 

When the hour is up you make your way back with the nurse. You fail the glucose test unfortunately and you’re told you need to come back for a three-hour glucose test. You sigh and make the appointment, you’re not looking forward to drinking that syrup again. 

--------

30 weeks (7 months) 

You’re in the Scottish Highlands with a realtor this weekend. She’s been showing you house after house and nothing seems right. You feel you’re being too picky but you know the real reason you haven’t settled in because it hurts to be doing this without Ghost and Johnny. You talked about it once, retiring together when the Makarov business was finally finished. It’s just you and the baby now. 

Your realtor is showing you her last pick of the day and you think you’re in love. A charming three-bedroom cottage that has a little garden in the front and ivy growing up the side of the stone cladding. There is a large brick hearth fireplace in the sitting room and a beautiful clawfoot tub in the bathroom. The kitchen is a little small but it seems the previous owners upgraded the appliances. You put in an offer that evening when you’re back at your hotel room and cross your fingers that it all works out. 

----------

32 weeks (8 months) 

You’re showing now but you are surprised at how small you still look. The doctor assured you that the baby is measuring just fine though and it is probably just your build and the way the baby is laying. It makes it easy to hide at least, you tend to wear baggier shirts more often these days. 

Kyle is with you heading towards Price’s office. This is your last week before maternity leave and you drafted your retirement papers to give to him. Both Kyle and Price check on you weekly now. You also told Laswell and she and her wife sent you some things from your registry. You’re grateful for their support. It hasn’t been easy, you think of Johnny often and how you know he’d be pampering you. You also think of Ghost and how you know he would be the best father despite the reservations he has regarding the subject. 

It’s as if just thinking of Ghost makes him appear. He’s there in Price’s office when you enter. Their heads are together studying a document on the desk, only the Captain looking up when the door opens. 

You don’t even bother to acknowledge Ghost, walking up to the desk and holding your manila folder out to Price. “Sir, I have my retirement paperwork for you to approve.” 

Ghost's head snaps up. “What?” 

You ignore his outburst and continue speaking, “Laswell has already approved and signed off so I-”

“What? You’re retiring? Why?” Ghost interrupts. His tone almost seems worried, but you don’t know if that’s an actual feeling or just wishful thinking. 

“I don’t think that's any of your business, Lieutenant,” You snap. You feel Kyle shift awkwardly behind you. You look back to Price. "My paperwork, Sir?" 

 Looking between the two of you Price rubs his forehead tensely.  “Yeah, I’ll get these to you by the end of the week,” he says. 

You nod. “Thank you, sir,” You say before giving a short salute to both the men and leaving with Kyle in tow. You don't look at Ghost again before you leave.

---------

37 weeks (9 months) 

Price is with you this weekend. Helping you move into your new home. Your offer on the cottage was accepted and with the home being available for immediate occupancy things moved very quickly to closing. You’re grateful for his help, you feel huge now your stomach ballooning once you hit 35 weeks. He won’t let you lift even the lightest box but you don’t feel too bad, you don’t have many belongings and the bigger items were already moved by a hired team. 

Price is in the nursery setting up the crib. You occasionally hear him curse from where you are in the kitchen, you can’t help but chuckle knowing he probably is ignoring the directions and trying to set it up without them. You’re reaching for one of the shelves in a higher cabinet when you feel it. Just a small twinge in your hip area, you huff, your little girl is quite active and you can only assume she is shifting. A moment later and you think you accidentally peed yourself (not uncommon with how often the little one pushes on your bladder). A warm rivulet of liquid runs down your leg, you grimace and bend to clean it up when you feel it gush. Oh..oh no. 

“Captain!” You yell, uncertainly, worry building into panic.

“What?” He asks, tiredly coming through the hallway. 

You're shaking. “I think my water just broke!” You cry, distraught. “John, it's too early, You say. 

He's calm though. “Get in the car,” He orders, “I'll grab your bag.” 

You’ve never been able to ignore a direct order, his “Captain’s voice” cutting through your spiraling thoughts. You’re moving before you can even think about it. Opening the car door and buckling your seatbelt you feel like you’re underwater. Ready or not here she comes. 

-------

Happy Thanksgiving my US friends! Enjoy this next chapter. As always let me know if you wanted or taken off the tag list. Thanks again to my beta @voidbirb!

ALSO I still haven't named this baby lmao if anyone has any suggestions I'd be glad to hear them.

Tag list: @thefictionalgemini @ghostslittlegf @oniiloma @astro-ghoul99 @http-paprika @poohkie90 @cassiecasluciluce @cdej6 @kaoyamamegami @creamwhxre @mandalover2023 @maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @callsign-selkie @leclercdream @themarauderseraslut @voidbirb @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @purplegamer99

[alexthefly]

Did I miss the relevant prompt earlier in the week? Maybe. Shhhh...

In honour of FishTank Week, and particularly the prompt 💛"We're a team, always"💚 please enjoy this reblog.

*******

Green Wool and Sunshine

What is that?!”

“What is what?” asked Virgil through a mouthful of cinnamon roll.

“That! That…thing you’re wearing!”

Gordon sat up slowly from the sofa, his face fixed in equal parts grin and grimace as he pointed with his good hand.

Virgil looked down at himself and surreptitiously brushed a few crumbs off his sweater. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

“Dude, it’s hideous,” said Gordon, eyeing the offending garment critically.

Virgil looked again. True, it wasn't in the best shape. Pale green wool, striped with white and yellow, and all of it faded and bobbled to within an inch of its life. One shoulder had a loose seam so that it looked almost as if the wool were melting. And at the centre of it all, the distinctive shape of Thunderbird Two rendered clumsily in darker green.

"Where did you get it?”

“Grandma made it for me one Christmas. You remember that vintage knitting machine Dad got her that one year?”

God, it had made a racket, like someone flicking a giant comb over and over again. Thank goodness she’d finally lost interest in that particular hobby, although in hindsight Virgil wondered if her subsequent rediscovery of her old cooking books might have been too high a price to pay.

“Anyway, I just found it the other day in the back of the closet.”

Gordon’s mouth twisted to one side. “...Any chance you could lose it back there again?”

A deep grumble. Okay, so she might not be the best at the domestic arts, but she was still their grandma and he loved that she tried. Virgil had actually thought the sweater was pretty good, in a homespun, one-sleeve-slightly-longer-than-the-other sort of way; his girl’s big, friendly turtle-face was unmistakable, and Grandma had even included a little dark-haired figure in blue and green waving out of one of her windows.

“Lay off. It’s comfortable. Anyway, I didn’t see you criticising when she made you that yellow submarine one you wore down to scraps.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “First of all, I was a lot younger then and not so refined.”

Virgil snorted.

“Secondly, yellow is infinitely better than green. And thirdly, I can carry that sort of thing off. You…” - he wafted his hand up and down at his brother in the manner of a bitchy ballroom dancing judge - “...unfortunately, cannot.”

Virgil grunted and took another bite of his roll.

“Really? Mr ‘Hawaiian Shirts and Sandals Go With Everything’ is criticising my fashion choices?”

“They totally do go with everything! They’re a completely universal outfit; the quintessential capsule wardrobe.”

He puffed out his chest to show off today’s offering, complete with large ketchup stain down the front.

“Anyway, why are you even wearing a sweater when it’s 80 degrees outside? I know you tend towards layers, tropical climate be damned, but this is a bit much even for you.”

“I was down in the hangars,” Virgil shrugged. “It was cold.”

“You doing some maintenance?” His little brother’s face lit up.

“Two’s left air intake’s doing that rattling thing again; I thought I’d give her an overhaul,” he said, brain shifting seamlessly into engineer mode, “And her injectors need a spruce up. Thought perhaps I’d have a play with that new neo-PEM cell Brains has been going on about.”

“D’you want some help?”

The enthusiasm in his voice was unmistakable, and cut deep.

Virgil bit his lip. “Aww, I don’t think so, Fish. You need to rest.”

“I could rest down there? I promise, I’ll just sit and watch you."

The desperation in his brother’s puppy dog eyes felt like knives in Virgil’s chest.These last few weeks since the Marindata Ventfields had been hard on them all. Even now, with Gordy finally home from the hospital, Virgil still woke almost nightly with the sound of that emergency signal echoing in his ears, the silence of his brother’s comms stretching out in his mind until…

No, don’t think about that. He’s home. He’s safe.

But obviously Gordon had been hit the hardest. His ‘bird was a total loss, his body not much better, and he still had months of rehab ahead, bringing with it all the oh-so-unwelcome memories he’d worked so hard to bury. Regular visits from Penny had helped, and their sunshine boy was trying hard, but it was like the clouds had gathered, dimming that indefinable brightness that made him…him.

Virgil wished beyond wish that he could indulge his little brother if it would make him happy. But…

“I’m sorry Squid, Grandma’s orders. There’s just too many hazards down there. Fumes and stairs and things to trip over… I wouldn’t be able to watch out for you properly.”

Gordon sagged, and Virgil felt his heart clench painfully.

“But hey, how about I leave the maintenance and come sit up here with you instead? We could watch an episode of Buddy and Ellie?”

Anything to bring back the sun.

A shake of the head, eyes fixed downwards. “Nah, seen ‘em all.” Gordon looked up and smiled again; this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “Anyway, you don’t want to be stuck up here. Not when there’s oil and grime to play about in. Better watch you don’t get that sweater dirty though, or Grandma might knit you another one.”

Virgil opened his mouth to speak, but his little brother cut him off.

“Stop worrying Virg. S’no biggie. I’m fine, see?” He shrugged. “I’ll just see you when you’re done.”

He lay back down on the sofa carefully, looking so much smaller than he had a moment ago.

“Actually, I’m getting a little tired now. You just go do what you gotta do - I’m gonna take a nap right here.”

And with that he closed his eyes; conversation over.

Virgil lingered for a moment, scouring his brain for something to say but coming up blank. Inside his heart burned with guilt and impotence: his little brother was hurting, and he couldn’t do anything to fix it. All he’d done was make things worse.

Perhaps he should go.

“Okay then. Take it easy, alright?”

“Yup."

“There’s cinnamon rolls in the kitchen if you get hungry.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Thus dismissed, he turned and made his way towards the elevator, mind no longer on his ‘bird but instead on her grounded, miserable co-pilot.

Oh Gordy. It will get better; I promise.

………..

As the sound of the elevator faded away Gordon opened one eye a crack to check the coast was clear. Then he slowly, painfully hauled himself up, intent on getting to the residential levels. No doubt his big marshmallow of a brother would be on the comms right now, asking someone - probably Scott - to come down and check on him, and there was no way he was hanging around for that.

Even if his body hated him for moving.

The journey from the sofa to his room used to take less than two minutes. Today it took him seven minutes twenty. What was worse was that objectively he should be pleased. Sub-eight minutes was actually an improvement on a week ago.

Goddammit.

Finally, he was able to close the bedroom door behind him and collapse onto his bed, aching and miserable.

This sucked.

He was lucky to be alive; he knew that. A few weeks ago he’d been lying at the bottom of the ocean with half a volcano on top of him. Now, because of his brothers, Penny and Parker, he was back in the bosom of his family, healing, getting stronger, gradually shaving the seconds off his bedroom run.

He should be grateful. He’d been through far worse, for God’s sake.

So why?

Why wasn’t he able to shake this off?

Why was it that whenever he tried to see the positive, all he could see was just how freakin’ useless he was?

He didn’t dare say that out loud, of course. His family would absolutely kick his ass if they heard him say something like that. Penny too. (Boy, would she!) He could hear them now, telling him to give himself a chance, these things take time, blah blah blah… Hell, he even tried saying that stuff to himself sometimes, like he would if it were one of his brothers in this position instead of him.

If only any of it actually worked.

Because no matter how much he tried to reason his way out of this funk he was in, it didn’t help, because this feeling wasn’t logical. It couldn’t be reasoned with.

It whispered to him in the dark.

You’ve let them all down.

Look at the slack they’re having to pick up.

Look how much they’re worrying.

Worse.

They don’t need you back.

They’re fine without you.

Every time his brothers went off on a mission without him, it hurt. Whenever someone else took his place co-piloting for Virgil - even Penny, who was only doing it for his sake - he felt cold inside. And when Scott had been the one to take his new Thunderbird Four out for her maiden voyage? The mission to recover the Zero X capsule, no less; the thing that had kicked off Operation Bring Dad Home? Well, he’d just wanted to curl up right there on that sofa and never move again.

The unfairness.

The guilt.

The fear.

He would never wish what had happened on any of his family in a million years. But at the same time, why was it always him that got hurt?

Perhaps he really was just useless.

Sad, exhausted, hurting in more ways than he knew how to handle, he turned his face to the pillow and let the tears come.

…………

The thing about uber-strength pain meds is that they can make a guy fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon and not wake up until the early hours.

He registered the dim not-quite dark as the world slowly came back to him.

Someone had drawn the covers over him at some point during the night, tucking them around him like he was a child, and didn’t that just sum up everything? Take a nap, take your meds, and maybe if you’re a good boy you’ll get a lollipop(!)

He shifted slightly and his hip complained. Gingerly he rolled over, tackling the manoeuvre in sections, trying to get comfortable. He was just settling again when something caught his eye on the chair by his bed.

A large package wrapped neatly in yellow paper.

Twisting carefully he reached out with his good arm and pulled the chair towards him. In the soft glow of pre-dawn, he recognised the paper as the same kind he’d had for his last birthday: bright yellow with blue seahorses and glittery bubbles. Scott had complained about the glitter getting all over his shirt, and they’d all spent the next hour randomly shaking the paper over each other’s heads until they’d sparkled like they were in a Las Vegas show.

He smiled at the memory and gradually pulled himself up until he was sitting, blanket wrapped around him in the cool, almost-morning air.

Holding the package on his lap, he delicately pulled it open at the seams, revealing unmistakable green wool underneath.

What the-?

In with the sweater there was a card written in Virgil’s big, swooping hand:

Seeing as you’re the only one who could pull it off anyway, you should have this, at least until you can make it back aboard the real thing.

She isn’t the same without you. V.

He read the card two more times, breath hitching on the last sentence each time, then he gently unfurled the sweater out in front of him to take a closer look at the design, now that it was technically his.

It took a few moments for him to notice it.

Something was different.

He squinted.

There, in the window of Thunderbird Two’s cockpit, carefully embroidered next to the tiny waving figure of Virgil, a second, blond-haired figure waved out at him in shades of blue and yellow wool.

How...?

...Virgil.

For a moment, he swore he could see the little co-pilot grinning. Or was that just his suddenly-blurred vision playing tricks?

He wiped his eyes and, discarding his blanket, pulled the sweater over his head. He couldn’t get his bad arm through the sleeve, so instead opted to keep it against his chest, nestled between the soft wool and his own thrumming heart.

Despite the way it looked, Virg had been right: the sweater was comfortable. So comfortable. Softened by repeated washing, with a clean smell of detergent and just a hint of Virgil’s cologne - sandalwood and bergamot, mellow and comforting - wearing it was like wearing a hug; warm and reassuring and just so snuggly.

Full of love.

Wrapping his good arm around himself and breathing in the calming, cozy scent, he picked his way carefully over to the window and opened the blinds. Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon, painting the sky a hundred different shades of pink and purple and orange. As he watched, the sun slowly poked its head out over the gentle waves of his beloved ocean, bathing him in the warmth of its early morning glow.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

[fountainpenguin]

"No one lives forever~ Let's have a party; there's a full moon in the sky! It's the hour of the wolf and I don't wanna die..." (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 35 - “Incendiary (BigB, Skizz, Etho, Scott)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

---

BigB visits a tipsy Scar. Skizz does paperwork. Etho sobs on the floor. Scott gets something to eat.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

T-rated descriptions of BigB discussing cuddles with Ren

---

bigbst4tz2 - Moth (Ex-Illusioner)

Status: Increasingly concerned

City inspector, private investigator, and town crier

🖤  🧡  💚

This is getting intense. It's pinching at his hearts. I need a better observation post. Thank Beef for the card shop, though- and its rooftop bar. It's not exactly a night of snuggling and macaroni, but Pearl's whisper over comm gave him a good excuse to duck out. He likes Ren. But Ren's… a lot. It's charming to see him playing with the young fox hybrids. Jimmy's presence helped soak some energy too; it's easier, see, to handle Ren in small doses or with a bigger group. But it's nice to stretch. He needs time with his own thoughts now and then.

BigB lands in a fwump of wings. Not many people are up here tonight. Yeah, card games don't tend to be an instinct programmed into mob behavior. This place will be busier come new moon night. Three people sit at the barstools, talking to someone that BigB barely glanced at. They look heavily modded. No full moon pulls for them. Scar's here too. After what he glimpsed when Scar was on the floor with Scott, he'd be more surprised if he wasn't. Didn't Martyn crash through his roof? Yikes.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks over his shoulder. Scar looks up. He's drinking alone tonight. Again, don't blame him. Heavier than usual for him, isn't it? Raw binary code sparkles in his shot glass. Scar's eyes glint off-green, all dim and hazy. His soul traits haven't sprung up, though his form seems to be a little loose around the shoulders.

"Hello, BigB! No, not at all- pull up a seat if you'd like. What's the word on the streets these days?"

BigB's antennae twitch forward. He climbs on top of a short block stack at the edge of the roof- the corner spot where the fence post railing connects. Yeah, this will work. It's easier to sit on than the posts themselves and he gets a decent view of Headquarters. Scar's just two tables over, within prox chat distance. BigB gets himself situated, flapping out his wings. He cracks open the eyespots to soak in as much area as he can. "Well… Impulse and Tango got some farms approved. They're only authorized to run it for short periods of time and they're on trial to prove they can follow through with the ethics requirements, but we might get renewable iron rolling in pretty soon. Dude, that would be a game-changer."

"Oh, really?" Scar takes another sip of his drink. His vex wings flutter at his shoulders. BigB doesn't need to turn around to see that. "You know, I've always wondered why we have glowing iron golems in this dimension, but not glowing iron. It really makes you think. What a quad- quandary."

"Hmm… I guess because it's a programmed drop, not a literal part of their body."

"True!"

What a day. One of the longest ones he's experienced in a while, seeing as he had check-in work in the morning, a full two weeks of recording, and city inspection work when he went offline. BigB yawns, thrumming his wings. But Pearl asked him to keep an eye on Scott, and Scott's definitely up to something. He snuck out a window. This should be interesting.

"BigB?"

"What?"

"Do you think Grian would like me more if I was a worm?"

He rolls one of his eyespots, trying not to show expression otherwise. "I'm sure Grian likes you fine." If this is some jab at soulmates and Double Life, it's not one he's up for tonight. Though that thought does wiggle beneath his exoskeleton and bite at every heart.

I bet Ren would like me more if I were a giant world-eating worm.

Maybe he would've been into that in a way he wasn't into a soft and fluffy moth who loitered in the corners of his eyes, following instructions instead of bossing him around. And as he thinks that, he pinches his brow and rubs up and down. Ren checked every box when they were soulmates. He flirted and flounced and nuzzled while living at Box…

… but Ren's into things that BigB was never going to be able to give him, like fangs and drool and razor-sharp claws. He embraced the roleplay. Pretended there was something there. They were cuddling shirtless every night. Even carroting sometimes, foreheads pressed and mouths soft as they huffed against each other's necks. Hands sliding, fingers tracing spiracles they could both feel, even though they were only legitimate on BigB's skin. Arms wrapped around each other. Backs arched as they whispered and chased that little lip of lust and trust.

"Oh no," Scar says softly, mostly to his drink. "He might not recognize me if I'm a worm. Do you think Cub still would?" Cub loves me, Scar adds in his mind. BigB can hear that, like he can hear everything, because of the way Scar's throat constricts on individual words. It's subtle, but he can. Because BigB always listens, and he picks up everything.

He flicks an antenna, but otherwise ignores this, lost in his own thoughts and the cold hand resting on his face. It's almost not fair, you know… how everyone in Double Life got paired with someone they could learn to love. Maybe had loved in the past. And he and Ren had golden history, twirling around each other like a moth chasing flames in 3rd Life and Last Life too.

But loving Ren is a loser's game from the start, if you aren't someone like Martyn who was born with spiny wings and lashing tail and fangs and drool and claws. Ren's a performer and very good when guiding partners through a rush of carrots, but he was never going to fall in love with BigB the way BigB tried to fall in love with him.

It's not like he didn't try. He cuddled too. He responded with what felt like enthusiasm every time Ren pulled him in, licking his cheeks and running hands down his sides. Pulling him down on the bed and into his arms. Day after day, week after week, he mirrored the motions and fell in love. Even when he knew it wasn't real. When he lay his head on Ren's rising, falling chest and gazed up at his sleepy, bristle-covered face.

Ren's such a rugged and handsome man, honestly. He loves working in the dirt. Maybe it's a dog thing. Maybe he just likes plants and tiny creatures in the soil. He's got the muscles of someone who rolls huge boulders aside just to take a peek at ants and worms. Maybe a fungus.

And he's beautiful, and he loves so much, and it's all too much sometimes (because it isn't real). So with wings whispering at his back… BigB rested his cheek and curled his fingers, biting bare skin, and asked him for the truth.

"If I mod in some ears and fangs and maybe a tail, would that do something for you?"

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

[phoenixyfriend]

A Child’s Ink: Chapter Two

Read on AO3

Let's take a field trip to Little Sundari!

I actually started writing this almost immediately after I finished the first chapter. Then it grew too large and turned into "The Process of Acquiring a Padawan," a separate fic entirely, and only now have I finished The Depa Section.

I also haven't finished anything I actually like in months so I'm pretty happy to have completed something I actually care about.

A Child's Ink: First Chapter, Series: Anakin and the Jedi Babies

--

Depa’s first encounter with Ylliben Skywalker’s habit of collecting meaningful tattoos comes well before she is introduced to his true past, and even before she starts settling into the knowledge that her own figure is as Jedi Master. He is just an Initiate that she happens to spend sometime with. He is a friend, albeit a much younger one.

His father broaches the subject, first.

“Knight Billaba,” he greets, approaching her in the refectory. “I’m glad I could find you. May I sit?”

She gestures at the empty chair across the small table. “Of course. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Actually, yes,” he says. His smile is almost apologetic. “I may need a favor.”

“I’m listening,” Depa says.

“There’s this tattoo parlor in Little Sundari that I’ve gotten Ylliben an appointment at, to get his ink fixed. I was going to take him there myself, since he officially needs an adult escort until he’s fourteen, but I’ve been tapped in for a mission that clashes with the appointment. Rescheduling could push it out by weeks, even months. Would you be willing to go as his adult? I know it’s a bit of an ask, what with the distance, but I figured since you like the kid…”

Depa considers it. “When’s the appointment?”

“Next Centaxday, eleventh bell.”

She’s got a free spot on in her schedule then. No classes to teach or shifts to take, just some half-planned thoughts of sparring and research in her open time. “I’d be happy to. I’ve never been, actually. I imagine Ben would have an easier time than I figuring out how to navigate, and which restaurants are authentic, if we have time to explore.”

Skywalker grins at her, free and cheery. “I think he’d love the chance to play tour guide, yeah. Not that he knows the area, really, but…”

“I know what you mean,” Depa says. “I look forward to it.”

--

Depa picks up Ylliben from the Initiate dorms early, when the sun has only just risen. The train ride is a lengthy one, and she wants to skip over the crowds as much as possible. They’ll maximize the amount of time they spend in Little Sundari, this way.

When the doors open to release the child within, Ben isn’t quite sleep-rumpled, but he’s bleary-eyed and fighting a yawn. It’s a valiant effort at pretending he’s unaffected by the hour. Depa hides her amusement as best she can, just spreads her arms in an offer to hug.

Ylliben tips forward into her. He buries her face against her middle, fingers grasping at her outer tunic. He does not groan and moan as many a child his age would, but he does huff a soft little sigh of frustration as she hugs him back. Even Depa has to laugh at that, and ruffles his hair as she rocks and turns a little on the spot, letting Ylliben leach at her warmth.

“Early morning for you?” she asks.

“I couldn’t fall asleep as early as I tried,” he mumbles, “and I really tried.”

Poor baby, she coos in her mind. Instead, she assures him, “you can sleep on the train. Do you have everything you need?”

“Comm unit, credits for the ink, credits for lunch and discretionary spending,” Ben confirms. This is punctuated by another adorable little yawn.

Depa glances up past him to the crèchemaster, who nods. “He’s had a small breakfast and his morning medication, and I already got him signed out in your name, Knight Billaba.”

She nods back. “Thank you for being so accommodating.”

“Not at all,” the crèchemaster says. They tap Ben on the shoulder, prompting him to finally pull away from the cocoon of Depa’s robes. “Be safe, listen to Knight Billaba, and remember to comm if you’re going to be late.”

“Yes, Master Popolis,” Ben says, bowing politely despite the grumpiness he continues to radiate.

“And have fun,” Popolis adds.

Ben finally grins. “Yes, Master Popolis.”

“Shall we?” Depa asks as the door whooshes closed.

Ben takes a deep breath that’s certainly another attempt to mask a yawn, and almost manages to sound natural when he answers, “yes, Knight Billaba.”

“You know you can call me Depa,” she tells him, heading towards the hoverbus station in the next wing. “I don’t mind.”

“Kay,” Ben mumbles, eyes drooping despite being on his feet and actively walking.

She ushers him onto the bus, timed perfectly as they planned, and sits in the half-empty transport with full expectation that she’ll have an Initiate dozing against her side in moments. She is proven correct. The other passengers largely ignore them, being mostly commuters, who see Jedi on this route regularly. There is an elderly Rodian, however, probably somebody’s grandparent, who keeps looking up from their knitting to smile at the sight of little Ben half-asleep as he is.

It takes half an hour to reach the CoCo town interdistrict train depot, and then Depa is gently bullying ben to his feet and onto the hypertrain. He goes right back to his prior position, leaning into her side and drowsing like the child he is. She uses the trip to catch up on some reading, occasionally watching the cityscape pass her by. It’s been quite some time since she’s had reason to come this way, and never this far. Little Sundari is about half an hour further along this train than Depa’s ever traveled it before. It’s interesting, the way coruscant changes as they pass from old-continent CoCo town to basin buildings. Little Sundari is among the many “lower class” neighborhoods built on what was once the ocean floor. Little Keldabe, to her memory, is in a more affluent region, up on the plains section of a different past continent. Realistically, the reputation the basin districts have is exaggerated… but it’s technically true that Little Sundari is less than CoCo town.

However, that is because everywhere is less affluent than CoCo town.

They reach the Little Sundari train station two-and-a-half hours after leaving the Temple, and Ben wakes up with far more grace this time. They disembark, and Depa checks her comm.

“We have a few hours before your appointment,” she says, “and it’s a forty-minute walk. Knight Skywalker said you had a few things you wanted to show me on the way?”

Ben brightens, grabbing her hand and tugging. “There’s an uj’alayi shop that Bo told me about!”

“Bo?” Depa asks.

“The Duke’s younger daughter,” Ben says. “She’s a few years older than me, and she came to Coruscant a few years ago with her dad.”

“A friend of yours?”

Ben makes a face. “She’s… a lot.”

Depa stifles a laugh. “Is that so?”

The pout on him is adorable. “I prefer Satine.”

“And who’s that?”

“Bo’s older sister,” Ben says. “She’s a lot nicer, and she doesn’t bite when we spar.”

“Ben,” Depa says, patient as she can, “you bite in spars.”

The look he shoots her could be politely described as ‘disgusted.’

(Continue on AO3)

[chussyracing]

what is happening in the world of motorsports?

Williams confirmed they will send Alex's (technically Logan's) chassis damaged in Japan back to their UK factory before China to repair it (so they will both have repaired ones) and their destructor championship cost is already around 2m for this year (that means up to one or two upgrade packages in F1 numbers)

Ralph Schumacher is trying to stir the pot as per usual because he said that Logan Sargeant doesn't have a contract for the full year and he gets contract for each GP individually meaning he could be replaced for any GP from now on (I call BS)

Rumouredly, Mercedes is looking into a possibility of hiring Pierre Waché from RBR

Also, a rumour slash insider info from my comm (maybe others knew but I am kinda shocked): a lot of teams are surprised by the tyres this year from one race to another because apparently Pirelli mixes them a bit more than just for every reason, but the features are different for every race basically (so although Bahrain and Japan had the same allegation of tyres, it's not just the weather conditions and track surface why they act differently)

Marko Helmut spoke to OE24 (Austrian journal) and mentioned that they are ready to give Checo Perez a new contract after they saw his results because he is their best option for the second seat and Checo himself said he expects a lot of contracts being announced in upcoming weeks, including his own future which should be settled within a month

NXT GEN Cup won't be supporting Formula E at all this season due to "unexpected constraints" although it was supposed to support all European races, and they already tested at Misano World Circuit (FE spokesperson also says they want to raise young talents through FIA Girls on Track and other positive initiatives)

Misano will also feature a 30 mins FE rookie test on Friday with some familiar faces like Zane Maloney, Robert Shwartzman, Ciao Collet, Taylor Barnard, Tim Tramnitz, Jack Aitken or Jordan King

Lewis reportedly walked out of an interview after a reporter asked if he was jealous of Ferrari's results, saying "don't you have any better questions?" (go off tbh)

Speaking of Lewis, am I the last person to learn he has his own TV and movie production company, Dawn Apollo Films?

Peter Kenyon, who previously worked in Manchester United and Chelsea, is joining Williams as a commercial advisor

Regarding Carlos still being jobless, Eddie Jordan believes he is going to Aston Martin starting 2025 (but has "no real hardcore evidence") and racingnews365 reported that Audi (and Seidl who already worked with Carlos) are interested in him but want to lock drivers for their 2026 in 2025 already so they gave him a deadline to give his final answer by the end of April on their deal and Helmut Marko said they have no interest in the market right now and you won't hear from them till mid-season at least concerning new drivers or personnel

Lewis is looking into the possibility of testing the monocoque of Ferrari at the end of this year but "doesn't know if Mercedes will allow him"

Katherine Legge will race Indy 500 for e.l.f. cosmetics brand with number 51

Heikki Kovalainen, who underwent a heart surgery, says that he might fully recover thanks to a fast intervention from the doctors

Fernando was asked if he will try to get the Mercedes seat and joked that he is not interested in a team that is behind them in pace, so Toto won't hear from him any time soon

after some F1 tests and current results, Kimi Antonelli now has enough points to drive in F1 with superlicence but since he is still 17, he has to wait to be of age

RB and Sauber are testing in Suzuka these days for the 2025 Pirelli tyres testing (so both dry and wet condition tyres)

speaking of the future of F1, some rumours leaked about the 2026 regulations and it doesn't look good, because to simplify it, the active aero on the rear wing in combo with the engine on full power makes drivers spin out on straights or in the mildest of turns in simulations with a test car - and to avoid it they have to drive slowly to the point of going slower than the current regulation of F2 cars; there are also some concerns about the 50/50 split engine (the problem is it is too late to change the 2026 regs so what they will try now is to make the active aero on both front and rear wing and see how it goes)

like they teased previously and like rumours suggested, Prema is joining Indycar with two entries starting with 2025 season

René Lammers (15 years old Dutch f4 driver) won Ferrari's scouting camp and 2023 CIK-FIA European championship and his father Jan Lammers now told GPFans that his son was offered a 10 year deal from Ferrari but they decided to refuse although it looked promising at first so he will stay non-related to any F1 team and continue with MP Motorsport in Spanish F4

Max spoke about F1 Academy and especially the competitiveness, the ladder to F1 and the impact of F1 teams and I have a lot of mixed thoughts I won't share here but I'm willing to discuss if anyone is interested

apparently during Lewis' talks with Ferrari, he completely omitted his current manager, so he saved money and got the deal for himself (but also this comes from a Czech source that is not super reliable)

also in GQ Lewis said that Niki Lauda wasn't happy with his ventures into the fashion world at first because he thought it would be distracting him from racing

Theo Pourchaire will be on "standby" for McLaren's Indycar car number 6 for the next race (because David Malukas got injured and they are not sure if he will be good to race and because Callum Ilott who is on standy has WEC duties that weekend)

British American Tobacco (BAT) renewed sponsorship of McLaren - they began sponsoring them in 2019 but European Union banned the advertisement of tobacco, now they will advertise electronic cigarettes and nicotine pouch products on both F1 and FE cars

[twistedtummies2]

Super Beanfest, or Harps & Monsters - Part 1 (Commission)

My last, long-delayed commission from the February round. This is an interesting one, because of how it's going to work: once again, myself and the commissioner are going to attempt to do a multi-part comm, spread out over the course of several months/rounds of writing. The commissioner is @clouddreamer101, for a very long time, they and I have had an idea for a multi-part story for Twisted Wonderland. The story has two basic purposes: introducing their OC, Harmonia (based on the Golden Harp from "Mickey and the Beanstalk") in a proper piece of writing, and also shipping them with my big lad, Billy (based on Willie the Giant from the same cartoon). The two have been shipped together by us for a VERY long time, so it's nice to finally write a full and proper story getting that ship sailing.

Oh, there's also some stuff going on with the canon cast, for the record, with the main focus being Epel Felmier. Because why not? XD

This is the first part of the story, and I will write the other parts with the other commission rounds to come. On that note, if anyone from that next round is reading this, I will be contacting you all sometime within the coming week. In the meantime...some boring stuff...

Rating: T (for safety's sake, above all else)

Disclaimer: All characters and settings from Twisted Wonderland belong to Disney & Aniplex. Billy belongs to me, Harmonia belongs to the commissioner, and the other OCs who cameo in this section belong to either one of us or to another user from Tumblr who, for the time, shall remain anonymous. 

WARNING: This section does not contain any DIRECT kinks, aside from some macro/micro elements (if you even count those), but it DOES contain implied vore and other kinky implications. Later chapters shall be more overt, for the record; the rating may go up depending on how those future chapters work out, just for consistency's sake. In any case, DON'T LIKE? DON'T READ.

You'll find chapter two here.

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“Well! It looks like success at last!” “Shhh! Not so loud!” Deuce Spade clamped his mouth shut firmly and nodded at the hiss from Jack Howl. The pair were dressed in their Gym Uniforms for Night Raven College. In Jack’s arms, he carried an unfamiliar third party member: a small young man, with shiny blonde hair, and eyes the color of golden coins. He was dressed in a rather fancy-looking suit, as golden as his eyes and hair, with buttons that resembled musical notes. Jack adjusted his grip as he held the blonde youth bridal style; the wolfman blushed at the intimate position as he began to carefully walk off, carrying the golden boy with him. Deuce took up the rear; he was holding a pair of bean blasters in his hands. “Thank you,” whispered the young man with yellow hair, in a timid little voice. Jack just grunted noncommittally. “You’re welcome,” he grumbled, then smirked. “I guess even Royal Sword students can be helpful sometimes.” The RSA member in question smiled shyly. “Come on!” Deuce called out…then, remembering he wasn’t supposed to be so loud, dropped his voice to a whisper. “Come on, Epel! What are you waiting for?” Epel Felmier had paused at the rear. He was dressed much more extravagantly than his two fellow NRC classmates: garbed in a black beret and the red-white-and-orange getup of a Farmer uniform for Beanfest. The effeminate fellow looked upwards, biting his lip thoughtfully, large aqua blue eyes narrowed. Overhead, a towering figure loomed, snoring so loudly, the entire colosseum around the four shook to its foundations. The giant leaned back against the bleachers, hands folded over the upper curve of his big, fat belly, which rose and fell like a living hill over their heads. Epel’s focus, however, wasn’t on the titan’s face, nor on his gut: it was on the (extra extra extra extra) large leather boots the colossus wore. He saw that the looped ends of the laces were dangling low and long…and the feet were close together. A sly smirk crossed Epel’s face, and he crept closer to the giant, taking hold of the laces as he moved between the ogre’s feet. “What are you doing?!” the RSA student hissed in alarm, as Deuce and Jack watched with perplexed expressions. “Making doubly sure he won’t follow us,” Epel replied, and began to try and tangle the laces together into a knot. “I’m taking no chances. Just in case the big guy-” The snoring suddenly came to a short stop. Epel froze at the sound’s stoppage. He saw Jack, Deuce, and the RSA student all turn pale as a trio of sheets. “...M-Might wake up-EEK!” Epel cried out as the feet jerked to either side, and the laces he still held pulled him clear off the ground as he held them tightly in his hand, stretching him out. The tiny Pomefiore Poison Apple looked up… …And gulped nervously as he saw a pair of cold blue eyes glaring down angrily. The giant growled, snarling, revealing his rather sharp-looking, bone-crushing teeth…and a fat hand began to reach for Epel. Felmier gulped nervously, as the shadow of those greedy fingers overcame him. “...Oh, crab-apples…”

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Three Months Earlier…

“Pick up the pace, potatoes. Unlike that mangy cat in Savanaclaw, I like to be on time.” “Oh, oui-oui, Roi du Poison! We follow in your footsteps like carefree lambs!”

Epel Felmier rolled his eyes and repressed the urge to groan, as walked behind Rook Hunt and Vil Schoenheit. They, along with the rest of Pomefiore - and, in fact, the rest of the school - had been called into the Assembly Hall at Night Raven College. The auditorium was already packed, and more and more students were still pouring in, ushered by their Housewardens and Vices into the seats. Carefully but quickly, Epel found a seat of his own. It wasn’t too long till all of his dorm members were seated; Rook and Vil took the last two seats remaining, with the former immediately to his right, and the latter just beyond, each sitting straight and tall. Vil’s expression was one of cool, detached, business-like calm, while Rook wore his usual not-so-blithe smile. Epel looked around. He frowned in confusion as he scanned the faces - and, more importantly, the heights - of all the assembled students from Pomefiore. Someone, he quickly realized, was missing. “Pssst! Hey! Hey, Vil!” he whispered. Vil’s eyes slid towards Epel ominously, his expression showing a hint of stern disdain. Epel flinched and took a breath, realizing his mistake. “Um…e-excuse me, Housewarden.” “That’s better,” smirked Vil, and turned to look at Epel fully. “What is it, Epel?” “I don’t see Billy here with us. He’s pretty hard to miss,” the lavender haired young fellow explained. “So where’d he go?” Vil shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “The Headmage called him to his office earlier today, and I have not seen him since. This was before he announced the Assembly.” “Not to worry, Monsieur Pommette!” Rook chuckled cheerily. “I’m sure Monsieur Geant will be quite alright!” Epel frowned, turning away from the pair thoughtfully. He wasn’t necessarily WORRIED about Billy: the shapeshifting ogre could easily take care of himself in many ways. If anything, Epel envied the big lug: he was somehow able to be both extra super manly and strangely adorable at the same time, a struggle the young Felmier was still going through. A small smirk crossed Epel’s face and he chuckled. He and the giant actually had quite a bit in common…but sheer size could not be one of those similarities. He wondered how Billy would have done in Savanaclaw… Shaking his head to clear it, Epel, straightened his posture (he’d caught Vil side-eyeing him again at his hunched seating arrangement), and tried to dismiss the matter. If Billy had gone to see Crowley, then he would probably arrive when the Headmage arrived. No need to be concerned, as Rook had said. It wasn’t too much longer till all were assembled. Finally, Dire Crowley - adjusting his gloves, top hat, and Venetian mask as he entered - stepped into the center of the auditorium stage. Using a simple voice-amplifying spell in place of a microphone, he walked up to the podium and gained the attention of the student body. All idle chatter ceased as the Headmage addressed them.

“Quiet! Quiet all! Listen, everyone! Can you all see me? Can you all hear me? Good,” nodded Crowley, when he was certain all eyes were on him. “Ahem…I’m sorry to have stopped classes so abruptly, but I have some major news, and given the…rather sudden nature of this news, I felt an immediate assembly was best called for. I’m sure all of you are aware of our annual Beanfest competition here on Sage’s Island, correct?” Mumbles and murmurs of recognition came from the students. Epel cocked his head curiously, wondering where this was going. Beanfest, of course, was an important occasion at Night Raven College: every year, the student body would be split into two teams - Farmers and Monsters - in remembrance of the legend of Happy Valley. The legend told the story of a daring farmer who rescued a magical Golden Harp from the clutches of a monstrous giant. Billy’s absence was now almost comical: he was a descendant of the ogre that had matched wits with the farmer those centuries long past. The size-shifting giant was very proud of his heritage, and got VERY excited over Beanfest. Epel shivered a bit, remembering how Billy had swallowed some farmers the last Beanfest, as a means of capturing them…watching the giant belch entire people out of his gut was not exactly a pleasant sight… In any case, however, Beanfest was still a few months away. Why was the Headmage bringing it up now? “Well! You’re all in for a special treat this year!” Crowley’s voice barked, as he clapped his hands together, a rather eager smirk on his dark lips as he spoke. “For this year’s Beanfest, we’ll be collaborating with our…esteemed rivals at Royal Sword Academy, for what their headmaster and I have decided to call… Crowley paused impressively, as if to build up suspense…then threw out his arms and cheered to the high heavens. “SUPER BEANFEST!” The chirp of a lonely cricket was the only sound that answered his booming cry. Crowley’s exuberant expression quickly cooled. He lowered his arms, looking rather embarrassed. Then a single hand shot up. “Um…Headmage?” “Yes, Mr. Spade?” Epel looked towards the hand as it lowered, to see a rather befuddled Deuce tilt his own head in confusion equal to Felmier’s own. “How is ‘Super Beanfest’ different from…well…normal Beanfest, I guess?” “Ah! I’m glad you asked!” answered Crowley, who sounded rather relieved that SOMEBODY cared enough to wonder. “That’s where the collaboration comes into play: instead of a contest between our own students, against each other, Super Beanfest will be a battle between the two schools. Now, things may be a bit confusing, so do pay attention: one student from Night Raven College has been pre-selected to act as a ‘Head Monster.’ Another student at RSA has also been pre-picked to play the role of the Golden Harp.” “Wait…the harp is actually going to be a person?” an anonymous student called.

“Correct!” Crowley crowed. “The goal of the Farmers will be to rescue the Golden Harp, as is usually the case, but this Harp will be another student instead of a simple prop. The Harp and the Head Monster will be stationed in a yet-to-be-disclosed location. Further rules about this matter will be explained in the future, but the important point to note is that the Head Monster must guard the Golden Harp, and the Harp must remain stationary inside the Head Monster’s ‘lair,’ unless accompanied by the Farmers.” “Interesting,” murmured a thoughtful voice. Epel wasn’t sure, but it sounded like the voice of Riddle Rosehearts. “So, our students will be taking the role of the Monsters to try and blockade Royal Sword’s students?” “Ah, this is where things get interesting,” said Crowley, waggling a finger and with a twinkle in his eye. “You see, my dear students…you WON’T be playing the Monsters, aside from the one Head Monster chosen. Instead, our school has been selected to play the Farmers.” “What?!” exclaimed several students at once. “We get to play the heroes saving the day?!” gasped Cater Diamond’s voice. “That’s totes cool! Ha, I’m gonna have to come up with some fun hashtags right away…!” “Please don’t,” groaned the irritated voice of Sebek Zigvolt. “When was this decided?” Vil demanded to know, his sudden call causing Epel to jump slightly in his seat. “When I lost the straw-pulling lottery to decide,” drawled Crowley, in a dry voice, with a drab look. He quickly brightened up again and went on, holding up his hands to placate the stirring students as he continued… “ANYWAY! On the date of the Event, a group of students will be selected at random to act as possible candidates for Team Captains, and the Head Monster and Golden Harp will select their respective Captains from the chosen pool. The Captains will create a general strategy at the start of the game, and lead whatever students they choose in the event: simple as that. The choice will be totally based on their decisions, and with our schools so separate, there should be no inherent bias on either side. Also, since this is the first Event of its kind - and as it has yet to be determined if there will be another like it in the future - the Headmaster of Royal Sword and I have agreed that all students will be permitted to participate. PERMITTED, but not required: if you wish to back out for any reason, you may.” “YES! THANK YOU, ZEUS!” came a voice that could only belong to Idia Shroud. Several people rolled their eyes, including Dire Crowly. “Anyway, All of Sage’s Island will be the battleground, and the teams will meet at specific ‘camps’ off the campuses on the island,” the Headmage went on, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Beyond all that, the rules are essentially the same. Farmers will take out Monsters using bean shooters, Monsters have to try and trap Farmers to keep them from getting the Golden Harp, and bits of gear and special uniforms will be scattered around the woods on the island for both teams to try and find. You all know the drill from there. So, are there any questions?” Epel immediately raised his hand. “Yes, Mr. Felmier?” Crowley pointed him out. “Excuse me, but you said you’d already picked who the Head Monster and the Golden Harp will be,” Epel commented. “So…who are they? Or is that confidential information at all?” “Not in the least,” chuckled Crowley. He seemed greatly amused as he grinned at Epel and the other students. “In fact, the Head Monster is someone you should know very well, Mr. Felmier. Someone everybody here should know! After all, even among our esteemed student body…” Crowley stepped aside from the podium, doffing his hat, as if introducing some grand circus act.

“...You could say he’s larger than life.” The instant those words left Crowley’s lips, Epel suddenly knew exactly who he meant. It all made sense. Why one certain person was missing from the Pomefiore group. Why they’d been called out of class earlier. And perhaps even why this Event had been arranged in the weird way it was. THUMP-A-THUMP-A-THUMP. Pounding footsteps seemed to rock the entire hall. Whispers and murmurs echoed through the assembly area. At the podium, a black and white tie was straightened somewhat nervously, and an indigo vest was adjusted as it clung desperately the sizeable, heaving mass of lard and muscle buried beneath the clean, constricting school uniform. Gapteeth were briefly visible as the absolutely gigantic figure at the podium - standing somewhere between seven and eight feet in height - took a breath and ran one huge, fat hand through their carrot-colored, crew-cut hair. Then, baby blue eyes sparkled as their expression became first a proud and challenging smirk…and then a beaming smile. “Hi there, Little Friends!” cheered Billy Geant, saluting everyone playfully. “I just wanna say one thing: don’t worry about when the big day comes. I promise…I won’t go easy on you.” Epel gulped. Beside him, Rook chuckled, cupping his chin as his eyes narrowed almost deviously. “Sacre bleu,” Hunt murmured. “This just got a bit more interesting…”

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Meanwhile, across the island, in the gilded halls of Royal Sword Academy, a lonely figure was walking through a seemingly empty corridor. The figure was a young man, just slightly below average height, though he seemed much smaller with the way he walked as he trudged through the palatial hallway. His slender, slim physique didn’t help much either; his thin framework bordered on the unhealthy in its leanness, making him seem even tinier than he really was. Ironically, the blue-and-white standard issue uniform of RSA he wore made him seem a little bulkier, in contrast. The young man sighed, brushing some stray strands of his blonde bangs away from his golden-hued eyes. In the corner of his left eye was a tiny birthmark; a similar beauty mark dotted his chin. He adjusted a small white hearing aid he wore in one ear, pausing in his dreary march to look upwards. As sunlight spilled through a stained glass window, it illuminated his soft, almost effete features, which gave him a somewhat androgynous appearance. “Why?” he groaned to the ceiling beyond, voice echoing slightly in the extravagant passage. “Just…just why?” “Why, you ask?” The young man let out a mousey squeak of alarm and looked around, rather startled, as a new voice seemed to croon into his ears. The voice seemed to come from nowhere, and yet everywhere. “Why is one of my favorite questions,” the voice continued to coo. “I’m also partial to ‘Who?’ and ‘Where?’ But ‘Why?’ It’s such a silly thing to ask…and that’s why I love it!” The blonde-haired boy sighed again, this time with some mild irritation. “I’m not in the mood for games right now, Che’Nya,” he grumbled, crossing his arms impatiently. “You-” PFBBBT! The young man eeped and spluttered as a tongue suddenly appeared out of thin air, blowing a raspberry into his face. He glared, huffishly, wiping the speckles of spittle from his cheeks one one sleeve as a disembodied grin, filled with sharp, pointed, pearly teeth, sliced its way inches from his face. “Spoilsport,” came a voice from the mouth, as a second pair of golden eyes popped into view a little over the grin’s crescent curve. “Come on, Harmonia! What’s biting your tail, huh?” Harmonia frowned and turned away. “Why should I tell you?” he mumbled. “You’re just going to tease me.” Che’Nya’s whole face - feline ears, purple hair, and all - appeared in thin air as he gasped with horror. “Me?! Tease someone when they’re on the brink of des-purr?” he punned, the disembodied catboy’s head circling around him. “What makes you think I’d do something like that?”

Harmonia just eyed the neko skeptically…then sighed and sat down on a nearby bench. “Just leave me alone,” he mumbled. Che’Nya’s expression faltered. He looked concerned…but only for a few seconds. The look gave way to a knowing sort of smirk, and the Cheshire Cat swirled into full view. He was dressed as he always was: in an oversized white uniform coat that hung loosely about his frame like an undone straitjacket, along with blue jeans dotted with badges and buttons. He sauntered over and sat beside Harmonia on the bench with a sort of brotherly smile. “Let me guess,” he purred. “You’re upset about Headmage Ambrose’s arrangement with NRC, aren’t you?” “I’m upset about being chosen to play the Golden Harp,” Harmonia replied, glumly. “Why?” Che’Nya asked, tilting his head curiously. “I thought you just said that was a silly question,” Harmonia retorted. “Oh, it is, but it’s also a fun one to answer,” grinned Che’Nya, and nudged him with his head, like a cat nuzzling and pawing at its master. “Come ooooon! Tell me! Tell me!” Harmonia half-heartedly pushed the Cheshire Cat back, and just grumbled, “Forget it. Go away.” “Awww, now that’s not very nice at all,” pouted Che’Nya. “Come on, lighten up! After all, you can’t very well protect Happy Valley if you aren’t happy, can ya?” “I’M NOT PROTECTING THAT PLACE!” Harmonia suddenly shouted, snapping angrily at the cat and leaping from the bench. Che’Nya jumped back, rather startled as the golden boy began to march away. “Just…I don’t want to hear anything else about Happy Valley, or Golden Harps, or…!” “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Turn down the juice!” Che’Nya exclaimed, and hurriedly moved to block Harmonia’s way. His own yellow eyes had become soulful and serious, a rare expression on the feline’s face. “Listen, I can tell when a person needs a listening ear. I’m the Cheshire Cat. I have all the answers…” He playfully tapped Harmonia’s nose, smiling anew. Harmonia squeaked and covered his snout, which made the cat grin wider. “...You just have to keep from getting confused. So go ahead. Lay it on me. If you don’t bite, I won’t.” Che’Nya’s grin made sure to show all his teeth on that last sentence. Harmonia bit his lip, squirming a bit…then sighed. “How much do you know about me?” he asked, timidly. Che’Nya shrugged and slung his arms behind his head lazily. “Nyaaa…I know a little,” he yawned. “Your family line is descended from the magic of the Golden Harp itself, and your Unique Magic comes from her power, passed down through generations, blah blah blah…guess your problem is you’re tired of being typecast?” “Something like that,” admitted Harmonia with a nod. He hugged himself and turned away. “It’s more than that, though. I’m…well…I’m scared.” “Scared?” meowed Che’Nya, raising an eyebrow. “Of what?” Harmonia looked up at him with anxiety in his eyes. “The whole reason they’re doing this Event is because of me. Well…me and one other student.” “Who?” Che’Nya asked, and then giggled. “I really do love that question. ‘Who.’ So many answers you can come up with, and most of them won’t be correct!”

Harmonia decided to ignore that random bit of weirdness, and simply went on. “Some other student at Night Raven,” he said, gravely. “And just as I’m descended from the Golden Harp…” “...They’re descended from the Giant.” Harmonia’s eyes widened. “You…you already know?” Che’Nya smiled oh-so-innocently. “I might have overheard the two Headmages talking to each other. Just a little bit,” he winked. “Then you should know why I’m scared already!” Harmonia said, exasperatedly, and began to tremble as he hugged himself tighter, rubbing at his own shoulders, as if he were experiencing a chill. “I’m descended from the harp, THE harp! And…and he’s descended from THE giant! It’s…it’s like putting a cat and a mouse in the same room, you know it’s not gonna end well!” “Well. That depends on if you’re the cat or the mouse,” smirked Che’Nya, licking his lips in emphasis. “What if he eats me?” whimpered Harmonia, ignoring the cat completely. “Or…or wh-what if he crushes me flat? What if I get stolen a-and taken away, l-like a trophy?” Che’Nya clucked his tongue. “What if, what if, what if?” he chanted in a nasally, mocking way. “Listen, Little Harmony, that’s one question I DON’T like. What’s gonna be is gonna be! There’s no need to get so worked up about it. It’s better to just decide to stop fighting it and go with the flow!” Harmonia scoffed. “Easy for you to say, you’re not the one at risk here. If there’s one thing my family drilled into me that I actually gave any care about, it’s that you can’t trust giants,” Harmonia replied. “They’re greedy monsters. They smell bad. Th-they eat people and smash them just for fun…” “Oh, so you’ve met them all, then?” Che’Nya grinned, almost tauntingly. Harmonia went silent. “Maybe this giant will be a monster, but maybe he won’t be,” Che’Nya went on. “You say you’re tired of people judging you just for being the Harp’s descendant? Well, how do you think he’d feel?” Che’Nya smiled with surprising kindness as he leaned down to Harmonia’s level. “Besides, it’s just a GAME, Little Harmony,” he mewed. “When it’s all over, you can come back home to school.” “Yeah, if I survive,” droned Harmonia sadly. “Gods, I feel like I’m a pawn on a chessboard. No, worse: I’m a chess king.”

“Nya? How is that worse than a pawn?” “Because the King doesn’t DO anything. That piece literally just exists to be captured so somebody else can win the game. The King can’t move very far in any direction and really SHOULDN’T move. It sounds important, but it’s…useless. That’s exactly how the rules have made me out to be.” “Hmmmm…purr-haps,” conceded the cat. “But there ARE still moves the King can make to help protect itself and win the game. As for pawns, they can become queens if they reach the end of the board.” Harmonia was silent, mulling that fact over. Che’Nya chuckled. “You know…in the legend of Happy Valley, the Golden Harp wasn’t completely helpless,” the kitty-boy recalled. “If I re-mew-mber correctly, she actually HELPED the farmers defeat the giant. They couldn’t have won without her. Maybe you should stop seeing your past as a curse, and use that legacy inside of you to your advantage.” The feline giggled. “Or maybe you can just sit nice and pretty and golden-goosey, and you’ll get by without aaaany problems! That works too, don’tcha think?” Harmonia looked Che’Nya up and down, as if he was trying to decide how serious the Cheshire Cat was. “I guess that’s fair,” he said at last, then gave a small sort of smile. “Maybe you have a point. And…well…it’s all decided already, and I’m the only one who CAN’T back out. It would defeat the whole purpose if I did. Might as well just…work with what I’ve got, right?” “That’s the spirit!” cheered Che’Nya, chucking Harmonia lightly in the shoulder with one fist, then smirked wickedly. “And besides, getting eaten by a giant wouldn’t be THAT bad for you, would it now?” Harmonia turned a little paler, and a slightly hysterical, nervous little laughed left him. “HA HA HA HA, you’re funny. No. Just…just no. Please, disappear now,” he groused. Che’Nya laughed loudly.

“You got it! I’m good at that!” he sang out. “After all, it’s what Cheshire Cats do best…” As he began to swirl away, bit by bit, Che’Nya arched an eyebrow sneakily and added: “What do you think Golden Harps do best, hm?” Before Harmonia could answer, Che’Nya had vanished into the ether. He looked around, as if to make sure the cat wasn’t still watching him…then sighed softly. “I guess I’ll need to find out,” he mumbled, and walked away. He held himself a little taller, trying to boost his own self-confidence. All the same, he still felt dreadfully nervous inside.

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The day of the Super Beanfest competition came. Epel Felmier was dressed in his gym uniform, as was standard. The schools had arranged a rendezvous point, midway between the two campuses in the woods. This was where the Captains Pools would meet, and the Head Monster and Golden Harp would make their selections. Epel was the first of the Farmer Captains Pool to arrive. Not necessarily by choice, admittedly: the young farmboy (wasn’t THAT a coincidental background) had found sleep difficult, and had woken early partially as a result. He was seated upon a boulder, looking up at the early morning sky through the gaps in the trees above. The Pomefiore student breathed deeply, allowing his eyes to slide closed. The smell of the trees, and all the rustic odors of nature around him - particularly of the sweet berries and other fruits he could detect somewhere in the green woods - reminded him so much of home…but the faint scent of the sea breeze, wafting through the bushes and brambles from the beach beyond, gave it a sort of ethereal quality one could not find in Harveston. Epel had come to enjoy it here, in the forest…which gave him some confidence he sorely needed. Epel breathed out heavily; not quite a sigh, but very close. He wished he could say the Captains Pool for his school had been chosen with strategic brilliance, and that he’d been elected as an option due to practical reasons of belief in his abilities…but that wasn’t the case at all. The same method that had been used to decide which school would be the Farmers and which school would be the Monsters (minus Billy and the Golden Harp) had been used to determine the Captains. Epel had just been lucky to be chosen. This, Felmier reflected, shouldn’t have bothered him too much: if there was one thing a certain sledding match had taught him, it was that he had the makings of a leader, and he’d always been one to challenge other authorities to begin with. But truth be told…he was worried. This was different, in his mind. There was a lot more riding on something like this. If he got picked, he’d have the pressure of not just a small team of people, but an entire school, heaped upon his shoulders. And if he didn’t get picked, then it would honestly be a bit saddening; he couldn’t help but feel such a choice would mean he wasn’t perceived as fit for the role, and he was very tired of being judged so simply. Either way, he couldn’t win. “Excuse me!” came a voice. “Are you from Night Raven College?”

Epel opened his eyes, and looked to see who had spoken. His eyes widened in surprise at the rather peculiar figure he saw striding towards him: it was a young man, about the same age as himself, but standing a little bit taller. The young man had blonde hair and curious golden eyes, which looked like the yolks of two expertly-cooked eggs in a sea of milky white. The fellow youth wore a hearing aid, but this wasn’t what made him seem odd: it was the very bizarre costume he wore, which was a rather fancy, somewhat old-fashioned-looking suit colored almost entirely in sparkling, glittering gold. The buttons on the coat and vest were made to resemble musical notes, and the cuffs and the trousers remind Epel of the bars on a sheet of music. Topped off with high-heeled (but still fairly masculine-designed) shoes, the newcomer cut was certainly a spectacle to behold. Epel blinked a few times, feeling he might go blind…then awkwardly nodded. “Uh…yeah,” he greeted, slowly. “Howdy-I mean, hello. My name’s Epel. Lemme guess: you’re the Golden Harp?” The newcomer smiled shyly. His timid demeanor didn’t quite match his over-glitzy costume. “Yeah, pretty obvious, isn’t it?” he chuckled, indicating his outfit. “Can’t deny that,” Epel said, with a smile that was slightly forced. He couldn’t help but admit he felt a little surge of bitter apprehension surge inside of his heart: to say that Royal Sword Academy and Night Raven College were rivals was often putting it mildly. The two schools were arch-enemies, and many NRC students would have leapt at the chance to quite literally pounce on the newcomer just for a lark. Epel had faced a few defeats against the rival school in the past, and wasn’t particularly happy to see the leading figure of the opposing team - the one who’d be choosing a Captain from his pool - so suddenly and alone. The newcomer didn’t seem to notice. He smiled in a friendly way and held out a hand. “I’m Harmonia,” he greeted. “Harmonia A’Cappella. It’s nice to meet you.” “Mutual,” Epel lied, as he shook Harmonia’s hand. The descendant of the harp smiled a bit wider, then tilted his head. “Hold on…I think I’ve seen you somewhere before,” he murmured…then his eyes widened. “Wait a bit! Were you in the VDC Championship? The one where Neige competed?” Epel narrowed his eyes and nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “I was one of the lead performers.” He braced himself for what Harmonia would say next; he expected some show of pithy pity or perhaps even a bit of boasting…something about how he shouldn’t feel bad, because he did good, too, even though Neige and his posse were SO good… “Wow!” Harmonia laughed. “It’s such an honor to meet you! I’m so sorry, by the way, you guys were ROBBED that year. Seriously.” Epel gaped. “...Wh-what?”

“Don’t get me wrong: Neige is a cool guy. I’m in his dorm at RSA,” said Harmonia, and rubbed the back of his head with a light laugh. “But, uh…I’m sorry, that children’s song over what YOU guys did? That’s just INSANE. You guys had so much STYLE! So much POWER in your voices! There was so much skill and so much emotion, and the song itself? That just…wow, that honestly really hit me in a good place. Right here.” Harmonia patted his chest in emphasis, giving a sympathetic smile. “You guys should have won. Not us. I’m seriously sorry the judges didn’t take your side.” Epel blinked a few times…then his smile started to become more genuine as a hint of pink colored his cheeks. “I mean…well…thank you! It honestly means a lot to hear you say that,” chuckled Epel, then smirked. “I’d expect the Golden Harp to know a thing or two about music.” Harmonia shrugged. “Well, I do, but it’s not necessarily just for those reasons. Honestly, I’m more experienced with classical stuff,” he sighed, sounding a bit disappointed as he sat down in the grass nearby. “I’d like to change that sometime. You’re so lucky, by the way.” “I am?” “Dude. You got to work with VIL. FRICKIN’. SCHOENHEIT. Do you know what I’d give to even meet him for two seconds?” gushed Harmonia, and smiled in a sentimental way, looking askance. “He and Neige…they both helped me in a time when I really needed it…” “Funny. The Housewarden never mentioned helping someone like you,” Epel remarked. “Oh, not personally. I mean…listening to their music, watching their movies. They inspired me. They made me want to-wait. Did you say HOUSEWARDEN?!” “Yes!” giggled Epel, enjoying the look of utter spellbound awe on Harmonia’s face. “He’s the leader of my dorm. That’s one of the reasons I took part in that contest.” Harmonia just stared. He was filled with admiration, his expression one of purest wonder. “Wow,” he whispered again, and laughed softly. “I’m a little jealous. You were so great onstage, too! It must have been fun.” “That’s, uh…one word for it,” Epel chuckled nervously, remembering the horrors of Vil’s Overblot behind the scenes. “I have to admit, one nice thing was that it was public: meant no one could make the mistake of thinking I’m a girl ever again, if they saw it live or on TV.” “Psh. Yeah, I can sympathize with that,” snorted Harmonia, and gestured to his own face. “I don’t get misgendered TOO often, but it’s annoying when it happens.” Epel’s smiled had become a real grin. He was quickly starting to feel he liked this RSA student. “Are you excited for the competition?” he asked. Harmonia’s smile faded, and he looked away. “Honestly, I’m…really, REALLY scared of meeting the Head Monster,” he answered, nervously, fingers fiddling around each other.

“I guess I would be, too, if I were you,” nodded Epel, then scooted closer with an assuring smile. “Billy is actually in my dorm, too, you know.” “Billy?” blinked Harmonia. “The Giant’s name is…Billy?” “Yeah, why?” “I dunno, just…I expected a giant to have a name like ‘Rothbart the Terrible’ or ‘Redjac the Ravenous,’ not just…um…Billy.” Epel snickered. “His name’s not the only thing that will surprise you,” he said with a merry twinkle in his blue eyes. “Trust me, you’ll be fine. But, uh…can I give you some advice?” “Huh? Oh, um…s-sure, what’s that?” “Whatever you do, do NOT piss him off,” Epel warned. “Keep on good terms with him, and you have nothing to fear.” Harmonia let out a very, VERY nervous laugh. “R-right, uh…ha ha ha…n-no pressure…” In his mind, the mantra of I am so dead, I am so dead, I am so dead kept repeating itself. “Well now!” a voice called out. “This is a surprise! And here we thought you were running late!” The voice was addressing Epel, who turned about, recognizing it. It was Dire Crowley, who was leading a group of NRC students - the rest of the Captains Pool - into the woodlands. The other options for potential Captains, courtesy of the random raffle, were Vil, Deuce, Jack, Riddle, Sebek, and Cater, who approached in that same order. Vil seemed mildly impressed (which, with him, could be taken as the highest form of praise), while the rest mostly seemed astonished to see Epel so far ahead of them. “Well, I wanted to be bright and early,” chuckled Epel in greeting, and helped Harmonia stand up as he went to greet his fellow classmates. “Hmph. And who is this human?” Sebek huffed, haughtily, crossing his arms and sticking his nose up, while the rest eyed the golden-garbed figure with curiosity. “This is Harmonia A’Cappella,” Epel introduced his new acquaintance. “He’s the Descendant of the Golden Harp, and he’ll be choosing one of us as the Farmer Captain. Right, Harmonia?” “R-Right,” stuttered Harmonia, and approached the group somewhat nervously. “It’s, ah…it’s nice to meet you all.” Jack and Sebek grunted, noncommittally. Each eyed the RSA student with a sort of dubious interest. It was clear that each of them was focusing on him as an opponent rather than as an ally, at the moment. The others, however, were thankfully more openly welcoming. “A pleasure, I’m sure,” Riddle greeted, politely, and held out a hand, which Harmonia shook firmly. Riddle smiled. “A decent grip there. I approve.” “Don’t think we’ll go easy on you, no matter which of us you choose,” Deuce piped up with a bold smirk. “We’re gonna save you no matter what!” Harmonia and Epel shared a look; the way Deuce said that made it sound like he was planning to punch the Harp in the face rather than rescue him. “Uh…well…thank you, I think?” Harmonia replied. “That’s such a cool costume!” Cater suddenly exclaimed. “Oh, you have GOT to let me get a picture of it! It’s so totally cammable! Can I? Please?” Harmonia, a bit overwhelmed, stammered out an agreement…and a few moments later was blinking camera flash out of his eyes as Cater snapped a hurried selfie.

“Awesome!” squealed Cater, eagerly tapping at his phone. “HashtagGonnaSaveThisLittleDude! HashtagGoingForTheGold! HashtagSuperBeanfest! Aaaand…send!” The other NRC members all rolled their eyes at Cater Diamond’s antics. By now, Harmonia had recovered, and was standing before Vil. For a moment, he just stood there, clearly unsure of what to say. Vil arched an eyebrow impatiently. “Well?” was all he said. “Speak up, golden potato. I can tell you’re busting at the seams, with the way you’re shaking.” Harmonia needed all his willpower not to immediately burst into an explosive squeal of joy. He knew that would never do. “I, um…I just wanted to say, I…I’m a REALLY big fan of yours, Mr. Schoenheit,” he said, timidly, and held out his hand. “You have absolutely no idea what an honor it is to meet you in person. Um…I-I hope you win. F-For my sake, I mean! Heh heh…yeah…” Vil blinked twice…then smiled, slightly superciliously, and returned the handshake. “It’s always a pleasure to meet a fan,” he said, honestly. “If things go well for our team, when the competition is over, perhaps you’d like an autograph?” Harmonia was astonished and delighted. His eyes sparkled like the Sun. “Oh! Oh, y-yes, sir! That…that would be AMAZING, thank you, sir!” “We’ll see then,” nodded Schoenheit, then gripped Harmonia’s hand more tightly and leaned forward, his smile somewhat sinister. “However, right now we ARE in a competition. I think it would be wise for both of us to keep our heads in the game. Don’t you?” “Ah! Oh, y-yes! Yes, that’s true! Um…thank you again, Mr. Schoenheit. Sir.” Vil chuckled softly, and released Harmonia’s hand. “You’re welcome,” he said, serenely but sincerely. Harmonia was still beaming with joy as he stepped back. While these introductions had been going on, Dire Crowley had been busy checking his pocket watch. “Well,” the Headmage of Night Raven spoke up. “The other team should be arriving shortly, as well as our Head Monster.” “Correction, Headmage Crowley!” called a somewhat creaky sort of voice. “The other team has arrived!” Harmonia and the Night Raven crew looked to see a group of students approaching from the opposite side of the woodland clearing. The expressions on all of the Night Raven students’ faces turned a bit cold as they saw the blue robes of Ambrose LXIII - headmaster of Royal Sword - and the similarly-hued gym uniforms that were worn by the students following close behind him. A few of the newcomers were familiar to the NRC students already: one was a young fellow in a green beret, who hovered over the rest of the RSA Captains Pool with a cocksure smile on his face. Sebek quickly recognized him as Matthew Satyr, who had bedeviled the NRC crew during the Scavenger’s Hunt competition. Another familiar figure was Neige LeBlanche, who waved cheerfully at Vil as he all but skipped forward. Vil responded with a cold sort of smile and a curt nod.

Others, however, were less well-known. One was a strapping youth with dark-toned skin, and long, somewhat shaggy, curly hair. A pin that resembled a sunflower was stuck into said hair, and from beneath the moppish top sprouted two curled horns and a pair of pointed animal ears. His mouth was filled with sharp teeth. His hands ended in long white gloves, which tapered at the fingertips, as if to conceal claws. These were barely visible as he crossed his arms and snorted like a buffalo; his demeanor was a perfect match to that of Howl and Zigvolt. Another had curious, pinkish skin, and brick-colored hair that was tied back into a long ponytail. He, too, had horns: they were colored sky blue, and resembled those of a Long. He had pointed ears, and carried a long, golden-tipped staff in one hand. His smile was boyish and slightly mischievous, a sort of sneaky gleam in his deep brown eyes. The other two appeared to be good friends, given how they stood very close to one another. One had a somewhat dopey, blithe sort of smile on his face, contrasted by blue-gray eyes the color of steel. His hair was a sort of honey-blonde shade, and his body was plump and soft in form. The RSA member who stood a little behind him, as if hiding shyly from the rest of the assembled people, had black hair that matched his dark eyes. His expression was somewhat dour, and a small bandage stretched across the bridge of his nose; another was visible curled around one of his fingers. Along with his gym uniform, he wore a sort of fanciful hood, which resembled the ears of a donkey. “I count six possible Captains here, Ambrose,” sniffed Crowley, somewhat snootily. “Where is your seventh? Or do you intend to volunteer yourself?” “Hardly,” chortled Ambrose, with a jolly smile. “I assure you, my seventh option IS present.” “Oh?” piped up Riddle Rosehearts. “Then where has he gone, sir?” Riddle stiffened as a familiar giggle entered his ear, and he felt a long, fluffy tail suddenly sweep across his front, curling about from somewhere behind him. “Gone?” purred a voice. “I’m not gone. Or then again, purr-haps I AM gone. Yet I’m still here! Curiouser and curiouser, wouldn’t you say?” The tail swept up, tickling Riddle’s nose and making him sneeze. As Riddle staggered in surprise, the tail vanished…then reappeared on a tree branch above everyone’s head. The body of Che’Nya soon apparated into view. Unlike all the other RSA members, he was dressed in his usual clothes, rather than a gym uniform. He was licking the back of one hand, like a cat grooming their paw…but stopped, twitching one pink-furred ear when he saw the looks everyone flashed his way. “Sorryyyyy!” he sang out, teasingly, sticking out his tongue and winking at Riddle, who gave him a flustered glare. “I could NOT resist!”

Some of the RSA members sniggered, while Riddle just grumbled under his breath. Cater shook his head wearily while Deuce rolled his eyes. “You all know him, clearly,” chuckled Ambrose, then gestured to the rest of the students with him. “Not to mention Mr. Satyr and Mr. LeBlanche. As for the rest, allow me to introduce Qiao Zhou, Paisley Burr, and Ivo DePrece. All that’s missing is our Head Monster,” Ambrose observed. “Then we can begin the selection. He IS on his way, isn’t he, Headmage Crowley?” “Of course!” harrumphed the Headmaster of Night Raven, and looked towards Vil. “You did tell him the time to meet us, didn’t you?” “I did,” Vil confirmed. “And Billy rarely disappoints me. Anymore.” “I g-guess that’s good to hear,” Harmonia spoke up. “So, um…in that case, how soon till he-?” He was cut off with a yelp when, suddenly, the earth beneath all their feet seemed to shake. Then it happened again…and again…and again. A sound accompanied each quake: THUMP-A-THUMP-A-THUMP! All of the NRC students smirked. They knew that sound. The RSA students, meanwhile, began to mill about in alarm: Qiao Zhou dropped into a battle-ready pose, holding his staff with a determined glare. Matthew Satyr, similarly, grabbed hold of his dueling rod, which he had brought with him. Paisley blinked and stumbled back a bit, eyes rather wide, while Neige yelped and held onto his hat, letting a startled squeak of “Jiminy Christmas…!” Only Ivo and Che’Nya seemed thoroughly unfazed: the Cheshire Cat was grooming himself and didn’t even appear to notice. Ivo, meanwhile, just gave a dull, almost bored, slow blink as he remained standing behind Paisley. Harmonia seemed the most frightened of all. He knew these were the footsteps of the giant he’d been warned of all his life: the descendant of the nightmare his family had once faced many decades ago. Already, his mind began to conjure up hideous images of what kind of horrendous beast could be approaching. He trembled, and even began to pray silently, as his heart beat quickened with every step…until, finally… CRASH! Two trees were pushed aside, and a mountainous figure stepped into view, looming over all as his shadow fell across them. Gasps of amazement came from the RSA students. Harmonia felt his heart catch in his throat, as he saw a giant pair of boots, covering feet the size of a couple of boats. His eyes trailed upwards, and he saw a truly tremendous body, covered up by the purple-and-green camouflage of a Monster uniform. Wide hips and thighs thicker than any tree trunk transitioned to a belly bigger than anything the Golden Harp had imagined. Muscles could be detected beneath the burly arms’ sheaths of blubber, and a barrel chest rested at the top of the diaphragm. Harmonia felt himself start to whimper, as he continued to look up, up, up…and into the giant’s face… …And at that point, his expression shifted, as he saw round, soft cheeks, a pair of bright, baby-blue eyes, carrot colored hair…and a happy-go-lucky gap-toothed smile. “Hello down there!” the giant called happily. “Sorry I’m late, little friends! Had trouble getting my pants on, heh…anyway, I can’t wait to play with you all! This is gonna be so much fun!” Harmonia gulped nervously. As those sweet, happy words and a surprisingly childish giggle filled the air, all he could think of was one thing. Oh, sweet Gods…he’s adorable.

“Mr. A’Cappella,” Crowley piped up, waving one hand between Harmonia and Billy respectively. “Allow me to introduce Billy Geant: Night Raven’s resident giant, and descendant of the Monster of Happy Valley. Mr. Geant? Meet Mr. A’Cappella.” Billy nodded, and smiled down at A’Cappella brightly. “Hi, Mr. A’Cappella!” he bellowed, and knelt down, holding out a single finger towards him. “Nice to meetcha! You can just call me Billy!” Harmonia froze up as that hand swept down towards him. He paused, looking Billy up and down carefully. The ogre was even larger than he had imagined, and he could practically feel gravity’s draw on his body. He glanced towards the giant’s belly, which sagged low and heavy, spilling over and across the titan’s thigh from its obesity. He shivered a bit, and then held out one comparatively puny hand, and shook the tip of Billy’s fat finger. The skin was warm. Soft. Clean. For some reason, that surprised Harmonia: with the way his family described giants, he’d imagined the the skin to be hard as stone, callused, horribly sweaty, or unpleasantly leathery in texture. He hadn’t expected it to be so…nice. “Th-the feeling’s…mutual,” he said, and smiled a tiny bit. “And, uh…just call me Harmonia, okay?” “Okay, Ammonia!” Snickers suddenly erupted from several people. Vil facepalmed. Harmonia blushed. “N-No, uh…it’s Harmonia.” “...Harmonica?” “Close! Close, um…say it with me slowly, okay? Har-mo-ni-a.” Billy nodded slowly, knitting his brow, focusing REALLY hard as he repeated: “Har-mo-ni-a…Harmonia!” “That’s it!” grinned the harp boy with a giggle. “See? You can do it if you try.” Billy blushed and giggled a bit. “Thanks, uh…H-Harmonia,” he said gratefully. Harmonia smiled wider, as he saw the big behemoth scratch the back of his huge head in embarrassment. He would have been lying if he said that he didn’t feel some trepidation, still, but…the giant didn’t SEEM ill-natured. If anything, he seemed…sweet, and even all that hugeness was starting to seem more cuddly than intensely intimidating. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Good morning, Housewarden!” Billy cheered, giving a respectful nod to Vil, and then a mock salute to Epel. “And hello, Epel!” “You seem excited this morning,” Epel smiled, somewhat teasingly. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Billy laughed in response. “Don’t expect us to be any less competitive, just because we’re part of the same dorm,” Vil said, warningly, crossing his arms with a smirk. “I expect you to do your best today, Billy. I shall be doing the same.” Billy smirked back. “Oh, trust me,” he said, and licked his lips none-too-subtly. “I’m not going easy on anyone. I promised you all that from the start.” “If the niceties are out of the way,” chuckled the voice of Headmage Ambrose, “I think it’s time we get this game underway. Don’t you, Headmage Crowley?” “Indeed!” boomed Dire Crowley. “So! Mr. Geant, you shall be first: who from this pool…” He tipped his hat in the direction of the RSA team. “...Will you pick for the Monster Captain?” Billy’s giant head swung around on his shoulders. It tilted slightly as he blinked his very large, baby blue eyes at the seven students from Royal Sword. Matthew and Qiao puffed out their chests with pride…then noticed each other, frowned, and tried to nudge one another aside, like a couple of schoolboys vying for attention. Paisley smiled in a dopey, dumb way and gave a little cheery wave (Billy waved back), while Ivo just blinked in a slow, drab way. As for Adam, he gave a smirk and flexed one arm, showing off the firm biceps beneath his gym suit, while Neige gave a friendly smile and a bow. Che’Nya just swirled into view on top of a nearby log. He smirked, rolled his eyes, and yawned, nonchalantly watching a butterfly go by. Billy immediately pointed a finger towards Che’Nya. “This one,” he smiled. “I want him!” Riddle blanched and sucked in air in a sound of shock, startling everyone else. Only Che’Nya and Billy seemed not to notice. The giant was beaming, and the Cheshire Cat looked astonished. “Me-ow?” he responded, pointing to himself, wide-eyed and surprised. “Yuh-huh!” Billy nodded enthusiastically, and looked toward the two headmages. “I want the pink kitty!” “Interesting choice,” murmured Ambrose, sounding intrigued. “Why would you choose Mr. Alchemivich, eh?” questioned Crowley. Billy blinked. He looked between Che’Nya and the Headmages, as if he seriously couldn’t get why they would even ask that question. His response was slow and measured, as if he were explaining to children… “Pink. Kitty. Do I need another reason?”

Harmonia had to bite his knuckle to keep from squealing with laughter. Qiao, Matthew, and Adam all huffed in disappointment, while Paisley, Ivo, and Neige offered congratulations to the Cheshire Cat. Every single student at Night Raven flushed with embarrassment. Several of them seemed to become very interested in their shoes, all of a sudden. Riddle’s expression still bordered on the mortified. “Yes…well…ahem!” coughed Crowley, who seemed equally flummoxed. “A very…unorthodox method, Mr. Geant. We’ll see how it serves your fellow students in the competition.” “Thank you, Headmage…I think,” chuckled Billy, scratching his pink cheek. “Now, Mr. A’Cappella,” Ambrose LXIII spoke up, stroking his white beard. “Would you be so kind as to choose your team captain from the Night Raven side?” Harmonia’s smile faded, and he turned serious. Tossing some of his golden bangs out of his similarly golden eyes, he looked towards the seven NRC members. He had to admit…this wasn’t an easy choice to make. Naturally, he had a bias towards Vil Schoenheit: a celebrity, an entrepreneur, a Housewarden…he had ample credentials. Then again, he knew that Riddle Rosehearts was a Housewarden as well; he’d seen him on television in the Magift competition. Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, and Sebek Zigvolt all seemed strong and hardy; Harmonia got the feeling none of them would be brilliant strategists, but they certainly had physical fitness on their side. And then there was Cater Diamond…who was snapping selfies of himself, winking and sticking out his tongue… …Yeah, Harmonia dismissed him immediately. But that still left six other candidates who could work out well… The golden boy’s eyes finally fell towards Epel. Small. Effeminate. Almost doe-like in appearance, with somewhat untidy lavender hair, and a light sort of voice. A smile painted Harmonia’s face, and he pointed to his choice. “I elect Epel Felmier for the Farmer Team Captain.” The other Night Raven students seemed utterly floored…except for Cater, who laughed and clapped Epel on the back with a cheer of, “WOO-HOO! HashtagCongratulations!” “M-Me?” Epel gasped, seemingly just as surprised. “Why me?” Harmonia shrugged in response, with a gentle sort of smile. “I’ve only known you for a couple of minutes, but I somehow feel the two of us are kindred spirits. Not only that, but you have strength and experiences that I’ve never gotten to enjoy. If I were to be in charge of a team, I’d hope to have a leader like you.” He extended a hand to Felmier. “I have faith that you and your friends will save me.” Epel blushed…but then a confident smile crossed his face. He shook Harmonia’s hand firmly and nodded. “You can count on me.” “I hope so,” chuckled Harmonia. “And so the choices are made!” Ambrose declared, clapping his hands together with a smile. “The game can finally commence!”

“Indeed,” nodded Crowley, and addressed both teams. “Both sides will be led to their respective main camps, where the participating students are gathered. The Head Monster will bring the Golden Harp to the Colosseum. The Captains shall be given fifteen minutes to select their aids and devise a strategy. In exactly a half hour, the hunt for the Golden Harp will begin. Myself and Headmage Ambrose will now lead our students to their headquarters.”

The two Headmages, having announced this, shook hands with each other (Crowley’s smile was extremely forced, Ambrose’s less so), and then marched off, leading their teams away. Epel cast a brief glance back at Harmonia and Billy before hastening off. Harmonia and Billy watched as the rest soon disappeared into the woods. The former gave a nod to Che’Nya, who smiled back and winked, giving a salute before swishing his tail as he swaggered off with the other RSA members. “Bye-bye, little friends!” Billy sang, waving farewell to all of the students…then looked down at Harmonia. Harmonia, in turn, looked up at the giant. They were now completely alone. Just the two of them. The Monster and the Harp. Nervous, anxious, fluttering feelings flitted about in Harmonia’s chest as he suddenly realized his vulnerable state. There were no Headmages, nor even other students, here to try and help. From this point on, his life was quite literally in the hands of the ogre. For a moment, he worried that now would be when the proverbial shoe would drop: when the titan would suddenly go from seemingly sweet and tender to showing his fangs (either literally, figuratively, or both). But instead, Billy just smiled down at him with a happy “little” look on his face, blinking his big blue eyes curiously. “So,” the giant said at last. “Are you ready to go?” “G-Go?” peeped Harmonia, backing up a step. Billy giggled and tossed his head indicatively. “To the Colosseum! That’s where you and I have to stay while I’m guarding you! Part of the game, right?” “Oh! Oh, r-right, um…s-sure, I…I’m ready to go when…when you are-EEP!” Harmonia flinched as a huge hand - larger than his whole body - suddenly swept down again, and stretched palm open before him. He looked between the fat hand and Billy’s face, as Geant smiled in a playful, exuberant way that showed the gap between his teeth. “Come on then!” Billy cheered. “It’s okay, little friend. I won’t hurt you! I’ll be super-duper careful, mega promise!” He crossed his heart with his free hand and added, “Giant’s Honor!” Harmonia nearly retorted that he didn’t know giants HAD honor…but already, he felt that would be a cruel and unjust response. He could tell saying such a thing would have hurt Billy’s feelings, and…well…somehow, he already knew that hurting Billy’s feelings wasn’t something he wanted to do. So - with the caution one might use when trying to defuse a bomb - Harmonia stepped up onto the soft, slightly springy-feeling surface of the giant’s plump palm. He sat down and braced himself as, a moment later, Billy rose back to his full height, carrying Harmonia up, up, up off the ground. The Golden Harp willed himself not to look down, as he could already feel his stomach flip from the change in air pressure and the feeling of gravity shifting beneath him. Billy smiled and cocked his head as he looked at the little one in the palm of his hand. He had to bite his lip to keep from squeeing. “Awww…you’re ADORABLE!” he cooed, unable to hold in his excitement, a blush painting his face, as he lifted his other hand, pointing one finger at Harmonia. “You’re so little, and you have such a cute little outfit…I wish I had a cool golden outfit like that! You look awesome!” Harmonia felt a little breathless as he nudged the finger away, not wanting to be poked, and barely managed to eep out a sincere but somewhat scared, “Th-thank you.” “You’re welcome!” grinned Billy, and cocked his head the other way. The action reminded Harmonia so much of a curious puppy, it was kind of hilarious. “Comfy there, little friend?” “M-More or less…” “Then let’s get moving,” Billy nodded. “Hold on tight, and don’t worry: I won’t let you go.” Under the circumstances, Harmonia felt there was a certain irony to those words…but he decided not to comment on it. Instead, he just sat quietly, as Billy began to march through the woods, his giant footsteps shaking the forest around them as he tromped in the direction of the Colosseum. The games had begun.

To Be Continued in Part Two…

[indeedcaptain]

Regulatory Relations, chapter 15: the miners

Hi, everyone!! I hope you're having a beautiful weekend.

Thank you for your patience, both with this chapter and with me being dramatically less responsive on here and tumblr recently. I’m on a project at work that is kicking my ass professionally and emotionally, but at least it ends in two weeks and I hope I can be a little more present after that. Please accept my apologies that I haven’t responded to any of your beautiful comments :(

I left this fic unrated for a reason. Explicit content ahead! If that’s not your jam, skip from the second star section break to the third. Otherwise, enjoy ;)

Thank you so much for being here and reading along with this adventure. I hope you like this chapter.

Also posted on AO3 here.

☆☆☆

“If anyone gets this message, please. Help us.” 

Kirk, Spock, and the beta shift bridge crew stood in silence as Overman Dima Marcus’s cry for help echoed through the room. Marcus panted as a third explosion rocked the frame, and he fell out of focus. He looked over his shoulder. The video ended.

“Play it again,” Kirk ordered, and Ortiz restarted the video. The rise and fall of static, the explosions, and Marcus’s dire message played again over the viewscreen. Kirk read the haggard, gaunt, fearful face of the overman, and he saw his hunger. The tendons of Marcus’s neck were too prominent, even in the shadowed image of the video. Kirk’s own bones ached in recognition, and in the crevasses of Marcus’s face he saw his own, and Kevin’s. In the nervous, twitching glance over his shoulder, Kirk saw Laika sprinting to the treeline on the outskirts of town. He pushed his fearful recognition somewhere dark and cold in the back of his mind, until it was just Dima Marcus, dirty and alone, on the screen in front of him. His memories of Tarsus were too close to the surface, skittering over his skin after the conversation in Bones’s office, and he fought to focus on the problem at hand. 

Kindinos wasn’t Tarsus. But Dima Marcus looked like he was starving.

Ortiz paused it at the end. Kirk heard the turbolift door open behind him, and he stifled his nervous twitch as he said, “Metadata for the video?” 

“Pretty degraded, sir, but recorded within the past one hundred hours and transmitted from the heading of 106 mark 8, sir.” 

“Helmsman?” 

The helms officer tapped the console and looked back at Kirk. Kirk met his gaze as steadily as he could. The beta shift crew rarely saw situations as serious as this one--- he would not allow his fear to trigger their own. “106 mark 8 is the heading for Kindinos VI from here, sir.” 

“Have we received anything to indicate that this recording is in any way falsified or illegitimate?” 

The beta shift bridge crew paused, looking amongst themselves, and then Lieutenant Karros in the center chair said, “No, sir.” 

Kirk finally turned and looked over his shoulder, unsurprised to see admirals April and Pike waiting by the lift. April’s face was stony as Kirk said, “Helmsman, set a course for Kindinos VI at warp four, and get Scotty back up here or into Engineering as soon as you can.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“We may have had radio silence from Kindinos because something went wrong, admiral,” Kirk said, holding April’s eye contact. “I’ll send Yeoman Rand to work with you to get your schedule fixed as close to correct as possible, but your reports are going to be delayed by a few days.” 

April stared at him, grinding his teeth, before saying, “Understood, captain.” But the man’s open hostility barely registered as he stepped down to the main chair. Karros stood to offer it to him, but he waved her off, forcing his motions to be casual. 

“Lieutenant Ortiz, put me on shipwide comms, please.” He waited until her signal, and then spoke. “Crew of the Enterprise, this is your captain speaking. We’ve received a distress signal, and we are answering its call. Officers Uhura, Giotto, Spock, McCoy, and Rand, report to the ready room. Lieutenant Scott, report to bridge. All others, be prepared for new orders. We’ll arrive in the Kindinos system in---” He turned to look at the helmsman, who mouthed ‘ten hours’--- “ten hours, at which point I will have more details to share. Kirk out.” 

“Lieutenant Karros, keep the conn until the end of your shift,” Kirk said, and she nodded resolutely. “Let me know if we receive any more signals from anything in that direction.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and the beta bridge crew around her nodded resolutely. Kirk strode back towards the turbolift. As he passed the comms console, he said, “Ortiz, could you please---?” He cut himself off as she handed him a data chip. 

“The video data, sir?” He took it from her and offered her an approving head nod. 

“Well done, lieutenant, that’s exactly right.” She looked down to hide her smile at the praise, and he pocketed the data chip. Spock followed him to the turbolift. 

“Admirals, if you would like to attend this briefing, please feel free to do so.” Pike followed Kirk and Spock into the turbolift, and April stepped in afterwards. The admirals stood in front of Kirk and Spock, all four facing the doors, and the only person who noticed that Spock gently wrapped his hand around Kirk’s wrist and squeezed was Kirk. He glanced at Spock, who met his eyes, and the contact helped center him back into himself, just a little bit. 

When they entered the conference room, Kirk’s officers were already waiting. Kirk looked over his assembled department heads, his hand-picked and trusted crew, and was grateful to see them. He took his place at the head of the table, Spock at his right hand, and slid the data chip into the room’s computer. 

“We received this message just moments ago,” he said, and hit play. He forced himself to watch as Marcus’s message rang through the room, and he let it play twice before shutting it off and turning back to his crew. Pike had rolled his chair up to the table, sitting beside Uhura, and April sat at the far end, opposite Kirk. His dark eyes were inscrutable. 

“Uhura, here,” Kirk said, and slid the data chip to her. She scooped it neatly off the table. “Beta bridge crew said they didn’t see anything funny about the message, but I’d like you to triple-check their work, just in case. Anything you can tell me about the location of the recording, any of the ambient sounds, especially those explosions, or Marcus himself would be great. We don’t know if the problem is conflict or natural disaster, and I’d like to have that information before we go planetside.” 

“Yes, sir,” she said, and something in her eyes was already going far away, as if she were listening to the message from Marcus in her head again. He turned next to the good doctor, who was watching him too carefully.

“Bones, I’d like ready kits for as many nurses as you think you can stand to send down, one we know what we’re walking into. If it’s a natural disaster, that’s one thing, but if we’re heading into a war zone, we’ll send security first and then triage.” Bones nodded, already tapping on his padd to send instructions down to Sickbay.

“Giotto, we’ll need teams, but I’m not sure how many---” 

“We’ll be able to field at least ten teams of four for a conflict zone, or we could do twenty of two if we’re just looking for survivors.”

“That’s great, Sal, that sounds right to me. Let’s plan for the worst, just in case, and we can split up on the ground if it turns out that way.” Kirk’s mind flicked through the possibilities based on what he knew about Kindinos and dilithium mines, and ran through the consequences of the most likely scenarios. He was hitting an obstacle, though: Kindinos wasn’t in Federation space, and he had very little knowledge to fall back on.

“Mr. Spock. Any information on this planet, the mine, cultural rifts that could cause conflict, any history of physical instability where the mine was built, or any evidence of foul play would be great. I doubt we’ll be able to get any clear information from the residents once we get there, not at first, and I’d like to be prepared for anything.” Spock inclined his head, calm and collected, and even just seeing him sitting at his right hand recentered Kirk further. Kindinos wasn’t Tarsus, and they were going to be ready to help.

Kirk turned to the last officer at his table. “Yeoman Rand, taking this mission is going to severely disrupt our current schedule. I’d like you to work with Admiral April to reprioritize our next round of orders. It’s unclear how long we’ll be in orbit around Kindinos at the moment, so as much leeway as you can provide would be helpful.” 

“Yes, sir,” she said, and nodded to April down the table. April inclined his head in turn, but his eyes flicked back to Kirk.

“Alright,” Kirk said. “We have ten hours until we’ll get there, any other crises notwithstanding. Rand, could you send someone to make sure Scotty gets some sleep when he’s done checking everything over in Engineering? I don’t want him down there all night.” She nodded, pulling out her padd to tap out a message to one of her minions. “We’ve got a little under ten hours until we arrive, and there is almost nothing that we can do for these people in the meantime. You’ve got your orders, but get some sleep, and make sure your people get sleep. Report anything you find or learn directly to me and Spock. Dismissed.” 

His officers stood and filed out of the conference room. Their focused, professional determination imbued the air, and Kirk inhaled it like oxygen. Janice strode ahead to fall in step with April, and Pike hung back until Kirk and Spock stepped out. 

“If you’ve got any insight here, Chris, I’d love to hear it,” Kirk said. 

“Nothing useful, I’m afraid,” Chris said. “I’ve never been out that way before. But I wanted to offer--- if you need any logistics assistance, put me in. An extra brain never hurts on a lifesaving mission.”

An idea sprung to mind fully formed, and it chased away some of the ache in his bones that had started the moment he saw Marcus. “Actually, that would be great,” Kirk said, and he turned to Spock. “Has Chris seen your revision?” 

“6245-B? No.” The empathetic shift in Spock’s face was infinitesimal, but Kirk saw the second he realized what Kirk intended. He nodded minutely. 

“We’re trying something new,” Kirk said, turning back to Chris. “We took on extra unreplicated food stores in case of emergency, and it seems as though we’re going to test a hypothesis sooner rather than later. I’ll send you the inventory, and it would be great if you could think through the most efficient way to distribute it, so that we’re not relying on the replicators. From the looks of Marcus, the people on Kindinos are going to need it.” 

“You’ve got it, captain,” Chris said, and Spock pulled out his padd to send him the documents. With a ding of his padd, Chris acknowledged their receipt, and after a brief ‘goodnight’ he followed the rest of the staff back towards the turbolift that would take him to his quarters. Kirk watched him depart before he turned towards the lift that would take him back to the bridge. 

Spock halted him with a hand around the wrist. His hand was warm. “Your own orders were to rest, sir,” he said. 

“I just wanted to---”

“And you ensured that Lieutenant Karros would maintain command for another four hours.” 

“I was just going to see if they needed anything,” Kirk said. He looked up, meeting Spock’s eyes, and he knew Spock saw him, and understood. 

“Admirable, captain, but unnecessary.” Spock paused. “And you have not yet eaten dinner.” 

As if on cue, Kirk’s stomach rumbled, and though Spock did not look down at the source of the noise he did allow himself a slight eyebrow raise. 

“I can’t sit and do nothing, after seeing that message,” he said, and pulled his wrist from Spock’s grip to take his hand instead. 

“Preparing is not ‘doing nothing.’ You and the rest of the crew will be of more use to the miners if you are fed and rested,” Spock said, and he allowed Kirk to entangle their fingers as he directed them both towards his designated turbolift. 

“And yourself, Mr. Spock?” 

“Vulcans require less sleep and sustenance than humans, captain,” Spock said.

“Does that mean you don’t want to eat dinner with me, then?” The quip rolled off his tongue. Each step with Spock’s hand in his took him further from the shock that had frozen him on the bridge.

Spock paused, affronted, and Kirk laughed. 

“That is not what I said,” he said stiffly, and followed Kirk into the turbolift.

“Alright, then,” Kirk said, and grinned as he pulled Spock towards him. “Officer’s quarters,” he said to the lift as the doors slid shut, and then he towed Spock all the way to him until they were nose to nose. Spock inhaled as Kirk tilted his head up to kiss him, and by the time the lift doors opened again they were both breathless.

☆☆☆

They had only left the quarters a little over twelve hours previously, and yet returning to it with Spock, knowing that he would stay the night, cast the entire suite in a new light. Spock’s robes hanging in his closet, Spock’s crinoid fluttering among his books, Spock’s boots next to his next to the door--- every detail of Spock’s existence in the space that he had inhabited alone for years soothed the ragged edges of his mind. Spock insinuated himself on the couch, pulling every available padd towards himself to research, as Kirk replicated dinner for them--- plomeek soup for Spock, a turkey sandwich for himself. He crossed to join Spock with their food, setting it on the coffee table in front of them, and they sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch, reading through the ship computer’s resources on Kindinos VI. The file was astonishingly sparse for a planet that supplied one of the Federation’s most valuable resources. 

“There’s effectively nothing here,” Kirk said, as they got to the bottom of the document. “That’s all?” Spock frowned and scrolled back to the top.

“It seems so, captain,” Spock said, and tapped irritatedly at the search bar. Kirk watched as he tried various other options--- information on the system, the mining company, Dima Marcus himself--- but nothing further came up. “Not even a geological survey,” he said. 

“It might be proprietary to the mining company, depending on who owns the planet. It’s not technically in Federation space.” 

Spock hummed in acknowledgement. “We will need to exercise caution, Jim.”

“I always exercise caution.” 

Spock’s eyes cut to him, but he didn’t refute the comment. “Depending on the source of the unrest, a Federation starship may not be a welcome visitor.”

“How do you mean?” 

Spock leaned back against the couch, eyes thoughtful, and crossed his legs. His bony knee pressed into Kirk’s thigh. “The planet was uninhabited before the dilithium was discovered. The only people who live there now are those who are employed by the mine. I assume you are familiar with the great union riots of the 2030s on Earth.”

“I am,” Kirk said, suddenly aware of where Spock was going and uneasy with it. 

“If the conflict is between classes of employees, or perhaps miners and management, the arrival of a consumer of their product may be viewed as harmful to their business.” 

Kirk frowned. “You’re right,” he said. “So we’ll come in gentle. We won’t mention the distress call until we get someone to talk to and hear a little more about what’s going on.” 

“A reasonable approach, captain,” Spock said, and Kirk leaned back against the couch to brush their shoulders together. 

“We were already headed that way for a wellness check,” he said. “We’ll keep that story, say we got concerned when comms broke down and just wanted to see how they were doing. No mention of any problems until we get a hold of someone on the ground.” 

“I think that will be best, captain.” Spock swapped the padd in his hand for one of the others on the coffee table, and skimmed through the document; over his shoulder, Kirk could see the stark, clinical titles from his regulation revision. “Tasking Admiral Pike with implementing the revision was logical.” 

“If you let him hear you call him admiral again, I think he might actually run you down. That chair can get some real speed, you know.” 

“I will endeavor to protect my knees, captain,” Spock said, and Kirk coughed out a surprised laugh. Spock glanced at him as he leaned back against the couch, and turned back to his padd as he said, “Marcus’s appearance distressed you.” 

The disagreement leapt to Kirk’s lips. He bit it back. He could be honest. Spock had earned that, deserved that, from him. 

“We got the message today, but it could be three days old,” he said. “A lot can happen in three days.” Spock did not look at him, but his knee pressed insistently against Kirk’s leg, and Kirk leaned against him. “And if that’s what the overman looked like three days ago, four days once we arrive, what shape is everyone else in?” They sat in silence for a moment before Kirk forced himself to put voice to the fear that howled from the back of his mind. 

“Are there children on Kindinos?”

“It is impossible to be certain,” Spock said quietly. “But I have found no evidence that there is anyone but the employees of the mining company on the planet.” Kirk chewed the inside of his lip. “We will be prepared to act immediately upon arrival, captain. We acquired sufficient foodstuff and have enough staff to respond as soon as we ascertain the needs of the people on the planet.”

Kirk turned over Spock’s words in his mind, pressing their shoulders together, drawing comfort from his proximity and his logical consideration of Kirk’s fears. He watched over Spock’s shoulder as Spock re-read the preliminary report on Kindinos, committing the scant information to memory. 

“I do not believe there is any other information that I can acquire on the planet at this time,” Spock eventually said, and Kirk sat up and arched, stretching his back. He was beginning to feel how Spock had thrown him through the ache in his muscles, and remembered the tingle of Spock dragging his hands across his skin. He stood and crossed the room, swinging his arms to stretch his shoulders, before turning and sitting on the edge of his desk. He considered Spock as his eyes lifted to meet Kirk’s, pulling slowly away from the padd in his hands.

“A shower, I think, before bed,” Kirk said. “We both smell like the gymnasium.” His stomach twinged pleasantly as he recalled the way Spock had moved under his hands that morning and against him in the turbolift later, and he admired the way Spock looked, lounged on their couch with his long legs crossed in front of him. He felt again that strange magnetism that pulled his hands to Spock, even at this distance; he felt that irrepressible need to be close to him, to feel his skin against his. But he no longer felt the vague discomfort of guilt at the idea; his attraction had been joyfully reciprocated.

“If you don’t want to, or if it’s too soon, I understand,” Kirk said. He held Spock’s gaze. “But if you did want to, you could join me.” 

Spock straightened, his padd coming to rest flat against his thighs. Color rose faintly on his cheeks, and his eyes dropped to the floor before he raised them again.

“I would like that,” he said, his voice quiet. Kirk smiled and crossed the room back to him as pleasure at the idea sparked to life inside him. He offered his hand. With only a second’s hesitation, Spock took it, and Kirk pulled him up off the couch and to the bathroom door. Spock followed him in as Kirk crossed directly to Scotty’s half of the bathroom and locked the other door.

☆☆☆

Spock stood on the tile of the bathroom floor in his stockinged feet, arms crossed in front of himself, face impassive.

“Hey,” Kirk said, and put both hands on Spock’s shoulders, the fabric of his science shirt smooth under his hands. “I was serious. We don’t have to.” 

Kirk felt Spock’s shoulders rise as he inhaled through his nose, and he looked down between them as he said again, “I would like to.” But he paused, and even without telepathy Kirk could feel his apprehension vibrating beneath his skin. 

“You haven’t done this before,” Kirk said. 

“I have not,” Spock confirmed. “Though your use of ‘this’ is alarmingly vague.” Kirk grinned and shook him gently by the shoulders.

“You’re sure, though?” Kirk asked. “Because we can wait.”

“I am sure,” Spock said, and his voice was steadier. He met Kirk’s eyes again, his eyes scorching, and uncrossed his arms, reaching one hand to Kirk’s waist. Kirk slid his hands down from Spock’s shoulders, over his ribs, down to his hips, and slipped one finger under the hem of his shirt. 

“May I?” Kirk asked, voice dropping low, and Spock nodded. He slid both hands under Spock’s tunic and pulled it over his head. Spock lifted his arms, his undershirt riding up with the motion to reveal the taut skin of his stomach, the shirt’s journey over his neat hair disturbing its perfect alignment. Kirk balled up the shirt and tossed it in the recycler before turning back to Spock to claim his undershirt and trousers. But Spock reached for him first. Watching his own hands as if committing the movement to memory, Spock pulled his command golds off, skimming his hands over Kirk’s sides as he lifted, and placed the shirt in the recycler with his own. Kirk stepped closer and slid both hands under Spock’s undershirt, pressing them flat against the warmth of Spock’s back. Spock closed his eyes and nodded, and Kirk pulled the undershirt off of him. 

He had seen Spock shirtless a hundred times before, in locker rooms, on away missions, in Sickbay, but never like this. He had never seen Spock with his clothes removed by Kirk’s own hands; his chest hair dark against his pale skin, the leanness of his frame belying his strength. Unable to stop himself, Kirk pressed one hand against his stomach, and felt Spock’s heart beneath his palm.

“Still okay?” 

Spock nodded, and his eyes darkened as he pulled Kirk’s undershirt off. He skimmed a hand along the line of his shoulder, and the soft touch gave him goosebumps. Spock ran one long finger along the bumps on his arm. 

“Are you cold, Jim?” 

Kirk laughed. “No,” he said, and hooked two fingers into the waistband of Spock’s trousers. He pulled, and Spock stepped towards him, bringing them within inches of each other. He was acutely aware of the uneven rise and fall of Spock’s chest, of the slight tremor in his own hands. Spock looked down, replacing the touch of one finger against his goosebumps with his whole hand, and his soft breath against Kirk’s ear made him shiver. 

“Are you certain?” 

“It’s not from the cold, Spock,” Kirk said, skin tingling under Spock’s hands, and he unbuttoned Spock’s trousers. His knuckles brushed the line of hair that trailed into Spock’s pants. Spock stepped out of them as Kirk pulled them down, placing one hand against the wall for balance. Kirk noted the spread of his fingers and flushed as his mind supplied an image of what Spock’s hands might look like, both pressed against the wall of the shower. Down, boy, he told himself. He was going to let Spock set the pace for whatever they did. But Spock stood before him in his boxers and socks, all long, lean lines and chest hair, and some of the nervous tension had left his gestures when he reached for the button of Kirk’s pants. 

“May I?” Spock asked, his mouth next to Kirk’s ear, and when Kirk nodded, his nimble fingers made quick work of the fastenings. Kirk stepped out of his pants and tossed both pairs into the recycler. Spock reached for him, running his hand down Kirk’s arm, eyes following a similar path down the line of his throat and over his chest, lingering at his shorts. Spock exhaled sharply before bringing his hands to the waistband of his own shorts. He met Kirk’s eyes and raised one eyebrow, and Kirk’s mouth dried up as Spock removed the last of his clothing and stood bare before him. Spock, naked, was incredible to behold: every line of him elegant like a dancer, the thin trail of hair down his chest and stomach leading to his half-hard cock, flushed green and double-ridged.

“You’re beautiful,” Kirk said, and watched in fascination as a flush crept down Spock’s neck and across his chest. With Spock’s eyes glued to his hands, he slowly pulled his own shorts down and tossed them and his socks into the recycler. He stood before Spock’s gaze as it swept from his face, down over his torso, to his exposed cock and thighs, and back to his face.

“Jim,” Spock said, hoarse, and reached for him. His hand slid up Kirk’s shoulder, over and behind his neck, and pulled him in as Kirk slid his arms around his back. Their bodies collided as their lips met, and Spock brought both hands up to frame his face. Spock’s chest hair scraped his torso, his cock pressing against Kirk’s hipbone, and he shuddered as Kirk ran his hands from his shoulder blades to the curve of his ass, breathing hard against his mouth. Kirk pulled back to see his face, to gauge if he needed to slow down, but Spock chased him across the distance, eyes dark and intense, to kiss him again. Kirk sighed into Spock’s mouth at the brush of his tongue against his, his hands roaming over his back, and Spock pushed them backwards to press Kirk against the countertop. Kirk’s whole body sang at the pressure of Spock against him, his fingertips digging dimples into his skin. He could feel Spock hardening against him, the twitch of his hips as Kirk shifted, and he pulled one hand between them to press Spock backwards. 

“Shower,” he said, and Spock nodded. Kirk crossed to the shower, setting the water to something he thought would be comfortable for both of them and testing it with his hand. Spock followed behind him. Kirk leaned back until his shoulders pressed against Spock’s chest, and rested his head back against Spock’s shoulder.

“You can touch me,” he said quietly. “However you’re comfortable.” Spock hummed his assent, the sound reverberating in his chest. He wrapped his arms around Kirk from behind, clasping his hands at his navel and dropping his head to press a kiss to the meat of Kirk’s shoulder. He dragged his lips from that point of contact, up his neck, to his ear, where he kissed the rounded top. Kirk shivered at his breath against the shell of his ear.

“God, Spock,” he whispered, and ran his hand along his forearm. He felt Spock’s minute tremble under the touch of his hand, felt his chest expand with a jagged breath against his back. He pulled away to step under the warm stream of water, letting it pour over his head for a second, before he turned back. Spock stared at him as he slicked his wet hair back. His hands hung open, empty, next to him, and he saw one twitch towards him. Spock’s eyes were wide and dark, drinking him in, and Kirk grinned broadly at him. Holding Spock’s gaze, he ran his tongue against his lower lip. 

Spock surged towards him, meeting him under the water, wrapping both arms around him before pressing them both backwards. Kirk hissed into Spock’s mouth as his back hit the cold tile of the shower wall, arching towards him, wrapping both arms around his shoulders. Spock ground his hips against him, and the moan that escaped from somewhere deep in his chest set Kirk’s blood on fire. He opened his eyes and ran one hand over Spock, dragging down and catching one nipple with his thumb. Spock shuddered. Water dripped down his nose, and his mouth was half-open as his eyes fluttered shut; he was so beautiful that Kirk’s teeth ached with it. For a moment his head spun as he recognized, as if from outside of his own body, that he was in his shower, grinding his hard-on against his first officer-turned-husband’s. Minutes ago they had been in his quarters, talking about a mission, planning for the away team strategy over dinner, and now they were here, gasping into each other’s mouths. If this was marriage, he thought, then he was looking forward to many more years of it. 

He slid his hand down further, and Spock opened his eyes. “Is this alright?” 

Spock nodded, pressing their foreheads together, and Kirk ran his fingers up Spock’s thigh before slowly wrapping his hand around his cock. Kirk stared in wonder at the microexpressions that flickered across Spock’s face at the contact, as his eyes rolled back even as they slid shut, as his hand spasmed against Kirk’s back where it still held him. He started gently, rolling his wrist as he stroked loosely, and Spock’s hips twitched. His breathing was uneven, shallow and rapid, and when Kirk leaned forward to capture his mouth again Spock groaned into him. He swallowed the noise, pulling Spock’s lip between his teeth, sucking on his tongue, and the rhythm of his kisses grew more unsteady with every pass of his hand.

He twisted his hand slowly and Spock pulled one hand from behind Kirk’s back to plant it unsteadily against the wall of the shower. Kirk glanced at it in awe, at the water dripping down to his angular wrist from long fingers, splayed against the tile. He closed his hand over both ridges and swiped his thumb over the head, and he felt the sticky slide of precome on his hand as Spock dropped his head to Kirk’s shoulder. Kirk turned his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to Spock’s neck, running his unoccupied hand up to tease at his nipples, and Spock shuddered fully against him. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed. “I can’t believe--- I wasn’t sure---” He shut his mouth and turned his head, pressing a kiss to Spock’s wrist to prevent himself from saying anything unforgivably vapid, and increased the speed of his hand. Spock’s hips rocked in time with his movement, his breath coming harshly, and when he increased the pressure Spock keened quietly and pressed his mouth down against the meat of Kirk’s shoulder. He felt Spock begin to tremble, heard the voiceless whine catch in the back of his throat, and he continued the pace of his hand, bringing the other up to cradle the back of Spock’s head. 

“Jim,” Spock said, wrecked and ragged, and Kirk kissed the side of his head. “I---” His trembling intensified, long thighs tensing; his lungs heaved like bellows, and the hand planted against the wall flexed unconsciously. 

“Good,” Kirk murmured. “I want you to.” It was not lost on him that he was the first person to have ever seen Spock like this, held him and felt him like this, and he seared it in his memory: the deep timbre of his groan, the hitch in his breathing, the weight of his head on his shoulder, the way the hand that he still pressed against the small of Kirk’s back pulled him ever closer. 

Spock came with Kirk’s hand wrapped around him, his face pressed into the crook of Kirk’s neck, pulsing up over Kirk’s fist and their stomachs. Kirk, more aroused than he had ever been in his entire life and so desperately in love that he thought his lungs might burst with it, stroked him through it and took more of his weight as Spock relaxed against him. For a moment Spock leaned into him, mouth pressed into his shoulder, Kirk’s shoulders pressed against the wall of the shower, and he ran his hands up and down Spock’s back, brushing from the crown of his head to the base of his spine. Spock’s breathing slowed, and he dropped his hand from the wall as he lifted his head to meet Kirk’s eyes.

“Hey, you,” Kirk said. 

“Hello,” Spock said, and he tentatively brushed a lock of wet hair from Kirk’s forehead, fingertips skimming over his eyebrow. Kirk put his palm flat against Spock’s sternum, feeling the warmth of him, his once-again steady breathing, and pushed him further under the water. He stepped backwards, watching Kirk with those warm eyes, and Kirk pulled his washcloth from the rack and dispensed soap onto it. He lathered it up and met Spock under the water. Spock was pliant as he ran the washcloth over his shoulders, down his arms, and he allowed Kirk to manipulate him to get under his arms, running the cloth over his palms and down his chest. 

“I am capable of cleansing myself,” Spock said, but there was no real rebuke in it. 

“I know,” Kirk said. “But I want to do it for you.” He ran the cloth gently over his thighs, swiping between his legs, before pushing on one shoulder. Spock turned, allowing him unfettered access to his back. 

Kirk swept the washcloth over the broad expanse of his fine-boned shoulders and said, “Will you indulge my curiosity for a moment?” 

“Yes,” Spock said, and turned his head slightly to listen. Kirk ran the washcloth down his spine, trailing his other hand through the bubbles left behind.

“When did you know?”

Spock’s silence was contemplative, and Kirk waited. He ran the washcloth over Spock’s ribs and down his hips until it was clear that it was only an excuse to touch him, and even then continued. 

“There is no ambiguity in relationships among my people,” Spock said. “Either there is already a bond, such as that between parents and child, or bondmates, and there is no question of what the relationship is; or there is no bond. Our telepathy, our culture, leaves very little room for the question of ‘what if.’” Kirk basked in his deep voice bouncing off the tiles, reverberating through the small space. “When we first met, I was betrothed. Though there was no affection between myself and T’Pring, I did not think that status would change. This was a miscalculation on my part, but one I find that I am now grateful for.” 

Spock paused, and Kirk stayed where he was behind him, hands skimming up and down Spock’s arms. “You are my friend,” Spock said. “But I had never before known ambiguity in a relationship. I did not understand how the line between friendship and more may be blurred, and therefore did not recognize it when it happened. It was not until I was threatened with a future that did not include you that I realized that my sentiment had exceeded its original parameters.”

“Wait,” Kirk said, hands pausing in their steady rhythm at Spock’s wrists. “So then you already knew by the time I found out about the offer. You’ve wanted this… since the beginning?” 

“That is correct.” Kirk squeezed Spock’s wrists and pressed his forehead to the back of Spock’s neck. 

“I though…” Kirk’s heart felt like it was expanding in his chest as he reevaluated, day by day, the circuitous path that had taken them from his nervous proposal in Spock’s old quarters to this moment. “I thought you just didn’t want to leave the Enterprise.” Spock hummed, and Kirk felt it vibrate through him, where he was pressed to him.

“You were the one who assumed the Enterprise as the referent point,” Spock said, and Kirk could almost feel his amusement. “I simply did not correct you.” Kirk lifted his head and continued running his hands over Spock’s arms, feeling the strong lines of his muscle, the upright set of his shoulders.

“And you agreed to a fake marriage anyway? Even before knowing how this would go, even before I had caught up?” Kirk laughed softly, shaking his head. “Humans would call that being a glutton for punishment.” 

“It is no punishment to be where I want to be, captain,” Spock said, and Kirk again pressed his head against his. “But after meditation and---” he cleared his throat, and Kirk looked up to see a faint flush of color on his cheeks--- “an illuminating series of conversations with Nyota, I believe I know when this… ambiguity began.” 

“Will you tell me?” Kirk asked, and Spock turned in his arms. He took the washcloth from Kirk’s hand, applied more soap, and rubbed it to a lather. 

“Babel,” Spock said, and slid the soapy washcloth over Kirk’s shoulders. Kirk watched him; watched the water drip over his eyebrows and cheekbones, down the line of his throat, over the steady movements of his hands. 

“Even though I lied to you?” 

“By saving my father from my decision, you preserved not only his life, but the wellbeing of my mother through her bondmate and any future possibility for me of repairing my familial bonds.” Spock ran the washcloth carefully over Kirk’s chest and stomach, wiping away the evidence of his orgasm, before turning Kirk around to wash his back. He said quietly, “That was the first time that I saw logic bow to kindness. And the first time that such a kindness had been extended to me.” 

The rough fabric of the washcloth vanished, replaced by Spock’s hands, sliding over Kirk’s shoulders and down his arms. He stepped closer behind him, his chest against his back, his cheekbone pressed to Kirk’s temple. “When did you become aware?”

“I think it had been building for a while,” Kirk said, and let Spock take more of his weight against his chest as they stood beneath the water. “When April called me and told me about your promotion, I panicked. I wasn’t ready for you to leave. But it wasn’t until the night that I kissed you for the first time that I realized why I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Spock unclasped his hands, pressing them to Kirk’s stomach, pulling him closer. Kirk turned his head, pressing his forehead against Spock’s cheek. “But I think you knew that.” 

“Any sense of ambiguity disappeared the night of our wedding,” Spock said, and Kirk could feel his voice through his chest, against his back. “When I took your hands.” 

“Ah,” Kirk said, smiling, and lifted his hand to put it on the back of Spock’s head. “You mean I wasn’t successful in hiding my feelings from you that night?” 

“You are many things, captain, but subtle is not usually one of them. What I felt from you, and what I felt in response…” Spock paused, pressed to him. “It was unambiguous.” They stood together under the shower for another minute, breathing in time with each other, before Spock inhaled deeply and slid his hand down through the hair on his stomach, towards his thighs.

“Spock,” Kirk whispered, as his body responded to the gentle touch. “You don’t have to.” 

“I know,” Spock said, voice low in his ear. “But I desire to do it for you.” He wrapped one arm around Kirk, holding him back against his chest, and curled those long, graceful fingers around him in one unselfconscious move. He dropped his head back onto Spock’s shoulder as the water ran down his chest, Spock’s hands burning brands into his skin, his mouth pressing kisses into his neck, and the way Spock touched him made him feel brand new. 

Had any of his previous lovers been so attuned to every twitch and sigh? Had he ever been so comfortable with someone, allowing them to care for him, without feeling the need to remove the center of attention from himself? He couldn’t remember the last time that he had allowed someone to focus entirely on him, insist on his pleasure, single-mindedly pursue it with that inhuman concentration--- but now he did. Spock chased his moans out of his mouth, turning him around to hold him against the wall and kiss him, hand moving ceaselessly on him, and Kirk held onto his shoulders and pressed his head against his neck and let Spock’s insistent rhythm push all other thoughts but him, him, him, yes, yes, yes out of his head.

☆☆☆

Dried and dressed, Kirk and Spock sat side-by-side in the bed, reading over the updates that Uhura and Giotto had sent. The security teams were ready, briefed on what little they knew about the mission, and would be ready to beam down with them as soon as they knew what was going on. Uhura had sent an audiological report that made Kirk uneasy: the audio in the recording was degraded, fuzzy after its travel through space, but it was her professional opinion that the video was legitimate and that the explosions in the background were not from military munitions but industrial machinery. 

He didn’t know if that was better or worse.

“There could be some sort of geological disturbance,” Spock said, as Kirk leaned against him and scanned through Uhura’s report again. 

“Or the miners could be weaponizing the machinery if they are fighting the management,” Kirk said, and Spock inclined his head in agreement. “I think we ought to beam down first,” he continued. “Before sending down the security teams. See if we can’t find someone to talk to, who might be able to give us more information. I don’t want to add more weapons into a volatile situation.” 

Spock exhaled quietly through his nose. Kirk turned to him. “You don’t like my plan?” 

“Your plan is sound,” Spock allowed. He looked at Kirk, warm dark eyes flicking between his own and the padd. “Is there any possibility of convincing you to remain aboard the ship until the situation on the ground has been ascertained?”

“Of course not,” Kirk said, narrowing his eyes. “You know I won’t order my crew into anything that I won’t go into myself.” Spock looked back to the padd in his lap before twining his fingers through Kirk’s. 

“I know, captain,” Spock said. He was silent for a moment before he said, “I am going with you.” Kirk took one more glance over the reports from his team before he closed the padd and set it aside, leaning over to rest his head on Spock’s shoulder. 

“I rely on it,” he said quietly. “On you coming with me.” So smoothly and gracefully he didn’t realize at first what he was doing, Spock slid them both down the bed until they were horizontal, laying next to each other. 

“I must admit, illogical though it is, I do have a preference among the revelations from the past week.” 

“A daring admission, Mr. Spock. Please, do tell.” 

“The rule that the security team follows,” Spock said, the chocolate brown of his eyes warm in the light of their quarters. “That on away missions, they can trust that I will be where you are.” Beneath the comforter, Kirk lifted Spock’s arm to slide himself beneath it and lay his head on his shoulder. Such boldness, he thought, even as Spock adjusted to make room for him. 

“That might be my favorite, too,” Kirk said. “That, or the nurses’ log.” 

Spock hummed in consideration. “It was their log that first showed me that you treated me in the same manner that I treated you.” 

Kirk lifted his head. “What do you mean?” 

“After I became aware of my own affection, I assumed that you would not reciprocate. I had no evidence to the contrary, and I did not desire to assign meaning to the emotions transferred through your touch without more context.” Spock turned to meet his eyes. “I was unaware of how much time you spent in Sickbay when you were not required to be there.” Kirk lay back down and ordered the lights off.

“If you like, Mr. Spock, I’ll start waking you when you’re in Medbay and I come to see you,” Kirk teased. “So you can know when your captain is worrying about you.” 

“A considerate gesture,” Spock said. “Might I suggest, however, spending less time in Medbay and more time practicing self-preservation?”

“Hey,” Kirk complained, curling closer to Spock’s warmth, thrilling at the way his hand slipped beneath his sleep shirt to press possessively against his hip. “I thought we were talking about you.” 

“I believe we could ask Dr. McCoy to analyze who spends more time on a biobed,” Spock said. “If I am remembering correctly, you have spent at least 11.8% more time, comparatively---” His sentence ended rather abruptly as Kirk stretched up to kiss him instead, and he rolled towards Kirk immediately to place a hand against his face and kiss him in return. 

As they broke apart and settled down to sleep, Kirk thought that he had just discovered a way to increase the number of future disagreements that he won quite considerably. 

☆☆☆

Jimmy was back in the treehouse on Tarsus, during one of the early days. But he looked around at his sleeping kids, and there was one extra body laying on the wooden floor. He counted them again: Kevin and Mira and Ellie, then Tommy and Laika and himself. And then the last body, laying with his back to Jimmy, shivering in the light wind. Jimmy crawled over to him, quietly so as to not disturb the littles, and shook the stranger’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. “Who are you?” 

Dima Marcus rolled over, face shrunken and skeletal with hunger, and whispered, “Help me.” 

Kirk woke to the darkness of his own room, and to Spock’s hand sliding across the bed to find him. 

“Are you distressed, Jim?” 

“It was just a nightmare,” Kirk said, and he fought his instinct to squirm out from under that telepathic hand. “I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.” 

“Will you be returning to sleep?” 

Kirk hesitated, and in the silence Spock read his answer. He heard Spock roll over to face him as he retracted his hand back to his side of the bed. 

“Do you wish to discuss it?” 

His immediate answer was no. His second answer was absolutely not. But his third answer was a little less defensive, a little more willing to share the burden. Three days ago he would have refused to open up. But tonight, in the dark, after Spock had proven over and over again that he was not going to leave, maybe he could bear a little vulnerability. 

“It’s all too close to the surface,” he said. “I need more time. Two weeks ago, I don’t think Marcus would have rattled me at all. Today?” He scoffed a little. “After the past seventy-two hours? Everything reminds me of the colony.” 

“What would you do, given more time?” 

“I don’t know,” he said, rolling to lay flat on his back, staring at his familiar ceiling, cast in the light of his alarm clock. “Sort out this one problem, and then move onto other missions. Get my head on right again.”

“I believe your head is attached to your body correctly, captain,” Spock said solemnly, and Kirk huffed out a laugh before sliding his hand across the bed. Spock met it with his own, entwining their fingers gently. 

“I spent years locking all this away so that it wouldn’t interfere with anything else,” Kirk eventually said. “I’m still glad to know the truth, or be closer to it. Or something. But I can’t help but feel that I would be better prepared for tomorrow if I hadn’t…” What? Unlocked everything that he had kept hidden away? Opened Pandora’s box of Starfleet conspiracies? 

“In the years since I have come to know you, I have never feared that you would allow your emotions to disrupt your command. This has not changed.” Spock’s thumb traced a gentle line over the back of his hand, and Kirk lay on his back and breathed. “We will assist the people on Kindinos VI however we are able, and afterwards we will continue to investigate what you witnessed. But I do not think that your abilities have been diminished because you are now acknowledging an unresolved issue.” 

Kirk squeezed his hand. “I’m worried about what all this will do to Kevin, too. To the other survivors.”

“I do not doubt that it will be a painful process. But if I may be forthright, captain, I believe a future in which the perpetrators are brought to justice would be preferable to a future in which the burden of secrecy remains with you.” 

They lay in silence. Kirk listened to the steady rhythm of Spock’s breathing, and matched his own to it, and it helped to relieve the tension that had clenched his shoulders in the aftermath of his dream.

“I would still like to cross-reference Lieutenant Riley’s medical records with your own,” Spock said. “But I have also been thinking about other sources of clandestine information.” 

“Oh?” 

“When I was… involved, in some of Michael’s efforts, I became aware of Admiral April’s role as a liaison between Section 31 and the rest of Starfleet during the conflict. He made his distaste for the organization clear, but he may have useful information to offer from that experience.” 

“April?” Kirk asked, the disbelief apparent in his voice, even to him. “That’s hard to imagine. If there were a pictographic representation of ‘hardass’ or ‘by the book’ in the dictionary, it would just be a picture of his face.” He sighed. “We’ll have enough quality time with him over the next two weeks, though. It’s a good idea.”

“We can request that he provide us with additional information about Section 31 as a wedding gift,” Spock said, and Kirk snorted in surprise laughter. He rolled over, away from Spock, but pulled him towards him by their connected hands. Spock obligingly draped himself over Kirk, burying his face in the back of his neck.

“Why the hell did Elise go to such lengths to keep me quiet, when you’ve been walking around with all these dangerous details for years?” Spock’s breath gusted softly against the fine hairs at the nape of Kirk’s neck, and he shivered lightly. 

“I estimate that they assumed a betrothed Vulcan on a ship of humans would never build such a level of rapport as to share those details,” Spock said, and Kirk grinned in the darkness. 

“A grave miscalculation,” Kirk said, and Spock’s arm tightened over his chest. 

“Indeed.”

☆☆☆

Kirk was awakened the next morning, not by the harsh trilling of his alarm clock, but by a warm hand sweeping softly down the side of his face. He blinked awake. Spock sat on the edge of the bed, in uniform, leaning over him. 

“Hello, Jim,” he said, and Kirk smiled.

“Hey, you,” he said. “Up early?” 

“I meditated,” Spock said, and leaned back to allow Kirk to sit up and stretch, sliding out of bed around him and pressing a kiss to the shoulder of Spock’s shirt as he passed. 

“Needed a respite from me and all my illogical human touching?” 

Spock, turning to watch him cross to the closet and pull out his uniform, said, “Never.” Kirk grinned with no slight satisfaction as Spock, face carefully impassive but eyes hawkish, watched him strip out of his pajamas and step into his uniform. He finished dressing and came to stand in front of Spock, where he still sat on the edge of the bed. He stepped into Spock’s space, between his legs, and Spock let him push his knees apart. Kirk tilted his face up with two fingers, leaning down to him, and said huskily, “Big day ahead.” 

Kirk could see the carefully restrained eye roll that he almost certainly deserved for the figure of speech, but Spock let him kiss him anyway, so he thought he might have been forgiven.

Kirk and Spock stepped out of their quarters into a tense and subdued atmosphere, and Kirk’s heart sank. The safe comfort of their room melted away as the crisis on Kindinos VI took center-stage in his mind, and he pushed everything but the people they might find, and the help they might need, to the backburner. They had a brief breakfast, with an extra cup of coffee, and then he strode onto the bridge with Spock a half-step behind to relieve the delta shift.

“Approaching hailing distance in thirty minutes, sir,” the delta helmsman said, as Sulu slid into his seat. 

“Noted, thank you, helmsman,” Kirk said. The next thirty minutes passed in a blur of details: Giotto’s list of security teams, Uhura’s follow-up report on the details of Marcus’s accent, Spock’s more and more elaborate search queries returning nothing useful on Kindinos or the mining company.

Finally, Uhura said from behind him, “Hailing range of Kindinos VI, sir.” Kindinos was a drab little planet in the viewscreen; brown and red and gray, with no visible bodies of water or splashes of green to indicate plant life. According to the sparse report he had read the night before, Kindinos had a Class M atmosphere--- barely. It looked nothing like Tarsus, and yet there was an ache in his stomach that he couldn’t settle. 

“Hail on all frequencies, Lieutenant.” 

“Hailing, captain.” Kirk turned to watch her as she pressed her hand to her earpiece, head tilting as she listened to whatever reached them from the beyond. Half a minute passed. Kirk watched her, her eyes flicking over the console readouts, one hand dancing lightly on the frequency tuner, before she turned back to him. 

“No response, sir.” 

“Let’s try them again.” The bridge hushed around him as Uhura spun back to her console, deft hands flying over the controls with her bright silver earpiece sparkling under the lights. Another thirty seconds passed, her shoulders creeping upwards with tension as she listened. The silence on the bridge was oppressive. She pulled the piece from her ear and turned back.

“Nothing, sir. I can’t even get acknowledgement from their receiver.” Kirk ignored the way his stomach sank and turned to his first officer. 

“What’s the population of the planet, Mr. Spock?”

“It had been uninhabited before the dilithium was discovered and the mine was built. Estimates place the population now at five thousand individuals, mostly human, all employees of Dextrum Mining Corporation.” Kirk nodded as Spock glanced over his shoulder at him, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. He stared at the little brown planet.

“Take us into orbit, Mr. Sulu,” he said. “We’re going to beam down and see if we can’t find anyone who can tell us a little bit about what’s going on.” He commed Giotto to have him meet them at the transporter with two teams. “Mr. Spock, with me. Sulu, you have the conn.” 

The turbolift door opened. April and Pike exited. Eyes flashing immediately to the planet on the viewscreen, April asked, “Were you able to raise them?”

“No, sir,” Kirk said, and did his best to ignore April’s determination to be involved in ship’s business, despite his rank and protests of other work to do. “All frequencies, twice, nothing. We’re going down with security to see if we can find anyone to talk to.”

“I will join the away team,” April said, and stared Kirk down as if daring him to argue. Kirk considered it. But even if he told April he couldn’t participate, April would just override his orders. “I’ve met Dextrum’s owner before. An unpleasant man, but if he knows anything, he might be more likely to tell a familiar face.” 

Kirk clenched his jaw. Did April miss the days when the Enterprise was his? Was he so desperate to prove that his relationship with Spock was bad for his command? But the admiral’s rank tied his hands. 

He simply said, “Thank you, Admiral. Your familiarity will prove useful.” He and Spock crossed back to the turbolift, April following them, and nodded to Sulu as he replaced Kirk in the center chair. As they passed Chris, Chris met his eyes and glanced at the padd balanced on his chair. 

“Logistics,” he said, and caught Kirk’s eye. Kirk nodded, and some of his tension lifted. Even if Kindinos was in famine, Spock’s regulation revision and Chris’s efforts would make it easier to distribute food. They would be prepared for whatever they found. Kirk would be prepared for whatever they found. 

“Admiral, would you mind staying with Sulu? I’d appreciate you on deck if it comes to that.” 

“Yes, captain,” Chris said, and navigated the hoverchair down to sit next to Sulu. Kirk, Spock, and April piled into the turbolift, and the doors closed behind them, erasing the bridge from their vision. 

“Transporter,” Kirk told the lift, and it began its descent. There were two seconds of silence before April, glancing between them, said, “You’re both going?” 

“Yes,” Kirk bit out. It was technically against regulation, and he knew it, and April knew he knew it, but he had also never been on a ship that actually followed that rule. April opened his mouth but Spock interrupted him, facing resolutely forward.

“As the highest-ranking science officer, and the only one with security and conflict certifications, it is logical for me to join away teams on potentially dangerous missions.” 

April side-eyed him. “And the captain is going because…?” 

“Kindinos VI is not in Federation space, and Dextrum Mining Corporation not a Federation organization. Captain Kirk is present as a representative of Starfleet and the Federation as a matter of diplomacy.” Spock did not say obviously out loud, but it was nearly impossible to miss through his tone, and Kirk suppressed his appreciative grin. 

April exhaled loudly through his nose, but he didn’t say anything further, and the turbolift door opened to reveal a busy transporter room. Scotty stood at the control panel, scanning his readouts, as Giotto and eight security officers waited in body armor, checking and rechecking the environmental protection suits strapped to their backs. Giotto gave him a firm nod as they entered, but he wasn’t kitted out like the others--- he would manage their movements from the ship, where he could see all the teams’ movements. 

“Admiral,” Giotto said, and shook his hand. Kirk slipped away to sidle up to Scotty at the controls, and Scotty smiled distractedly at him. 

“Supervision, sir?” The Scotsman’s voice was quiet, and he glanced at the admiral.

“Seems so. He says he knows someone down there.” 

“Aye, but it seems dangerous to send the brass into what might be a war zone,” Scotty said, leaning closer to drop his voice further. 

“I agree, but I couldn’t exactly tell him no.” Kirk looked over at April again, who talked seriously to Giotto. He didn’t give off the impression that he wanted to relive his glory days as a starship captain--- and yet here he was, joining the away mission. Kirk felt something press into his hand, and he glanced down. 

“Just in case,” Scotty said, and glanced between Kirk, Spock, and Admiral April. “It’s still untested, but in theory it should work.” In Kirk’s palm lay a heavy comms device; the prototype that Scotty had been working on the week prior, now soldered shut and seemingly operational. “Flip it open, hit the button, and we’ll try to get you out. Let’s try for just one at a time at first, though, hmm?” 

“Thanks, Scotty,” Kirk said, and clasped his shoulder gratefully. “I hope we won’t need it.” 

“I do too, sir,” Scotty said, and Kirk left him to return to Spock’s side, where the Vulcan gazed calmly over the assembled crew. He cleared his throat loudly, and the room fell silent around him. 

“We were unable to contact the miners on Kindinos VI upon our arrival,” he said to the away teams. “The last contact we had was the message for help, sent three days ago. We are beaming down to ascertain the situation, assess the need for medical aid or humanitarian assistance, and discover the cause of their silence. We don’t know the cause of any potential disaster, or what situation we may find on the ground, so take every precaution. Any questions?” 

His crew, silent and ready, shook their heads. He nodded at them, looking around to make eye contact with each of them. “Be safe. Be careful. Check in with the ship every thirty minutes.” Giotto handed him an environmental suit, and he slung it over his back as April and Spock did the same. 

The weight on his back settled him. Kirk strode onto the transporter pad, Spock a half-step behind him, and took his place on one of the plates. He settled his shoulders back, bracing himself. He did not know what they would find; whether they were walking into an active conflict, or if an earthquake or other disaster had wrought ruin on the mine. But though Marcus wore the sharp bones of starvation, Kindinos was not Tarsus. His crew was prepared. They were here to help, and they were going to be fine.

Spock claimed the plate to his right, and April stepped up to his left. Kirk mechanically and automatically ran his hands over his belt for his phaser and comm unit, feeling the experimental one tucked into his inner pocket, and then nodded to Scotty.

“Energize.” 

[heaven-s-black-box]

What We Do- North x Fem!Freelancer!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: August 12th, 2023

Description: politely requesting a north x reader where reader has been reckless on a mission and north is understandably concerned

Notes: This entry was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contribution.

Word count: 1 262

Back to directory

"Wyoming!" Wash yelled over the comms.

"Someone check on him.”

Carolina, Wash, and York were up on the second level of the warehouse, just barely catching sight as Wyoming took a shot to the chest. They were working on opening the big warehouse doors so that team B could get to the extraction point.

"I'm alive,” he groaned, “ just in alot of pain"

"I'll be there in a second."

"North,” South yelled over the gun fire, “don't let your girlfriend do anything stupid!"

The twins were just outside the big doors, trying to clear up the extraction point for 479er.

Back inside the warehouse, Y/N ducked out from behind her cover to scan the area. She was pinned down with Florida just across and down from where Wyoming had been shooting, and was now braced against the wall.

"Michigan, do not move," Carolina warned over the comms.

"He needs medical attention, Florida, cover me."

Darting out from behind a stack of crates, Y/N slid up to another crate. Still just out of reach of Wyoming.

"Michigan," North's voice snapped, "stay where you are. You can't help him if you get shot!"

Rolling her eyes, Y/N looked back out the way she'd come, narrowly missing a bullet. Florida took aim, and there was a shout as one of the assailants was taken out. He gave Y/N a thumbs up, and she made room for him to join her at the new crate.

Y/N waved at Wyoming, motioning for him to make room for her, and he awkwardly shuffled over.

"Okay, here it goes."

“Doors open!” York yelled just before a bullet hit the control panel, stopping the door a bit more than a foot off the ground. Carolina whipped around to take the attacker out as the other two ducked.

"Michigan!" A few different voices yelled over the comms as she jumped out and forward towards Wyoming's hiding spot.

Through the comms, everyone heard a yelp followed by silence.

"Michigan?"

"Michigan!"

"Don’t worry, Michigan is fine... her helmet not so much," Florida responded.

The team on the second floor took a staff access out to the landing pad, finding South waving down 479er while North slipped under the door. There were a few shots before Florida slipped under the door, half dragging Wyoming, followed by North and Michigan.

A heavy breeze rushed across the platform as the Pelican settled down for them to load up.

“Michigan, you okay?”

Y/N frowned under her helmet, her ears still ringing from the shot and her helmet's sound system half broken. North had his arm wrapped around her to guide her with her fractured vision. He tapped her side and pointed at Carolina who was waving at them.

“Michigan?”

“So-” Y/N’s voice crackled as the speaker in her helmet gave out. With a sigh, she unclasped her helmet and tucked it under her arm as the team loaded into the pelican. “Sorry. Broken helmet, ringing ears, couldn’t hear shit.”

“Ya, well, you’re lucky you can still hear at all. What were you thinking?” Carolina snapped.

“Everyone good back there?” 479er called.

Even through the helmet, Y/N could feel the glare Carolina was giving her as she moved up to the cockpit.

“Wyoming’s still gonna need a med team!”

“And you’re getting one too!”

“God damn it.”

---

“How’s he doing?”

“Hm?” Y/N hummed as the doctor took off the blood pressure cuff.

She turned over her shoulder to find York entering the med bay. He was out of armor by now and in a t-shirt and sweatpants, Y/N was still in her under suit. The downside to being sent straight to med bay.

“Wyoming.”

“Oh, he’s good, just sleeping. Doctor said he’ll be back within a week, armor lock’s a life saver. Also the bullet missed anything important.”

“That’s good. That’s good,” he nodded. “North’s beating the shit out of some targets in the training room.”

Y/N looked up from putting her armor back on.

“I didn’t… you mean shooting the shit out of targets?”

“No… No, I said what I said.”

Neither of them said anything as Y/N finished putting her armor back on, minus the helmet.

“I guess I’ll stop by on my way to my room.”

“Please do,” York leaned towards her as she passed by, “I think he’s waiting.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Y/N mumbled as York continued over to see Wyoming.

When she finally reached the training room she found North doing the hand to hand training against the targets, without his armor. She stopped just inside, taking a quick look up at the viewing deck. It, unfortunately, wasn’t empty.

As North turned to hit another target, he caught sight of Michigan and stumbled in his flow.

“FILISS, end program.”

“Ending hand to hand combat training simulation.”

Y/N sent him a small wave before stepping back out of the training room to wait for him. She didn’t have to wait for long as North jogged out, coming to an abrupt halt when he noticed her leaning against the wall just beside the door.

“All clear?”

“I told you I was fine.”

“Ya, so did Wyoming, and he’s out of commission for a week,” North said as they started walking toward the bunks.

Y/N linked her hands behind her back and stepped a little closer to North to bump shoulders. He looked down at her and sighed, the apologetic look in her eyes slowly sapping his remaining annoyance.

“Don’t do that again.”

“North,” Y/N sighed, “he was injured. If I hadn’t gone over there he’d probably be out for longer than a week.”

“And if you’d been shot too? It was too risky, not only would Wyoming have been without a medic but Florida would have been completely alone in there if team A hadn’t opened the door.”

“Jeez, even the director didn’t chew me out this bad.”

“I’m sure he was more worried about your suit than you,” he grumbled.

There was a lul in the conversation as they came up to Michigan’s door. North was about to say goodbye when Y/N cleared her throat and spoke.

“I uh… I’m a bit sore.”

“Really?” North chuckled, raising a brow.

“You wanna finish this conversation on record or in private?” Y/N hissed. “Plus I need help changing a bandage on my back,” she finished saying at a normal level.

“Well, I guess I can help.”

As soon as the door closed behind them, North’s arm circled around her waist and pulled her back into his chest. He dropped his head to her shoulder and sighed.

“I mean it… don’t do that again.”

“We have this conversation every time,” Y/N reached up and ran a gloved hand through North’s hair. “And everytime I tell you the same thing.”

“You joined this fight to save people, even if it costs you your life.”

There was a click as Y/N began unlatching pieces of her armor with North helping her. It was quiet as he helped her change into her sleepwear, not that she really needed it. As she pulled her shirt over her head, he kissed the nape of her neck.

“Just… be a little more careful. I was serious about what could have gone wrong earlier, but I- I don’t think I could keep doing this if I lost you.”

Y/N turned in North’s hold, running her hands up his arms to cup his face.

“Sure you could, because that's what we do.”

[secretkittywolf]

High Life

chapter 11

Bdubs and Ren watch as Doc falls to the ground with a thud. They see Scott clutching a lamp. "Go now. I don't know what's going on but I leave before he wakes" The two nod and race down the stairs. Scott picks up Doc and drags him to the suite. "My word is he heavy" he groans, placing him on the couch. He sees the lamp and quickly chucks it out of the window and watches it fall into an alleyway. "I'll have to quickly steal a lamp from another room and place it in here" Scott leaves to fetch a new lamp, thankfully they all look identical. "Now the lamp's back, time to wait for him to get up"

In another building, Ren and Bdubs flop to the floor, gasping for air. "That... was... awful!" Panted Bdubs. "It... was" The two catch their breath and sit up. Their plan was a total fail and the two of them agree that it was Doc's robot eye that gave them away. "If it weren't for Scott, we'd be out right now" "Yeah. We owe him out lives" Ren takes out his comm and sends a private message to Scott.

Ren: Hey

Scott: You two okay?

Ren: We're fine now. Thank you for saving us

Scott: Its no problem. It's only the 5th day of the 1st week and no one deserves to die yet

Ren: Wait it's been how long?

Scott: 5/7 days of the first week

Ren: I thought it was longer! Ffs it's so slow

Scott: But a lot has happened

Ren: True true

Scott: Shit! Doc's waking up

Ren: You're still there? Why not leave?

Scott: ...

Ren: Scott?

Scott: I'll talk to you later

Scott stopped responding and it worried Ren. Why was he with Doc? He thought he was looking after Cleo since Doc nearly killed her? Has Doc struck a deal? Is Scott in trouble- "Dude. I can hear every thought you're saying" Bdubs snapped Ren out of his trance. Did he say that out loud? "Sorry. I didn't know I was saying that out loud. I'm just confused" "I am too. It doesn't make sense but you may be right. Doc may have come up with some plan to convince Scott to stay with him" Ren shows Bdubs Scott's messages. "Yeah something's up" The two sit in silence for a while. "Fancy lunch at Martyn's?" "Sure. I could eat"

Doc moves and opens his eyes. He sees a blue blur before his vision focuses. "You're awake! I'm so glad you're okay" It's Scott and he looked upset. "I'm so, so, so sorry! I was aiming for Ren but I made the mistake of closing my eyes and hitting you, letting the two run away" Scott lies, making himself cry. He feels a hand land on his cheek. "Hey now. No need to cry" His voice was soft and gentle as Scott let the crocodile tears fall. "It was an accident" "Y- You're not mad?" Scott whispered. Doc shook his head and cradled Scott in his arms. He was so small in Doc's arms and he felt so sad when he saw Scott cry. Was he..... Was he falling for Scott? No. No he couldn't. Not when his plan needed him the most. 

He held onto Scott some more and watches as he lifts his head up to face him. Scott's eyes were red and puffy and Doc forgot everything he just thought a minute ago. He was in love and wanted to do everything he can to protect Scott. Was it too early in this game? Yes but he's heard of relationships forming within the first day from the other hermits so his love for Scott wouldn't be too much of a surprise. Doc shifted so Scott was lying on top of him. He buried his face in Scott's neck, holding him close. Scott looked down and smiled. He felt happy until flashes of a certain canary showed up. 'No. No this isn't like before. This is new. This won't be Flower Husbands 2.0' Scott shuts his eyes as the two fall asleep in each others arms.

/////////

I'm so sorry! I completely forgot to post this. I just went and did it On ao3 but not on here QwQ

[ashboy-3]

Today on TED Talk. . .

Written for DannyMay 2023 Day 9 Prompt: Ghost Zone Fandom: Danny Phantom Characters: Danny, Jack, Maddie, Minor Oc Words: 832 Summary: Danny has to write an essay for his Comm's class but can't think of what to write, lucky for him his parent's are always there with fresh ideas

“So you have to write an essay for Comms?” Parker asked at his desk on the other side of their shared dorm room.

“Yeah it can be about anything but the whole point is that we have to educate the reader on something,” Danny tapped his pencil, writing never was his forte.

“Why don’t you write about space?” Parker suggested.

“I did my last essay on space. I want to write about something I don’t think many people know about,” Danny pointed out.

“I’m sorry man I don’t know how to help you,” Parker shrugged.

“Yeah. . .maybe I should call my parents. See if they have any ideas,” Danny shrugged as he wiped out his phone, tapping his mom’s number, she was always the safer option.

“Hey, sweetie!” Maddie greeted happily.

“Hey, mom! I’m looking for an idea. We have to write an essay educating the reader about something and I want to do something not very well known. Got any ideas?” Danny swiveled around in his chair.

“Why not do one about ghosts?” she asked as if the answer was obvious.

“I thought about that, but it’s too vague. I would need to center on one point, not to mention there’s some information I just don’t want getting out,” Danny told her, happy that his roommate decided to put in headphones.

“Well, what could you educate your reader about ghosts that you think would help both parties? Their’s core’s?”

“Too worried the GIW will use it against us. Can’t be anything about what they're made of,” Danny was quick to shut down that idea.

“Why doesn’t Danny Boy does it on the Ghost Zone? He did say that it was a mirror dimension of ours,” Jack’s voice came through the phone as Danny’s eyes widened.

“Why didn’t I think of that? Dad, you’re a genius!” Danny smiled.

“Thank you, Danny. Do you want us to send you our research?” Jack asked.

“Send it to Tucker. He’ll be sure to erase any traces, in case someone might find something,” Danny told them as they agreed. They talked for a few more minutes about college and what  Danny was doing before the call ended. They didn’t mind Danny being careful about sharing the information. The GIW has been a pain in his ass since highschool and it hasn’t stopped. It’s why he’s tried to be careful about using his powers.

“Looks like you have your essay idea,” Parker smirked his way as a ping came from Danny’s notifications.

“Yep it’s either going to get me an A or an F, we’ll just have to wait and see,” Danny smiled as he read through his parent’s research on the portal, mixed with his own. It took Danny three days of reading and two days of writing but he was able to get the paper turned in three hours before it was due. 

A week later it was Danny’s turn to present to the class. Grabbing his printed-out essay he walked to the front and gave his whole speech flawlessly. To be fair if Danny had it his way he would have never taken this class, being used ot public speaking at this point thanks to his council, but it’s required.

“To simplify the Ghost Zone or Infinite Realms, is a mirror dimension towards our own. If one gets destroyed so will the other so it is right to assume that we should be protecting both, not one.” Danny finished his speech as his teacher looked at him in confusion.

“Mr. Fenton you were supposed to write a paper educating your class on something.”

“I did Mr. Smith. I have even provided research within my paper that has been approved. The Ghost Zone is real, most just miss out on the naturally occurring portals happening around them simply because they do not know to look for them,” Danny was ready to turn his essay about educating into a debate. He couldn’t hold back the protectiveness he felt for the Realms. It was going to be his domain. It is his home.

“I will review this research and if it is proved that it is indeed approved I will give you the grade you rightfully deserve,” Mr. Smith sighed as Danny let out a breath of relief. It was a lot harder to hold back the instincts of his ghost side than one would think.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith. If you would like I can also provide additional research that I did not use,” Danny assured him.

“No Mr. Fenton, just the research you provided in your essay will be enough,” his teacher sighed as he drank his coffee, clearly not wanting to deal with more of Danny than necessary.

Danny easily handed in his paper essay and sat back down in his chair, listening to the rest of his class give their essays, all giving him weird looks as they passed him, but Danny is easily  able to shrug them off at this point.

[redwineconversation]

Olympique Lyonnais - ASSE OLPlay Postgame Interviews

Slowly but surely making my way through the backlog.

Blah blah standard disclaimers apply; if you do invasive shit your ass should be banned from stadiums (maybe THEN you will finally learn!!!); @OL Comms Dept it's fall aka PSL weather; y'all know the speech.

I am not too proud to admit that I had major concerns when Lyon first recruited Vanessa Gilles. How times have changed. Also hard to believe this is the same person Horan said was a massive introvert beginning of last season.

Gilles' interview ft Horan was one of the most chaotic things I have ever seen, and the "condensed" version Lyon posted on Instagram doesn't do the live version justice. Pure and utter chaos, and completely endearing.

Lyon and myself to Vanessa Gilles:

SONIA BOMPASTOR POSTGAME INTERVIEW

Bompastor: Obviously satisfied with the result, three points, and we're top of the table. It's a good thing. So, satisfied overall. Within the context of the game, I think we saw some really good things. I liked what my team presented this evening. So, a lot of satisfaction and we're on a really good streak.

Journalist: We still get the feeling we saw a game of two halves. Lyon was in complete control the first half, the second half was a bit more complicated.

Bompastor: Yeah, we struggled to get going again in the second half. Several different factors can explain that. There were a few substitutions at half time, so that took a while to get going. But also I think the game was very physical, there were a lot of fouls, a lot of stoppage of play. We saw that with the amount of extra time at the end. And so it's not easy in those conditions to keep your rhythm and impose your style of play. I was a little bit frustrated in that regard. But sometimes you just have to deal with it.

Journalist: We also would like a quick word on Lindsey [Horan], who scored a hat trick. For us in the studio, she was voted Player of the Match. Do you agree?

Bompastor: Yes, yes. Lindsey [Horan] had a really great performance. We saw it in the second half, but she had a great game overall. At halftime we showed her one or two clips where she could have pushed forward more and be more decisive. She was able to do that in the second half. She pushed forward a lot, both in the penalty area and also she scored a hat trick, so for her confidence, it's good, for the team as well. When you have Lindsey playing at that level, it's always really positive.

Journalist: For the team, there was a substitute which concerned us a little bit, it was Wendie Renard. Do you have any news?

Bompastor: Listen, it's too soon. In any case, as you saw, we took her off. I think we'll see how she feels tomorrow. We might do some additional exams and tests, and cross our fingers.

Journalist: One last question about the calendar. There are two away games, against Reims and maybe the big clash of the beginning of the season in Paris, but against Paris FC.

Bompastor: Yes, there will obviously the away game next week at Reims, in the Stade Auguste Delaune [Note: the big stadium]. There'll be the international break, and then right after the end of the international break we have Paris FC. Now, I've said it since the beginning of the season, we have a lot of ambition, a talented roster. So we stay concentrated on what we can and should do. The opponents, we give them all the same respect. Obviously when we're preparing for a game we focus on certain elements, but if we play at our level, with the talent and quality we have, we should be able this season to do some really good things. So yeah. Respect the opponents obviously, but have confidence in ourselves and put our game in place so that we can perform at our best.

VANESSA GILLES (FT LINDSEY HORAN) POSTGAME INTERVIEW

Gilles: First of all, thank you. I think it's a derby. A derby is never easy. As the saying goes here in France, you don't play a derby, you win it. I think we saw that with all the physical tackles throughout the game. So hopefully we get to go home with zero injured players. But especially six goals scored, it's - that's not done every day.

[Gilles looks resigned as Horan comes into the shot]

Horan: What was the question?

[Gilles completely loses it]

Journalist: So we have the Player of the Game and Vanessa Gilles. [Gilles is still losing it]. Vanessa, I have a quick question about your goal celebration. Can you tell us about that celebration?

Horan: No, we can't. [Gilles loses it again] We can't talk about that celebration. We can't.

Gilles: [imitating Horan's accent] We can't. [Horan loses it] We can't.

Journalist: Okay, then I'd like you to say something about your teammate, Lindsey Horan, whom we voted Player of the Game.

Gilles: Her? Player of the Game?

Journalist: Well she did score a hat trick. It was her first one for Lyon, that's pretty impressive for her part.

Gilles: If you say so. [Gilles and Horan both lose it]

Horan: Use your words.

Gilles: No, I'm really happy for her. A hat trick, it's [to Horan] Can you stop? I'm trying to be nice.

Horan: Okay, okay.

Gilles: It's true that we don't score hat tricks every day. I'm really happy for her and I hope it's the first of many for her at Lyon. Beyond that, she deserves it, she puts in so much work, sometimes we don't see it, like - how do you say it - defensively, etc. She puts in so much work, she's on every ball, she always puts her teammates in the right situation. So I'm happy that she scored that hat trick because she deserves it.

Journalist: We'll continue with Lindsey right after this, but one last question, Vanessa. We have a statistic, it's that you scored five goals in D1 Arkema, five headers. It's obviously your strong point.

Gilles: Yeah.

Horan: [patting Gilles on the head] The golden head.

Gilles: I don't score often with my feet, so - [Horan completely loses it] It's not a statistic that surprises me.

[Horan and Gilles lose it]

Horan: [still laughing] Incredible stat.

Journalist: Thank you very much, Vanessa. [Gilles completely loses it again]

Journalist: [in English] Lindsey, congratulations for the game. [Gilles is still loses it in the background]

Gilles: [to Horan] Do you need a translator or can I go?

Journalist: [to Gilles] [sounding resigned] You can stay to translate if you want.

Journalist: [in English] The first question - I'm going to do it in French - [in French] the first question, as we said, you were voted Player of the Game. How do you feel after your hat trick? It was your first hat trick with Lyon.

Horan: [in English] How do I feel about it? Sorry, that [your French] was quick. No, I'm very happy, I'm happy we won the game obviously. It's a cool moment for me, it's my first hat trick with the club, with Lyon. I know Sean has it, my ball, somewhere here. But obviously my team put me in good situations to score for tonight.

Journalist: It was a derby, it was highly anticipated here in Lyon against ASSE. For you whom are coming from overseas, is it something you have to learn to take seriously?

Gilles: Well -

Horan: [in English] Well we can see it.

Gilles: The fact we're not allowed to wear green here, that tells us how important the game is.

Horan: [in English] What she said. I felt like what you said was good.

Journalist: More broadly, regarding the team's beginning of the season, we only have wins, no goals conceded. It's a perfect start of the season.

Horan: Yes, we have a really good goalkeeper [Note: she uses the French word for goalkeeper but literally pronounces it as "gardian"].

[Gilles loses it]

Gilles: [in English] Pick a language.

Horan: Franglais is better.

Horan: [in English] One, I think it's a credit to - not just Vanessa - but all of the team defensively and what they do in the backline. As for how our team is progressing forward, we don't want to concede any goals, we want to go and win every single game and continue to play good football.

Journalist: One last question. [Gilles and Horan lose it] There are two more games coming up -

Gilles: I don't know why we're laughing.

Journalist: [nervous laughter] Indeed, it's a little complicated. One last question and we're done. [in English] Lindsey, one more question. Two big games to come. Two away games - [Gilles is still losing it] - against Reims and against Paris FC. [Horan starts laughing as well] It's maybe the biggest one, Paris FC, for the beginning of the season.

Horan: [in English] Yeah. Well I think we focus first on the game against Reims next week. I think that's most important. Have our bodies recover for that game because we took a lot -

Gilles: [to Horan in English] We took a lot of hits out there?

Horan: [to Gilles in English] Well it's true! Was that your answer over there? This is a different interview, isn't it?

Gilles: [in English] Well it's still my answer!

Horan: [in English] Goodness me. Anyway. Focus on that game and then we can move forward.

Journalist: [in English] [sounding depressed] Thank you.

[255940g]

Any title ideas guys? Ch.10 - Sam helps with integration

Chapter Summary: As she was born transformed into a Cybertronian, Sam would still have human mannerisms while looking like a full transformer. Unexpectedly, this eases the barrage of new, new new, that each species feels.

Also, I'm not pulling this from my ass this time! I'm using some key elements I remember while taking my Psychology of Diversity class. Specifically the part of the brain concerned with dealing with familiarity vs unfamiliarity. i am still using *sparkling* as a name holder for the previous deception who has been turned into a sparkling by Sam.

: With the humans:

The two groups become comfortable with each other much quicker than when Sam is among the first Autobots. This was noted by Optimus after the usual monthly review of the newest arrivals.

Sam was filling in for Ratchet as part of the medical crew for the next week and a half. Optimus went through the usual introductions, saying the rank and name then giving the bot time to do their own spiel, before continuing. “Assistant Medic to Ratchet, Second scientist under Wheeljack, communications and cooperation agent, Samantha.” Optimus finished, still leaving off a few roles that she took upon herself. His processor filled with pride and overjoyed at how well she was recovering, thanking Primus for slipping her presence and continued existence from the bottom of the deck for them all.

Transforming into her bot form, she greeted the shocked humans standing in the hangar with a pleasant and comforting smile and a small hand wave. “Please just call me Sam, think of me as a general practising doctor and in emergency situations a nurse, who just so manages to have a nack at stopping arguments. Thinking of which, about every three weeks we have essentially a game night for friendly competition. If you get pranked within the next two weeks come to me immediately. My last order of business -”

She cut herself off looking up from the humans for a klick, a smile coming off her face and furrows between her optic ridges before looking behind her and then back to the humans "Please give me a moment."

Not giving any opportunity to oppose her, immediately turned around a few seconds before the sound of a crying sparkling came from the back opening of the hangar door. Bumblebee was walking quickly sending a comm of sincere apologies to the rest of the ‘bots and verbally apologizing to the humans.

Sam carefully took the thrashing sparkling out of Bee’s servos and placed him in her arm while her other servo rested on his upper arm. “Don’t worry about it, Bee. The Baby’s just teething. They’ll be back to insisting on being carried by you in no time.” Already trying to allay fears that Bee would let fester. The two were incredibly in sync, and like Jazz tells nearly anyone he could get to listen that they were ‘fucking adorable’.

It was another klick or two until the sparkling cries were quiet and silenced. I took the opportunity to introduce the two new members. “Our Scout BumbleBee, and their sparkling.” Bee merely glanced over to give a friendly wave but he was distracted by the sparkling reaching out for him as well over Sam’s shoulder where she placed them.

“Thank you for your patience, are you the group with the puppies?” Sam finished while walking back to her original spot. Grabbing Bee’s free servo to help lead him towards the newest group while stuck behind her as *Sparkling* held his digits. At least the spark-breaking cries had stopped, which was clearly the most important.

Notably, this group were able to overcome themselves and began to approach the cybertronians instead of the others who took longer to overcome their shock.

: With the Cybertronians:

Jazz was leading the newest Autobots, Arcee, Chromia, and Elita-1 which fell to Earth around to orient themselves when they were passing Wheeljack and Sam, who were deep in discussion about..something or another. Each gave a distracted wave before getting back to the conversation, after a klick, actual recognition seemed to flow through Sam’s process and she quickly split from Wheeljack promising to only be a few clicks.

“Hello, I’m Sam, Ratchet’s main assistant at the moment. We’ve implemented mandatory medical exams whenever anyone comes in. When your tour is done and Optimus is finished with his speech, please come to the medical area to schedule your appointments within the week.” At this point *sparkling* poked over Sam’s shoulder.

In a mirror to Ironhide’s initial reaction to Ellie, the new group gasped nearly as one and Chromia in complete awe stepped forward murmuring “A sparkling”

Sam turned her attention to the sparkling “Do you want to introduce yourself?”

Through the comms Elita, Chromia, and Arcee received a com merely stating a simple “hello” before the sparkling turned their helm into Sam’s neck cables. “This is *sparkling*. They’re a little shy after their nap and around new people. I’ll see you all later.” She went back to Wheeljack and continued their conversation.

All three turned to Jazz for an explanation or to make sure that they really saw what they did.

→ Essentially because everyone categorises Sam to be a noncombatant - rightfully - the humans feel more comfortable approaching her, shes is obviously friendly, a doting mother, and usually closer to their height due to her kid. Then through approaching her they get to know the other combative and then through her the combative Cybertronians. The Cybertronians are unsure about the humans but they are alright. With how Sam and the Sparklings interact there is a less likely chance that when the mission is done the two species will immediately separate.

In addition, she is named as an advisor to Optimus. And guess who is right in those very important and diplomatic meetings, the two little sparklings. Subconsciously, this reinforces that though they look like large machines, this is an alien species with their own reproductive ways. They are a little more hesitant to continue forth with their previously agressive stances in the face of a nursing mother. This similarly shows the humans making the rules that yes indeed this is a different species with children - infants that they are trying to look after the best that they can. That or she comes in later or leaves early or something with similar results. The humans realise they aren’t machines and the bots realise the humans are far more dynamic than they expected.

[atestofloyalty]

“Absolutely!” I heat him up one of my containers, in the brand new microwave! Man, I love this thing. I bring it over for him as well as a cup of apple juice, “here baby.” I sit down next to him and watch the holo.

Over the next two weeks, your whole family settles in at the palace, with Ruhn falling more in love with his job everyday. He gets to know almost every clone still working there and is pulled into more and more conversations with Vader and Cody, even.

You also receive a comm within those two weeks, which today, Ruhn is incredibly thankful for.

He texts you a photo of one of the clones sitting at their joint table with absolutely nothing in front of him. He forgot his food today, and so he's just sitting here, watching these other people eat, and talking as if he's not starving. Ruhn is starving and he doesn't even do as much labor as these guys.

He follows the photo up with a message.

:( This man forgot his lunch. I think his name is Beaver. Just wanted to thank you for always making sure I have food. I don't know what I would do without you. Can I give him my second tray?