#and her band of resistance fighters

[laelior]

WIP Wednesday

Wow, it's been a while since I've written anything but I had a sudden strong urge to write some of Peggy's Reaper War adventures. It's rusty as well but I'm sharing it anyway.

When Peggy had been a girl, her father (bless his heart) had tried to get her into fishing. (“There ain’t been fish in these parts for forever. What’s the point?” she remembered asking. “The point isn’t fish, it’s to fish,” he’d replied, with one of those bemused smiles of his. She hadn’t understood until long after he was gone.) On one of those trips, bored out of her little skull while her father happily cast line after line into the lake without so much as a minnow to show for it, she’d quite literally tripped over a rock with an odd shape pressed into it. The skinned knee she got hardly even registered when she realized she held a real, live fossil in her hands. A trilobite, her science teacher called it when she brought it in to school with her the next week, a creature that didn’t exist on Earth anymore except in the impressions it left in ancient mud that turned to stone. She’d kept that rock for years, fascinated by the perfect shape it left in the stone that told her so much about it. What it looked like, where it lived, how it lived–all from a creature that lived and died hundreds of million of years before she ever even drew breath. It was amazing, really, how much one could draw from just the impression others left in the world around them. She knew, for instance, that Faizah had children she hadn’t seen or heard from since before the Reapers came down from the sky. And that Johnson’s parents had both enlisted in the fight but that he hadn’t been able to contact them for weeks. And that Kohli’s brothers were MIA on the far side of the galaxy. It wasn’t from anything in particular any of them had said. Such was the strong unspoken agreement among the group that whatever and whoever they were before this war came to their doorsteps, the only thing that mattered now was surviving another day. But these pieces of their lives had ways of coming through anyway. And, of course, it was why she felt all the eyes in the room zero in on her when the word “Normandy” came through the radio. The fact that the famous Commander Shepard was her granddaughter was never spoken aloud, but understood all the same. And it put her in the unique and enviable position of knowing her loved one was alive and still in the fight. She sat up straighter in her chair, suddenly aching to hear every word of the report.

[whitesheepwrites]

I can't get over Scott from Ramona's POV. There's the ancient question regarding pixie girls of why she would fall for that regular joe but when you watch Scott Pilgrim Takes Off you get it. Of course people who read the comics/watched the movie are aware this is surface level stuff and Scott has actually a lot of issues (that Ramona eventually finds out on her own) BUT you watch him from Ramona's rose-colored glasses in the show and he is so dorky and charming and kind of lame, but earnest too, not in a dangerous pushy way, no, he is respectful and looks so happy just being around you! How could she resist? He drew a lame sheep this one time and fought a bunch of people for this girl and he's actually the best fighter in the province. He plays in a band that's not that great but he loves it and wants you to go see it. Isn't that super sweet? He will fight all these billionaires and famous people just for a chance to date you

(no wonder the truth is so shattering)

[13uswntimagines]

I'll Take Care of You (Alessia Russo x MMA!fighter R)

Request: Could we maybe see some slightly more stern dom alessia dealing with r (doesn’t have to be smut) in front of the team because reader starts acting bratty with them?

Part of the same universe as the come down.

Warning: Slight touching but not actual smut. Also D/S fic

Author's note: Hey Y'all, i really hope you enjoy this. I want to point out that D/S dynamics are based on trust and communication, so that's what I chose to focus on. Alessia is a soft dom, and chooses a punishment that she knows will be effective. If you want to chat or have any ideas or comments, feel free to hit me up.

Gearing up for a fight was the equivalent of stretching out a rubber band to its limit. It was 8 weeks of nonstop training, 4 weeks of conditioning your body to shed water so you could make weight, 2 weeks of cameras following you around for UFC embedded, and 1 week of media bombardment where you had to listen to grown men act like 5-year-olds talking about who was going to beat who.

It was utterly exhausting. 

The only upside was that at the end of it, you got to step into the octagon and do what you did best. 

You got to put the plan your coaches drilled over and over into your brain into place. You got to release all of the built-up anxiety and frustration from camp. 

You got to fight. 

It was like coming up for oxygen after being trapped underwater. Sometimes the cage felt like the only place you could really breathe on your own. 

It had been your safe haven for almost as long as you could remember, which was kinda strange considering your health was put at immediate risk every time you stepped inside. It had been your escape from your family, and your only coping mechanism for as long as you could remember. 

To go through training camp, and fight week and the weight cut, only to have your fight pulled at the last minute was fucking devastating. 

It was like when Alessia brought you all the way to the precipice of an orgasm and then pulled away just before you could tumble over it, except far far far worse. 

It made your blood boil. It made the monster in your chest roar that your opponent couldn’t do his end of the job to make the fight go on after all of the shit he was talking. And there was nothing anyone could say or do to make it better. 

Dana promised that the fight would be rescheduled. He even threw in that if you won, you would be next in line for a title shot. 

But it didn’t help. 

The fight was set to be at the O2 arena, meaning your girlfriend and all of her teammates had been set to see you, and now they couldn’t. You couldn’t get your 10 training weeks back and you would have to do the weight cut all over again. 

It was a shit sandwich, and it made you feel completely out of control. It made you crave for someone else to put you right again. For Alessia to remind you that she had control always. 

Maybe that’s why you chose your satin button-down shirt to go to dinner with your girlfriend and her teammates and paired it with tight black skinny jeans. 

It wasn’t often that you liked to push Alessia’s control. That you toed the boundaries that she set, but tonight it felt like the prize comparable to stepping into the cage. 

With the little black dress she had worn, you really couldn’t blame yourself either. You could never resist when she showed off her legs. You were obsessed and she knew it. It was probably why she had chosen the outfit, to begin with. 

It was probably designed as a reward of sorts for after your fight, except you weren’t having a fight. So you supposed it was kind of like a consolation prize. 

Except you felt wound too tightly to really enjoy it.

“So that’s it, they just call the whole thing off?” Ella asked leaning forward to rest her chin in her hand.

“Yep,” You popped the p, your finger running a gentle circle on Alessia’s exposed knee. “I can’t even sign a paper that says I’m fine fighting him despite the failed drug test, and it’s too late to find a replacement even if we allow a catchweight,” 

She let the movement continue, the hand wrapped around your shoulder gently squeezing the arm furthest away from her. 

While she was relieved that the rules prevented you from fighting a man on steroids, she knew how gutted you were about the cancellation.

“Probably for the best mate,” Leah said, sipping her wine. 

You shrugged, letting your finger trail a little higher on Alessia’s leg. 

It was slightly too… forward for the steakhouse her teammates had chosen, but with the dimmed lights you figured no one could see your hand under the white tablecloth anyway. Not with how close you were sitting to your girlfriend. 

“I already made weight, so it’s kind of a waste,” You muttered, dragging your nails up the inside of her thigh to just below the hem of her dress. “I’ll have to start camp all over again unless I take something short notice,” 

“Can you do that?” Mary asked, from your other side.

You shrugged again. “I told Dana I was game if he needed someone to fill in, so we’ll have to see,” 

Alessia’s eyebrows pulled tighter together “You didn’t tell me that, love,” 

“Didn’t I?” You asked, feigning dumb, as your fingers finally made it past the hem of her dress. “Must have forgotten. I’m excited to see you all play on Tuesday though,” 

You ran your nail across the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh, dangerously close to her center. But before you could make it any further, her free hand caught your wrist, and repositioned you so your hand was resting very innocently near her knee again. 

“Ireland is always fun to face,” Ella smiled at you. “Should be a bit chippy,” 

“I’ll definitely be rocking my MacCabe jersey,” You matched her expression, your thumb again beginning to rub circles into Alessia’s skin. 

Leah frowned, dropping her menu. “You will?” 

“Absolutely,” You smirked, wiggling your eyebrows and slyly trailing your thumb back up Alessia’s thigh. “Gotta support my favorite foul-mouthed Gooner,” 

Leah’s eyes went wide, and Alessia squeezed your shoulder. 

“And what about me?” Your girlfriend asked, a pout pulling at her lips. 

You wiggled your eyebrows, a witty remark at the tip of your tongue, knowing it would piss her off, but the tension in your chest made you unable to stop yourself. 

You wanted to push her. To force a reaction, even when you knew all you had to do was ask for what you wanted. 

“Are you ladies ready to order?” A waiter asked, appearing behind Leah before you could let it fly. 

You let your smirk widen, closing your menu with a thud and making eye contact with the waiter. 

“Since she’s not on the menu,” You started, leaning closer to your girlfriend for just a second, edging your hand even further up her thigh until it was again past the hem of her dress. “I think I’ll have the tomahawk, medium rare with a Yorkie and the roasted carrots please,” 

You winked at the waiter for good measure as the table giggled and Alessia’s cheeks turned bright red. 

The waiter cleared his throat, turning his attention to your girlfriend. “And for you ma’am?” 

Alessia opened her mouth, probably to order, but you cut her off instead. 

“She’ll take the sirloin, medium with the Orzo and kale salad,” You said, reciting her normal order with perfect precision. “And she’ll be having me for dessert later,” 

More giggles erupted from your friends, and you dragged your hand impossibly higher, extending your pinky so it brushed against her underwear. 

She inhaled sharply next to you, sending you a warning side eye as the rest of the table continued to order, but she didn’t immediately remove your hand. 

You ignored her warning, letting your pinky slide over the satiny fabric of her underwear. 

It wasn’t what she normally wore, and you couldn’t help the wolfish grin that took over your features. 

She had worn lingerie for you. 

Maybe that should have stopped you. Made you consider that you wouldn’t get anything if you kept pushing, but again you couldn’t seem to help yourself. 

“Will you be in the Ireland friends and family section then?” Leah asked, wiggling her eyebrows at your girlfriend. “Cause I don’t think my family or Less’ will enjoy you wearing the opposing team’s jersey,” 

You made a noise like you were considering it as you finally slid your hand up and cupped your girlfriend’s heat. “I don’t think I’d feel at home though. Surely your family can deal with it right Less?”

Alessia nodded once, very stiffly. “My family loves you no matter what you’re wearing,”

You smiled impishly at her, adding just a little more pressure to her core. 

She shifted in her seat, leaning very close to your ear, as Ella started talking about some movie she and Joe had watched, taking the attention of the rest of Alessia’s teammates. 

“They’d even love you if you had to wear your collar at the game,” She chuckled darkly in your ear, her voice soft enough to get lost in the noise of the restaurant as her free hand yet again caught your wrist and pulled your hand back to a much more innocent position. “Now behave, or I promise you’ll regret it,”

You pulled away, your devilish smirk only getting broader. “No,”

Her eyebrows furrowed her expression something between anger and concern and warning, like she was trying to figure out why you were pushing the boundaries when you never did before. 

You wiggled yours in return, offering her nothing else before joining the conversation of her teammates. 

You weren’t ready to talk yet. 

You were too content digging yourself deeper and deeper. 

*****

You continue to push Alessia all throughout dinner, taking every opportunity to make her blush or to creep your hand further up her thigh. At one point you had even wiggled a finger beneath her underwear before she could stop you. 

And your behavior hadn’t stopped once you left the restaurant. 

You definitely placed your hand far too low on her waist as you and your friends walked back to the hotel the UFC had rented for you, and winked cheekily at the fans as you entered the building, spending far too long signing things and flirting just to annoy your girlfriend. 

You knew from the “come on darling,” and the way she wrapped her arm around you, her fingers closing gently around the back of your neck that you were in serious trouble as she led you into the hotel and to the elevator. 

“Good luck mate,” Leah nodded towards you as she stepped into her hotel room after Mary and Ella. “Think you’re gonna need it after that show,”

She tilted her head toward your girlfriend glaring a hole in Leah’s doorframe. 

“Good night Leah,” Your girlfriend bit out, pressing her thumb into the space at the very center of the back of your neck.

Leah rolled her eyes at the movement, well aware of the dynamic between you and your girlfriend. More aware than most of her teammates for both club and country because of how long you had known her. “Right you two, do have too much fun,” 

You stared at the door for a long moment after it closed, the tension in your chest bleeding down to your stomach.

You knew your time was up. That you would have to pay the piper so to speak, and it had guilt swirling along with the unpleasantness. 

You knew that all you had to do was utter a word and it would all be over. 

You knew that Alessia would stick to your limits, no matter how hard you pushed her, but you couldn’t help the… lingering anxiety that came from your past relationships. 

The ones that took advantage of your submissiveness, and the unhealthy way you had always chosen to deal with stress. The ones that ignored your pain for their own pleasure. 

 “Come on then,” Alessia said, very gently running the nail of her thumb down the length of the back of your neck, and squeezing your shoulder. 

You hummed, allowing her to lead you down the hallway to your own hotel room door, but she paused before she opened it. You looked up at her, realizing suddenly that you were trapped between her and the door. 

She stepped closer so your noses were nearly touching. She dragged her hand from your neck to your chin, using her thumb to tilt your head to where she wanted it. 

“I love you,” She said, her voice soft and sincere. “No matter what,”

She leaned in the last centimeter separating you, connecting your lips in a very sweet kiss. 

You leaned into it, opening your mouth when her tongue poked out, welcoming it and meeting it with your own so they spun in a slow dance. 

It was the reminder that you desperately needed. 

The promise that she would take care of you, even when you acted like a brat. 

She pulled away just enough to disconnect your lips, and your mouths separated with a low pop.

“Remind me of your colors,” Alessia said, her thumb running across your cheek. 

“Green for good, yellow for slow down, and red for stop,” You recited, your voice breathless. 

“Good girl,” She hummed. “Open the door, and take off your shirt and pants once we get inside,” 

You swallowed hard at the change of tone. 

“Yes Miss,” You said, already pulling the key card from the back pocket of your jeans. You didn’t look away from her as you fumbled until you heard the lock on the door beep, and clumsily pushed it open. 

You stumbled backward, unwilling to break eye contact with your girlfriend because you knew you would probably get very little of it tonight. 

She turned away from you as soon as the door slammed shut, busying herself with something you didn’t know. 

“I believe I told you to do something,” She said, not even sparing a look over her shoulder at you, and you realized you had been staring for too long. 

You cleared your throat, your fingers trembling as they unbuttoned your straining shirt. 

You carefully pulled the satin materials from your shoulders, folding it neatly and laying it on the bed before you started on your pants. 

It took you three tries to undo the button, the zipper getting caught in the stretchy material of your boxers. You peeled your tight jeans down your legs, folding them and placing them next to your shirt. 

You felt Alessia’s presence behind you as you pulled off your shoes and socks. 

As soon as they had been placed in their rightful place, her hand found its way to your bare back. 

The touch was soothing and grounding and exactly what you needed to combat the slightly floaty feeling in your brain. 

The hand slid up your back, all the way to your neck. 

“Kneel,”

The soft squeeze on the back of your neck was like magic, as was the soft, but stern order. 

You sank to your knees without question, your butt resting on your heels, your hands facing palm up on your thighs, your back straight and your head bowed, as the tension in your chest slowly ebbed away.

“I think we need to have a chat,” She continued, the hand on your neck sliding up to run through the hair at the base of your skull. Her nails scratched soothingly at your scalp. “Because your behavior in the restaurant is not the behavior of the good girl I trained,”

You grunted, glaring at a spot in the carpet. 

You didn’t want to talk. 

You already had to talk to Dana, to your coaches, and to the media. You had nothing left to say. 

“Do you want to tell me what that was about at dinner?” She asked you, the fingers on your scalp wrapping through your curls. She gave it a sharp tug, forcing you to look up at her. “Because I’d really like to know what the fuck you were playing at,” 

Her blue eyes burned into you, concerned and… something else lingering below the surface. 

“I wasn’t playing at anything,” You grit out. 

She raised a perfect eyebrow at you, as she searched your face.

“Is this because your fight was canceled?”

You didn’t answer her, unwilling to admit how… off balanced it made you feel. 

But that was enough of an answer for her. 

Her eyes softened minutely. “Baby,” 

You shook your head. 

You didn’t want her sympathy or her pity. 

You wanted her to crush you. 

“Alright,” She signed, tilting your head back so far it was painful. “I’m going to give you 2 options. We can call Clarke and Lexa and they can run you through a workout,” 

You shivered at the mention of your respective striking and jujitsu coaches, knowing already that whatever the alternative was, you would be choosing it. 

“Or you can take a punishment of my choosing,” She finished. “It won’t be an easy one,” 

“I’ll take a punishment,” You muttered after a beat. 

You didn't need easy right now. 

She hummed, holding you close for a long second, and you relished in the attention. 

That had been why you acted out at all anyway. 

She dropped her hold on your hair suddenly, and you crashed back on your knees. 

“On the wall,” She said, completely cutting contact with you, and walking towards the little kitchen area of the suite. 

You let out a shaky breath, pushing yourself to your feet, and shuffled over to the wall next to the television across from the couch. 

You turned to face the couch, wincing when Alessia pulled a wine glass out of the cabinet and a jug of water from the counter and returned to you. 

She carefully filled the glass to the halfway mark, before her attention turned to you. 

You knew immediately what punishment she had chosen. 

The rules were simple, you would balance the glass in one of the designated calisthenic positions. If the water spilled, or the glass fell then you would move to the next position. The punishment would be over when you made it through all 15 positions to Alessia’s satisfaction, or if you safeworded. 

It sounded easy, or like it wouldn’t be effective, but that was entirely wrong. It was the punishment that you hated the most. 

Your stomach never failed to drop when Alessia approached you with the wine glass and water. Just the sight of her with it was enough to have your muscles quivering at the impending fatigue. 

“Ready darling?”

You made a low sound, leaning back against the wall, bending your knees, and getting into the first position. 

A wall sits with your knees pressed together to focus the pressure on your quads. 

She used a hand on your shoulder to push you further down the wall until your thighs sat parallel to the floor, and then very carefully balanced the stem of the wine glass between your knees so the base just barely brushed your hamstring. 

You frowned. She usually balanced it on top of your legs further up your thighs so all you had to do was stay level. But where it was now meant that you would have to stay level and squeeze with your adductors so it didn’t slip and spill the water. 

“Tell me your color,” She said, her thumb sweeping under your chin, drawing your eyes away from the glass to meet her blue. 

“Green,” you murmured, leaning into the gentle touch. 

“Good,” She hummed, cupping your cheek for another long second before she pulled away. “I’ll be right there, reading my book,” 

Your gaze trailed after her as she settled herself on the couch directly across from you, picking up the 7 Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. She easily found her page and began to read. 

You glanced back to the balancing glass between your knees. It was already shaking slightly, the liquid vibrating around the bowl of the glass with the effort of your muscles to keep it in place. 

It irritated you that you could already feel your quads and adductors quivering. It was pathetic that they were already fatigued after only 30 seconds. 

You grit your teeth, letting your hips slip down further so you could squeeze with your glutes to take a little bit of the pressure off of your adductors. The glass shifted minutely, and the water inside sloshed dangerously before it settled. 

Your eyes flickered back up to Alessia, wondering if she saw it too, but her eyes stayed planted in her book. 

That irritated you too. 

The only upside to your fight being canceled was that you got to spend more time with her. You wouldn’t have to split your attention between her and not getting your face caved in. 

Now you didn’t even have that. 

You thought of safewording and forcing an early end to your punishment. It would be a violation of the rules though.

But when she found out that you broke her trust (the most severe infraction you could ever commit) she might choose a more… harsh punishment. One of the ones that was listed in the soft limits the two of you had agreed upon. One that would separate you from reality, and leave you feeling floaty and thoroughly controlled. Thoroughly owned. 

A part of you wanted her to forcibly put you in your place. To disregard how bad it would feel tomorrow and the bad memories it would bring up for you, and just demolish you. To crush your will and grind you into dust. To beat you into oblivion. 

It was what your opponent would have done anyway. 

You knew Alessia would never agree to it while you were this upset. She didn’t like to give in to your self-destructive tendencies. 

The glass between your knees shook again, drawing your attention back to the warm fire setting deeply into your quads. They would ache tomorrow you were sure, but then again wasn’t that part of the point?

It would be a reminder that even when she wasn’t with you, you belonged to Alessia. It was an invisible mark that claimed you. That reminded you she would always take control when you felt dangerously unstable. 

And then it clicked.

This punishment was Alessia’s favorite because it was based on your choice to obey her. Your choice to push your body to its limits to please her. Your choice to give her control over you. 

She didn’t need to use a belt or a paddle to bend you to her will. 

She just had to ask. 

You just had to relax and trust that she would take care of you. 

You let out a long breath, counting down from 3 in your head. You let it fall back into the wall with a low thump and your shoulders sagged, as the remaining tension in your chest drained out of you. 

“Good girl,” Alessia said softly, and the page of her book turned. Your eyes darted back to her, hoping that they would be on you, but they weren’t. 

She looked so composed, both legs tucked under her, reading her book. It was diametrically opposed to how you felt, completely out of control. A quivering mess fighting to stay in a simple wall sit. 

It further reminded you of your place, and the weight of it was enough to have your eyes sliding closed. 

You focused on your breathing, 3 seconds and 3 seconds out. Deep and slow. 

You lasted for more breaths before the glass slid from between your legs, landing on the carpeted floor with a light thud. 

Your eyes snapped open, and again you expected to meet Alessia’s eyes, but they remained trained on her book. 

“Next please,” She said softly, flipping another page in her book. 

You slid down the wall to the floor, sucking in another long breath as you nodded, wishing that she would just look at you, but you knew that was part of the punishment too. 

You took another breath as you rolled over to your stomach and sat yourself up on your elbows, squeezing your core. It was a slightly modified plank designed to show off the muscles in your back and arms for the benefit of your girlfriend and to give your legs a break for a bit. 

She waited until you were in a position to stand, slowly padding over to you and grabbing the wine glass off of the floor.

She paused next to you, and you felt the way her eyes dragged across the muscles on your back. 

“Always so pretty for me,” She hummed and you heard the water as she refilled the glass. “Too bad you can’t have the reward I had planned,” 

Her touch lingered as she carefully balanced it between your shoulder blades, and stepped away. 

“Let’s see if you can beat your best time on this one,” She said, talking more at you than to you. “Your record is 22 minutes, which isn’t quite championship timing. I think you need to make it at least 25,” 

You groaned. 

Her competitive streak was legendary and often a part of your punishment when you had been particularly ornery. You switched positions at her pleasure, so you knew you would be planking all night if you couldn’t break 25 minutes. 

It was like when she decided you needed to break your edging record. 

There would be no mercy unless you safeworded. 

You focused on your breathing as she sauntered back to the couch, fighting to keep your core and back muscles locked to prevent the glass from tipping. 

Your abs clenched, and you so badly wanted to roll your shoulders to relieve the tension building in the space between them. The space holding the glass. 

You focused on the sound of Alessia’s breathing. Each rhythmic inhale and exhale like the clicking of a metronome, broken only by the occasional fluttering of a page. 

You wished she had put the timer in front of you so you could see how long you had left. 

But then again that would probably be worse. 

You always found it harder to go the distance in a fight when you could see the clock ticking down. It always made you feel more exhausted at the end of the round, and made standing up off of your stool at the start of the next round that much harder. 

You sucked in another breath, refocusing on the sounds of Alessia’s inhales and exhales. You counted each one, letting them wash over you and lul the fog slowly seeping through the crevices in your brain. 

It let you forget the trembling in your core muscles and the sting between your shoulders. They didn’t matter. All that mattered was each of Alessia’s breaths, and your ability to please her. 

To be honest, you forgot about the water balancing on your back. 

You shifted, lifting your head so you could watch Alessia, and that sent the glass tumbling to the floor with a low thud. 

She looked up at the noise, pushing herself to her feet and grabbing the glass. 

“Good job darling. You made time.” She rewarded you by meeting her eyes for a long second and flashing you a winning smile. “Position 3,” 

You took another deep breath as she filled the glass. 

You pushed yourself up into a pushup position, slowly lifting your right arm and left leg so they extended. 

Your arms shook immediately, and it was then that you recognized just how exhausted you were already. Your core ached in a way that was edging on unpleasant, and your back felt like you had run 5 rounds with your jujitsu coach. 

It was strange that you felt so drained and you had only made it through 2 positions. 

Alessia waited until you were stable before she balanced the glass in the very same area between your shoulder blades. 

The spot that felt so tight.

You knew you weren’t going to last long before she even stepped away. But you tried to breathe through it. You tried to ignore the little beads of sweat collecting at the small of your back, and the cramp setting in just below the glass, radiating up to your neck. 

You deserved the pain. You had done your damndest to make sure Alessia gave it to you. 

“Tell me your color,” Alessia said, her voice dripping dominance, sending a shiver down your spine and causing the glass to tumble off your back. 

You collapsed to the floor. 

You hadn’t even made it a minute. 

“‘M ok,” You murmured into the carpet, each breath rattling as it left your lips.

You hadn’t even lasted long enough for Alessia to make it back to her seat. 

It was pathetic.

“That’s not what I asked you,” She said, crouching next to you, her hand resting on the throbbing space between your shoulders. “Tell me what your color is,” 

Your brain ran into overdrive, taking stock of the burn in your thighs, and the way the muscles in your back were locked up tight, and before you could even think through all the reasons why you shouldn’t safe word, “red,” was falling from your lips. 

You had been red before you even started position 3, you realized. 

“Good girl,” She said, settling fully down beside you, her hand running soothingly up and down your sweat-soaked back. “You did so well for me, and I’m so proud of you for knowing your limits,”

You groaned into the carpet as warmth spread through your chest, chasing away the last of the tightness that had been there since Dana caught you after the weigh-ins. 

“‘M sorry for pushing you,” You mumbled, your words nearly getting lost in the floor. “Didn’t know how to…” 

You trailed off, losing your train of thought. You weren’t even sure what you didn’t know how to do, only that antagonizing your girlfriend. Your miss. Had been the only way that seemed to make sense to achieve it. 

“I know darling,” She hummed, gripping under your arms and shifting so your head was resting in her lap and your upper body was between her legs. “Take some deep breaths for me, and then we’ll get you cleaned up and we can cuddle,” 

You made a low sound of agreement. You felt content with her completely around you, her scent enveloping you, and her hands running gently through your tangled hair. 

She was the stability to your rocky seas, and you trusted that she would take care of you, just like she had already tonight. 

A cuddle sounded perfect because it was perfect. 

It was everything you needed. She was everything you needed. 

[azzibuckets]

now that we don’t talk [part 2 | paige bueckers]

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: you and paige reunite, but in the worst way possible

a/n: i wrote this part like a month ago but i never posted it. im not sure about continuing this series because i dont have a vision for how i want it to go

word count: 3.4k

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You shut your eyes, exhaling. The breath that came out was shaky, and you hated it. You hated feeling this weak and unstable before a game, when usually you were all collected and confident.

Your brain was a battle of emotions. Your school, USC, was facing off against UConn in a pre-season match today, and since it was the first game of October, the administration on both teams had agreed to dedicate this game to Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

In a kind gesture that had left you at a loss for words, your head coach Gottlieb had organized custom pink shirts for the entire team to wear during warmup, with a painting of your grandma’s face in the front and one of her quotes on the back - “Strength is not the absence of fear, but the courage to confront it.” Your grandma had been a force in the basketball world, being one of the founders and fighters of the WNBA, and you knowed that part of the reason why both USC and UConn were rallying so hard for breast awareness was because both coaches knew of your relationship with your grandma.

After taking a few more deep breaths, you felt calm enough to rejoin your team as they warmed up their shooting. Looking around, you laid eyes on Paige, who was silently stretching in the corner. You took her in - her blonde hair was up in her typical game day do, with her braids in the front and the rest of her hair collected into a tight ponytail. She looked good, her cheeks slightly rosy, her eyes concentrated. You felt your heatt flutter as you examined her, but your heart suddenly dropped when you realized what she was wearing.

You knew this was bad idea, but you couldn’t help yourself. You found your legs pacing towards Paige, carrying you with a level of authority you didn’t know you had.

“What the fuck is this?”

Paige turned around, her resistance band now hanging limp in her hand. She did a double take once she realized who’d just spoken to her, her eyes carefully and unashamedly taking you in. “What?”

You gestured aggressively at her ahirt. “Take it off.”

Paige’s eyes hardened as she leaned back from you. “Excuse me?”

“I said, take it off.” Your voice was icy and unfamiliar to your own ears. In your peripheral vision, you saw heads starting to turn, as girls from both teams watched with curiosity as you stepped closer to Paige, anger drawn on both of your faces.

“Where did you even get it from?” Your voice trembled as you studied Paige’s shirt again. It was familiar to you, because you had the exact same one, just in different colors, hanging up in your room. It was your grandma’s jersey, from her high school team in the 1960s. As far as you knew, she only had a few, and she’d given one to you, one that you’d viligantly taken care of since you’d received it.

Paige raised her chin defiantly. “She gave it to me.”

Those words knocked you off your feet, and you stumbled even though you’d been standing still. “No, she didn’t.” Paige only gritted her teeth without responding. Desperate for a reaction, for anything than just silence, you continued, “She wasn’t even your grandma.” It was a low blow, and you knew it. Over the course of your friendship and then relationship, Paige had gotten almost as close to your grandma as you were. They had adored each other, and back then you had loved the way they loved each other. But now, you couldn’t seem to hate anything more.

You were spiraling, a destructive disarray of grief and bitterness and jealousy. When your grandma had died two months ago, you’d wished that Paige would’ve done more then send a couple of DMs on Twitter. But she didn’t, hadn’t reached out after that, which you couldn’t exactly blame her for because she owed no obligation to comfort you. You guys weren’t even dating anymore. But you’d hopelessly wanted Paige to do more, to show up on your doorstep and take you into her arms.

Paige, seemingly unaffected by your desperate words, regarded you coolly. “How would you know?” she asked menacingly, the hostility in her tone sending shivers down your spine. “You weren’t even there for her in the last few months.” She paused before landing her final blow. “But guess who was?” Her eyebrows cocked as she brushed past you and went back to her team on the court.

It felt like Paige had physically hit you, the way your heart stuttered and your mind reeled. You clenched your first, wishing you’d never came over here in the first place.

“Hey.” A gentle hand brushed your shoulder. Familiar perfume filled your nostrils, and you turned around to see Caroline.

Holding back a sob, she opened her arms and you fell into them. This was too much. Your nasty exchange with Paige, combined with the loss of your grandma still achingly fresh in your mind, along with the guilt of seeing the team that you’d left without so much as a goodbye. You’d been avoiding their looks the entire warmup. Nika had tried to talk to you earlier, but you’d brushed her off. And now, Caroline was standing in front of you, with the softest smile on her face as if you hadn’t ghosted her for the last year.

Caroline, one of your closest friends from your two years at UConn, comfortingly rubbed your back as you embraced her. When you pulled back, you almost couldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry,” you rasped, looking down.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” The kindness in her tone almost sent you into another fit.

“But I do.” You bit your bottom lip. “I transferred to USC without telling any of you guys. And when I left, I didn’t even bother to say goodbye. All I did was send a stupid text.” You kicked the ground, chastising yourself for how you’d treated your closest friends.

“You were hurting.” Caroline squeezed your arms. “We all understand. None of us are mad, alright? We all just miss you.” When you didn’t say anything, too overwhelmed with guilt, she nudged you. “You wanna make it up to us?”

You nodded quickly. Anything.

“Come hang with us after. At my place. No bar, nothing public. Just you and us. We can catch up, you can tell us all about USC and we’ll give you all the latest drama here.”

Thoughts of Pauge flashed through your mind before you shut it down. It was time to stop putting your feelings over Paige before your friends. You had to rebuild the gap, for the sake of the girls that you loved. “I’ll be there,” you responded, and Caroline’s eyes lit up with a grin.

“Great,” she beamed. “And about your grandma. I’m so sorry, babe. She was a really good person.”

You nodded. “Thank you. She really was.” Caroline gave you one last hug before you both parted ways to finish warming up before the game.

———————————-

Sweat dripped off your temples. You blinked roughly, trying to stave off the fogginess creeping in at the edge of your vision. Your muscles ached, screaming for oxygen and a break from the constant back-and-forth of the game. Whenever you opened your mouth, your throat burned from all the screaming you’d done over the past hour to attempt to communicate as well as UConn was doing.

It was no use. You’d been part of the UConn system before, and the drills that Geno had spent hours on, making sure you guys talked through every play, calling out unders or overs on screens, back door cuts, and picks, made the defensive coordination of UConn the best in the nation. Your team was starting to loosen at the seams and fall behind, and you could sense it.

The entire game had been intense, a battle of aggression between the two teams seemingly fueled by the personal vendettas between you and Paige, each captains of your respective teams. She was relentless, having scored 30 points with 2 minutes left in the last quarter. You’d yet to defend her, which was a relief. You didn’t know if you could bear all the aggressive contact, the tensions, the overflow of emotions that would occur once you started to guard her.

After Aaliyah posted up to score another latup, Gottlieb signaled for a time out. “Alright,” she declared, focusing her eyes on you. “You’re taking Paige. I want you to press her hard. Keep your weight off your heels and don’t cross your feet.”

You squirted water into your mouth, nodding. You guys were down by 5 points, and shutting down Paige was the main priority right now. USC broke, but Juju grabbed your arm. “Hey,” she said lowly. “Keep your emotions out of this, alright? Focus on the game.”

You clenched your jaw, avoiding eye contact with your best friend. “I got it. I want to win just as much as you do.”

“Okay.” Juju clearly didn’t believe you, but she released your arm and jogged back to her spot. You rolled back your shoulders. Right now was not the time to think about how Paige was looking at you, or how her girlfriend was sitting court-side, just a few feet from your assigned spot. You wiped the bottom of your shoes, trying to get rid of the sweat in your palms and add some traction to your feet. Leslie eyed you the entire time, smacking her gum loudly. “Come on, Paige!” she cheered with an obnoxious grin as soon as she made eye contact with you. You clenched your jaw, feeling Juju give you a warning look from across the court.

One of your teammates unbounded the ball, and you took off across the court. Rayah stepped out to set a screen, but you drove baseline away from it. You received the ball as you reached the post, and you passed it to Juju, who was waiting at the 3. The play ran beautifully, but as the ball arched towards Juju, a hand reached up and knocked it down.

Paige grabbed the ball and passed it down the court to Nika. You sprinted to defense, heart pumping, fueled by the humiliation of getting a pass intercepted, and by Paige of all people. You reached Nika, lunging for the ball in a desperate last second attempt, but she side stepped you for the layup, sending you flying across the floor.

You heard the oohs of the crowds as you landed hard on your butt, your ankle twisted underneath you. Biting your lip to muffle your shout of pain, you clenched your jersey to try and assuage the throbbing in your tailbone and leg.

You heard a commotion around you, and suddenly there was Paige, standing above you, concern etched into her eyebrow. She held out a hand, but Juju quickly appeared, bending down to touch your elbow and offering her own hand. Ignoring Paige, you wrapped both of your hands around Juju’s as she heaved you up.

Paige stepped back, her mouth in an unforgiving line. “You okay?” she asked, tone haughty and neutral.

“She’s fine,” Juju snapped, stepping protectively between the two of you. “Give her some space, will you?”

Paige held her hands up in surrender and took a couple steps back. Her gaze on you stayed with unwavering intensity, though. But you avoided it, like you’d done the entire game, and let the trainer examine you.

“You good?” Nika ran up to you, chest heaving. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah.” You smiled in reassurance at her. “Not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

Nika nodded as the trainer helped you up and led you off the court. Paige’s gaze burned into your back, but when you turned around, she quickly averted her eyes.

You hadn’t injured yourself, only taken a rough fall, but you still sat on the bench for the remaining minute of the game. Unfortunately, with your dominating presence out, USC couldn’t catch up, and your team lost by a single heartbreaking point.

You walked slowly as USC and UConn formed lines to wish each other a good game. You’d been nervous beforehand, thinking about what to say to the girls, but Caroline had told the truth. None of them seemed to have anything against you, all pulling you in for a tight hug and telling you how good you played and how much they missed you. So although you were exhausted and your ankle was starting to throb again, you knew that you had to go to Caroline’s hangout.

—————————-

“Oh my god, come in!” You chuckled as Azzi opened the door and practically started jumping on her heels from excitement. You grabbed Juju’s hand and led her in from behind you. She was there for backup, a familiar face in a sea of once familiar faces. When you’d asked the Uconn girls if she could come, they’d all happily agreed, saying that they’d been wanting to meet the freshman phenom that had taken the basketball world by storm.

The girls were scattered around Caroline’s apartment. Some of them were sprawled on the couch, watching an NBA game as if they hadn’t had enough basketball for the night. Others were drinking wine in the kitchen and picking at a charcuterie board. Thankfully, you didn’t see any sign of a blonde when you scanned the room, and let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“Hey guys, this is Juju.” Juju waved her hand shyly, and everyone clambered up to meet her. You smiled at the scene. Despite rivalries on the court and the vigor that UConn played with, you knew they left behind all of that once the shot clock buzzed for the final time. These girls were the nicest you’d ever met, welcoming everyone as their own.

You and Juju found a spot on the couch. You were almost getting comfortable before the door swung open and a familiar laugh filled the room. You didn’t bother to look up, trying to play it cool, but when Juju laid a hand on your arm in warning the same time an unfamiliar voice resonated, you realized that a certain brunette had came too.

Masking your face with indifference, you congratulated yourself for having the power to control your facial expression once Paige and Leslie tumbled into the family room, Leslie’s hands attached to Paige’s waist as they both laughed, obviously already having put some drinks into their system before coming here. You ignored the silence that had fallen over the rest of the team as they realized the awkwardness of the situation.

“I’m so sorry,” Caroline mouthed from her spot on the armchair. “I didn’t know she was gonna be here.”

You only shrugged, your eyes focused on your lap as you tried to maintain your facade of apathy. Juju shifted closer to you in support, and you’d never loved her more.

“Okay!” Caroline said brightly, cutting through the heavy tension in the room. “Who wants a margarita?” All the girls cheered, and the ambience in the apartment returned as conversations resumed.

This is only awkward if you let it be awkward, you thought. You and Paige had broken up over a year ago. You could be civil. You were so over her. But you knew you were lying from the way your insides jolted when Leslie leaned in to press a loud kiss on Paige’s cheek.

Soon, some of the girls started recording Tiktoks and doing silly dances. You turned down their offers to make a cameo in their videos, content with just watching. As you observed rhem, it dawned on you how much you’d missed them. Their silliness made you laugh in a way you hadn’t laughed at in a long time. Throughout the entire night, you tried to pretend as if Paige and Leslie didn’t exist, although it was hard with the exuberant amount of PDA they were showing. They were sitting on each other’s laps, their hands wandering, and they weren’t making out but you almost wish they were so that you wouldn’t have to see either of their faces.

“Paige! Did you come here to celebrate or eye fuck your girlfriend the entire time?” KK yelled, waving a Nintendo controller. “Come play Smash Bros.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but she caught the controller that KK threw at her. She wrapped around Leslie, who was still on top her lap, and started to press buttons on the controller as she chose her chatacter. You stiffened at the memory of Paige doing the exact same thing with you, all those late nights she’d played Fortnite with the team, you falling asleep with your head in the crook of her neck as she gamed. It’d always ended with her carrying you to bed, tucking you in and wrapping her arms around yours.

“Watch out KK,” Leslie joked. “P is a beast at Smash Bros.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty good at smashing,” Paige teased, her words dripping with sexual undertones. Everyone groaned, and Leslie giggled, a high pitched and screeching noise that you thought could be used as torture for prisoners if put on replay.

Leslie reached for her margarita, but her movements were sluggish from her tipsy state, causing the alcohol to slosh over the side of the cocktail glass. Immediately, Paige jumped up, hurriedly removing Leslie from her lap as she examined herself. It was only then that you realized that Paige had taken off the sweater she’d arrived with and was now in your grandma’s jersey, a jersey that now sported a large wet stain.

“Leslie, oh my god.” She yelled, her voice panicked. “I told you to be careful.”

“Oh shit, my bad.” Leslie set down her drink and reached for Paige, who stepped backwards and away from her touch.

“You fucker.” The words were out of your mouth before you knew it, and all eyes in the room turned to you. Juju kicked you nervously, but you ignored her. “How could you?” You rushed over to Paige, looking closely at the jersey now reeking with alcohol. You held back tears as you saw the print already starting to fade. The jersey was 60 years old, already fragile and old, and you knew that it was now as good as ruined.

Paige turned to Leslie. “I thought I told you not to fucking drink while you were around me. You know how important this jersey is to me.”

Leslie stood rigid, her expression now calculated. “You guys are being so dramatic. Let me have the jersey. I’ll go wash it and bring it back good as new.”

“Don’t you dare fucking touch it.” You turned from Leslie, gently touching the frayed ends with shaky fingers. “You can’t just wash it. It’ll fall apart. Oh my god, you just ruined one of the only things my grandma left us.” Your voice was choked now, tears forming at your eyes. “Shit!” You slammed your first into the ground in anger.

The team exchanged hesitant looks, worry clear in their eyes. Juju came up from behind you. “Come on, babe,” she whispered. “I’m sure we can do something about it. Let me take a look, hmm?”

You moved aside, but from the look on Juju’s face as the faded patches and stressed seams became visible as she studied it, you knew there was no use. The tears started falling then, an uncontrollable stream that left you feeling broken. “Excuse me,” you whimpered, and you ran into the bathroom, locking yourself inside.

You heard murmurs of the team outside. You heard the front door slam. Soon, someone knocked softly on the door. “It’s Juju,” your friend called, and you resignedly unlocked the door and let her inside before shutting it again.

You slumped down on the ground, you face in your hands. “Oh,” Juju whispered, and she knelt down next to you as you started to sob.

Another knock came in, followed by a tentative voice calling your name. You exchanged looks with Juju, who got up and slipped outside.

“Are you serious right now?” Juju’s voice was muffled, but you could still hear the fury radiating from her words. “You know you’re the reason she’s crying right now?”

“I know.” A pause. “I need to apologize.”

“She doesn’t wanna see you right now.”

You heard Paige‘s sharp intake of breath. “Juju, please.”

You could practically feel Juju’s hesitance, but she must‘ve relented, because when the door opened, it was Paige who stepped in.

[kotir-propaganda]

Mossflower has so much going for it, like I’m not even being biased because my blorbo is in it. I will die on the hill of it being Best Redwall Book for several reasons.

-It’s as early Redwall as you can get without actually being Book 1. As such, it avoids a lot of subjects and patterns that would later become repetitive tropes... but it also avoids the Book 1 jankiness of horses and human structures and the implied existence of Portugal. The world as we will come to know it feels more or less fully realized here. The abbey’s not here yet, but its foundation literally is- and we also get our first look at Salamandastron and the extent of Mossflower Wood as a whole.

-It has some of the most solid protagonists around. The legendary hero Martin is here, but he’s at a low point for most of the story and has to work his way up to that legacy! And this is where he does it, this is what future Redwallers remember him for, not the events of Martin the Warrior. Also, Gonff is here? Hello? Maybe the single most charismatic character in the series? Not to mention Dinny, how often does a humble mole actually get to go on a quest in these books?

-This isn’t even getting into how badass all the rest of the woodlanders are, too, but... they absolutely are. This is a small band of rebels that’s been driven from their little houses, they don’t have the luxury of those huge sandstone walls to protect them, but they’re still fighting like hell and outsmarting their enemies to boot. Some of them are seasoned fighters, but some of them are just ordinary families, all banding together to take back their homeland. And they keep it up the whole time! They’re not just waiting around for a guy with a sword to tell them what to do!

-The villains are probably the most nuanced in the whole series. Seriously. There are four whole wildcats here (don’t forget Sandingomm!) and only ONE of them is unquestionably evil. It’s absolutely implied that Verdauga was a fearsome warlord in his day, but if nothing else, he raised ONE kid who turned out to be about as Lawful Good as you can get, and he actually scolds Tsarmina for being mean to her brother!! I wish we could have spent a little more time with Verdauga, honestly, I have so many questions for this man.

-There are a decent handful of morally grey characters here, actually. Chibb spies for the woodlanders, but he’s not the most dependable and is motivated by payment more than sympathy to their cause. Snakefish allies with our questing heroes, but he minces no words in warning them that he’ll just as soon eat them if it comes down to it. Even Argulor is really just out here looking for a bite to eat and can you really blame him, because ashleg is a snack

-Tsarmina herself is irredeemably cruel, but even still there are multiple facets to her. On one hand, she’s scary- big and powerful and ready to rip into anything/anyone with her bare claws. At the same time she can be a clever strategist when she wants to be- poisoning her father and framing her brother, and later manipulating two of her obstacles, Argulor and Bane, into taking each other out. And still yet it can be kind of funny to watch her in action, as she gets humiliated by the resistance on multiple occasions. And maybe there is even a little pathos there, as we see her mind start to slip, and get some glimpse into the deep fear and paranoia that completely overtake her at the end.

-There are just great supporting characters on both sides. Mask is amazing, Fortunata is fantastic. And yeah, Blorbo Supreme Ashleg is here, and I don’t NEED to write a whole essay about him to promote Mossflower as a whole but... having him here is nice! It helps!! May we all follow his example and pursue happier lives for ourselves!!!

-Mossflower laid the foundation for so many events and characters of later books. I mean yeah, it’s a prequel. It’s there to support the first book and by extension, everything that comes after. But so many other great titles in the series have a direct line to Mossflower, from Outcast to Long Patrol to Lord Brocktree and more. Did you enjoy those books? You’re welcome. The threads were already there, just waiting to be expanded upon.

-at one point a wooden leg gets used as a projectile weapon and if you don’t think that’s the best thing ever, I don’t know what else to tell you buddy

[masterjedilenawrites]

In Other Words: Hold My Hand - Chapter 1

Weee look at me, starting another story when I have so many others left to finish 🙃 To be fair, I started this one a while ago and fully intended to get it off the ground sooner. But, you know, life. So after a sudden burst of creativity and motivation (while caught in throes of my Hux BS), here we are, chapter one ready to be released into the world. Just don't ask me when chapter two will come...

Part One: Hold My Hand

Chapter One

Hux x fem!reader | 2.4k words

Content warnings: Mention of torture/interrogation, mention of childhood abuse

It was a mystery how you'd ended up in this exact spot you currently found yourself in. The sequence of events themselves were fairly straightforward. There'd been an unexpected skirmish between some First Order troopers and your band of Resistance fighters; you and your best friend Nat had jumped foolishly into the fray despite only just having started your combat training; the Order had unsurprisingly cornered the two of you... and then, in what she probably thought to be a brilliant move, your friend had convinced the troopers you wanted to defect and join the Order. Then there was a week of nasty interrogation to ensure your stories matched up and held true. Somehow you'd both been cleared, and now here you were, standing outside the office of who would be your supervisor aboard The Finalizer, waiting to be summoned in.

What had happened was clear enough. The mystery was understanding why it had all happened. How could there possibly be good in the galaxy when it had devised such a series of unfortunate events to set you down right here, in the thick of all you despised? How could you possibly hope to improve that galaxy from here, or at the least simply benefit your own life? There was a reason espionage and spies weren't used against the First Order - a reason you'd tried repeatedly to explain to your stubborn friend to no avail.

Damn her, you grumbled to yourself, though you knew you didn't fully mean it. Sure, she'd had the idea, but you'd gone along with it. You couldn't make her shoulder all of the blame.

A swooshing sound accompanied the sudden opening of the door in front of you. You stood at attention, coming face to face with a young officer in a smart-looking hat. He clutched a datapad in the crook of his arm as if he were keeping it there on a time-out.

He didn't seem to notice your presence until he had already stepped out of the room and made to follow the hallway to the right. He paused in a second of surprise, and then made a little scoffing noise.

"He's in quite a mood," he said and gave you a knowing look, though you weren't sure what you were supposed to know by it. "Good luck."

He swiftly stalked off, leaving the doorway in front of you open to the office beyond. Fluorescent lights glowed from the ceilings inside, giving you a chance to scope out what you were walking into. Most of the room was bare up here by the door; too bare, like there was supposed to be more furniture but it had disappeared somehow. The back half of the room was more naturally filled. A large bookcase stood tall and proud along the back wall, boasting of thick tomes and unique trinkets. To the side was a low counter with a few liquor bottles and mixers. There was also a small box of some kind in the corner, with a carpeted top and a hole in the side. You weren't sure what it was for.

And placed before all of it, directly in the center, just before the threshold you now found yourself crossing, as if dividing the room between emptiness and warmth, was a large desk made of dark wood and brass furnishings. A lone chair sat in front of it for guests, while the office's owner sat in his own chair on the other side.

Hunched in his chair, was more like it. The position almost could have obscured his identity from you as you tried to get your nerves under control. But alas, the ginger hair still gave him away.

You choked.

"What," he drawled with annoyance, not bothering to look up from the work that occupied him on his desk.

Hux. The General Hux. The face of the First Order and all its terrifying advancements. He was to be your supervisor? What a cruel joke the universe was playing on you.

You stood in shocked silence, which seemed to annoy him further as he huffed and finally looked up. Whatever reproach he was prepared to give vanished as he took in your appearance.

"Who are you?" 

You swallowed hard under his gaze. Never in your life did you think you'd come face to face with this man, and now here you were, mere feet away, donning the uniform of his people and completely under his authority.

Oh you were going to kill your friend for this.

"I..." Your throat felt like it was constricting. Panic would soon overtake you if you didn't shake free of its grasp now. As you'd learned in your interrogation, it would not do to show any sign of weakness in this place, not even a bit of hesitancy. And you would need that strategy even more with General Hux watching you.

You cleared your throat quickly and straightened up further. "I believe I am to be your new assistant, sir. They sent me here to report for duty."

Hux regarded you for a moment and then leaned back in his chair with a quirked eyebrow. He didn't seem annoyed anymore, but there was a sort of sneering curiosity that took its place, and you weren't sure which you'd rather be dealing with in this moment.

"Ah, yes. Deserters from the Resistance. I was so surprised by the news, I had to see one of you for myself."

He paused to gauge your reaction, though you didn't have one. You were too preoccupied with keeping yourself standing upright in his presence.

"We don't get many rebels willing to join our ranks. Though when it does happen, it's always right at the moment they have a blaster to their heads. Curious, isn't it?"

You cleared your throat. "I suppose it is, sir."

"You will call me General," he said cooly.

"Yes, General," you obeyed promptly.

He studied you for a moment, no expression on his face to indicate anything he could be thinking. Surely he was suspicious of you; he'd be foolish not to be. And you suspected that's why you were to be his assistant. In case you were a spy of some sort. You'd be in proximity to a tempting amount of good intel, but wouldn't be able to do anything with it under the General's watchful gaze. He was clever one, you'd give him that.

Though what he was considering about you now was beyond you. Maybe he was changing his mind, saw the nerves you were so desperately trying to hide, deciding playing such a game with you wouldn't be worth the trouble.

"I expect an itinerary of the next day's events on my desk each evening by 8," he finally said. He quickly moved through his words as if he'd had to recite them numerous times, and you briefly wondered how many assistants this man had gone through before you finally realized you should probably be paying closer attention. "You will also maintain reports on the health of each department I oversee, filter any feedback or escalated concerns from the department heads, and share only the most important for my attention. You will accompany me to all non-confidential meetings and take down notes...."

He trailed off and sported a small smirk.

"Do you wish to take some down now?"

You quickly nodded, hating how he was already finding ways to subtly undercut your competency.

He opened a drawer and fished out a data pad, handing it over to you and gesturing to the opposite chair, all the while maintaining that smirk. You fiddled with the device and tried to quickly note down what he'd said so far. You could feel him watching you. Your fingers shook from the anxiety of it all.

When you finally looked up at him, his face was back into something more neutral. 

"Ready?" he asked softly. You realized he was being patient, an incredible relief to your nerves, so you tried for a smile with your response.

"Yes, General."

He nodded and continued, speaking almost a mile an hour as if through a well-rehearsed speech, and you did your best to keep pace. Your notes were a jumbled mess of various times and tasks, preferences and expectations. You hoped you'd be able to make sense of them later. One missed detail, and you suspected you'd be booted off the ship faster than you could say dank farrick.

"And finally," he said at last, and you couldn't help but let out the breath you'd been holding the past ten minutes, "this may go without saying but I shall state it anyway so we are perfectly clear. You will not be allowed access to outside communications."

He leveled a hard look at you, one that spoke volumes louder than his words.

"I have also waived your right to any leaves of absence. Until you have gained my full and complete trust."

You nodded, suspecting as much.

"And in all transparency, there is not a single soul in this galaxy who has managed to earn my full and complete trust. Do I make myself clear?"

You nodded again, unable to keep his gaze. A part of you was sinking at the thought. You were trapped aboard this ship. No sky, no sea, no trees. Just sterile walls and shiny floors and an endless expanse of empty space behind a viewport. You could very well die here and never feel sand beneath your toes again.

General Hux stood, and you quickly rose to match.

"That said, it will be to our mutual benefit for you to take this position seriously. I run a very tight ship so I expect nothing less than professional excellence from you."

"Yes, sir. General. Sorry. Yes, General."

He gave an almost imperceptible sigh through your flustering. You certainly weren't inspiring any confidence in your ability to do this job, not when you kept remembering how dangerously thin a line you walked here. And though you didn't exactly want to be here, you'd be damned if you were ever thought of as less than good enough.

"You are dismissed." He waved a hand as he sat back down again, his attention already returned to the stack of papers he'd been pouring over before your arrival. You were more than grateful to finally be allowed out of this situation. The emotions you'd been bottling in needed to be let out. You wasted no time in turning on your heel and scurrying away.

"Oh, one more thing," he said just before you could open the door to your freedom. "You'll be given the rank of Second Lieutenant. It means nothing other than to ensure you have proper security clearance to accompany me when needed. You can pick up your badge and insignia at the security office."

This information, as well as all you'd noted down, weighed on you as you finally made it out the door. You walked down the hall in a daze, not knowing where you were going, entirely too fixated on this bizarre situation you found yourself in. You were a Second Lieutenant aboard a First Order ship, serving directly under General Hux, and banned from even so much as glimpsing a life outside of this one. You'd never be able to see your friends or family again. In fact, you'd be helping fight against them now. Whatever service you performed for the General would be in service to the war he waged against your people.

You paused in your wandering to lean against the nearest wall, grateful that whatever part of the ship you were in didn't have much foot traffic. The side of your head rested against the cool steel walls and your eyes closed in a fight against the tears that threatened to burst forth. You focused on your breathing. In and out. In and out. No thinking, no feeling. Just breathe.

You stayed like this an undeterminable amount of time before slowly reopening your eyes and coming back to the present moment. How long the calming effects of your meditation would last, who knew, but at least you were now numb enough to get back to the tasks at hand. You'd need to find the security office. And your room, or bunks, or wherever they intended to have you sleep around here. And perhaps most importantly, you'd need to find your friend.

If not to ensure she was alright, than at least to give her a piece of your mind.

* * *

Hux watched as discreetly as he could the disappearing form of the woman who was to be his new assistant. Even after the door slid shut behind her, his gaze still lingered on the spot she had last been.

He'd come to expect timidness from all who found themselves in his presence these days. His reputation had grown quickly and held fast, much to his relief. He still felt like he'd came into this position, this war even, much too quickly to have any real sense of confidence about it. Not that he'd let anyone see, of course, which was why he was grateful he at least had the skill of being able to put on a good show, to mask the insecurities he privately fought. Years of abuse and neglect were to thank for that.

But this woman, this rebel-turned-deserter, was throwing him off. She had been timid, yes, but had also shown all the other telltale signs of someone wanting his approval. Compliance, politeness, even a bit of pride. As if she had been raised in an old Imperial household and came here to work her way up the ladder of power with the rest of them, but still viewing him with a sort of fearful reverence.

It perplexed him. To what end was she here? An honest wish to change sides seemed unlikely, which only left the option of her being a spy. But that didn't fit the facts well, either. As a spy, she'd either be a good actor and show no signs of fear, or she'd be terrible at keeping on a game face and have no tact at all. She displayed both. He didn't know what to make of her.

He sighed, realizing he'd been endlessly ruminating again, and as a result could feel that familiar tension of an oncoming headache in his forehead. He shook himself, as if that would dispel the strain, and tried to focus back on his work.

He'd made her his assistant for a reason, to keep an eye on her, and to an extent her friend. He'd figure out their intentions soon enough, he'd just need to interact with her more.

~ ~ ~

Everything Tag: @damerondala, @dangerousstrawberrypie, @fallingforthem, @harleyevanstan, @imabeautifulbutterfly, @justanothersadperson93, @misogirl828, @itsagrimm, @error6gendernotfound, @theroguesully, @clonesimp, @techie-bear, @sleepycreativewriter

Baddies Tag: @call-me-a-fool, @theclonesdeservebetter, @the-mom-friend-dot-com, @pickle-rick-y, @Frost.Bytten (won't let me tag you 😢)

(Join my tag list here) (Or message me if you already filled out and would like to be added to this new fic)

[allthedoorsareopennow]

Hereward The Wake and the story behind it!!

more research has occurred

so, background info:

- Hereward the Wake (also known as Hereward the Outlaw or Hereward the Exiled) was probably a real person, a landowning noble who (according to Gesta Herewardia) was exiled by the king (Edward the Confessor) at 18, then later led a local resistance to the invading Norman forces

- there are several accounts of Hereward’s life and story, many of which have fantastical elements suggesting that at least some parts are unreliable and inaccurate

- the most detailed account of Hereward’s life is Gesta Herewardia

- there was also a fictional 1886 book written about him, which was what is believed to have raised him to his current romantic, legendary status

- there was a bbc show about him in the 70s, which the bbc destroyed after broadcasting, so it is now lost media

lyrics

‘A child he of noble stock’ stories say he was a noble and there is evidence of a man called Hereward owning land in around that place at around that time

‘Held up a holy man who chose to flash his wealth around’ it appears he held land from abbeys and parishes, which could link to the ‘holy’ bit

‘But for his crime was exiled, sent out into the wild’ according to Gesta Herewardia, he was exiled for disobedience to his father and disruptive behaviour

‘Along his way he came across a princess duty bound/And saved her from betrothal to the master of the hounds’ Gesta Herewardia claims that in the intervening years after his exile, Hereward rescues a Cornish princess from an unwanted marriage. due to this part’s fantastical nature, it is believed this did not happen.

‘She asked that he would stay a while and she would be his bride’ I cannot find accounts of this, in most versions Hereward marries Turfida, a separate woman, who fell in love with him after hearing about his exploits

‘But he loved his servant Martin, so they left her far behind’ most accounts do mention that Hereward has a dedicated servant called Martin Lightfoot, though I can find little more about him

‘On every station, men and dogs, they rallied to his band/They joined him on an asteroid, where they could make their stand’ this probably refers to Hereward and others gathering in the Isle of Ely to fight back against the Normans

the tyrant likely refers to William the Conqueror

‘Until at last a holy man betrayed the safe way down’ the Normans bribed local monks, who told them a safe way across the marsh, allowing the Normans to capture Ely

‘They say that Hereward escaped, for his corpse was never found’ Hereward and some of his followers supposedly escaped into the wild fenlands and continued their resistance against the Normans. this escape is mentioned in all the earliest sources

‘Also he fought a bear’ this refers to an earlier part of a story, after his exile but before the battle at Ely, in which some accounts claim he fought an enormous bear. this is believed to be false.

I haven’t really talked about the chorus because it mostly details how Hereward is scary and a good fighter

I hope this was interesting :)

[ezrisdax-archive]

Beauty and the Borg – A B7 Shipper’s Manifesto

So. We’ve come here in my life where I just need to talk about ships I love and everyone has to see this. Only not but whatever. I’m gonna try to break this down old school in how I remember shippers manifestos in livejournal days, complete with images. And thus to begin:

What is Star Trek: Voyager?

Unless you live under a rock you’ve probably just heard of Star Trek, maybe not watched it but heard of it. Starting in 1966 the Original Series was released, ran for three years, was canceled due to an infamous error in Neilson ratings and established the franchise. There was an animated series people often forget about, six movies for the Original series, and then in 1987 they brought it back as a live action show called Star Trek: The Next Generation. It did so well and engrained itself in the conscious of many people that they often refer to it as the best Trek but believe me that’s a debate on it’s own. And thus had it’s own spin off, Deep Space Nine in 1993. While not as popular as TNG it’s grouped into what people call the 90s Trek. With the last one being the last spin off in 1995: Star Trek: Voyager.

Where DS9 introduced the first black captain (though it took three years for him to get that promotion, boo), VOY introduced the first female captain lead of a Star Trek series. The premise of the show was that on a hunt for some resistance fighters both ships are pulled through the Alpha Quadrant to the Delta Quadrant. Approximately seventy-thousand light years from home. Due to the choice made by the captain, Kathryn Janeway, they are then stranded there and the crews of the ships band together on Voyager to make their way back to the Alpha Quadrant and get home.

That’s an extreme simplification but basically Lost in Space for Star Trek.

And that leads us to the characters of this essay:

B’Elanna Torres - The Engineer Who Built This Society

A half-human, half-klingon Maquis born to John Torres (human) and Miral (Klingon). She and her mother were the only Klingons on the colony where they lived and as such B’Elanna was teased and made fun of at school. Her father eventually couldn’t take being married to a Klingon and left her and her mother, an incident which left B’Elanna worrying was her fault being half Klingon.. She was then raised on the Klingon homeworld until she left to join Starfleet Academy…

And quit it.

Basically she couldn’t find herself fitting in yet again and left to once again find her place which brought her to the Maquis.

The Maquis were a group of resistance fighters, depending who you ask of course, that fought for the freedom of species, mostly Bajor, from Cardassian rule. They were considered to be a threat by the Federation and hunted down by both Cardassians and the Federation. B’Elanna was only in the group roughly for a year before the incident that stranded them in the Delta Quadrant occurred. She did think of that group as her family though and felt both indebted to them and loved them.

While on Voyager she became Chief Engineer and was damn fucking good at it but let’s get into the heart of her character here. B’Elanna suffers from depression over the course of the series and self doubt when it comes to herself while not at the job. She pushes people away while simultaneously hoping they’ll stay anyway.

She pushes herself to her limits, trying to see if she’s enough and never really finding that answer. She also struggles with a connection to both her parents and her cultures; coming more to terms with the Klingon culture as time goes on and also striking up conversation with her father again. She’s also a big romantic who reads romance novels.

Tragically that kicks off her romance with Tom Paris and they eventually get married and have a kid together and even then B’Elanna worries for her child who will still look Klingon. She doesn’t want her kid to have to go through what she did and suffer for it. In the end she chooses to accept her child will look like her as a Klingon but it’s clear the thought will linger on for her regardless.

She’s blunt and sarcastic and brash, takes no shit, and loves her friends very very deeply.

 Seven of Nine - What I Want is to be Useful

Seven of Nine didn’t come in until season 4 of Voyager. Basically here because of sexism and the writers wanting that sweet sweet sex appeal. She was a human, once called Annika Hansen born to Magnus and Erin Hansen. Her parents were scientists who were studying the Borg and took their daughter along with them for…reasons. Look it wasn’t very smart. 

Lo and behold the Borg caught on to the fact they were being watched and assimilated Seven and her family. At the time she was only six and thus spent most of her life in a borg cube, as such she has a…unique take on cultures.

She ended up on Voyager because Voyager made a deal with the Borg to get through their area of space. Then Janeway cut her connection to the Borg and Seven was left floundering and suddenly alone. The Borg are a hive mind type species and she’d had that for over twenty years of her life. The shock left her reeling though she’d hardly admit it.

Seven is a complicated character in a lot of aspects, the series generally tries to explore her gaining her independence and learning about herself and where she fits in. It’s not perfect and often clumsily written, especially when it comes to the Doctor teaching her. They do push a lot of gender ideas as well which haven’t aged well. And leave her in those terrible catsuits. She also, due to her stubbornness, butts heads with a lot of the characters as she’s trying to figure this out.

(Seven also shows up later in the Picard series but I am only talking about her as she pertains to Voyager in this essay.) 

Unlike B’Elanna she’s not really a romantic though the show does give her romance options including setting her up with Chakotay right at the end for…also reasons. And where B’Elanna only takes the mother position towards the end of the show Seven actually has a character who is like her son, another ex-Borg named Icheb introduced in season 6. As well as looking after Naomi Wildman (first baby on Voyager, we all love her) who she admits is family.

For all the imperfect writing they have about her I’ll give them that.

Seven is logical and cold, sure in her abilities and has a drive for perfection.

A Collective of Two - B7

To say these two don’t get along at first is an understatement. B’Elanna is mistrusting of Seven and Seven looks down on B’Elanna. They both see each other as stubborn and rude and want the other out of the way while they work (See Scientific Measure in which they argue in a Jefferies Tube and Message in a Bottle where B’Elanna does a full call out on Seven). At one point (Day of Honor) B’Elanna even asks Seven if she regrets everything she did as Borg, assimilating other cultures, and Seven says no. Granted if she asked that again to season seven Seven (har har) the answer would be far more complicated. 

Seven comes to value her independence and individuality across the series. She comes to see the Voyager crew as her collective. In one episode (called One, I’m on a roll here, let me have this.) Seven is left alone while the rest of the crew is in stasis. The EMH is around but even he gets disrupted and Seven is by herself on the ship with only her hallucinations and herself to talk to. It’s the end of the episode that stands out here.

In the beginning of the episode she approaches B’Elanna and Harry and well, annoys them. She doesn’t see an issue with this and is not here for friendship. The end of the episode she approaches them again, and I guess Tom is there too, whatever, and asks to sit with them. When they say yes she sits down next to B’Elanna and admits she felt the need for companionship. It’s a huge step with Seven seeking others out. 

On the other side is B’Elanna the episode right before that, Demon. She isn’t allowed to go down to a planet to look for her friends because Chakotay is worried she isn’t a ‘cool head’ that’s needed for this assignment. After a bit of a fight it’s then that B’Elanna requests Seven go then in her place, after all “Nobody’s head is cooler than hers”. An insult and a compliment in one, B’Elanna and Seven’s relationship in a nutshell. But the point here is that B’Elanna has come to trust Seven. Towards the end of season four there’s a measure of respect between them and acknowledgement of each other’s skills.

(Also see Message in a Bottle, when B’Elanna first approves of a plan Seven sets forth. And waits till no one is in the room to see her do it.)

Which brings us to the end of season four. Voyager has potentially found a way home (spoiler alert: there’s three more seasons. They have not.) and at one point B’Elanna and Seven are working together on the other ship which prompts a conversation about Earth. Seven during the conversation points out that B’Elanna seems eager to return, which B’Elanna denies. Then as Seven says it “You were a member of the Maquis. Starfleet Command will no doubt hold you responsible for a multitude of crimes. You will find nothing on Earth but adversity.” And we get the following scene:

Of course then B’Elanna plays it off as a joke later but the line still stands out to me. It truly does show how the two of them view themselves. B’Elanna isn’t accepted because she’s half-Klingon or because she’s a Maquis. Seven isn’t accepted because she’s ex-Borg or, in the words of B’Elanna, she’s rude. While they’ve carved out an area of acceptance on Voyager that doesn’t mean it extends beyond that. 

Earth is an unknown for the both of them at this time. They’re more alike and are starting to see that even if they won’t admit it. Yet.

Of course, they’re also still not about to admit it in season five.

Season five has a…bad episode in it called Infinite Regress that regrettably I have to talk about. In it Seven is taking on other personalities from people who she assimilated over the years. At one point she takes on a male Klingon and, well. Tries to mate with B’Elanna which includes biting her on her cheek. The only saving factor of that episode is that it starts the Seven and Naomi friendship and also this line:

That’s it.

Honestly season five isn’t the best for B7 stuff, there’s a few scenes like in Extreme Risk when B’Elanna is going through some major depression and Seven comes to her to discuss a project or even in the Course: Oblivion episode though sadly that’s not actually them but clone selves. And I say that with an absolute straight face even as a snicker about it. Turns out you can forget you’re a clone but can’t forget you’ve got chemistry with each other.

Sure girl. Tell her that after she just got married, just say you wanna open her relationship to include you already. 

There is however one fun and stand out scene towards the end of season five, see it turns out Seven has been stalking B’Elanna (and Tom) to study mating rituals. Honestly, worst choice there, Seven. Needless to say, B’Elanna notices and doesn’t take this “study” well.

It’s nice to see not all the antagonism is gone. But they still have time to reach an understanding! Sorta. Also that episode is Someone to Watch Over Me. Don’t watch it, that’s the only good scene.

I gotta add one scene however from Relativity even if B’Elanna isn’t in the scene herself. Tom approaches Seven to team up for a ping pong match and of course Seven isn’t interested. Until B’Elanna is brought up.

Like Seven. Babe just say you wanna impress B’Elanna.

And thus we go to season six.

Okay I’ll be honest, this season doesn’t have a lot for them either. Season four and seven are standouts in their interactions imo. And since this is my essay it’s all my opinion. I blame the het ships they were both forced in. 

But in Survival Instinct they do get a nice scene together. In the episode Seven is suffering having come into contact with her old unimatrix and remembering something she did. She can’t fully piece it all together and it’s shaken her up. At one point B’Elanna tries to comfort her while they’re going over data and Seven snaps back that she has no feelings about the past. And then clearly regrets it, something season four Seven absolutely wouldn’t care about.

It’s a show of how far they’ve both come. B’Elanna offering comfort to Seven and Seven acknowledging that her words hurt B’Elanna. It’s a small subtle scene that makes me really happy.

There’s a few other scenes here and there too, in The Voyager Conspiracy Seven once comms B’Elanna right as she wakes up and I just find that funny. Like sure, don’t wait till you’re on shift. A moment in Tsunkatse where B’Elanna jokes about Borgs and fun to Seven. And then in Fury when Kes gets to engineering there’s a blink and you’ll miss it scene where B’Elanna reaches back to pass Seven a phaser and they’re both just very in sync in the scene. And then B’Elanna dies and Seven sees it :( at least it’s all undone in the end. She’s fine. Death in Star Trek: Voyager is a punch card honestly; punch it ten times and get a free replacement from another reality. (Sorry Harry)

That ties up that season in a tragically low point for them but that’s okay because it’s season seven.

Season seven was the last one Voyager had. B’Elanna marries Tom and gets pregnant, Seven gets into a bit of a rushed relationship with Chakotay right at the end. Voyager finally gets home but these two are gay between them and the joke’s on the Voyager writers. Unlike them I can pretend Tom/B’Elanna never happened at all.

Right at the start is the episode Imperfection where a Borg implant Seven has is failing and she must face the fact she might die. In response she chooses to work, as she says “What I want is to be useful.” And for that she chooses not to go to her usual post in Astrometrics but to hide out in Engineering. So I could infer that Engineering, and thus B’Elanna who is in charge of it, is a safe space for her. That’s made even more clear when B’Elanna finds her and they have a talk about life and legacy.

It’s an incredibly soft and meaningful scene, where B’Elanna expresses that Seven has made an impact on everyone (herself quietly included). It’s interrupted by the Doctor finding them but that leads to B’Elanna coming to Seven’s defense and saying she can stay in Engineering. B’Elanna will keep an eye on her.

Unlike at the end of season four where B’Elanna lumps them together as outcasts and then jokes about it, this time she is completely serious. She has Seven’s back, they are “[the] difficult patients” who are in this together after all. Sadly that’s the last they interact this episode however brief it was it really goes to show how they’ve come together as a unit and a friendship. 

There’s a few more scattered moments in season seven episodes, in Drive Seven is the one who convinces B’Elanna to accept Tom’s hobbies. Like she needs to. Look I’m not bitter (lies). In Lineage when B’Elanna finds out she’s pregnant and stumbles Seven is the one to reach out to steady her and deliver that news to her. It’s almost funny that Icheb is also there and once had a crush on B’Elanna, like wrong ex-Borg Voyager writers.

This does lead us to Human Error though, which has quite a few more moments with them but also sadly the last time they really interact. 

In the episode Seven has been taking advantage of the holodeck to imagine different moments, including herself without Borg implants. One of the moments is B’Elanna’s baby shower though they don’t interact there. Instead Seven misses the real baby shower and awkwardly arrives at engineering with a belated gift for B’Elanna.

It’s cute, Seven’s really trying to connect here. And then keeps trying to connect.

Girl…I don’t have time (okay I do) to explain how gay this is. Seven could have chosen anyone on the ship and choses to try to connect with B’Elanna here. Including noting her appearance and asking about it. Of course the funniest thing is B’Elanna’s side eye after the fact.

Of course the scene is meant to be humorous, look how Seven once again struggles to connect to people but I chose to take it at face value here. Every other time it’s been B’Elanna reaching out to connect with Seven and this time it’s Seven reaching out to connect with her. They’re both trying in their own weird way. 

The episode ends without further interaction but there is one moment at the end:

Like the Tom moment above I just think it’s funny that people are out here like ‘no Seven you should come. B’Elanna is there :)’ 

And that’s it. That’s the B7 in canon moments broken down. So let’s talk more about them because I can’t shut up.

Okay so like…why? 

For the past oh…seven years I’ve been talking about B7 on my blog probably too much. I just think they’re neat! But now comes the time to explain that and I’m not the best at words but I’ll try.

For me it’s about the mirror they are to each other. Both are characters struggling with identity and where they fit in in a world that doesn’t want to fit them in. They’re extremely capable and smart but flawed. Whether the show writers realized it or not they made these two characters so similar and set up exploration of that and then just…never delivered.

I want the exploration there, I want to dive into what it means to see someone as a reflection of yourself but then acknowledge the good parts they have like when B’Elanna encourages Seven about her legacy and what an impact she has. Does she know that she has that same legacy? Does she even know she has those same doubts?

For two characters who are vastly different in personality there’s just so much they share and can share. They’re both disillusioned with Starfleet and people and yet trying. They’re put into boxes by society and just can’t fit. They’re done bad by the writers in pretty fucking horrible effect. 

There’s a trilogy of books called Voyager String Theory, really only the first two are important in the context of B7 though. In the first book they crash land on a planet and at one point Seven has to give B’Elanna some borg nanoprobes to help her heal.

“We would be the collective- a collective of two.” Seven tells her. That alone struck me as how the two of them could be. Outcasts together. Difficult Patients. A Collective of Two. 

(Also that book has a lot more gay points in it, please read it:

Like, c’mon.)

It shows the potential of them and while Picard really killed, hm, a lot of things, I always wanted to imagine a future where they got back to Earth and were that Collective. Dealing with this new area together. Oh sure they’d get on each other’s nerves, part of the fun for me is that I don’t think they’d ever really lose that antagonism, but after everything they’ve been through you can see how they’ve come to respect and count on each other. 

TL;DR…90s trek writers accidentally made it gay again.

Supplemental

I’ll be honest, I have a tendency not to read fics of pairing I myself write because I’m terrified I might subconsciously take something from another writer without even realizing it in that same area of fanfic. So instead I’ll rely on two others fic rec lists:

https://trillscienceofficer.tumblr.com/post/706359122066636800/trillscienceofficers-belannaseven-fic-rec-list

https://punkbxt.tumblr.com/post/622585834575626240/b7-fics-that-i-read-over-and-over-again-without

I am in fact on there twice (favourites and you’ve got my number are mine) sooo feel free to ignore those if you’ve had enough of my writing at this point.

For other things I’d suggest punkbxt on tumblr for their amazing b7 art and comics. Again please read Voyager: String Theory at least the first book. It is gay. 

There are also far far better people at putting things into words then me on good old hellsite dot com so honestly just go through the b7 tag. I wouldn’t recommend the character tags themselves though. Trust me.

If you made it this far then thank you for reading and I hope I could nudge you a little bit in the B7 direction (and thanks to @trillscienceofficer​ for all the help on this). Live fast and prosper~

[sytokun]

Art by Mikkusushi on Twitter.

I've been sort of entertaining this idea for a while now. Knowing all the unfortunate baggage and mishandling involved with the White Fang, why not just. Make them the good guys?

Say an official rewrite or reboot of RWBY exists in the future - if those two words rub you the wrong way then whatever, basically a clean slate or re-adaptation of RWBY - the fact stands that the White Fang need a heavy revision.

People are smart enough at this point to know that you shouldn't be villainising the oppressed group trying to fight back against a world that is actively pushing them out - if anything the SDC should be more of a antagonistic faction, kind of like the Shinra corporation from Final Fantasy 7 which RWBY is clearly heavily based on, what with Dust and Materia and all that. But that still leaves you with the White Fang and Blake's arc to write.

This has been a large headache point for anyone trying to figure out how to revise RWBY's more fundamental writing flaws, because the WF are such a prominent antagonist faction throughout the Beacon arc and they were such a problem that CRWBY had no choice but to sweep them under the rug entirely after Adam's death. But hear me out here. Do we really need to latch onto that idea so hard? That the White Fang need to be villains?

Like, imagine a RWBY where the White Fang are shown as terrorists on TV and in newspapers throughout Vale, but when you actually meet them, they're a ragtag band of freedom fighters. They're like Avalanche from FF7; the freedom fighters from Sonic SatAM; you start to realise that they're the good guys. They're the embodiment of Chaotic Good or at worst, Chaotic Neutral.

In any other show they'd be the Resistance, the Rebels against an evil corporate empire - they're just not in the main point of view of the story. Going off this change in perception, one would then rewrite everything else based off that foundation.

Putting aside Adam, Ilia and others simply because they're all supplemental to Blake's arc, where does Miss Belladonna herself fit into this?

If we want to keep her backstory as a person atoning for a dark past, then the WF would be more grey in response, but still not outright evil. Revolution is not without sacrifice, and when you're fighting for drastic societal change, conflict is inevitable. While they may fight for a good cause, not everyone has the will or strength to fight, to endure the monumental societal backlash and opposition. Perhaps Blake was one of those people - jaded and burnt out by the never-ending struggle to be heard, losing hope that change would ever be possible - so she runs away in hopes of finding herself, only to be scooped up into Beacon instead.

What would she feel, fighting for the side that, while may not have oppressed the Faunus directly, have remained ambivalent and blind to their struggles? Hunters who claim to fight for human and Faunus alike, but who clearly have more humans in their ranks and would choose to rather save a prosperous human city over a struggling Faunus slum? Would living among humans change her outlook on the fight, where she's torn between reclaiming the hard fight to preserve her own heritage, vs. a relatively comfortable new identity, but one that forces her to assimilate with humankind and live on their terms? Is there a way for her to reconcile these two sides of herself, these two families she's now a part of?

But let's not exclude other possibilities too. Assuming we have a Chaotic Good WF, what if Blake was actually proud to be part of the Fang, and enrolls into Beacon as an unashamed member? Her conflicts would then come from the people around her struggling to accept that - how would Weiss work with someone whose group keeps sabotaging their trains? How would Beacon deal with a public member of the Faunus liberation movement? Would some staunchly oppose her enrolment, while others see it as a possible bridge to better relations with the Faunus? How many Faunus would be inspired by Blake and look up to her as a Faunus-born Hunter, while others would decry and dismiss her as just a hollow figurehead and Remnant's equivalent of a diversity hire?

When seeing other rewrites or revisions of RWBY, I still mainly see people trying to work with the WF as given in canon. They still keep the activism turned to violence and extremism. The WF and thus a majority of Faunus are still portrayed as terrorists and cannon fodder for fights. But what if there's a better way of going about all this?

In the end, this is just an interesting thought exercise, but I leave you with this:

As Blake has said in the manga: "Fangs of pure white need not shed blood." Those words and the imagery they evoke have always stuck with me when I think about the White Fang and how Blake could have been written, and gives such a valuable insight to why the group was named the way it was.

What if they had never strayed from that name? What if they had not been treated by the story as just faceless enemies to mow down by the dozens... but as people from the very beginning?

[iamblue15]

Calamity Kids VS Kaiju (Kat Elliot)

*Pro

-Con

=Equal

(Kat will be at 50% power in this fight, but will go to 100% to even the playing field if needed.)

(She has a limited amount of time to defeat her opponent.)

Kat vs Camazotz

*Camazotz commands a whole army of smaller bat-like creatures to swarm and overwhelm his opponent(s).

*Can fly at high speeds rivaling that of fighter jets.

*His Sonic Screech can shatter entire buildings and cause great pain to equally powerful enemies like Kong.

*Has a tough durable hide that can resist some attacks.

*Has an advantage in dark caverns and uses echolocation.

-Can't stand bright light and loud sounds which can greatly disorient him.

-

*Kat can summon and command an army of demon roadies to counter Camazotz's Hellswarm. (Band of Hell-Raisers)

*Fires projectile lighting at long range with guitar. (Wicked Riffs)

*Can use said guitar(s) for close-range slicing and smashing attacks. (Battle Axis)

*Has her own form of Sonic Screech by generating a mic with amps. (Chaotic Vocals)

*Grows a pair of demon wings for a boost in speed and agility. (Damned Wings)

*If she harnesses enough energy, she can summon her giant inner monster to aid her in this fight. (Monster from Within)

*With her future vision, she can see and predict her opponent's next moves, but she can't completely control it thus making it unpredictable.

-Though it won't kill her, Camazotz's Sonic Screech can still badly disorient Kat if she's in range.

-Using Monster from Within costs her a great deal of energy and becomes fatigued after use.

[girlactionfigure]

Resistance Fighter – Nancy Wake

She killed a Nazi with her bare hands.

Nancy Wake was a gutsy journalist from Australia who became a leader of the Allied resistance and killed a Nazi with her bare hands.

Born in New Zealand in 1912, Nancy was raised in Sydney. She ran away from home at age 16 and went to London, where she became a self-taught journalist.

As a young woman, Nancy described herself as someone who loved nothing more than a “good drink and handsome men, especially French men.” In 1930 she married Henri Edmond Fiocca, a wealthy French industrialist.

During the 1930’s Nancy worked for Hearst newspapers as a European correspondent. Stationed in Vienna, Nancy witnessed the rise of Nazism. She was shocked to see roving gangs of Nazis beating up Jews, and never forgot the sight of Jews chained to massive wheels and rolled through the streets. She later said, “I resolved there and then that if I ever had the chance I would do anything to make things more difficult for their rotten party.”

Nancy became a courier for the French resistance. Speaking perfect French, she worked with the “maquis” – guerrilla bands of resistance fighters. After Germany invaded France, she helped Allied POW’s and other personnel escape the country.

The Gestapo called Nancy the “White Mouse.” They tapped her phone and intercepted her mail. Nancy’s life was in constant danger.

Nancy described her method of avoiding detection by the Germans: “A little powder and a little drink on the way, and I’d pass their German posts and wink and say, ‘Do you want to search me?’ God, what a flirtatious little bastard I was.”

Nancy led repeated attacks on Gestapo headquarters. By 1943, she was the most wanted resistance fighter, with a 5 million franc price on her head.

After Nancy’s maquis network was betrayed, she fled France. Her husband stayed behind, and he was captured, tortured and killed by the Gestapo. Nancy, on her way across the Pyrenees to Spain, was unaware of her husband’s death until after the war.

In 1944, Nancy parachuted into France. Her assignment involved collecting and distributing arms and equipment that were sent in by parachute. Nancy was a highly successful recruiter, and is credited with bringing 7500 fighters into the resistance.

From April 1944 until the liberation of France in August 1944, Nancy’s band of maquisards fought 22,000 German soldiers, causing 1400 casualties while sustaining only 100 of their own.

At one point, Nancy killed an SS guard with her bare hands to stop him from raising the alarm during a raid. She later described how she did it, “They’d taught this judo-chop stuff with the flat of the hand at SOE [special operations training] and I practiced away at it. But this was the only time I used it – whack – and it killed him all right. I was really surprised.”

Another time, Nancy’s wireless operator was shut down in a German raid, and she rode her bicycle over 300 miles through German checkpoints to deliver the secret codes.

After the war, Nancy was awarded the United States Medal of Freedom, the Medaille de la Resistance, and the Croix de Guerre, among many other honors.

Nancy continued to work as an intelligence agent. She married a Royal Air Force officer in 1957 and for the next several decades they divided their time between London and Australia. Nancy’s autobiography, The White Mouse, was published in 1985 and became a bestseller.

Nancy’s husband died in 2001, and she returned to London permanently. She lived at the Stafford Hotel near Picadilly, her expenses largely paid for by the hotel’s owners, who were honored to host a renowned heroine. She could be found every morning at the hotel bar, drinking her first gin and tonic of the day.

Nancy died in 2011 at age 98. Her remarkable story has been the subject of multiple biographies and television mini-series.

For fighting the good fight against the Nazi war machine, we honor Nancy Wake as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[dhr-ao3]

Ringmaster

Ringmaster https://ift.tt/CAVs0FR by Wheredoesshego She is the Ringmaster’s most prized possession, the circus’s star act. A beautiful woman, one who is said to possess magical abilities. He keeps her locked away, he is obsessive, possessive. Because he knows they are looking for her. Hermione Granger is one of the few survivors of a devastating attack on Wizarding Britain, her Muggleborn status the only thing that kept her alive. But now she is being held captive, exploited for her magical abilities. Draco Malfoy also survived the attack, and he leads a band of resistance fighters, searching Muggle Britain for survivors. When he finds Hermione, he promises her he can find a way to set her free, but the Ringmaster will not let her go without a fight. Words: 2898, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger's Mother, Hermione Granger's Father, Pansy Parkinson, Padma Patil, Parvati Patil, Charlie Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: POV Hermione Granger, POV Draco Malfoy, rape/non con references (Not between Hermione and Draco), Muggle/Wizard Relations, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Forced Relationship, Prostitution, Morally Ambiguous Character, Imprisonment, Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/Cn48rJZ September 01, 2024 at 02:55AM

[ihatemyselfandwanttodiexxx]

Faith Seed x reader

Basically what this is

So I want to smoke weed with faith, and yes I'm high rn so this may be peak of my writing capabilities lmaoo also reader hasn't smoked with faith yet so you just hang out with her

You lay on the bed bored and Faith walks over to you and greets you by saying "hey sweetie! I'm home for a while so what do you want to do?" You grinned and asked her "I have some weed, so do you want to smoke?" The blondes face lights up and she says "can we hang out in the car and stop by the store and park by dead man's river!?" You laugh and reply "yeah, babe we can do whatever you want, put something other than that dress on so the resistance doesn't think you're going to hurt them" she runs to her closet, mostly full of band shirts that she stole from you and your hoodies a few minutes later she walked out wearing a (favorite band) shirt, jeans, and one of your hoodies wrapped around her waist, of course your clothes are oversized on her, but she loved them and you love seeing her happy. You grabbed your phone, weed, and speaker and went to the car you got into the driver seat and drove to a gas station and you both got out of the car you sent her to get snacks, and you got (favorite drink) and her favorite drink Faith walked up to you with her arms full of your and hers favorite candies and chips. You put walked to the front and bought your items, then went to the car driving to the river you pulled out your speaker and your Spotify to play some music, then got your bowl out. You both smoked in the back seat under a blanket you were both stoned and when her favorite songs came up she pulled you out of the car to dance (pick one of these bc they're amazing) STORY CONTINUES ⬇️

You held Faith with your arms around her waist and her arms were around your neck, slow dancing next to the body of water, falling in love all over again, you stared into her eyes and thought about how lucky you are to have her and pulled her in closer, telling her how much you appreciate her and you pulled her into a slow kiss, just savoring this moment in your mind, she sat down in the grass, and ate a handful of candy, you knew some people would say that she's beautiful in her dress and when she's all dolled up, but you love this, her wearing your clothes smiling and listening to amazing music, you love her, and always will, you'd never do anything to hurt her and will destroy anyone who does, you may not believe in edens gate, but you joined for her and will stay unless she wants to leave, you ask her to go into the car and she does, you and her sit together and start making out under a blanket music still blasting, you were both content the weed enhanced the euphoria you both felt, you wished this moment could last forever.

Hi people, I am so so sorry I haven't posted fics in a while I've just had life stuff and my ex girlfriend was a cheating hoe so yeah sorry bros but requests open please send some

[hpdabbles]

Chains were my Home.

@ironicallypresant said:

Regulus turns James to the dark side and raises Harry 👀

Regulus smiles as Harry runs across the yard, a kite charmed to follow his toy wand as he waves it up and over. His son's laughter echoes through the green hills, overlapping with the wind blowing gently through the green trees and the dancing flowers.

It's nothing like the sound of the city where Regulus grew up. No muggles with their loud machine zooming by the street at odd hours, no constant rain downpouring, and no grey drop back to merry old London. Regulus adores their country home, colorful, bright, and utterly alone.

He leans back, closing his eyes, to feel the wind on his face enjoying their well-earned peace. He opens them to watch his son giggle to himself as he slashes the air with his toy, the kite following the movement only seconds after. Harry stops and runs back, squealing with laughter.

"He seems to be enjoying himself," James says with amusement. Regulus turns to watch his husband leave the kitchen carrying their lunch on a tray. It looks like some sandwiches and a large pitcher of juice. A few sheep made of broccoli are piled on one side of a plate- James' latest attempt to convince Harry to eat his vegetables.

Harry won't eat those. He'll just play farmer with them. Regulus thinks, amused but keeps that bit of information to himself. He instead sits up, curling his legs towards him on the lodging chair, as James quickly sits up a table for them. He's not wearing a shirt, and Regulus' eyes run appreciative over his body.

His eyes trace the Dark Mark on James' forearm before dropping to the add-ons chains that wrap around James' torso. He adores those chains and loves tracing them with his fingers and tongue when Harry sleeps because they are physical evidence that James is his.

James Potter's tattooed chains, which originate from the Dark Mark, are why he will never be able to step one foot off the ten acres of land the Dark Lord graciously let them live on. His son has a similar ward inked onto his skin, but Harry's originates from the collar-like band around his neck- a Mark all unpure blood must wear under Lord Voldemort's rule.

Harry is a half-blood due to his Mudblood mother, whom Regulus made disappear only hours after she gave birth to his son. She did put up one hell of a duel, but ultimately she had been too weak to fight him off, and she died in the hospital wing for new mothers.

As far as James knows, that magic-stealer died in childbirth, and while he struggled to love the cause of her so-called death- poor little Harry had to earn his father's love- Regulus had appeared to support him in his darkest time.

Turning him to the dark while he helped put James back together again made sense. He was everything the other man needed, and only a few sweet words had him seeing that Lord Voldemort was trying to save magic from the unpure.

Harry is unpure- a half-blood, so he had to be branded. Of course, Regulus took him in and made him a son rather than the slave other half-bloods were destined to be, but he always had a soft spot for his servants. It took James until Harry was five before he got over the child being the end of his wife and stopped glaring at the child. He even plays with him sometimes now.

It was only because Harry had started to copy Regulus that he finally saw his new pure-blooded partner in the miniature version of himself.

Regulus fought long and hard in the war, which meant he had some of the Dark Lord's ears. After killing his blood traitor of a brother and locating the hideout of the Order- a small group of resistance fighters Sirius had foolishly joined- he asked his great leader if he could retire to raise his family in peace.

Lord Voldemort allowed it under the condition James and Harry Potter would be cut off from the rest of the world. It suited Regulus just fine- at that point, James was a shell of who he once was, and Harry couldn't even form a sentence yet. He made the deal exchanging his ancestral home and all within it, was given this plot of land, and took his family to live in the countryside where the screams of war could not reach them.

Of course, he leaves it occasionally to attend Death Eater meetings, but with the fall of the ministry, there wasn't much who could stand in their way anymore.

His husband will never know what became of his once home- Regulus makes sure that he has no outside contact with the world. As far as James knew, the war still raged on and Regulus was bravely keeping them safe by venturing the battlefield for them. The chains were meant to hide and protect them, not keep them trapped there. He would die with that belief.

Regulus has killed for less after all.

(A few years later, he would wake to broken wards and his son stolen by the Boy-Who-Survives Neville Longbottom. Harry would break his heart, siding with Longbottom and ripping off his brand, snaring in his face that he would never be chained up again. James would be long dead, so at least he would not see their son become a bloody resistance fighter.)

[saiyanshewolf]

Rambling about D&D:

Our party ran away to the Orcish nation, because we are persona non grata everywhere else due to Mephistopheles turning them all against us despite everything we’ve done to assist them.

Our current mission is to ‘take care of’ a band of orcs who are causing problems for the greater Orcish nation by raiding and warring and engaging in otherwise ‘traditional’ Orcish behavior. The band had a sympathizer in the greater Orcish council who was more worried about their behavior leading danger to the main Orcish city than the behavior itself, which he considered to be in line with Orcish roots.

We were supposed to begin the session with combat against something like 18 orcs. The fight was scaled to level 10 and we were warned it was potentially deadly.

We’re a 5 person party with one NPC. Two of us are level 9 (construct warlock and wood elf druid), three of us are level 8 (aasimar monk/cleric, tiefling barbarian, human fighter/rogue). The monk and druid are a little squishy. We have no healer.

Misery, my tiefling wild magic barbarian, inadvertently derailed the entire fight by proposing she 1v1 the orc leader. I rolled an 18 to intimidate, and the orc accepted, so long as he got to choose the weapon, which ended up being bone naga gauntlets.

(This was a little scary, because Misery has a homebrew sentient weapon that scales with her as she levels, and he was Not Happy to be handed over to the fighter/rogue.)

To be honest, I got lucky af because we use a homebrewed wild magic table for the wild magic barbarian, and I rolled a 20, which let me determine which wild magic effect I wanted on each turn. I went with and stuck with one that gave me +2 AC and gave 2x my rage damage (so like…max 4) to anyone who hit me (this sounds unbalanced as fuck, but it is not, at least for our campaign; I’ve rolled a 20 on this table exactly twice in three years).

So Misery had a 25 initiative, 23 AC, rage-induced damage resistance, 113 HP, two attacks per turn, and any attacks that connected caused damage to the attacker.

The orc leader had a lower AC, but higher HP, could attack four times per turn, had a bonus action to kick or shove, AND resisted damage due to rage.

After leaping over a bonfire to start the fight by punching him in the face, getting a crit on a blow aimed at his crotch, and shaking off a hellacious crit to the gut (something like 40 damage in one blow) Misery managed to fight him down until he yielded. She was at 48 HP, which I think is about the lowest she’s ever gotten.

We then proceeded to derail our poor DM’s plans further, because instead of killing them, we solved the problem by introducing the orc war band to the concept of gladiatorial combat.

Now we just have to set up a gladiatorial combat system for the Orcish nation, and then we can get back to saving the world from Mephistopheles…maybe.

[mosses-gate-3]

Introduce me to your OCs because ice been scrolling too long to find them and i wanna know im nosy 😭

OKOK so all the posts i've made with them are under #bg3 tav and #moss says things and they also have individual tags you can search too-- #salix, #reneeginald, #andis, #monty, and #cesair.

but i can do a formal introduction as well if you'd like :D (also tagging @haterofastarion as per request)

Andis is my first proper tav oc and probably the one I put the most of myself into. He's a spore circle druid whose body, due to a series of medical mishaps, is now being slowly overtaken and replaced by this magical fungus. Basically he's turning into a myconid but retaining all the cognitive function. (can you tell I really like body horror...) He's around 27 ish and has been living in Baldur's Gate for the past several years after having escaped from the lab that had been running experiments on him post-fungal encounter. Currently he works as a waiter and plays drums in a small local band. Despite all the medical trauma he's probably the most well-adjusted of all of them. He's in a polycule with Wyll and Karlach.

Salix is my beloved psychic damage bard. She's a siren who was kidnapped from her birthplace and raised by an elven noble. She was married off to a man named Lord Helrien who had a ring made to suppress her magic, basically keeping her as a decoration for entertainment in his court. After about sixty years of marriage, she snapped and killed him. She's currently on the run from both the Fist and Helrien's more illicit associates. None of this is to say she's a particularly good person-- she's mean, manipulative, deliberately cruel at times and pushes people away on purpose. I call her my Vicious Mockery bard for a reason lol. Her relationship with Astarion is very interesting because of this since they both need something from each other (protection) and feed off each other's worst energy in the process but I won't get super into it because there's A LOT of lore.

Ren or Reneeginald is a half-drow artificer who's most definitely being haunted. Their ghost's name is Juniper Stormaven and she's a long-dead pirate captain who's trying to convince Ren to resurrect her. Juniper's death, or in this case lack of one, is tied very closely to the disappearance of Ren's twin sister Marcella a few years before the start of the game. There is incredibly complicated lore for this and I have a whole companion quest written out for how these things play out as well as multiple AUs including a TMA one so I won't get super into it but that's the gist. Ren can come off as pragmatic and stony-faced, but they're deeply creative and enjoy creating and building beautiful things. They're romancing Gale (and I have a lot of notes on their romance but again I won't get into it).

Monty is my favorite (and only) Durge! He's a dragonborn and very much cowboy-themed, he's one of my favorite character archetypes of "hot roguish traveling fighter with an alcoholism problem and a deeply rooted anger and pain just past the happy-go-lucky mask." Prior to the events of the game, he wandered around, fighting in cages and tournaments to try and sate the Bhaalspawn bloodlust. This earned him the title of the Man Mal Fet, or the Ill-Made Man- Arthurian legend reference!! Monty's theory is that it's better to give in to the urges while he's conscious and can choose who to kill than to try to resist and end up killing indiscriminately. I have a companion quest written out in which he's not a Bhaalspawn but a normal guy who's been cursed and/or has entered a pact that forces him to kill a certain amount of people in order to retain his free will because I like making original backstories for my characters.

Cesair is the bard I made for my multiplayer runthrough with my beloved ex wife @doomedpuppetyuri . He's a lying, conniving little bitch, or at least he used to be. He grew up an orphan on the streets of Baldur's Gate and learned to play music to feed himself and his siblings. He was hired to become a jester in the court of an evil king. For years he was in love with his new boss, but something horrible happened and he was exiled forever. Now he's attempting to be a good person out of spite for his ex. This is also why he doesn't listen to the Emperor; in any other circumstances he'd love to consume the tadpoles but his dream guardian looks too much like the evil king so he refuses to listen to them.