#and several of them are gen/no ship so I wouldn’t know how to sort of those into divided collections

[gaywarcriminals]

I’m thinking of posting some of my threadfics and ficlets to AO3, but idk the etiquette for that.

[systematicallycapricious]

[AoN] PxDN Lore Snippet: R-00 + R-01 Reactivation

Yep, I read Persona x Detective Naoto, and yep, I'm incorporating it into this story. Why? ‘Cause it’s not a bad read, and more importantly it’s got a lot of feasible world lore I can use to enrich the setting, of which I can do all sorts of fun stuff with. Also, Sousei and Sho share a lot of similarities in terms of circumstances and behaviors, so any chance for him and Sholar to cross paths has lots of fun potential as well, even if it's only once.

Anyway, this is just a little snippet from the full AoN-PxDN lore doc that I'm getting straightened-up, 'cause I'm excited about how nicely I got it to fit together. \o/

Spoilers for: Persona x Detective Naoto, Persona 3, Persona 4 Arena/Ultimax, and my fic "Apropos of Nothing" (very mildly though, otherwise I wouldn't be posting it xP)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(For quick reference, the R-series ASSW project spanned from roughly 2006 to 2009, with Sousei's run being from 2007-2008, Ai's spanning 2008-2009, and their endings being Yūri's death and Aigis's reactivation respectively. SEES is first founded in Spring 2006 (being Mit/Aki/Shinji), and P3 happens as normal from 2009-2010. The 7th Gen ASSW project also ended with the explosion & creation of the Dark Hour on Sept 10th, 1999.)

So, several times throughout 2011, Minazuki accesses Ikutsuki's isolated server + the Ergo database server in general, with the first instance of the latter catching the ShadOps/KJG's attention. A bit spooked by the unauthorized access, everything related to Ergo (both current and old) is given a thorough security check, resulting in the discovery of 3 ASSWs sitting around in storage, among other things.

(Note: the database server access happens differently in this AU, so up until now, Minazuki had been accessing the isolated server legitimately via Ikutsuki's whitelisted computer with admin credentials, and then attempted to access the general server with an unregistered device. I still have to learn how databases work though, so I might have to adjust that in the future.)

Pretty much no one seems to know much about this mysterious 5th Gen and two R-series androids, despite there actually being a decent bit on information on-file for the latter once they decrypted it, and so, alongside a bunch of other old Ergo artifacts, the three are shipped out to the Yakushima Ergo quarantine facility for inspection and threat assessment. Some of the staff who were cited to work on the R-series are also contacted by Mitsuru to get further information.

(Note: unlike OG, the transport goes smoothly, because canon-divergence. /o/)

Mr. Tsuge Tetsuma has been employed as a researcher in the Kirijo Ergonomics Robotics Division for a long time now, but more importantly since the R-Series project was abruptly halted and its products stuffed away into storage. Now, he was nowhere near happy about having to leave Sousei and Ai in there for all this time, mind you, but he didn't have the authority nor the opportunity to get them back out of storage on his own, and so it was all he could do to stick with the company until an opportunity might arise. Getting a phone call from Mitsuru provided one such opportunity.

With the aid of Tsuge, the three ASSWs are reactivated and inspected, and once Mitsuru learns that they're not threats and are sentient beings with "hearts" of their own, they're given official rank as auxiliary members in the ShadOps to keep Public Safety from trying to confiscate them on the grounds of being "highly dangerous weapons". And… I guess I haven't figured out the specifics beyond that point yet, like if they actually help out the ShadOps or not. I feel like they might given Sousei’s determination to prove his usefulness and Ai’s desire to help out overall, but Sousei’s determination to have a combat-type Persona might also undermine that? Anyway, Tsuge is also brought into the fold as an official ShadOps researcher and tasked with being the supervisor of the Kurogamis due to his past experiences and relations with them and their creator.

(Fun fact: the reactivation order goes Ai, Sousei, Labrys because they have more information on, and familiarity with, the R-series units than the 5th Gen unit, so there's less risk involved with activating the Kurogamis than there is with Labrys. (Plus, in the event that Labrys ends up being hostile or out of control, the Kurogamis could be called in to help suppress her.) Also, Tsuge knows that Sousei will be rowdier than Ai, so as one of the chief specialists on the team, he's making the executive decision to give the team the ‘easier’ one to start with, lol.)

A year passes (which is what makes up a lot of Sousei's impression of "smoldering away at a lab, not yet fulfilling his mission as a suppression weapon"), and in late 2012 the National Police Agency entreats the KJG for technological aid in civilian safety and law enforcement measures. With the Kurogamis’ robotic physique and Sousei’s Past Reading in mind, this opportunity gets presented to Tsuge and the Kurogamis, of which Tsuge eventually gets Sousei on board with when he learns that they can be stationed at Yagokoro's PD, where Aoi Touko works. Ai didn't really need a ton of convincing, being content to be wherever Tsuge and Sousei are and determined to help out where she can.

(Note: part of the "last year's brutal crimes" is influenced by the Inaba kidnapping and murder cases, as it caused quite a stir across the nation, though the other part is probably more mundane, non-magical crime. Also, other technology and robotics were implemented in other PD's across Japan, but Yagokoro was the only one to make use of ASSWs specifically.)

And from there, PxDN happens more-or-less as normal, although certain events may or may not have Naoto meet the Kurogamis and/or Tsuge before PxDN occurs. It depends on if they end up staying on Yakushima for the whole time or if they go to an Ergo or ShadOps facility on mainland Japan, and furthermore if it happens to be the one Naoto visits or not. Most likely, if they do cross paths at all, it'll be brief, or else an off-handed mention of them by someone else, but I'll have to see as I solidify more of that part of the timeline. P:

Also, Tsuge’s employment with the ShadOps lets him distribute Evokers to Touko and Naoto during PxDN’s events, perhaps special models more recently designed for use outside of the Dark Hour/CoUn, because they really shouldn’t be able to summon their Personas so casually in the conscious world. It’s somewhat believable for when Naoto Awakens to Amatsu Mikaboshi and when she’s trying to save Touko, given the circumstances, but outside of that. :P

[ask-hunterxhunter]

What would it be like being a next gen scarlet eye child in the care of Kurapika and how his parenting style would be? Btw I love your work so glad your back !

Kurapika

After he got over the shock and the questions (what, how, when), Kurapika would be nervous, worried, but also somewhat… Happy. Hopeful. He is unsure if he can (let alone should) take care of a child, not only due to his inexperience but also, what else, due to his job, his focus on revenge, so on. The Spiders are already out for his head, it would be dangerous for a child to be with him.

Still, just because he gets along with Gon and Killua, it doesn’t mean he knows how to take care of children! Especially if they are too young! How is he even supposed to do this???

At the same time, there is some relief in finding he’s not the only one left of the Kurta clan. Oh, he is not thinking in the lines of “hope to rebuild the clan” or anything of the sort, he is simply to know there is another Kurta. Yes, he has amazing friends, but that doesn’t change there is a certain loneliness to be the only one left of your clan/family.

Kurapika would do his best to be a proper guardian, though the fact remains he doesn’t exactly have much experience. This awareness also makes him very uncertain. Also, depending on the child’s age and personality and how they ended up in Kurapika’s care, they might not be exactly having it easy either. If they are traumatized, Kurapika is not sure he can offer comfort. And while a toddler may not realize/care if he gets overprotective, an older child may find it annoying.

Note that while Kurapika would get overprotective at times, this doesn’t mean he would ignore teaching the child how to defend themselves if they are old enough to learn about Nen and fight techniques. During the training, the opposite would happen: Kurapika would be a demanding, strict teacher and might be a little too severe at times (due to his concern and his belief the child can always do better). He would never cross a line or “be too harsh”, but it would still be nice to have Leorio nearby sometimes just to give him a nudge and tell him to take it a little easier with the little dude.

Kurapika also wouldn’t neglect to tell them about the Kurta clan and everything he remembers of their traditions. No, it wouldn’t be with that “obsession vibe” some people may display on those occasions, it would be that natural, healthy way. It’s because he cares and feels the child has the right to learn about their culture. And Kurapika also has a special way of teaching about it as well. It’s not only sweet, but it’s also fascinating. And nice to see him talking more about his place of origin and culture.

Other than that, Kurapika would slowly get used to having a child around and learn how to best deal with them. The moments when they need discipline and the times they need to relax and just be children (who knows, he may even arrange to meet with Gon and Killua if the age gap isn’t too much). He wouldn’t feel comfortable taking them along during his jobs, but if it’s something that will take a long time (such as the deal with the ship), he would take them with the reminder that they shouldn’t stray away. Yeah, perhaps he could leave them with someone from the Zodiac or Leorio, but he knows he would get uncomfortable and worried and wouldn’t be able to focus.

Yeah, Kurapika would end up caught by the old “get attached to the kid and becomes a family” thing. Over time, as he gets more comfortable in this new role, he would probably develop a sort of “older brother-like” relationship with them.

And of course, may God have mercy on anyone, anyone, stupid enough to lay a hand on his kid.

[alderaani]

Family

Summary: Rex wakes up after leaving Saleucami to find Cody at his bedside, and has to grapple with meeting Cut Lawquane and what it means to be a clone. Gen fic, 2.4k of brother feels.

Part of my series 100 clone centric prompts, or readable on AO3 here.

A/N: Look nothing breaks my heart more than when Cut questions Rex about duty and he is SO quick to start talking about protecting his hypothetical children. I’ve been staring at this fic for three days and getting fed up of writing it, u know when you’ve just been staring at words so long they stop being words? So here it is, and i hope you like it!

The medbay lights were low when Rex woke. He knew where he was even before he opened his eyes, lulled by the ever-present rumble of the engines and the sharp smell of antiseptic. And sure enough, the Resolute took gentle shape around him, turning from smear to ship once he’d blinked the sleep away. His eyes always felt dry and sensitive after sedatives, painfully tight around the edges. For a moment he lay perfectly still, letting the galaxy trickle back in, sense by sense.

The bleep of a monitor, the stiff, starched edges of the sheet tucked up round his body. A warm, solid weight wrapped around his hand, the rumbling sound of someone snoring, the unnatural dryness of his mouth and the lingering taste of bacta on his tongue.

He looked down, then smothered a laugh. Cody was crumpled like discarded flimsi in a chair next to his bed, hunched so that his head and upper shoulders were wedged close to Rex’s thigh over the blankets. His nose was scrunched with sleep, the force of his soft snores dislodging the curls on his forehead with each puff of air. He still smelt like blaster residue and dust, and his cheek had left dark smudges on the sheet. There was a discarded datapad next to his head, glowing with soft blue light as it announced the arrival of several new messages. His hand was the heavy weight that Rex could feel, wound tight around his own. Cody had split his knuckles again, the skin around the thin cuts raised and puffy and glistening with freshly applied bacta.

Rex wasn’t sure when he’d gotten here, but it couldn’t have been too long, or someone would have bullied his brother into at least hitting the freshers.

He couldn’t remember making it to the rendezvous, the memories buried somewhere under the jarring bolts of pain from his chest and the way his arm stung like a nest of hornets as the nerves healed. Telling General Kenobi that he’d been on the mend hadn’t been a lie, per se, but even Rex could admit that he’d perhaps been stretching things. It was at least reassuring to know that he’d not fallen off his eopie and collapsed in some unremarkable patch of Saleucami’s farmland.

Rex stared around the familiar bay, struggling with the rush of relief and discomfiture that spread through his body. Nothing was out of place here; he could look around and know exactly what to expect, from the barracks to the bridge. He wanted to let it settle him the way it usually did, to let relief seep into his bones at another mission fought and – well, not won, but survived. This time it wouldn’t quite come.

It wasn’t because he’d been injured. That had happened more times than he had fingers. Maybe it was because The Resolute was the closest thing to a home that he had…and for the first time in his short life, he couldn’t help but find it a little lacking. He’d come back. That much was true, and he was glad of it. But there was some part of him that was still stranded on that farm on Saleucami, rooted there in the sound of children’s laughter and the humming of insects in the fields. He could still feel the pale sun beating down on his face, taste the sharp wind on his tongue, and was surprised to find it bound up in a small ache in his chest.

The blaster bolt would scar. So would this feeling. But neither would ever fully go away.

When Rex had told Cut that he’d never really thought about the names they gave each other, the individuality it bestowed upon each clone, he’d been telling the truth. It had simply never been a priority beyond a fleeting thought. There were always more important things to think about; they all knew that each brother was different, beyond name, station, hair colour or designation. To clones, those distinctions they chose for themselves were sacred. And that had always been enough, until now. The sight of one of their own framed in a farm-house door, children round his feet and a whole world under them…the possibility of it sat irreversibly inside him, a Pandora’s Box he’d never known could be opened.

Maybe he’d never thought about it before – but on some level now he always would.

That terrified him.

“Rex’ika?”

The fingers around his palm flexed, dragging him back to the present.

He glanced down to see Cody’s eyes fixed on his face, puffy but alert, his cheek creased where the sheets had pressed into them. His ori’vod jerked frantically into motion, pushing upright with a groan. Rex didn’t even have time to speak before Cody’s fist was colliding lightly with his shoulder.

“The kriff d’you let yourself get shot for?”

“Good to see you too, vod,” Rex grumbled, rotating his shoulder for show then actively wincing when the motion sent streaks of pain skittering from the crater in his chest.

He knew that Cody had seen it, because instantly his hand pushed him back firmly into the pillows, like if he didn’t hold him still Rex was going to try and escape somewhere.

“I’m alright,” he said after a moment, patting Cody’s hand a couple of times before his brother deemed fit to let go of him.

“Oh yeah? Because five hours ago you said that and then fell flat on your face.”

Rex grimaced. He couldn’t refute the claim because he didn’t know any better, and sadly from the bits of the journey he could recall, collapsing at the end of it was a distinct possibility. There was a familiar pinch between Cody’s eyebrows as he hovered, ready to manhandle Rex again if he felt it necessary. It was an expression that Rex knew intimately, because it only appeared when he’d worried him.

He’d been a scrappy cadet; never allowed anonymity because of his hair, defiance and recklessness had been a kind of defence mechanism. If he was going to be singled out, he could at least control the way it happened. The fourth time he’d been made to run so many laps that he vomited, he’d looked up, panting, to see Cody’s pinched face staring back. The commanding batches were only meant to supervise the punishments of the younger levels, but Cody had reached out a hand anyway and hauled Rex to his feet. He’d been the one to teach him that there were better ways to make himself untouchable.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Rex said, swiping his tongue over his dry bottom lip. “Tastes like Kix gave me the good stuff.”

Cody rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching into something fond. “He’s gonna kick your shebs, and I’m gonna let him. You should’ve seen his face when the General said you were on your way. The hells were you thinking, di’kut? We could’ve sent an escort.”

Rex felt his answering grin slide off his face at the thought, uncertainty settling back into his belly like lead. An escort would have had to come to the farm, and in turn would have seen the deserter. Some not insignificant part of him felt almost affronted at what Cut had done, even as he didn’t regret keeping his secret. It ground against what they’d been taught about themselves, against what had been built into their DNA. It didn’t matter whether they liked war the same way it didn’t matter whether they liked the colour of their eyes. It was what it was.

But Rex could comprehend turning his back on that, even if he didn’t understand. What was harder to fathom, with Cody’s hand anchoring his own, palm sweaty with relief that his ori’vod wouldn’t voice, was being alone. The idea of saying ‘family’ and not meaning a face just like his own. The thought of being cut off from the vode, from the invisible threads of brotherhood that transcended them all…it was an alien thing, sharp and unpleasant.

“It was for the best,” he said to Cody, a beat too slowly. “The farmer who put me up…he wasn’t the friendliest sort.”

Cody’s gaze sharpened. “Anti-clone?”

Rex very nearly laughed. “No, just the over-cautious type. He didn’t want the war on his doorstep.”

Cody paused for one very long moment, surveying Rex with eyes that always unearthed everything he wanted to hide. He would have been more worried, had he not been quite confident that Cut Lawquane was unpredictable.

“Then why are there hand-print bruises on your neck, Rex?”

Reflexively, Rex reached for his throat, running his fingers gingerly over the puffy skin. He hadn’t realised that they were there, but immediately the sensation of dangling by his throat came back to him.

“I got throttled by a commando droid, that’s why. Turns out the farmer didn’t get a whole lotta say about some landin’ in his field. We handled it.”

Cody swore, his hand tightening around Rex’s again. “Just couldn’t miss out on the action, could you vod’ika? Gettin’ shot wasn’t enough?”

Rex grinned, shrugging a little. “How else am I gonna give you grey hairs? Me ‘n Wolffe have still got that bet going about which marshal commander it’ll be first, you or Fox. And I’ve gotta make up for the whole Senate somehow.”

“Unbelievable,” Cody growled, shoving Rex’s hand away and running a hand over his head. “Throwing the odds is illegal, Chakaar. What did he wager? Corellian whiskey? Koon always sneaks him the best shit.”

Rex snorted, wrinkling his nose. “Hardly. As if I’d risk my shebs for a drink, Kote, it’s for the glory.”

Cody leaned back in his chair, face still a picture of outrage. Rex knew that in any other scenario he’d have already been in a headlock, and grinned smugly at the fact he was currently untouchable.

“Yeah, well, next time you don’t hafta try so hard,” Cody muttered. “Or you’ll bypass grey hairs and push me straight to heart attack.”

“That still counts as a win.”

Rex knew he fully deserved the punch that Cody landed on his leg, covering his mouth to muffle the laugh that wanted to burst out of him. The rest of the bay was surprisingly quiet, the lighting low and soft. The vast majority of the beds were empty, the few other occupants sound in either natural or induced sleep. Cody probably should have gone to alert the on-duty medic that he’d woken up, but instead the silence lapsed on between them, Cody’s eyes crinkling soft at the corners again in that unguarded way that Rex missed from their youth.

After a moment Cody’s pad chirped from between the disturbed sheets, a gratingly cheerful sound that never heralded anything good. Rex watched his brother sigh and pick up the offending item, scrolling and clicking through notices as the tension crept back into his face. Cody had always been like that – ruthlessly efficient, wickedly shrewd, a ship against which the rest of them could weather all storms. Any clone who’d ever met him knew what class he was destined to go into, and when he’d been promoted, the only person who’d been surprised was Cody himself.

There was a pride in that, Rex reflected; to excel so thoroughly at the purpose for which you’d been made. But there was no choice in it either, and it was an odd thing, to look at Cody for the first time and find it a little jarring that he couldn’t picture him as anything else.

“What? Have I got something on my face?” Cody had looked up from his datapad with one eyebrow raised. Then he sighed again, jabbing at the screen grumpily. “I swear Bly waits until it’s my night cycle to send me forms on purpose.”

Rex watched him type for a few more seconds, then looked down at his hands.

“Have you ever thought about the end of the war?”

There was a long pause, hanging stunned in the air between them. Rex twisted his fingers together then looked up, feeling oddly vulnerable. Cody’s brow was lifted in a rare moment of unguarded surprise, before his eyes narrowed, searching Rex’s face.

“…no, I suppose I haven’t,” he said eventually. “General Kenobi theorises that it’ll hinge on –“

“No, I meant – have you ever thought about what we’ll do after.” Rex said softly.

Cody blinked a few times then leant back in his chair.

“After?” The word curled uncertainly off his tongue, an awkward shape in his mouth. “Don’t you think we’ve gotta win the damn thing first, Rex’ika?”

Rex shrugged, feeling his shoulders creep up round his ears the way they always did when he was nervous. The words almost stuck in his throat, scraping raw as he pushed them out, unformed and fledgeling.

“Yeah, of course. But…all the same. For some of us there will be an after. Commander Tano talks about it sometimes – getting back to all the things she did before.”

That did make Cody smile, a little fleeting thing. “General Kenobi does too. He had to put all his plants in the Temple gardens, says he misses them.”

“Have you ever thought about going with them?”

Cody’s eyebrows jumped again, a rare, blank look on his face that made Rex feel better and worse all at the same time. “Can’t think why the Jedi would need clones around in their Temple. What’s this really about, Rex?”

Rex let out a breath, a long gusting sigh that peeled out of his ribcage, and fixed his eyes back on the ceiling. “Staying with that farmer…eating at his table, sharing his food. Talking to his kids…it just made me wonder, you know? What that might be like.”

Cody snorted, but his eyes were impossibly warm as he scrubbed a knuckle over Rex’s short blond hair. “You? A farmer? Didn’t you kill the plant Kenobi got Skywalker for his lifeday?”

Rex batted him away. “That thing was already dead when he brought it to me. And to be honest, the eopie they lent me stank. But…his kids were cute. Real big eyes, you know?”

The corner of Cody’s mouth had ticked up again as he settled himself back down with his datapad. “Tano and Skywalker not kids enough for you?”

He ducked the fist Rex shoved his way, chuckling, and they settled back into a docile quiet, Cody confused, and Rex unsure how else to put his feelings into words. How it wasn’t just the farmer, or the kids, or the land. Just the new, frightening possibility that one day they might be his to take. Rex felt the drowsiness creep back in on him, cresting and falling in a wave. He didn’t fight it, twisting down into the sheets and letting the soft tapping of Cody’s fingers on glass lull him on. When he reached the precipice of sleep, hovering somewhere above a dream, he felt his brother’s hand squeeze his one more time, then heard him speak.

“I guess I never have thought about it, vod. But you’re right. Maybe it does sound nice.”

taglist // @nelba @iscream4clones @bad-batch-of-fics @leias-left-hair-bun @majorshiraharu @simping-for-fives // join here

[isahorcrux]

20 questions Writer’s Edition

Thank you @blitheringmcgonagall for the tag ! <3 <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

5

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

44,637

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Just Harry Potter (Golden Trio Era & Marauders Era)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? (I guess I’m just ranking all my fics since I only have five currently lol)

love it if we made it (78)

And it all came crashing back. Harry, Ron, and Hermione returning to Hogwarts. The Order coming to fight. Spells being shot back and forth. Hogwarts crumbling from within, but also fighting back. Voldemort and his army of death swarming the castle. Fred. Remus. Tonks. Harry, dead. Harry, not dead. Bellatrix. And then Voldemort and Harry, facing each other in the Great Hall, where Ginny had eaten every meal during the school year with her friends. Voldemort falling. They’d won. The war was over.

glad he’s gone (71)

Of all the things Lavender could have been crying over, Ginny had not expected this. Granted, she knew Ron wanted to end things with Lavender just as much as she’d wanted to end things with Dean. But, she supposed she was a bit preoccupied with her own public break-up to notice Ron’s first romance imploding a mere few feet away. She briefly wondered if Lavender was just as oblivious to her relationship ending as Ginny was to her’s.

hope is a dangerous thing (for a woman like me to have) (63)

As soon as they found Dumbledore’s body, some unconscious part of Ginny knew that their relationship would have to end. She knew Harry, who’d lost so many people, couldn’t bear to put her in danger. She understood his reasoning, in fact, if she were in the same position, she might even do the same. But, it wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t she go with them and help take down Voldemort. She after all, was the closest link to Tom after Harry, having spent a year entwined with his teenage self.

The story of Ginny Weasley's 6th Year at Hogwarts.

spontaneous & romantic (38)

“Well, when I hear things at my window, my first thought isn’t often, ‘oh, how sweet my boyfriend is throwing pebbles at my window,’” I said giggling.

Rose/Scorpius

champagne problems (21)

Summoning the courage of thousands of Gryffindors before him, James sank to his right knee and pulled the unassuming black velvet box from his pocket. The room around them faded into warm shapes and colours. James didn’t know if Sirius had paused the music or if he’d gone temporarily deaf. It was only the two of them, James thrusting his mum’s ring out towards Lily and Lily looking at James with a bemused sort of grin.

After several long moments, or maybe a half an hour, or possibly several days, Lily spoke.

“James, let’s - we should talk.”

It was supposed to be perfect.

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do sometimes ! Truly it depends on if you’ve caught me in a responsive mood or not.  I’m usually more likely to respond if there’s a question or the comment is particularly long, versus a one or two word comment.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Oh without a doubt champagne problems .

This fic came about because I listed to evermore on repeat in my car for months and months and then a story that first started as a james potter II story morphed into a jily story and here we are. I’ve outlined most of it, so excited to update this one fairly regularly (I think).

7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

I think probably love it if we made it just because the war is over ginny and harry get together, all that fun stuff. but, if you’re a scorose person, spontaneous & romantic is also very happy. I also wrote that one back in high school, so tread lightly lol.

8. Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I’ve never written a crossover, I don’t think...I’ve got a few fics that have been lost to the internet from high school, but I don’t think any of them were crossovers either.  I’m firmly in the HP fanfiction camp.  I guess you could argue I also do Shakespeare fanfiction...but I feel like since that’s in the public domain it doesn’t count lol.

9. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I don’t think so ? I don’t think I’m a popular enough writer to get enough eyeballs to get hate.  I noticed on champagne problems, that one person really thought Lily was unlikable, but I think at this point we are supposed to hate her a bit and she does need to grow as a person.  But, I think that’s the closest ?

10. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Currently, no. Do I need to for the folklorevermore project? Yes. So it’s coming, and I’m terrified to write it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No thankfully !

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but very open to it if anyone so chooses to translate :)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but again, very open to it.  I studied screenwriting and fiction in college and one of my favorite things about screenwriting is the collaborative writing process, so my inbox is open :)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Oof, making me choose children - currently, probably Jily.

15. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I will finish hope is a dangerous thing if it kills me, I swear!

16. What are your writing strengths?

Err... dialogue maybe?  I also feel like I have a really good grasp of who my versions of James and Lily are.  And also a good cannon sense of Harry and Ginny because growing up literally all I did was read Harry Potter.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

The ability to finish things / update in a timely manner lol.  I’m sorry!  Know I hate myself more than you hate me for my slow updates !

18. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think i’d be comfortable writing French or Italian in a fic (haven’t had the moment to yet, but maybe!) but any other language I haven’t studied I probably would be a bit timid to try, just because I wouldn’t want to mistranslate anything.

19. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter (Next Gen) - I know wild right?  There’s a bunch of Next Gen fics of mine out there under a different name.

20. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

I’m actually really proud of champagne problems and where it’s going (this is my plug for people to go read it lol)

Oh god, I hate tagging people it’s so nerve wracking, because I never want to bother people, but tagging those whose fics I literally just read/who hasn’t been tagged (at least I don’t think?) and also anyone else who wants to do this! @dizzy--bird @sunshine-marauders @thequibblah

[scarpool-gmk]

6 Part 2

Title: Godly Marine: Killed Author: Scarpool Fandom(s): NCIS, Percy Jackson & the Olympians Pairing(s): Gen Rating: PG/K+ Summary: Chapter 6 Part 2 (8/13) — Staff Sergeant Michael Kahale, Marine Corps Mechanic and Son of Athena, was murdered. Annabeth Chase is determined to find out who did it and why. She, along with Percy Jackson, Grover Underwood, and Clarisse La Rue, infiltrate NCIS where they team up with NCIS Agents Leroy Gibbs, Anthony DiNozzo, Timothy McGee, and Ziva David. Complete Genre: Fanfiction, Mystery, Drama, Humour, General, Action Warnings:  N/A

-Κλαρίς-

Clarisse had to hold in laughing as she saw Annabeth's eyes bulge in fascination as Gibbs used the iris scanner. With a hiss and a clunk!, the doors unlocked. He heaved the door open. "Welcome to MTAC, agents."

"Wow," Annabeth whispered as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"Sweet secret base you guys got going on," Clarisse praised.

"Thanks!" McGee beamed like he was the one getting complimented. "It's decked out with some great technology sensors. It's completely separate in terms of technology, components, and connection from the rest of the building. Best monitors, state-of-the-art firewall, and the-"

"You guys do any movie nights in here?" Clarisse cut in.

"I-well no. I mean, uh, maybe? I wouldn't know anything about that," McGee spluttered.

Clarisse smirked. "I'll take that as a yes."

"McGee," Gibbs said, saving his agent, "Connect us up with the Staff Sergeant's C.O."

McGee hurried to do as he was told, working with a row of tech. Clarisse wouldn't want to get too close to any of those. Could probably get the entire monster population of the East Coast fixated on their position with those many wires. Annie, Prissy, and Goat boy wouldn't appreciate it. Would make one heck of a battle story, though.

Gibbs, Annabeth, and Clarisse stood in front of the huge screen.

"Morning, agents," the commander said when he flashed on the screen.

"Nice to meet you, Commander," Annabeth said.

"I would rather have not, Special Agent Lima, Gibbs. I take it you still haven't found out who took out my mechanic."

"No, Commander," Gibbs said, "And it seems your mechanic was into a case of his own."

"What do you mean?"

"We believe he was following leads that might uncover cartel movement in D.C.," Annabeth explained.

"Can you tell us anything about anything the Staff Sergeant was involved in?" Gibbs asked, "Any ops that he was assigned?"

"No, sir. This is the first I'm hearing of this. He was designated to go on tour; we were called in to head into NAMRU-6."

"Peru?" Gibbs questioned.

"It was going to be smooth sailing," the commander affirmed. "A secret mission…He was one hell of a mechanic, and even then…"

"Commander?" Annabeth pushed.

"He was too smart for his own good. He wasn't going to be a simple Staff Sergeant for long. In fact, I'm surprised he held out for this long. His excellent, strategic mind and fighting skill, especially in close combat, had placed him in the fast lane for promotion. He may have wanted to be a simple mechanic, and I know he declined several offers, but as good as he was, he gained the attention of those who could force him into positions."

Clarisse frowned. Sounds like Michael had been way too noticeable. She didn't even think that the Navy and Marine corps would inspect mechanics that thorough. How did they test his strategy making?

"Sounds like he was a special case," Clarisse said, "Did he get any flak from his crewmates because of it?"

"Not really, ma'am. He wasn't exactly a social person to begin with."

"He never got into any disputes with anyone?" Clarisse asked.

"Only one, but I've learned to keep them apart."

"Reason?" Gibbs asked.

"Uh, they just didn't see eye-to-eye."

Clarisse almost snorted. Translation: he had no clue. What kind of Officer in Charge was this guy?

"Who's the soldier?" Annabeth asked.

"First Lieutenant Adrian Rodriguez."

"He antagonize a lot of people?" Gibbs asked.

"No, sir. He's actually very well-liked. It was very strange that he turned confrontational with Kahale. Same with Sergeant Kahale."

"And you have no idea as to why this was." Gibbs didn't phrase it like a question. At least they were all on the same page.

The C.O. on the big screen shrugged. "Those are two of the sea's finest. Rodriguez is soon to become Major. They don't have so much as an excuse to hang around each other anyway."

This time, Clarisse didn't bother hiding a sound of disbelief.

"Where is he?" Gibbs asked at the same time as Annabeth said, "Tell us about him."

Clarisse stepped back so the two could glare at each other better.

"He's a skilled Marksman," Commander Oblivious replied, "knows a lot about on-the-spot- field medic stuff…sings pretty good, too." Clarisse shared a glance with Annabeth. That sounded familiar. Annabeth would probably say that it was a textbook definition. Nerd.

"But he has not left the ship," the commander continued, "he's been on board the entire time."

"Then call him over," Gibbs said, "Maybe we can help solve what his problem with Michael Kahale was."

"You can't think-"

"The more we know about our victim, the better we can predict his movements and motives," Annabeth consoled.

The commander ceded the point and nodded at some staff who promptly left the room, presumably to find the First Lieutenant. He turned his attention back to the NCIS agents.

Gibbs continued on questioning him. "Did Staff Sergeant Kahale ever mention an Annabeth Chase?"

The man on the screen frowned. "The name rings a bell; give me a sec." He shuffled some papers around. "Oh! Yes, as one of the emergency contacts. Right there under his father. Annabeth Chase, relation as his sister."

Annabeth showed nothing. Instead, asking, "What is the contact information?"

"A phone number with a New York area code."

"Read aloud the number, please."

The commander read out the numbers as Annabeth instructed. Clarisse immediately recognized it as the mainline to the Big House.

"It's a different number than the one he called," Annabeth said.

"McGee," Gibbs called, giving silent instructions.

"Already on it," McGee said, "Number is to a farm, Delphi Strawberry Service. Located in Long Island."

Clarisse mentally cursed and tried not to self-consciously fidget at the glare Gibbs gave Annabeth.

"But he never spoke about his family. Or friends. Or life. Again, not the most social guy."

There was movement in the back, as the staff member came back with a soldier, who promptly stood at attention.

"First Lieutenant Rodriguez, meet NCIS Agents Gibbs, Lima, and…"

"La Rue," Clarisse supplied.

"First Lieutenant," Gibbs greeted.

"Sir!"

"At rest, First Lieutenant," Annabeth said.

Gibbs started the questions as Rodrigues shifted his stance. "What's your relationship with Staff Sergeant Michael Kahale?"

The soldier frowned, confused. "He was a mechanic assigned to this vessel, sir."

"We're told that you were uncharacteristically disruptive around him."

"Yes, but I haven't been in confrontation with him, as per C.O. orders. If he's said-"

"First Lieutenant Rodriguez," The C.O. cut him off, "Sergeant Kahale was shot two nights ago."

"Shot?" Rodriguez said in shock, "But… we're home…"

"We know that you've been on board the entire time," Annabeth said, "We just need to know more about who Michael Kahale was."

"I-I understand, Ma'am."

"What made you dislike the Kahale, First Lieutenant?" Clarisse asked him.

"It's not that I disliked him, ma'am. Kahale was actually a good guy. Introverted, sure. But he was a good soldier, amazing smart, and easy to talk with. But I…" He faltered. "I don't know. For some reason, the friendly conversations always turned into some sort of fight? Like a challenge I couldn't lose to? I guess?"

"Don't sound sure of yourself," Annabeth noted.

"I can't explain it. Every time, it just led to a fight over any stupid, little thing. I honestly don't know why. I don't expect any of you to understand."

Clarisse heard Gibbs sigh tiredly and mumble, "Oh, I understand perfectly."

"Can you give us some examples of what you fought over?" Annabeth asked.

"They were stupid, ma'am. Like over the name of a future vessel. He thought it should be named USS Zeus. I said it to be USS Jupiter. We also fought over his position. Kahale was a good Marine but could've been even better. But he kept at being a non-commission mechanic because he had an issue with the control of our Superior Officers. I know he even declined a promotion to Warrant Officer. He disliked how strict military life was and preferred the more laxed nature of the machinists. He believed that individuality and improvisation held more value in the field than the collective skill of the group and rigid structure. He did not trust others with making decisions for him and disliked giving orders himself. But I know several of my brothers who have similar opinions, and I've never fought them over it."

Annabeth nodded, humming softly and deep in that brain of hers.

"Did he ever mention some sort of mission?" Gibbs asked.

Rodriguez blinked. "No. Nothing ever like that."

"Mexican Cartels? Arms dealing?" Gibbs fished.

"What? No!"

'Freaking Hades,' Clarisse thought, 'I hope this information isn't supposed to be kept low profile.'

"What about mythologies?"

The First Lieutenant stiffened. He was definitely a demigod. Clarisse would have to see if Chiron knew an Adrian Rodriguez.

"What do you mean?" Rodriguez tried playing off.

"Gods, Roman myths, Greek heroes, monsters, that sort of stuff."

"No."

"Then that's all we need from you, for now, First Lieutenant," Gibbs said, taking a glance at Annabeth.

"Catch who did this to my mechanic, Agents," the Commanding Officer said before the connection cut off.

Gibbs didn't waste any time.

"What am I missing here?"

Annabeth lifted an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Some random mechanic gets murdered hours away from his assigned vessel because he was uncovering an entire operation that was way out of his league. His dying words were to some girl whom he listed as an emergency contact with a Long Island number. Suddenly, I've got NCIS agents from a Long Island branch I've never heard of. This case has brought too many outside factors, and I have the feeling my team is out of the loop on specific information that can make this case more manageable."

"We know as much as you do," Clarisse retorted, "And missing information comes with the job. This is a mystery. We investigate and find the answers, complications and all."

Gibbs considered her for a moment before relenting and leading them back out of the heavily secured room. "Fine. I'm going to head to the bar. McGee, get DiNozzo to call the Strawberry Farm. I also want the personal files of First Lieutenant Rodriguez and his C.O. Ziva! Gear up." He looked around at the rest of the agents expectedly.

"Er, trying to squeeze out info of Cartel movement in the area," DiNozzo said, "Not much luck."

"Talked to Abby," Ziva picked up next, "Her professors were able to translate some more of the notes. This Doughnut place is apparently definitely arms dealing with the Reynosa Cartel. Sinaloa involvement is suspected. Middle East connection is pure speculation. Michael also noted that he believed he was found out because he smelled."

DiNozzo made to comment but was silenced by a look from Gibbs.

"I'm still IDing all of Mr. Tarsibo's victims," Grover said.

"And customers," Gibbs added.

"…And customers…"

"No mention of Monster Donut on the web," Percy reported, Annabeth's laptop in hand, "Making sure that if anyone finds it, we'll be the first ones to know."

Gibbs nodded and then headed towards the elevator with Ziva in tow. Clarisse admired the way his silent command to get back to work hung in the air. Except for one problem.

Clarisse was back in the bullpen. She hated it.

-Ζήβα-

Ziva was debriefed about the meeting with the commander on the way to the Drowsy Owl.

"If the Staff Sergeant was being seen by superior officers and the Commanding Officer didn't know anything," Ziva said, "Perhaps our Staff Sergeant was granted a mission."

But why give such an advanced and dangerous mission to a mere mechanic?

"Michael Kahale had been in service for five years," Ziva said, answering her own question. "They had given him training- maybe advanced secret in-training. Kept him officially as a mechanic, using it as a cover."

"But why send him on a case that without providing him resources?" Gibbs asked.

Hm. True. Michael Kahale had lacked money, cover, and backup. The time limit was horrendously short; what he uncovered in such a short amount of time was astonishing. If he hadn't ended up dead, she would have thought that it was a controlled mission.

"You said that First Lieutenant Adrian Rodriguez responded to the mention of mythological connection. Is it possible that whatever mission the Staff Sergeant was on, was not external but internal? An internal audit? But if Rodriguez was his target, he would have responded to the reference of cartel involvement."

"What if the Cartel wasn't initially apart of this operation?" Ziva thought back to her previous line of thought. "What if Rodriguez was involved? As Michael's partner. The First Lieutenant is thought of highly as well."

"Don't get caught up on theories," Gibbs warned.

"Maybe I should just follow my gut," Ziva teased.

"It's always worked for me," Gibbs said.

"What does it say now?" Ziva asked. She looked at him when he did not answer.

"It tells me that the Long Island Agents know something that they aren't sharing."

Ziva frowned but said nothing.

They came up to the store. "See if anyone has seen Tarsibo," Gibbs said.

"Not many people to ask," Ziva grumbled.

Reshaun Sachs was beginning to blindly invite them to choose a place to sit until he looked up from pouring a pint of bitter. "Let me guess," he said, "Navy cops."

Ziva and Gibbs flashed their Identification.

"This about the young Marine or something else?"

"Same one," Gibbs said.

"Didn't realize you had such big teams."

"Neither did I."

Ziva sent Gibbs a look and decided to change the topic, unfolding the blown-up photo of Tarsibo.

"Do you recognize this man?"

"Sorry. No."

"He seems to be a customer of yours," Ziva pushed, "He may have been here during the past week."

The bartender frowned, "If he passed those doors, I would remember. Especially from this week." Ziva nodded. She didn't find him to be lying. There were other ways waste from this place could have gotten to the car rental.

"Do you mind if I talk to your customers?" Ziva asked

Sachs shrugged. "You can, but all of these guys are regulars that just come for their lunch break."

Ziva assumed as much. She left Gibbs to converse with the man.

Sachs was surprised that they had found traces of his business as far away as East Maryland. Like Gibbs, Ziva was getting her own list of negative answers.

She walked around the bar, trying to envision it on a full night with businessmen, college students, and Mrs. Kahale with her entourage. It was an open area, which meant open conversations that could be the center of attention or hidden by those that took that position. The only place that was really hidden was the way to the restrooms, which had its own hidden hallway that led to a back exit. That was where Ziva excused herself to answer her buzzing phone.

"What is it, Tony?"

"Get into any bar fights, yet?" Tony used as a greeting.

"It is still a bit early, but it has happened before."

"Well, don't go too hard on them. People who go this early are there to drown something."

Ziva thought of the three businessmen in the bar hunching over their drinks. He was too right. "As I'm sure you know, Tony."

"I'm not that old," he said.

"You are what? Forty?"

"No!"

"Mmm, but I'm close. How many years am I off?"

"…Two. I'm still young, just have a few years of experience."

Ziva hummed. She didn't tell him that she had more years until she hit thirty.

"Well, I'm sure you didn't call me just for this."

"No, I'm here to update you so you can update Gibbs."

"Why not call him instead?"

"Figured he'd be doing some unofficial interrogation. And I would never break that rule."

"Well, what do you have."

Tony sighed, "Pretty much nothing. Got in connection with the Director of the Strawberry Service, a Mr. Dee. Took forever to get a final answer. 'I have a faint recollection of an Annie Bell.'" Tony droned in imitation, "'Yes, the girl is quite a trouble seeker, although she is one of the brighter ones I have had to deal with. Says a lot about them. However, she left. I don't expect her to be back for a while.' That was fifteen minutes into the conversation. He ends with an 'I grow tired of your pitiable blather.' And just hangs up."

Ziva snickers. "Doesn't sound like a reliable witness."

Ziva could imagine Tony shrugging in the squadroom, "It's what I got."

"Alright. Thanks." Ziva hung up the phone and accidentally stumbled when she bumped into something. Or rather someone "Oh, sorry I-" Ziva stopped as she got a look at who she almost toppled. It was a young man who had just come out of the lavatory. He was of an average built, a bit on the shorter side with a head full of blonde hair. He was in some sort of customer service uniform, a nametag still latched on. But Ziva only gave it an unconscious look over. No, she was more captivated by his eyes. They were a sickly green, and the iris seemed alive, swirling like snakes in a pit. And were those scales on his cheekbones?

"Agent?"

She blinked, and all those features were gone. Snake filled eyes replaced with light hazel ones. No scales either.

"I'm sorry," She told the man who had snapped her out of her stupor. Just what was that? "For bumping into you," she specified.

He smiled at her, "No problem."

She watched him leave her, heading for the back exit. How did he know she was an Agent? Was her badge showing? No… Who was he? She searched her brain for the answers. Wait. She had seen his nametag before getting distracted by his face. (She shivered at the recollection. Was it something she ate?) Then it hit her; the nametag had a cheesy 'Hi, I'm Tommy' in Comic Sans Font. It also had a logo of a one-eyed monster munching on a doughnut.

"Monster Donuts," Ziva breathed out in realization. The back door slammed shut. "Hey!" Ziva shouted, "Wait!" She ran toward the door. Before she exited, she remembered that the store was arms dealing, and anyone connected to it should be handled as armed and dangerous. Pulling out her firearm and quickly collecting herself, she slammed her way out and was met with… no one?

Ziva surveyed the area, circling in a three-sixty. There was no one there. How could he have gone that fast? He was only out of her sight for a few seconds.

Gibbs was not going to be happy with her.

After making sure to uncover any possible hiding places, she went back inside empty-handed.

Gibbs frowned at her as she entered. Ziva trusted him to connect the dots and directed her words at Sachs.

"You didn't say you had someone in your restroom."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Gibbs change his stance, a mixture of weariness and drive to get the truth. However, the bartender seemed utterly confused. "There was? Oh, I had completely forgotten…"

Ziva shared a small look with Gibbs. Sachs seemed muddled all of a sudden. Strange and convincing. Ziva hadn't thought this man to be a good actor.

Ziva described him, more for Gibbs's benefit than Sachs's. "Yes, about this tall, blonde, green eyes, wearing a Monster Donut uniform."

Sachs's face lit up in realization. "Yes! He was one of the guys that the woman hangs out with, the one that the other agents knew, a Mrs. Kahale." His eyebrows scrunched together. "I can't believe I forgot about him coming in…"

Ziva shared another look with Gibbs. Either this man was telling the truth, or he was the best actor Ziva had encountered. Gibbs, although not outwardly changing his calm demeanor, seemed as dubious as she was.

"If he or anyone else from Monster Donuts come in," she said, "Please call us."

"They are connected with this Marko Tarsibo guy? What have they done?"

"A number of things," Ziva said.

The man gave an inquiring stare. Ziva expected that how dangerous they were could affect his business if he let continued to let them be customers at all.

"They are connected to arms dealing, Ziva said. "Also, have a connection to the death of multiple murders, including children."

"They've killed kids?" The statement seemed to call Sachs back from his confounded state. "You said that this guy was a part of this and that he was a car dealer, right?"

The agents nodded.

"The kids, were they middle-school-age? Older girl with Asian features?"

Ziva scrambled for her phone, bringing out the profiles of the most recent child victims. She shoved the phone in the man's face. "Are these them?"

"Yeah, I know them. They had come in, ordered some soda, burgers, and fries. They looked pretty street-savvy, I kept my eye on them to make sure no one slipped them anything or took an order for them. I got something about how they were headed for the Carolinas, I guess they needed a ride. That woman, Mrs. Kahale, spoke with them for a bit. I didn't hear what was said, but if they needed a ride and she knew this dealer, she could've gave them to him."

The NCIS agents didn't give him time to finish as they rushed out the door.

-Περσεύς-

Percy would never get an office job. He thought being a Federal Agent would have been so exciting. Sitting on a desk doing the same thing over and over again was killing him. He kept getting distracted by the happenings outside. (Hey, those windows were huge. Not his fault the outside world was more entertaining.) He couldn't help but feel a bit guilty every time Grover would snap him out of his daydreaming. He was supposed to be helping make official profiles of each victim, so that a) the families could be notified, b) Dr. 'Ducky' could analyze and create a deeper understanding of General Botsaris and his victims, and c) so that Annabeth could report back to Chiron, and they could contact the families of the demigods.

Percy did have to admit that Tony's conversation with Mr. D was quite funny. Although, he was only able to hear one side of the conversation.

'No, not Annie Bell. Annabeth.'

'No, I am not here for strawberries.'

'Yes, wine sounds wonderful, but-'

'So, did she work there or not? What do you mean, who? Annabeth Chase!'

And it just continued. Percy had cracked up as the agent repeatedly smacked his head on his hand while talking to the exasperating god. If only he knew how it felt to deal with Mr. D on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis.

Unfortunately, that was what felt like an hour ago. McGee had sent a file to Tony a while later and was on his way to escape to 'help Abby run prints.'

"I'll be using the system," McGee told Grover and Percy, "Hopefully, it won't slow down too much."

"It shouldn't be a problem." Annabeth walked in, looking a bit disgruntled after her talk with Chiron. "Although we are using the same system, it's coding and routes have changed, meaning it can still use the data and have access to an ever-updating network while not really using the same path and program you'll be using."

Percy would have totally zoned out from that explanation if it wasn't for Grover nudging him to make another profile.

McGee made a face. "You can do that?"

"Not really. It's the computer."

"What are the specs?" McGee leaned in to check Daedalus' laptop's design. "What's the brand? I don't recognize it."

"It's experimental."

"Huh, well I'm going to-"

"Not so fast, probie," Tony called.

Percy looked up. Tony had better not been calling for him. He eased up when it was apparent he was talking to McGee.

"Rodriguez also uses disposable, pre-paid phones," Tony said, "But he makes regular family calls. If we searched his family's phone records, we would find a record of regular calls coming in but from different numbers? Wouldn't that be the case if Michael did the same?"

"But we already checked the Kahale's phone records, Tony," McGee said.

"No. We only checked Patricia Kahale's, and she said she didn't even know Michael even joined the Marines. Daddy, however, had a better relationship."

"And when Percy and I spoke with him," Annabeth said, "He gave me the impression that he knew about Michael joining."

"McGee, pop up the man's phone calls," Tony said.

McGee shared his screen on the plasma. Window screens flashed on and off as McGee used keyboard shortcuts lightning quick, even using long sequences of code that Percy didn't know could be memorized.

"Okay, filtering for numbers that are no longer in service."

"Wow, that's a long list," Percy said. They weren't going to have to go through some sort of procedure on each one, were they?

"He is a lawyer," Grover said, "He must get tons of scam and calls from one-time numbers."

"It doesn't matter," Annabeth said.

"What do you mean it doesn't matter," Percy asked. Was Annabeth okay? How bad was the call with Chiron?

"I mean, I've found what we're looking for." She pointed to a six-minute call starting 12:52 A.M. yesterday morning. That was right before the approximate time of death.

"It's not the same number the Staff Sergeant used," Tony said.

"A spare phone," Clarisse said, "He uses one phone call on a pre-paid, dumps it, and then uses the second to make another call."

A demigod technique. Annabeth and Chiron told him of it when he went outside of camp. The only time it was safe to keep a phone after making a call on it was in or right by camp. Otherwise, it was a traveling beacon for monsters.

"The father made the call," Tony said, "McGee, can you find the location where the burner picked up?"

McGee clicked a couple of times. "Washington, D.C."

"Alright," Tony said. "I'll call Gibbs, and we'll pick him up."

"Sweet, let's go," Percy said.

"Wait, Percy," Grover said with big eyes, effectively killing Percy's hope. "I still need your help with this."

"It's fine. We got this," Tony said, him and McGee rushing toward the elevator.

Percy watched them as they disappeared with a ding. Great, the three people that were the least qualified for desk jobs were the ones left at the desks. At least they had Grover to stop them from accidentally blowing up the place and being labeled as domestic terrorists, yet the way the satyr was inhaling those paper clips didn't bode well.

The phone at Tony's desk started to ring. The four of them stared at it for a second. "Should we get Tony back?" Percy asked.

"Ugh," Clarisse rolled her eyes. What? What did he say? Gods, she was just so annoying. 'And rude,' he added as he watched her get up and answer the cop's phone, but he already knew that.

"Yeah," Clarisse greeted. She was silent for the ten seconds as the caller spoke. Percy wasn't even surprised as the daughter of Ares slammed the phone back down without another word.

"They found Botsaris's car," Clarisse said.

'That at least deserved a 'Thank You,' was Percy's immediate thought.

Annabeth jumped up. "Let's go."

Finally! "Did you get the address?" Percy asked, excited to get out.

"Duh."

Grover looked around as all of them got ready to head out. "Um, should we tell-"

"No!" Clarisse and Annabeth both said, or growled in one case.

Grover held his hands up in surrender. "Okay."

Percy made sure everything he needed was on him and swept the desk clear of a small pile of broken pen clips. When had those gotten there?

"Let's kick some butt!" Clarisse grinned. Percy couldn't agree more.

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[purplehairedwonder]

Inside a Broken Dream Chapter 3

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen, briefest hint of Lawlu that you can ignore Words: 3325 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Penguin, Jean Bart, Donquixote Doflamingo, Smoker, Tashigi Note: Story title comes from the Vertical Horizon song “Shackled.” Character and relationship tags reflect the current chapter. Obviously this is canon-divergent ;)

Summary: Two years after Wano, peace on the Grand Line is fragile. Trafalgar Law and the Heart Pirates are doing their best to help maintain the peace, but the return of a figure from Law’s past might shatter the balance of power entirely.

Previous chapters: 1 | 2

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

“White Chase-ya?”

Smoker’s eyes flicked in Law’s direction, and his lips thinned into a line. “Law.”

Law frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Smoker grimaced and leaned back against the wall of his cell. The Seastone shackles around his wrists clanked with his movements. “Somehow, I keep getting caught up in your shit with Joker.”

Law snorted despite himself. He supposed it was a bit of déjà vu, calling back to being locked up on Punk Hazard. Too bad Law was restrained with actual Seastone this time.

Penguin was looking between Law and Smoker, confused, but he clearly knew he wouldn’t get an explanation so instead asked, “Did Akainu really let Doflamingo out of Impel Down and give him a ship to go after Captain?”

Smoker grunted. “Is that what he said?”

Jean Bart nodded. “He also said he wasn’t interested in running errands for Akainu.”

“That much is true, anyway,” Smoker replied. His tone made it eminently clear that he was unhappy to be having this conversation with three pirates—but he answered anyway.

“What do you mean?”

“Sakazuki did want to go after Law,” he said, nodding in Law’s direction. “And after Dressrosa, he thought he could use Doflamingo to do it.”

Had Law had the energy, he would have straightened at that. As it was, he narrowed his eyes. “What does he know about Dressrosa?”

Law knew Penguin and Jean Bart were watching him—he’d been intentionally vague about what had gone on there and why, though Penguin knew far more than most of the Heart Pirates about Law’s history with the former Warlord, and he’d rarely mentioned it since. At the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. The last thing he wanted was his history with Doflamingo to become common knowledge. Sengoku knew because of his connection to Cora-san, but Law got the impression the man was content in his retirement to let things lie in his adopted son’s memory. Akainu, though… The less that son of a bitch knew about Law, the better.

Smoker appraised him from his cell before speaking. “Whatever Fujitora reported, I assume.”

Of course. Though he wouldn’t know the details of the backstory, Fujitora had witnessed enough to know there was a history there—one that was intensely personal on both sides. That could have been enough for Akainu.

Law let out a breath. “Right.”

“Captain?” Penguin asked quietly, but Law shook his head. Penguin frowned but nodded.

“Why the sudden interest in the Captain?” Jean Bart asked. “He’s been an Emperor for two years now.”

Smoker shifted, seemingly looking for a more comfortable position. “It’s not sudden. Sakazuki’s had it in for you since you saved Straw Hat Luffy at Marineford,” he replied, addressing Law directly. “He took that as a personal insult. And then you pulled that stunt to become a Warlord and made an alliance with the rubber idiot before proceeding to completely upend the status quo on the Grand Line.” He raised an eyebrow. “Need I go on?”

“I broke the gears,” Law had said when he’d destroyed the SAD production on Punk Hazard. And the effects had certainly avalanched after that, though Law hadn’t necessarily expected to see it.

“I’m sure he’s thrilled the alliance hasn’t ended either,” Law muttered.

Law had known that he was in this alliance for the long haul the morning after Doflamingo’s fall. Law had been sitting, his body broken and spirit afloat, among the drooping sunflowers as the sun rose over the toy soldier’s cabin. Luffy, who Law thought had been sleeping off his injuries, had sat down next to him with a murmured “Torao” and had gently entwined their fingers. Law had leaned into him in silent response. Thank you. Why am I alive? What do I do now? all running through his mind. Luffy had tightened his grip on Law’s hand, anchoring him.

“He knew targeting you would draw Straw Hat’s attention,” Smoker confirmed. “He was counting on it.”

“Is he trying to start a war?” Penguin demanded, aghast.

“The closer Straw Hat comes to finding Laugh Tale, the more anxious he gets. He’ll take any chance to stop that from happening.” Smoker shrugged. “Though it’s moot now; Doflamingo screwed Sakazuki over.”

“Which brings us back to the Captain’s original question: How do you figure into this, Smoker?” Jean Bart asked, crossing his arms. Law belatedly noticed that Jean Bart had shackles around his wrists as well, though they were of the regular sort since he wasn’t a Fruit user. A quick glance confirmed Penguin did too.

“I was assigned to lead the mission. Doflamingo was chained with so much Seastone I could barely get near him, and he was guarded by multiple soldiers at all times. He was supposed to be an asset, nothing more.”

Law raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “You were coming to take me on, White Chase-ya?” Their last fight hadn’t gone particularly well for Smoker, though he had saved Law’s life by recovering his heart from Vergo. Law would always hate the Marines after what had happened to Flevance, but Smoker was one he grudgingly respected. Still. “Should I be offended that I didn’t even warrant an admiral’s attention?”

Smoker replied with an unimpressed look. “The admirals have been spread thin over the last two years, and you know it.” It was true; since Doflamingo’s fall and the end of his underworld empire, the dissolution of the Warlords, and Kaido’s defeat, the admirals had had their work cut out for them keeping the peace.

“Even so, attacking an Emperor without an admiral—” Jean Bart began.

“And with a former Warlord on board,” Penguin added helpfully.

“—seems like a mission that should be led by an admiral,” Jean Bart finished.

Law found himself wondering if Akainu sent Smoker because he had history with Law… and Straw Hat-ya.

Smoker sighed. “Like I said, its moot now anyway.”

“Because Doflamingo escaped,” Law supplied.

“Once we approached your territory, he was released from the strongest Seastone restraints with the understanding he’d be shot on the spot with a Seastone bullet if he pulled anything.”

Law grimaced. Idiots.

“Oh, so it’s your fault Captain got shot,” Penguin snapped. “Always so competent, you Marines.”

Smoker startled, turning to examine Law. Law gestured weakly at his wound, his shackles clinking. “Seastone bullet lodged in my shoulder.” His lips curled. “Thanks for that.”

“That explains a lot,” Smoker mumbled before raising his voice. “You’re right.” He said it as if it took a great amount of effort to make the concession. It probably did. “He took control of the ship almost immediately. He overwhelmed us, and he forced my men to cuff me, knowing I wouldn’t fight them.” His voice tightened as he spoke, barely containing his fury at the memory.

Something was still bothering Law. “Where’s your number two? The swordswoman.”

Smoker’s expression darkened. “He’s got her on guard duty. She was watching me when he attacked you.”

That explained why Law hadn’t seen either of them earlier; Doflamingo likely hadn’t wanted to risk losing any measure of control of the situation by putting familiar faces in the battle.

“Has Doflamingo said what he wants?” Jean Bart asked after a quiet moment, eyes flicking to Law before returning to Smoker.

Smoker shook his head before landing his stare flatly on Law. “He just called it Family business.”

-----

Law jerked into full consciousness, hissing as his shoulder flared and blinking as the brig door opened and light once more flooded the dim room. After the conversation with Smoker, the four men had fallen into an uncomfortable silence. Law had felt drained—and by more than just the excessive amounts of Seastone he was being exposed to.

At some point, night had fallen—the Heart Pirates’ confrontation with Doflamingo had happened near dusk, and Law had apparently been out for several hours after that—though the darkened brig gave little indication of the time of day. Law had slumped back against the wall in the least painful position he could manage and had drifted in and out of wakefulness, familiar dreams of gunshots, black feathers, blood, and laughter never far from the back of his eyelids.

Two Marines entered the brig and stopped in front of Law’s cell. Law watched as they opened the door and stepped inside toward him. Despite the movements Doflamingo’s strings were forcing them to make, they looked back toward Smoker.

“V-vice Admiral,” the second Marine muttered. “We can’t—”

“I know,” Smoker gritted out. “Don’t blame yourselves. Focus on staying alive now to fight back later.”

“Yessir,” both men agreed before returning their attention to Law.

Law inhaled sharply and his vision spun as the Marines hauled him to his feet.

“Captain!” Penguin called as the Marines pushed Law out of his cell and toward the door. Law didn’t resist; he didn’t have the strength to with the Seastone still in his shoulder. “Where are you taking him?”

They all knew the answer to that question. “Doflamingo wants to see him,” the first Marine said in unneeded confirmation.

“It’s fine, Penguin,” Law said over his shoulder. “He wants me alive.” For how long, Law didn’t know. But he could use this chance to do some reconnaissance—anything was better than just sitting in that cell helplessly.

“But—”

“Penguin.” That was Jean Bart. Law was, not for the first time since Sabaody, thankful for the former captain’s calm and presence of mind; it had made him an instantly popular presence on the Polar Tang, and Law had always taken his counsel, when offered, seriously. “He knows.”

As the brig door swung shut, Law caught a glimpse of Penguin’s worried look and Jean Bart’s level, if somber, stare.

Law was surprised when the Marines steered him up some stairs then into a bathroom. “He told us to tell you to clean yourself up,” the second Marine said, nodding to the small bathroom. The Marines left Law alone in the bathroom, waiting outside.

For a moment, irritation at being underestimated flooded through Law’s veins, but it quickly diminished as he realized there wasn’t much he could do from here—the Seastone was suppressing his powers and draining his strength, and the small window wasn’t big enough for Law to fit through; and even if he could have fit through the window, where would he go? They were on a ship in the middle of the ocean, and Law was an anchor. Not to mention, two of Law’s men were still prisoners in the brig, and he wouldn’t leave without them.

Law took the opportunity to relieve himself then checked his pockets—an awkward task with his restraints. He sighed in relief when he found his surgical kit; the Marines must not have gone through his pockets once he was taken captive—or Doflamingo hadn’t made them do so. His mistake. With this, Law could remove the Seastone bullet from his shoulder and alleviate its worst effects. Or Penguin could. He hoped.

Returning the kit to his pocket, Law turned on the faucet and splashed some water in his face. He dared a glance into the mirror and winced. His features were (unsurprisingly) more drawn than usual, and though his navy shirt was dark enough to disguise much of the blood, there was still an obvious dark stain on the shoulder. He wet one of the towels then gently pulled the cloth of his shirt away from the skin, wincing when the dried blood caused it to stick. Once he’d separated the fabric from his skin, he took the damp towel and gently cleaned off as much of the blood as he could. It was awkward with his restricted wrists, but he managed as best he could. As the blood came away, the purpling of the skin became obvious around the bullet wound. He prodded around the wound with his fingers, grimacing at its tenderness.

There was a knock at the door. “All right, Trafalgar. Let’s go.”

With a weary sigh, Law splashed another handful of water in his face then dried off with a clean towel. He opened the door and allowed the Marines to push him forward down the hall again. He knew when to pick his battles, and this was not one of those times. Law did his best to make a mental map of the ship and number of Marines he saw, though his foggy mind wasn’t making that an easy task.

Eventually, Law was directed onto the ship’s deck. Law squinted at the morning sunlight, which was a stark contrast to the dim brig. He stumbled slightly, and the Marines shoved him forward. Law pressed his lips into a thin line but said nothing. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw he was been directed toward a small table with two chairs—one predictably occupied by Doflamingo. He was eating breakfast as Smoker’s number two was forced to stand behind him as a bodyguard. Law could practically feel the anger radiating off her, which he knew Doflamingo was basking in.

As Law approached, Doflamingo looked up and smirked. He gestured toward the empty chair across from him, and, when Law was too slow in taking it, twitched his fingers so Law’s Marine escorts pushed him down by the shoulders. Law ground his teeth against the jolt of fresh pain that radiated down his arm and through his chest but refused to give the other man the satisfaction of making a sound. Doflamingo’s smirk widened anyway. After dismissing the Marines with the wave of a hand, Doflamingo turned his full attention to Law.

“You know Captain Tashigi, don’t you, Law?” he said, nodding to the woman behind him. Her eyes flicked to Law and softened slightly before hardening again.

“We’ve met.”

“Hm. On Punk Hazard, wasn’t it?”

Doflamingo knew full well that was the case, so Law didn’t dignify the question with a response.

“Still delightful company, I see,” Doflamingo said, raising an eyebrow. “Some things never change, eh, Law?”

“My apologies,” Law drawled. “The Seastone bullet in my shoulder seems to be suppressing my manners as well as my Fruit.”

Doflamingo’s lips turned upward, apparently pleased at the response. “Fufufu. You must be hungry. Eat,” he directed, nodding toward the food on the table. No bread, Law noted idly.

Law didn’t move. Doflamingo sighed dramatically. “If I were going to kill you, Law, I wouldn’t have only shot you in the shoulder yesterday.” A twitch of the lips. “Besides, is poison really my style?”

Fine.

Still, Law raised his shackled wrists wordlessly, indicating how awkward it would be to eat with the restraints on.

Amused, Doflamingo twitched his fingers, and one of the Marine guards from earlier came forward. He brandished a key and unlocked the shackle on Law’s right wrist. Law let out a relieved breath before he could stop himself, but the relief was short-lived as he realized the Marine was locking the free shackle to the chair; Law’s left arm—the unwounded one—was essentially useless. If he was going to eat, he’d have to use his wounded arm.

Law clenched his jaw, biting down on the words he’d like to spit at the other man, as Doflamingo chuckled. “Fufufu. You knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, Law. Now eat.”

Doing his best to ignore the intent gaze of the other man, Law resorted to serving himself from the dishes closest to him so he wouldn’t need to move his arm too much. He ended up with some eggs and fruit. He blinked in surprise when another Marine poured coffee into the mug in front of him. Doing his best to control the trembling in his arm, he gripped the mug and took a tentative sip to test the heat of the drink. It was tolerable, so he took a larger sip. Blessed caffeine. It helped clear the fog in his mind the tiniest bit.

Law picked, one-handed, at the food on his plate and took sips of coffee as he waited for Doflamingo to get to whatever it was that he wanted. He’d just popped a strawberry in his mouth when the other man finally spoke.

“I told you once that I would have been happy to settle things between us over drinks,” Doflamingo said. “Do you remember?”

Law paused, then swallowed the food. He looked up at Doflamingo, who had steepled his fingers and was staring at Law over them. Despite everything that had happened—despite how much stronger Law was now—that gaze still made Law feel ten years old.

“As I recall,” Law replied coolly, “Fujitora was holding me down with his gravity force after you’d shot me with your bullet strings.” He inclined his head. “But yes, I do remember.”

“I meant it, you know. You’re Family. We all were waiting for you to return to your rightful place.”

Law snorted derisively, memories of waking up chained to the Heart Throne after being shot with lead bullets bouncing around the back of his mind. “Is that what we’re doing here? Making up for lost time?” His eyes narrowed. “It’s hard to take you seriously when—” Law found himself suddenly without words as he thought about the previous day—about finding the smoldering wreck of Shachi’s ship and fighting to stop Shachi’s internal bleeding as he operated on his friend, about that damn gun—so just gestured at his shoulder with his free hand. He could feel sharp, fiery anger coursing under his skin, but the numbing effect of the Seastone doused it almost as quickly as it came on, leaving Law feeling cold and hollow.

“You know what kind of Family we are.”

Law distantly noted the use of the present tense but didn’t dwell on it. “And that’s why I never came back.”

Doflamingo was uncharacteristically silent for several moments before he finally spoke. “There’s been something I’ve been wondering since you came to Dressrosa, Law.”

Law inclined his head, waited.

“Where were you that night? Coraz- Rosinante said you were out of the Birdcage. But you weren’t, were you?”

Law blinked, startled by the question—and by Doflamingo’s use of his brother’s name. Whatever he’d been expecting the other man to say, that wasn’t it. He couldn’t read the look on Doflamingo’s face either. Law took a breath, collecting himself—what did it matter if he told him now?

“No, I wasn’t.” He could still feel snowflakes on his eyelashes and the walls of the treasure chest pressing in on him… “Cora-san put me in one of the treasure chests.” His lips twisted into an expression he knew was ugly. “I heard everything.”

Including Doflamingo declaring Law would be taught to die for him. It had haunted Law for years that, had he not heard those words and had the Family recovered him, he probably would have died for Doflamingo. Happily. For all the hatred Law carried for the man in front of him, he’d loved him once, too. The Family had called him a traitor when he put his vengeance plan into motion, but Law had been the one betrayed on Minion Island. He still woke up shaking and nauseated from nightmares in which he performed the Eternal Youth Operation, dying with a smile on his face for the man who’d murdered his savior.

Doflamingo stared at him for a long, tense moment as though placing Law into his memories of that night. It was… disconcerting. Then he nodded. “We never checked the chests.”

“No,” Law agreed.

Silence fell once more. Doflamingo continued to study Law across the table while Law tried not to think about getting out of the chest and walking away from the Family, sobbing soundlessly until he wasn’t.

Finally, Doflamingo seemed to shake himself out of whatever he was thinking and turned back to his involuntary bodyguard. “Take him back to the brig, would you, Captain Tashigi?”

[utilitycaster]

Theory

The moon video is actually an elaborate fake-out designed to both offload old stock and drum up sales for Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything, and indeed, other WoTC books.

Consider: 

“Understanding”, and I use the word loosely, the moon video and its many flaws is made much easier by the possession of a 5e DM’s guide (information about the Astral Plane), The Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount (information about the Exandria setting), the Monster Manual (information about canonical creatures), and the Player’s Handbook (information about how playable races fundamentally work). While most players probably have some version of the PHB, only a DM necessarily needs the DM’s Guide and the Monster Manual. Meanwhile the Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount has an audience with Critical Role fans already, but it’s still only a few months old; new enough that there’s people out there who haven’t purchased it yet. Also there are people who go on YouTube or Tumblr and watch whatever is trending, apparently, which may represent a small bump in purchases.

WoTC also still sells Spelljammer 2e content (source: DM’s Guild), despite the original Spelljammer setting having been discontinued in 1993 with Planescape, when D&D was still being published by TSR (ie, prior to acquistion by WoTC). There is a market for these PDFs, but a small one. Additionally, several assumptions made by the video can most reliably be addressed with further back editions of D&D books, dating back to the original AD&D. Interest in AD&D from Stranger Things and the population Gen X-ers with children who want to to introduce them to The Version I Played there is a small market for these books, but to really make it worthwhile one would need to expand. Why not pull in at least some of Critical Role’s viewership?

Finally, Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything is slated for release later this year, and was announced not long after the video was posted. Given the hinging of the “argument” on, among other things, outdated understandings of racial traits, what better way to drum up publicity for a book that promises to revisit the unfortunate implications regarding racial traits still in some ways present, though to a far lesser extent, in 5e? What better way to spark an interest in astral and psionic-centric classes such as the seeker and the aberrant mind, previously tested only in Unearthed Arcana than to lead thousands of people to look up the Gith and the Astral Plane?

Anticipated arguments against and rebuttals

1. WoTC is a professional company with a full-fledged media and would do a better job with video editing.

Counterargument: that’s exactly what they want you to think.

2. A quick scan of the Spelljammer wikipedia page indicates Spelljammer explicitly takes place entirely on the material plane (with sundry demiplanes). Given the repeated references to the Astral plane, divine gate, etc. and the fact that we know canonically that extraplanar travel is possible within Exandria, as well as deep and fundamental differences between 2e and 5e wouldn’t it seem that the Spelljammer setting would need to be so altered to fit into the setting of Exandria that you would end up with a sort of Theseus’s ship paradox re: the mythology, and anyway if you can figure this out from five minutes on Wikipedia, why would you buy a book?

Counterargument: Oh so you believe everything you read on Wikipedia? Next thing you’ll tell me is you believe anything you watch on YouTube.

3. Okay so let’s say I believe your premise. Will this really sell that many more books? Pirating D&D PDFs is as much a right of passage for some as slaying a dragon, or seducing an enemy, or creating 7 different characters solely because you couldn’t decide on a color for your tiefling warlock and you spiraled and came to 5 hours later with one of each. Will real people with real money spend it on a book in a system 99% of them do not know that’s like “well we needed a name for Orcs but Space so we just flipped around the word ‘orcs’ and then we drank so much beer the other Wisconsinites at Lake Geneva were impressed, which is saying something”?

Counterargument: actually you have a point. Let’s consider. Most of these books, especially past editions, are PDFs anyway. So it makes sense to have a repository of them. Perhaps an online D&D app. Wait. There is one. It’s called D&D Beyond. Critical Role is sponsored by D&D Beyond. This is an ouroboros of a publicity stunt. But who would come up with such a strange, labor-intensive, and convoluted ad campaign? That’s ridiculous! That’s never happened on Critical -

oh. oh my god. this goes so much further than that. The only possible answer is that Sam Riegel...

is from the moon.

[cdelphiki]

What long chartered fics would you recommend for either a Robin in particular, or Batman and one of the Robins, or just the Batfam in general?

Oooh, long fics are my favorite.  By rule I only recommend completed fics, so because of that I’ll leave out a bunch I love, but here are some of the longest fics on Ao3 (and one from FF.net) that I liked, sorted by main character or main relationship:

Dick:

Second Generation by lowlyingfruit

TW: Referenced Rape. Basically, due to the Blockbuster incident…. Dick is a father.  It’s a very realistic fic following him dealing with that.  With some added Jason.  

No Good Deed by Black Friar

Robin Dick gets badly injured while working with Young Justice.  Not long after, some jerkface at school (accidentally, if I remember, but while picking on him) pushes him down a flight of stairs, causing him to hit his head and require a hospital stay.  While there, they discover the injuries he had previous and just assume Bruce did it.  So he gets taken away by CPS, and this follows both Dick and Bruce during that journey.  Lots of angst.  Good Dad Bruce, too.  Chapter 18 is my favorite.  

Becoming Robin by wordsgohere95

TW: Child Abuse.  This one is a take on Dick ‘Becoming Robin.’  Ha.  Get it?  Following what would actually happen to a 8 year old when he got stuck in a largely unsupervised detention center. It’s really rough in the detention center.  A kid basically brainwashes Dick into having stockholms syndrome, and to be honest with you, I probably wouldn’t read the first half of this again because it was too much for me. (I’m a baby and the kids are really mean to Dick :[ )  BUT I really enjoyed the fic over-all.  It was well written and believable.  It definitely deserves more than 174 kudos.  

Jason:

Retrograde Motion by Lysical

Jason gets deaged while he’s on a mission with The Outlaws (Artemis and Bizarro) and ends up going back to the Manor to live there during his predicament. 

I never call (a crazy thing to do) by ohnomydear

I was torn between Tim & Jason and just Jason for this.  But basically, due to magic and stuff, everyone in the world forgets who Jason is…. except Tim.  The whole fic is them working toward fixing that, while Jason struggles with his insecurities.  

Jason Todd: The Not So Outlaw by GoAwayOlivia

I feel like I rec this every single time people ask for recs, but can you blame me???  It’s a work of art.  Jason moves back to Gotham, intending on staying just a few months.  But that rascal Tim has other plans, and slowly pulls Jason back into the family.  

Tim:

Blood in the Water by Misha Berry

Tim is Bruce’s bio-kid.  He finds this out after he’s Robin, freaks out, and is promptly kidnapped by Talia.  Because, you know, she can’t have Tim ruining her plans for Damian being the sole heir to Batman.  So Tim is at the League.  With Damian.  And Jason.  It’s great.  

Confidence Lost by C_R_Scott

This is a crossover with White Collar, which is a thing I had never heard of and is still something I’ve never watched.  I’ve read this probably 5 times, though. (More specifically, listened to the podfic).  Basically, the plot is Tim doesn’t die by Ra’s, but rather ends up without his memory (it explains how) as the main character of this White Collar show.  He’s basically a dude who steals and forges artwork, gets caught by the FBI, and now works for the FBI in NYC, instead of being in jail.  He crosses paths with the Waynes, and they quickly figure out he’s their Tim.  I love this story. 

Damian:

Innocence and Experience by redrobin1989

Damian gets dropped into the Young Justice world, and they have to deal with him being all prickly.  It’s been a long while since I’ve read this.  I think this is the one where Damian is Dick’s robin, so this is really his chance to spend time with his dad.  Dick gets all jealous.  I remember really liking this, though.  A lot.  I need to reread it.  

Falling Together by Raven_Queen

I’m behind on this.  I haven’t read the last several chapters and I need to, because I really liked it.  I’m not usually one to read F/M fics, especially not OC ship fics.  I tend to stick entirely within the Gen works.  But this was super cute.  Damian starts competing with a girl in his class academically, thinking they’re friends…. when actually he’s just being really mean.  But he fixes it and is so sweet to her.  Adorable.  

Ghosts That We Knew by fishfingersandjellybabies

Damian is dead.  But that’s okay, because he’s a ghost.  And he haunts the batfamily, kinda acting like their guardian angel.  Tim can see him, sometimes.   It’s great. I’ve read this twice.  

Jason & Dick:

View From Jade by lowlyingfruit

Jason gets thrown back in time, to the time just between Dick’s parents’ deaths and him becoming Robin.  He decides to intervene, because how dare Bruce make Dick Robin.  He learns a lot about his older brother in the process.

Tim & Damian:

Juneberries by Misha Berry

Tim gets kidnapped, and Damian feels guilty, the goes after him.  He ends up getting caught, too, and there is some great bonding between them.  Tim angst, too.

Bruce/Batfam

Foreign Object by audreycritter

Bruce has a brain tumor.  A super realistic fic following Bruce leading up to and then post-surgery.  It follows the entire batfam and looks at how it affects them all.  Very well done.  

Robins and Other Flightless Birds by ionaperidot

A Bruce from a different, nicer universe finds out that every other Batman has kids.  And he gets jealous.  And kidnaps a version of each of his canon kids from other universes.  (He doesn’t actually kidnap them. He finds kids who need help in other universes and brings them home.  Like Talon Dick, Catatonic Jason, Assassin Damian, etc). This is fantastic. I was sad when it ended.

There.  That’s a combined total of 1,666,066 words.  Thats… uh… a lot of 6s.  Enjoy!! :D

[tsarisfanfiction]

Wax and Feathers

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rated: Gen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Gordon, Virgil, John, Tracy family

Sometimes limits need to be broken. But a limit is there for a reason, and breaking them has consequences. Episode tag for 3.20 "Icarus"

It was fact that everything had a limit. No matter who, or what, there came a point when they just couldn't push any further. This was even true for International Rescue.

Scott liked to pretend it wasn't. Acknowledging limits felt like giving up, but when Thunderbird Two went underwater, or into space, and barely survived the experiences, or Five's immensely strong structure cracked under too much gravity, those limits almost took the lives of his brothers. So, as much as he hated them, he couldn't quite ignore the fact that limits existed.

Thunderbird One was the fastest aircraft in existence. The idea that speed could ever be an issue for her was ludicrous. Her full capability was rarely exercised, unnecessary in all but the direst conditions and, as John was fond of saying, everything Brains designed had a huge safety margin. Even her limit wasn't really her limit; Scott had never tried to push her more out of respect for his father's impressive record than anything else. He didn't want to know if he could beat it. Not without his Dad watching, anyway.

Something was wrong. Experienced pilot, more or less one with his Thunderbird from so many flight hours together, Scott knew the moment he engaged the VTOL to leave the air show and head for home that Thunderbird One wasn't going to make it back without considerable skill and a healthy dose of luck. The noise of her engines was just off kilter to usual, a change that he could feel more than hear it was so subtle.

Subtle, but there. The controls weren't one with him. For the first time in a long time, Scott actually had to dedicate conscious thought to them, counting carefully the beats before the next shift to account for the airspeed. Ever his Thunderbird, One worked as closely with him as she could, responding to his touches, but it was impossible to fall into her usual rhythm.

"Scott?"

He ignored the hologram of his brother appearing in his line of vision, focusing on the readouts flickering up instead and not even daring to spare the time to swipe the floating image away.

"Scott!"

Mach 1.3 seemed to be the sweet spot, Thunderbird One purring along almost as though nothing was wrong, but it was tough to keep her at exactly that speed without autopilot – and with something seriously wrong somewhere in her engines, Scott refused to trust autopilot.

"Thunderbird One, respond!"

John barked in that tone that meant answer me or I'll take control of your Thunderbird. Anyone else taking control of One right now would be disaster. Scott responded.

"What?"

Short, curt. Uncharacteristically so, even for him at his most stressed.

"Thunderbird One's flight pattern is erratic. Are you okay?" His brother sounded worried. Scott didn't have the concentration to spare on reassuring him.

"Fine."

"You don't sound fine."

Scott ignored him as Thunderbird One shuddered. Whatever was wrong in her engine wasn't fixing itself, and instead seemed to be worsening steadily. He was still several hundred miles from base.

Gritting his teeth, he slowed to sub-sonic flight. At least now if she crashed, he had a chance of walking away from it.

"Scott what's going on?" Virgil's hologram appeared beside John's. Gordon quickly flickered into life to complete the trio of concerned looks. "Why have you dropped speed? Did something happen?"

"We're ahead of you, slow poke," Gordon chimed in. "Feel like doing the dishes for once?"

"Gordon!" Virgil snapped. "Scott, speed up or I'm turning around."

He opened his mouth to protest, instinct rebelling at the notion of his brothers coming back to help him, before common sense prevailed. Thunderbird One was deteriorating too quickly. Either he landed her now, while he was over land, or he would get an unwelcome swim somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.

Thunderbird One had hit her limit. She wouldn't make it back.

"John," he said. "Somewhere remote I can land. Now."

"Scott?" Virgil asked, but John's F.A.B cut across him. Scott gritted his teeth as Thunderbird One juddered again, more fiercely this time. Alarms began to wail, belatedly telling him something was wrong with his 'bird.

"Scott, what's going on?" Virgil demanded.

John was still silent, hopefully calculating somewhere he could land with minimal damage and audience.

"I don't know," he lied. "Some sort of engine trouble."

He knew exactly what had happened. Thunderbird One's operating limit was Mach 19. Her top speed was Mach 20. In pursuing Icarus, he'd pushed her past Mach 21.

His brothers thought he'd stuck to Mach 19, closed in using Kayo's flight path, and not sped up past that until he'd hooked Icarus, at which point he was being effectively towed so the only strain was on the tow cable.

At their comparative speeds, the sudden strain from a craft going Mach 19 latching onto a craft reaching Mach 22 would have torn both ships apart. A difference of Mach 3 was no small feat. In order to keep both intact – and consequently both pilots alive – Thunderbird One had had to attempt to match speed. It hadn't gone perfectly, still enough of a difference that the ships had threatened to tear apart, but he'd caught her and slowed Icarus down at least for a while.

"Sending co-ordinates now," John told him, and Scott glanced up at the new destination as they flashed up, making the adjustments to his course. Dimly, he could hear the lower roar of Two's engines over the sound of One's struggling and despite himself relaxed slightly. The sound of a Thunderbird really was the sweetest thing to hear when in trouble.

It was not his best landing, not by a long shot. He tried to set her down gently, feather-light as usual, but the various small shifts in the engine power required to land a supersonic jet proved to be the final straw for his poor, damaged 'bird. With a concerning snap from somewhere behind him, the engines cut out entirely just before the landing struts engaged and she ploughed, nose-first, into the dirt.

"Scott!" a chorus of brothers' voices sounded, and he groaned, straightening up and bringing a hand to his head. No whiplash, hopefully no concussion either he self-diagnosed as he pushed the restraints up and rolled his shoulders. There was sure to be some bruising from that, but nothing worse.

"Thunderbird One, respond!" John snapped as One shuddered in the familiar way that meant her sister was landing right next to her.

"Scott!" Gordon's voice sounded through the comms in stereo with a faint noise from outside One.

"I'm okay," he told them both, fumbling for the emergency override and opening the cockpit. Gordon leapt in before he could get out, pushing him back into his seat.

"We're gonna be the judges of that," his younger brother told him. "Seriously, what the hell happened?" Scott suffered through the brief medical exam, lengthened by the arrival of Virgil who promptly took over from Gordon and did it all again. It spoke volumes of how worried they were that Gordon didn't protest that he'd done it already.

"She couldn't quite hold long enough," Scott admitted. "Something in her engine's broken." He tried to stand, itching to go and see the damage for himself, but his brothers stopped him.

"I'll check the damage," Virgil said, stepping back. "You and that concussion of yours are staying right there until I get back."

"What concussion?" Scott demanded, then flinched as Gordon's gloved hand brushed against the back of his head.

"That one," his blond brother told him. "Why didn't you put your helmet on?"

"Wasn't time," he defended himself. Gordon raised an eyebrow.

"If I could get mine on with a volcano landing on top of me, you could have got yours on when you knew there was a problem." Scott flinched, mind flickering back to the nightmarish sight of the crumpled Thunderbird Four and her limp aquanaut as Penelope pulled him out of the wreckage.

There went any chance of sleep tonight.

He was saved from having to reply by Virgil's reappearance. The dark-haired Tracy looked grim.

"She's not flying anywhere," he declared bluntly. "Her main engine core's completely burnt out. Two'll have to carry her back." Scott had feared as such.

"But Two's already got a full load," Gordon pointed out. "She can't carry One and Four at the same time."

"I'll just have to drop Four off then come back," Virgil sighed. "Gordon, wait here with Scott. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. I won't be long."

"F.A.B."

Scott bristled at the implication he might try and get her airborne again. He wanted her home in one piece, and he knew the only way that would happen was by the grace of Virgil and Two now.

The behemoth in question lifted away from the ground slowly, only to engage her thrusters to full as soon as she was fully in the air and disappear off in the blink of an eye. It was easy to forget that although she was sluggish compared to One, Two was still an incredibly fast craft. And Virgil wasn't hanging around.

He went to stand up again, and growled at Gordon as his younger brother put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"You've got a concussion, Scott," the aquanaut reminded him.

"So you've said," he retorted. "But concussion or not, I'm getting out of this chair and seeing the damage for myself so get out of the way."

Gordon did not get out of the way. But he did, after a moment, remove the hand from his shoulder and offer it instead. Scott tried to deny that he appreciated the help as the interior of his beloved ship swam slightly before his eyes.

"You'll be riding back in Two anyway," the blond menace shrugged. Scott ignored him as he stumbled his way down through the fuselage to the main engine. The internal access panel was still open from Virgil's investigation, and immediately he could see why Virgil hadn't been gone long.

Burnt out was a rather understated way to describe the charred lump of metal that had once housed the engine core, and his engineer brother hadn't even bothered to mention the relay. It was sheered clean in half – clearly the snap he'd heard as his 'bird had fallen the last few metres from the sky. No doubt her other engines were in a similar condition.

Virgil was right. There was no way Thunderbird One would be able to get back in the air under her own power.

"Brains is going to kill me," he groaned, pressing a hand to his face.

"Join the club, bro," Gordon chimed in, before giving off a low whistle. "Woah, how the hell did that even happen?" Scott shrugged, unwilling to admit that Thunderbird One had gone too fast.

"Scott," John buzzed in from his comms channel. "I just reviewed Thunderbird One's flight telemetry. What were you doing at Mach 21.7?"

"Catching a plane," he said, overriding Gordon's yelp of "Mach what?

"No wonder her engines are fried!" the aquanaut continued. "Thunderbird One's top speed is Mach 19. Nine. Teen."

"Technically that's her operating limit," Scott corrected. "Her top speed is Mach 20."

"Mach twenty one, Scott. Twenty one is higher than twenty. My point still stands."

"Point seven," John corrected Gordon. "He reached Mach twenty one point seven."

"That's even worse!" Gordon cried dramatically, hands in his hair. "What even possessed you to do that?"

"We had to catch the Icarus," Scott reminded him, even though his gut churned as he remembered that despite pushing Thunderbird One into this state, he'd still failed. The success story had been the combination of Two and Three. Wrecking his Thunderbird with nothing to even show for it gnawed at his mind unpleasantly.

He heard Gordon sigh and a hand returned to his shoulder.

"Come on, let's go outside."

He didn't move, staring into the depths of his 'bird and the carnage of her engines. She was going to be grounded for weeks with that much damage while Brains repaired her.

But Brains was working on the T-Drive engine.

He sank down to the floor, one hand blindly reaching out to trace the cool metal of her hull as he did so.

Brains would have to stop working on the T-Drive to repair her. They didn't have time for petty delays yet he'd gone and wrecked his Thunderbird without even a success story to excuse the damage and subsequently put a huge dent in their too tight time frame.

Unless he told Brains to leave her, keep Thunderbird One crippled until the Zero-X was complete and Dad was home. But International Rescue needed her.

The Zero-X or Thunderbird One.

Unbidden, bile built up in his throat, catching him off guard as he retched.

"Geez, Scott." Gordon's voice was softer now, and his hands were gentle even as they hauled him to his feet. "That concussion's not happy with you, is it? Let's get you outside." Drained, too burdened by the realisation that he would have to choose between two equally important craft to have any fight left, Scott let himself be led out of his 'bird's cargo bay door.

Gordon guided him to her nose cone, splattered with dirt and streaks of silver cutting through the red where the impact had damaged it, and coaxed him into sitting on the ground with his back leaning against his downed Thunderbird.

"Stay there," he said before disappearing back inside One. Scott watched him go, looking down the long silver fuselage of the plane to the blue stripe around her engines. From the outside, there was no sign of the wreckage. A slightly scratched nose cone and the lack of her landing gear out were the only signs that she hadn't simply landed there.

"Here." Gordon reappeared seconds after vanishing, holding something that glinted in the sun in his hands. "You're trembling," his younger brother explained as the foil blanket wrapped around him. "Nothing to be done about the concussion, though." He sat down next to him, slinging an arm around Scott's shoulders lightly. "She'll be okay. Brains'll fix her up, better than new."

"Brains is working on the T-Drive engine," Scott reminded him. "He doesn't have time to fix her."

"Then we'll fix her," Gordon said matter-of-factly. "You, me, Virgil, Alan. Well, mainly Virgil. Just like we fixed Two up after her little swimming adventures."

Thunderbird Two's damage had been nowhere near as severe as this.

"It'll be okay, Scott," his brother continued. The arm around his shoulders tightened slightly. "We'll save him."

That was his line, to be recited to younger brothers whenever they needed it. Not for them to recite back to him.

It was comforting to hear.

"Yeah," he said as the roar of Two's engines came into earshot, the green behemoth appearing as quickly as she'd vanished. "We will."

"Budge over," Virgil ordered, their comms crackling back to life in unison and with no ceremony. "I'm going to land on top of her and I don't feel like explaining to Grandma why two of my brothers are fried worse than her cooking."

"I'd pay to see you tell her her cooking is bad to her face," Gordon retorted, but he was already on his feet and pulling Scott up with him. Together they backed up, Scott knowing exactly how far was safe and reluctant to get any further from Thunderbird One than required. Gordon pulled him back a little more.

"You couldn't afford it," Virgil scoffed as he positioned his 'bird over her sister. Without a module, she looked flimsier than usual, even though Scott knew she could lift greater weight without one. "Why is Scott in a foil blanket?"

"You said to make sure he didn't do anything stupid," Gordon chirped, a huge grin on his face. "So I make sure he couldn't."

"Resourceful," Virgil commented approvingly. Scott scowled, even though he knew Gordon was lying – or at least, partially lying. He wouldn't put it past his prankster brother to have had multiple reasons for bringing out the blanket. Two's landing struts deployed to their full extent and Scott watched with rigid shoulders as they came down either side of his 'bird, the rear pair barely missing her extended wings.

Thunderbird Two wasn't strictly designed to land on her fully-extended struts, but Virgil made it look easy as she settled daintily over her sister. The grapples fired down and Gordon ran over to secure them. Contained in foil, Scott could do nothing but watch as his younger brothers secured the two craft together. It looked terrifyingly flimsy, four relatively thin cables trailing down from the walls of Thunderbird Two's module bay the only links, but Scott knew that it would hold. Brains put safety first, and in a gift of forethought and paranoia had installed specific places on Thunderbird One's hull for just such an eventuality. She was far better secured to her sister than any other craft could ever be.

Once all three brothers were satisfied, Scott unable to resist joining Gordon if only to instruct ("I know, Scott!"), Thunderbird Two's platform lowered. Mild concussion or not, Scott refused to be treated as a rescuee and won the argument over whether or not he could grapple up to the platform by himself. That didn't stop Virgil from manhandling him into the nearest seat – usually Alan's, directly behind the pilot – while Gordon slid triumphantly into the co-pilot's seat, which was technically Scott's right as commander, but his brothers were clearly having none of it.

"You sit back and call Tracy Island," Virgil told him when he tried to resist. "Kayo's having kittens about what could have brought One down under her watch and Alan's not much better. Now shut up and let me get your 'bird home in one piece."

Scott scowled, fighting his way out of the foil blanket before tapping his comm unit. Beneath him, Two's powerful VTOLs roared into life, straining for a moment before they began to gain altitude.

"Scott!" Alan's voice burst out of his communicator, the small hologram appearing above his wrist. "Are you okay? What happened? Did you crash? Virgil didn't say much."

"I'm fine, Alan," he cut in, silencing his youngest brother's babble. "One's engines gave out, that's all."

"What happened, Scott Tracy." Kayo flickered into view, pushing Alan aside as she scowled at him, eyes sparking dangerously. "Thunderbird One performed just fine during the air show, and no-one unauthorised got near her at any point."

Scott gritted his teeth for a moment before letting out a sigh. His head throbbed and his shoulders ached – reminders that no matter how lucky he'd been, it had still been a crash landing.

"It's nothing to worry about," he told her, conscious that Virgil was listening in from the seat in front of him. Gordon was tapping his own flight controls, already aware of the cause thanks to John earlier and hopefully on standby to prevent any erratic flying from Virgil. Kayo opened her mouth, clearly about to protest that it was clearly something to worry about if it could take a Thunderbird out of the sky straight after a public event. "Catching the Icarus just put too much strain on the engines."

"Mach 19 should not have strained Thunderbird One's engines like that," Kayo disagreed. Scott winced, and her hologram's eyes narrowed. "Scott?"

"Mach 21.7," Gordon interrupted, and Scott shot him a glare as Thunderbird Two dipped slightly. His brother had firm hold of Two's flight controls, which was fortunate as Virgil whipped around to stare at Scott incredulously.

"Excuse me?" Kayo asked, taken aback. "Thunderbird One's operational limit is Mach 19. Even taking into consideration Brains' safety limits, she can't exceed Mach 20."

Control of the conversation was slipping away – if he'd ever had it – and Scott wanted it back.

"Well she did," he snapped.

"And murdered her own engines in the process," Virgil retorted, regaining flight control from Gordon. "Good job."

"But you're okay, right?" Alan piped up again, shoving Kayo back out of view. Blue eyes, washed out slightly in hologram form, looked up at him in concern, and Scott softened.

"I'm okay, little brother."

Alan's worried look gave way to one of relief, and Scott was content to sit back and let him talk, revisiting his part of the rescue – the successful bit, his brain muttered mutinously – and all the fun he had at the show when they weren't saving Professor Kwark. Virgil kept sending him disapproving looks over his shoulder, which he studiously ignored.

"Tracy Island, this is Thunderbird Two." Virgil cut through Alan's retelling of how he swept up Professor Kwark from the remains of the Icarus for the fifth time. "On final approach now. Alan, Kayo, get ready."

"F.A.B."

Scott's communicator blinked out.

He looked out of the window to see their home looming in the distance, growing by the moment. Two's palm trees were folded back already, a blob of green sitting on the runway. Gordon made a strangled noise of protest.

"Did you just dump Four?" he demanded of Virgil, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"Two can't enter or leave her hanger without a module," he reminded him. "That's where her wheels are."

"Point," Gordon conceded with a shrug.

"Now go get ready to unhook One," Virgil ordered, and with a cheeky salute Gordon headed to the rear of the cockpit. "Scott, you are not leaving that seat until Two is back in her hanger."

"She's my 'bird," Scott retorted, standing up. Gordon pushed him back down and before he knew it the foil blanket had been wrapped back around him and the safety belt fastened over the top of it. "Gordon!"

"Concussions don't go away that fast, bro. Don't worry, I'll take care of your 'bird." Scott groaned and let his head fall back, wincing as the headrest made contact with the source of his headache.

"Good thinking with that blanket," Virgil told Gordon. "We should use it more often."

"You should not," Scott snapped, but went ignored as Virgil turned his attention back to their approach and Gordon got ready to rappel out of the hatch.

Two pods trailed out of Two's hangar, set up as landing gear cradles. Scott watched them vanish underneath Two's bulk and a moment later Virgil opened the hatch for Gordon to disappear out of.

The operation began. Scott listened as his three brothers and Kayo co-ordinated the two pods and Thunderbird Two to get One nestled safely on the landing gear and had to bite his lip to prevent himself cutting in. Unable to even see the holographic display Virgil was referencing clearly, he was stuck waiting, and dwelling.

Scott did not do waiting or dwelling well. Never had done, and now so much was weighing down on him at once, it was even worse. Gordon's words had helped, but they couldn't clear all of the worries away. He'd been useless – worse than useless, now an actual detriment to International Rescue – in trying to save Professor Kwark, and now he was useless in even getting his crippled Thunderbird home.

What was he even doing?

Two's engines increased their thrust, pushing the behemoth back into the sky. Below, the two pods carefully manoeuvred back into the hanger, carrying Thunderbird One.

"Still with us, Scott?" Virgil asked as he brought his 'bird down over module four, finally bringing Gordon's beloved sub into the hangar.

"Yeah," Scott grunted, watching as Thunderbird Two finally came to a halt. "I'm fine."

"No you're not," Virgil corrected him, flicking through post-flight checks rapidly. "Your Thunderbird fell out of the sky and you have a concussion. You're not fine, Scott, and none of us expect you to be."

"I'm fine," he snapped.

Virgil sighed heavily and stood up, smoothly stepping around his chair to stand in front of him.

"Come on, big brother," he huffed, releasing the safety belt. "Let's get you in the house."

They were all waiting for him when the platform lowered, Virgil's arm firmly around his shoulders and keeping the foil blanket in place despite his efforts to dislodge it. Alan barely waited for him to step off of it before tackling him into a hug, while Gordon sauntered over at a more leisurely pace to slip his arm around his shoulders from the opposite side to Virgil. Kayo's arms remained firmly crossed but her eyes were soft, and even John was there, standing next to Brains and looking as though he'd come Earthside in a hurry. Grandma wrapped her arms around as many of them as she could reach.

"What-" he started, wondering what had prompted the sudden family gathering in Two's hangar.

"Don't you scare us like that, young man," Grandma overrode him briskly, squeezing tighter before letting them go. "Now, let's get you upstairs."

"I-I'll get started o-on the repairs," Brains excused himself, and Scott's mouth fell open.

"What?" he demanded. "But the T-Drive-"

"Dad wouldn't want us to prioritise him over International Rescue," John overrode him quietly. "Thunderbird One takes priority. You know this, Scott."

He grit his teeth, wishing he could refute what his brother was saying, but John had the annoying habit of always being right.

"EOS and I will continue calculations for the T-Drive," John continued. "This isn't a setback, Scott."

"It shouldn't have happened at all," Scott spat. "It didn't even help."

"Stop talking nonsense," Grandma scolded, hands on her hips as steely eyes glared up at him. "You might not have saved her by yourself, but that isn't Thunderbird One's role. Thunderbird One brings hope, and you, young man, brought the Professor hope that she would be saved. Don't you forget it."

She reached out and rested a hand on his cheek, breaking into a smile.

"Besides, your father would be delighted that you broke his record."

[gellavonhamster]

a room for one night

gen || R the Duchess of Winnipeg, Lemony Snicket, Bertrand Baudelaire, Kit Snicket || ships mentioned and/or implied: R/Beatrice, Lemony/Beatrice, Bertrand/Beatrice, Kit/Beatrice, Bertrand/Lemony || pre-canon 

ao3 link eng  || ao3 link rus

inspired by @beatricebidelaire‘s post that I can’t find now (tumblr search function, am I right?) but the idea was the following: two volunteers, the “there was only one bed” trope, but all they do at night is talk about Beatrice

“Should I sleep on the floor after all, perhaps? Lemony suggested.

R gave him a bewildered look. “I feel like we’ve slept in the same bed before often enough for you not to worry about propriety, haven’t we?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Lemony raised the edge of a dull bed sheet covered in light blue polka dots, and tapped on the base of the bed. “I meant the beer crates.”  

They checked in the hostel early in the morning, left their belongings, and went out to explore the surroundings – not only and not so much out of tourist curiosity as to find the restaurant where they would have to spy on a couple of persons of interest to VFD tomorrow, select the table it would be the most convenient to spy from, and evaluate the escape routes just in case. After that they simply had to go to a café for root beer floats, and then they made the mistake of visiting a museum whose size they severely underestimated. The room had been checked for wiretapping and other unpleasant surprises of that sort earlier by another volunteer who was passing through the town but could not stay for long and perform the task that was ultimately assigned to Lemony and R. What that volunteer had not mentioned in their report was that the room had a sloped ceiling, so low in places that it was possible to bump one’s head by accident, as well as that the bed was essentially a mattress placed upon several beer crates put together. Though they were not happy about the ceiling, the bed, which they had a good look at only in the evening as they were preparing for sleep, only made them laugh.    

“Ah, that’s what you’re talking about. Come on, if they keep this bed in a double room, it means it won’t collapse under anyone. And I assume that many have tried…”  

“Your Grace.”

“I mean, this is a double room…”

“Your Grace,” Lemony repeated, shaking his head. Despite his deliberately disapproving voice, he was smiling. “Sometimes I cannot believe you belong to the cream of society.”  

“That’s because you do not spend enough time among all that cream. It is sour at best,” R climbed under the blanket. Her legs were aching a little after wandering the town and the museum, and the dubious bed felt like a paradisiacal cloud to her. “Hey, what’s with the face? Are you all right?”  

“Yes. No,” Lemony hesitated. “May I ask you something?”

R tensed up.

“Go ahead,” she consented. She had suspicions regarding what was bothering her friend, and she was not sure she wanted to talk about that.

“Do you hate me?”

R reached out and touched his forehead. Lemony frowned.

“What are you doing?”

Stalling for time, she thought, but what she said out loud, naturally, was a whole different thing.

“Checking if you have fever, since you seem to be raving.”  

“R, I am being serious,” Lemony pushed her hand away softly. Both of them were lying on their sides, face to face, and in the mellow light of the night lamp Ramona could see it clearly that he was talking completely seriously indeed – she could read it in his eyes and on his lips. “I am not asking you for politeness; I am asking for an honest answer. If my company is oppressive to you, I will get a separate room, and tomorrow we can organize work so that our paths would cross as seldom as possible.”

Ramona rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” she spoke. “You want honesty? Here’s your honesty. No, I do not hate you. I love you, you fool,” and she wasn’t lying, wasn’t trying to spare his feelings. Lemony was her best friend from their very childhood. Despite his peculiar personality, it was easy for her to love him – it was a genuine, virtually familial attachment that was not complicated by anything superfluous.

“And Beatrice?”

He was watching her so intently and sadly that she couldn’t bear it and closed her eyes. She was silent. He kept waiting.

“I love her too,” she said finally. If her love for Lemony was simple and straightforward, then her love for Beatrice was disconcerting, at times uplifting, at times stupefying, and only one thing was clear: while there was friendship in it (in R’s opinion, no real love was possible without friendship at all), there was certainly nothing familial about it. “As if you do not know that.”  

“I do,” Lemony confirmed. She opened her eyes again and looked at him. Of course he knew everything and even more. In the area of romantic feelings towards Beatrice Baudelaire he was no less of an expert than she.

R sighed.

“You know I would not come between you, now that she has finally made up her mind and chosen you,” she said firmly, to him and to that small nasty part of her soul that kept wondering why Lemony Snicket should get what she had been dreaming of. “I cherish both of you too much. That may come as a shock to you, but crushes come and go,” shit, she promised to be honest, but when one is not completely sure if what one says is true, that does not count as a lie, does it? “But friends like the two of you are hard to come by. Are you going to ask me if I am happy for you? No, I am not happy that the girl I liked chose you,” that was a good word, ‘like’, it made everything less significant. “But I am happy that the two of my closest friends are together, and doing fine. Well, as fine as it can be for the most dramatic people I know.”      

“Hmm,” was all that Lemony said. He covered her hand with his. “I believe that you wouldn’t lie to me, and I want you to know that I am sincerely sorry that it all turned out like this. If I can do anything for you…”  

“You can,” R propped herself up on one elbow. She was eager to be done with this conversation as soon as possible. The more they discussed that, the more she thought about Beatrice, and so the more difficult it was to let her go. And she had already decided that she would let her go – it could not go one like this anymore. She deserved better. All of them deserved better. Maybe Lemony and Beatrice enjoyed drama, but she preferred comedy. “Stop trying to set me up with every girl we meet that I say is cute. Or at least stop using literary quotes for that purpose, I am begging you.”

Now it was Lemony’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Ramona, please, I’ve already apologized…”

“We still have to face that receptionist in the morning, you know.”

“What’s wrong with quotes?”

“They perplex normal people. Some things exist for VFD internal use only,” R put her head on the pillow again and winked at him. “Now let us go to sleep already, shall we?” 

***

“Do you think I should cut my hair?” Kit asked.

Bertrand looked up from the book, the preface to which was supposed to contain an encrypted message, and shifted his gaze to his friend. She was combing her hair by a rather dirty oval mirror. Usually Kit put her hair in a bun or a ponytail, and occasionally Bertrand (and many other people, in all likelihood) forgot how long and voluminous it was – a heavy brown waterfall.  

“If you are tired of your current hairstyle, then by all means you should,” he observed. “What is important is your own opinion on that.”

“I see. I don’t even know what I expected,” Kit put the comb down on the only nightstand present in the sparsely furnished motel room, and started plaiting her hair for the night. “Bertrand and his famed diplomacy…”  

Bertrand put the book aside.

“We can do without diplomacy,” he said in a tired voice, took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He and Kit had driven for four hours today, and tomorrow they had to drive as much. The heat was unimaginable, the air conditioner in the taxi kept acting up, they had already eaten all the food they had with them, and the only kind of food one could come by in that part of the Hinterlands were crappy hot dogs and candy sold at gas stations. “I remember Olaf used to shower your hair with compliments all the time, and I get your wish to do something to spite him, but if you’re going to cut it every time the two of you split up, you’ll go broke splurging on hairdresser’s services.”  

“This is not ‘every’ time,” Kit threw her plait over her shoulder. “There will be no next time. And that has nothing to do with him. As to hairdressers, I can cut my own hair just fine. Now, if you like – I got scissors in my bag…”  

“I think you should get some sleep and think about this in the morning.”

The bed creaked when Kit climbed onto her half of it. As the old guy at the reception explained to them, there were no single rooms in the motel. “You can have one room with no trouble,” he told them in a conspiratorial voice. “Not a soul for many miles around! No one will know.” That amused them: it wasn’t often that they got mistaken for a couple. Bertrand was under the impression that the two of them, in their glasses of the same shape and even often with a similar facial expression, must rather resemble relatives – if not siblings, then cousins. “Easy, B,” he heard Jacques Snicket’s voice in his head. “This is my twin sister, not yours.” Bertrand grinned.  

“Olaf isn’t the only one who likes your hair, you know,” he pointed out. “For example, Beatrice said that they are, and I quote, ‘gorgeous’. She’s even a little bit jealous.”  

“Is that so?” Kit said. It was as if something in her face changed when he mentioned Beatrice, but that might have also been just a trick of the light in the dusk – the floor lamp by the bed, the nervously blinking neon sign outside. “I see you and her have grown quite close lately.”  

“We are working on a new production together.”

Kit was right, of course. He and Beatrice had been working at the same theatre for years, but they only really bonded lately, when the actor who was to play her lover had to leave on VFD business and his part in the play was given to Bertrand. Frankly speaking, he didn’t like Beatrice much until recently. He used to think her too loud and careless and pretentious, yet now the closer they got, the more he became convinced it was just another role that Beatrice used to protect her real self from fake friends, bootlickers, and the press. There was something extremely flattering in being allowed behind that façade, allowed to see the less kempt but at the same time more cosy space that it was hiding. Bertrand hoped to justify her confidence and not to lose her friendship – which was precisely why he knew well that at a certain point, they have to cease growing closer to each other.      

“I am not saying anything of that sort,” Kit remarked. “It is logical that the actors playing a pair of sweethearts spend a lot of time together – it is necessary to practice… and so on.”  

Bertrand turned off the floor lamp. It crossed his mind immediately that he shouldn’t have done that at that moment. It might have looked as if he didn’t want Kit to see his face or, for instance, to notice he was blushing. Not that he was actually blushing, of course.      

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Your brother’s relationship is under no threat. I am not the kind of person who could do that.” He almost added “Not to him”, but stopped short. He wanted to believe that he was not the type to ruin someone else’s happiness in any case, but there was something especially important in not ruining Lemony Snicket’s happiness. For a long time, their interaction used to come down to the debates of varying degree of seriousness, the non-committal (at least at first sight) discussions at the get-togethers, and Bertrand’s sincere frustration that Snicket seemed to dislike him. It was only lately that a careful friendship had come into being between them. When Bertrand tried to analyze that friendship, he ended up overwhelmed with the same feeling of awkwardness that resulted from his attempts to analyze his growing closeness with Beatrice, so he just allowed that friendship to grow, trying not to think of anything too hard. Anything but one thing: Lemony Snicket certainly was on the list of people he never ever wanted to cause any pain.        

“I know,” Kit replied. He couldn’t see her face: he was lying on his back, and she was on her side. But he could guess that she was smiling, and that her smile was far from being carefree. He couldn’t guess why, and he wasn’t sure he should. “Have you set the alarm?”  

“For six, as agreed. Will you be able to drive at that unearthly hour?”  

“You insult me,” now she must have been smiling from the bottom of her heart. “I could have driven all night without stopping for sleep. We’re in this doghole solely because I had pity on you, B. Appreciate it.”  

“I do appreciate,” he turned over to his side too. The thin curtains provided no protection from the handfuls of pink and green light that the neon sign was throwing at their window. Bertrand could make out the stripes on Kit’s pyjamas and the thick plait on her pillow, reminiscent of one of Monty’s snakes in the twilight. He remembered Kit’s words about the scissors in the bag. “So, have you changed your mind about cutting your hair?”    

“I have,” she answered, and he seemed to hear something strange in her voice and didn’t wish her good night, because he didn’t know what she, in turn, could hear in his.    

[pigeontheoneandonly]

From the Scrap Pile

Tagged for this by @kauriart​ and @amarmeme​.  Thank you!  Very seriously thank you, actually, because I hadn’t read through my “scrap” document (which is more like “scenes I wrote out of order and need homes”) in quite awhile, and I forgot how much stuff I’m looking forward to in the fic.

Tagging @citadelsushi​, @swaps55​, @laurelsofhighever​, @ljandersen​, and @1esk19​!

This is a scene from Labyrinth that hasn’t found that home yet, and I don’t think it really will.  It’s also rated E, so consider yourselves duly warned. ;)

The credits were running.  Shepard instinctively tightened her arms around Kaidan.  His fingers knotted in her hair, not seeming to mind how short it was.  Beneath her cheek, his heart beat warm and steady.  There was a solidity to him as they lay on the couch that she’d lacked since waking up.  Her soul ached for it.  

“You don’t have to go,” he said.  

“This isn’t real.”  She slumped against his chest.  There wasn’t any fight left in her.  She was sore and tired and so lonely that her resolve, to not go this far, to not dip so deeply into this illusion that she touched shame, was nearly eroded.  “This is just some kind of deep hallucination induced by uncontrolled and poorly understood biotic capability.”

“You probably always had it, you know.”  He shrugged, his fingers winding through her hair. She shut her eyes and concentrated on the gentle rumble of his voice.  “Cerberus couldn’t give you that.  It must’ve been all the crappy first-gen ships your mom tooled around on. Leaky as hell, spewing eezo.  Those cybernetic implants are acting as surrogate amplifiers.”

“Maybe,” she said, uncertain.

“You’ve always had terrible dreams.  Much worse, much more memorable and visceral than most people.  It could’ve been latent all this time.”

“It’s an asari thing though.  Who the hell ever heard of a non-asari with… mental biotics?”

“It’s all mental,” he protested, sitting up a bit and forcing her to look at him.  “And look— we fixate so much on physical ability in how we identify and train new biotics, telekinesis and shields and so forth, that maybe we’re overlooking this whole other area.  Would you have ever suspected if you hadn’t gotten the implants?  A bad dream is just a bad dream, right?”

“The relay monument made my head buzz.”  Shepard was dubious, but it had no strength of conviction. “Anyway, that’s a different argument. This is… I can’t stay.”

“Why not?  Nobody would know.”

“I’d know.”  She licked her lips and dug her fingers into his shirt.  It was bad enough that she came here willingly each night to talk to her own imagination without crossing that final line, admitting she was so desperate for him that she’d lie to herself to gain a little peace.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips slowly, one by one, curling his lips ever so slightly around each.  Her breath caught.  A sharp stab of desire skewered her from chest to groin.  She closed her eyes.

“What’s so wrong about it?” he asked softly.  “Why should this need be any less real or any more embarrassing because it’s happening inside your head?  Why should you be denied a little respite when everything out there is so hard right now?”

“It’s not real,” she said again, her voice nearly breaking, she wanted him so badly.

“It will be someday.”  He raised her chin to look at her.  “Things are rough now.  But I can’t imagine any circumstances in any universe where I wouldn’t love you.”

It was too much.  She surged forward and buried her mouth against his.  

He gripped her ass and rolled her over.  She straddled him, her hands around his head, in his hair, his lips just as hungry for hers, warm breath mingling between them. His fingers slid up the skin of her back and lifted her shirt from her body.  Shepard shrugged it off onto the floor and bent back to him.

Kaidan’s arms tied her to him.  His mouth left hers and moved down her jaw to her neck.  Her eyes squeezed shut at the suddenness of it. Her hips pushed into his.  He gasped and arced his back towards her.  

“Fuck clothes,” he said into her ear, raggedly.

In a flash she jumped off him and peeled her pants and shorts away in one long gesture.  It wasn’t sexy, but at that moment, sexiness took a back seat to expediency.  Caught off guard, he was a bit slower to follow.  Shepard fell back on the couch and pulled him after with his jeans still about his knees.

Skin met skin in a scorching flash.  Their eyes met.  They were done fucking around.

Shepard pushed up against the couch arm and locked her legs around him.  At the same time Kaidan shifted his weight and bent towards her.  She pulled his mouth down to hers.  He thrust into her in one hard stroke.  Her head tilted back in long, satisfied moan.  This was exactly what she needed, what she’d been pining away for three excruciating months and two damn years…

Their groans were buried in their kisses.  Her legs held him so tightly that short and hard was the only way, but it was what they both wanted, their motions together hitting every note perfectly.  She felt him thick inside her while his pelvic bone ground into her most sensitive spot, and left her panting.  So much sweat ran between them Shepard was certain the couch was done for.

His hands on her shoulders pressed her down, forcing them harder together, as tightly as two people could be.  Her nails dug into his back.  She couldn’t take much more of this.  She mumbled something to him but wasn’t sure herself she was even using words.

It swelled up within her, that haunting, exquisite, stolen feeling that blacked out every other thought and sensation-

Shepard came so hard that she started awake in the cold dim of her cabin, the sheets a soaked tangle beneath her and her breath loud in the abrupt silence.  So disoriented that it took the better part of several minutes for her brain to sort out what had happened.  And then her face heated so thoroughly she was shocked the air didn’t catch fire, outmatched only by the hollowing void in the pit of her stomach expressing in exacting detail the furthest extent of her loneliness.

She checked that EDI’s switch was off and was gratified that at least this moment was private.  She scooted over to the other side of the bed, unspoiled by her stupid dream, curled up on the clean, cool pillow, and stared a long time into the dark until morning came.

[ceealaina]

Title: Why Can't I Be You (Or: Aww, Paperwork) Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: S4 - Kate Bishop/Hawkeye Ship: Gen (Minor Background Stony) Rating: Teen Major Tags: Humor, Misunderstandings Summary: When Clint has to go away on a deep cover mission, he doesn’t hesitate to name Kate as his replacement on the Avengers roster. But when he forgets to, you know, actually submit the paperwork, misunderstandings and confusion ensue. (Not quite 616 and not quite MCU, but some fun hybrid of the two.) Word Count: 2257

When Clint found out about his three-month deep-cover mandatory assignment with SHIELD, he didn’t hesitate to designate Kate as his official temporary replacement on the Avengers roster. He’d been mentoring her for just over two years now, and while he’d never say it to her face, she’d probably stopped needing the mentoring just under two years ago. Kate was phenomenal, confident and competent and with his same penchant for disgustingly sugary breakfast cereal. Really, the only problem he could see was somebody (Tony) getting funny ideas about making his temporary replacement a little more permanent. It was an absolutely flawless plan. 

Except, of course, that while Clint had many talents, paperwork was not one of them. And as such, he forgot to actually designate Kate as his replacement. 

Clint had only been gone a few days before the next call to assemble had come in, and since it was a frequent occurrence for Clint to disappear off to BedStuy and/or the vents during their downtime, nobody had really questioned not seeing him around the tower. 

Tony was flying over Chelsea Market (there was a reason that the Avengers were based in New York, and it wasn’t just the late-night dining options), trying to figure out their best bet for dealing with the giant starfish… things they were fighting back into the ocean when something caught his eye and he stopped dead, hovering a few feet away from a rooftop. Everyone knew that Clint’s favourite colour was purple, and he certainly couldn’t imagine anyone else wearing a purple jumpsuit with hip cutouts -- especially not while wielding a bow and arrow -- but that was as far  as the resemblance went. The figure on the rooftop was decidedly more feminine than Tony remembered Barton being, moving with easy, lithe movements that were a far cry from Clint’s normal blend of competent dumbassery. 

He was so focused on this strange newcomer that he nearly missed the giant sea urchin headed his way until all of a sudden there were spines on his arm and a huge sucking hole almost right in his face. Tony made a disgusted noise because that mouth thing was disturbing on a level he couldn’t even examine. But before he could form any kind of attack response, an arrow was flying past him, missing his shoulder by millimeters to embed itself right in the centre of the sea urchins mouth hole thing, sending it rolling off in the other direction. Tony turned in time to see the woman on the roof throw him a saucy salute that was all Clint. 

“Okay,” Tony said to no one in particular. “Sure.”

Throwing himself back into the fray, Tony searched out Steve on the battlefield below and then switched over to a private line. 

“Uh, hey honey,” he said, shooting a repulsor blast at the same time. “Can I hum in your ear a second?” 

Steve’s sigh was weary. “Tony, I’ve told you before. No sexting on the battlefield.” 

“Technically it’s not sexting if we’re speaking to each other,” Tony couldn’t help pointing out. “Also, I want you to know that somewhere there’s an alternate universe where I’m married to Rhodey, and he lets me talk dirty in his ear anytime.”

“Tony.”

 “Right. No, not it’s not that. Uh, your three o’clock. You seeing what I’m seeing?” 

He watched as Steve turned in the direction he had pointed out, and then winced as the shield went flying into the giant L of the Google sign, shattering the lower part of it. 

“Shit,” Steve cursed, shifting position to retrieve it. “Is that…?”

“Clint?” Tony supplied. “Lady Clint? I’ve got no idea, but I’ve got a really bad feeling that the answer to that is a resounding yes.” 

Steve cursed under his breath again, launching himself at another one of the sea monsters. “Okay,” he said, and Tony was only a little resentful that he didn’t even sound winded. “Let’s just… Deal with this, and then we’ll deal with that.” 

***

Kate swung down from the fire escape, sticking the landing perfectly. Her heart was still pounding with adrenaline in the best way. This wasn’t her first fight, obviously, but there was a big difference between helping Clint take out the tracksuit mafia and a full-scale Avengers mission against… Well, she still wasn’t sure what those things had been but it didn't matter. That had been incredible.

Abruptly she stopped as she realized that Captain America and Iron Man were standing at the entrance to the alley, watching. She took a moment to steady herself, because holy shit, these were the Avengers waiting for her to join them (and yes, okay, technically Clint was an Avenger too, but that was different) and drew in a deep breath before striding forward with as much confidence as she could muster. 

“Hi,” she said, thrusting her hand forward. Her dad had been an asshole, but he’d still impressed on her the importance of a strong handshake. “I’m the new and improved Hawkeye.”

There was a sound from Iron Man that may have been a snort, and then his faceplate was rolling back to reveal sparkling eyes and wow. Older dudes weren’t really her thing, but the tabloids did not do him justice. 

“Sure,” he said, taking her hand in his own metal grip. “Nice to meet you.” 

Beside him, Captain America rolled his eyes. “Hilarious,” he said dryly. 

Kate hesitated a moment, a little hurt that he wouldn’t even shake her hand, but tried to tell herself that maybe he was still in post-mission mode, and all business business. Or maybe he was just a dick, but she felt like Clint would have mentioned that at some point. Steve seemed to confirm her first thought when, a beat later, he was pressing a hand against Iron Man’s back, steering him back toward the street. 

“Come on, let’s just get back to the Tower, so we can sort this all out.” He glanced over at Tony, a little more fondness in his voice. “You gonna make me fill out your action report too?” 

“Obviously,” Tony told him.

Steve glanced back at Kate, and this time she could see he was smiling a little. “I hope you don’t think this means you’re getting out of doing your paperwork.” 

“I… Wasn’t,” she told him, still a little confused. Captain America might not have been the dick that he’d first appeared to be, but she had the feeling that she was missing something very important here. 

Tony and Steve talked the whole way to the Quinjet, some hybrid of tactical discussion and friendly bickering that left Kate to follow a step behind them. Occasionally there’d be a moment of silence as they’d wait for her input, but truthfully Kate was only humming in agreement to words she hadn’t heard, still a little in awe that she was working with the actual Avengers. When they reached the jet Tony had clapped Steve on the shoulder and told him he’d meet him back home, apparently flying back to the tower under his own power. He’d taken a step back, faceplate coming down, and then he stilled. 

“Hey, great work today, by the way. You handled that insanely well.” 

“Uh.” Kate looked around, sure that he must be talking to Steve again, but Steve was already several feet away, talking to the Falcon, and the faceplate was pointed in her direction. “Thank you!” she told him, feeling her heart skip a beat at the idea that Iron Man was complimenting her. “You know, I was a little worried when I saw they were giant sea urchins, cause like. What? But it wasn’t so bad!” 

“Well yeah, but that’s just Avenger life. With your whole… Situation though.”

“Uhhh.” 

The faceplate came back up, and Tony stepped in closer, lowering his voice to presumably keep any of the SHIELD agents milling about from listening in. “Seriously. I know Steve said we’d figure this out back at the tower, but you’ve gotta be freaking out a little. How are you holding up?” 

Kate blinked at him. “With what?” 

Tony gestured vaguely at her body, and while Kate was getting over the weirdness of Tony Stark pointing out her boobs, he arched an eyebrow at her. “Seriously, Clint. Are you okay?” 

“Oh!” Kate’s eyes went wide as she suddenly realized what was going on. She didn’t know how, or why, but for some reason they didn’t think she was Clint’s replacement. They thought she was Clint. Somehow. It didn’t make sense to her, but she supposed for the Avengers, stranger things had happened. 

Then panic caught up with her as she realized what they meant. If they thought she was Clint, they couldn’t have been expecting her at all. What would happen if they found out she was holding Clint’s spot on her team? Would they decide she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t experienced enough? Would they make her leave? That panic was the only excuse for the words that came out of her mouth next. 

“Yes,” she said, with a slightly hysterical laugh. “Yes. I, Clint Barton, have turned into a woman.” 

She regretted it immediately, because wow Bishop, way to dig yourself into a whole, but she couldn’t stop giggling. This whole situation was just too ridiculous. 

“Right.” Tony was looking a little concerned, and like maybe he regretted bringing this up here. He settled a hand on her shoulder. “Well, try not to panic,” he told her. “This isn’t the weirdest thing that’s happened, right? We’ll figure it out.” 

“Right,” Kate said, clearing her throat and fighting to get herself under control. “Sorry, I just… Had a moment, but I’m fine. Really, it’s not even that bad. Being a woman is pretty awesome.” 

Tony grinned back at her, looking relieved. “Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re so much more competent since you turned into a girl?” 

Kate started laughing again, digging around for her cell phone. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, trying to thumb open the camera app. “Can you say that again?” 

***

A few days later, and Kate was living a life of many regrets. At first, it had been hilarious as it had been ridiculous. She just assumed that wouldn’t be long before someone had a moment of “wait a minute, that’s clearly not Clint,” but that moment hadn’t arrived. 

Thor hadn’t even blinked at the announcement that Clint was a woman now, shrugging and asking in his big booming voice (because holy shit, he was the actual god of thunder and wow, did he look like it) if ‘humans didn’t just change physical genders sometimes, you know?’ And the round of blank stares he’d just shrugged again and informed them that Loki did it all the time, like that somehow made it normal. 

And, to be fair, Kate probably hadn’t helped things when they’d ordered pizza, and she started interacting with the deaf delivery driver in sign language, but really. Was she supposed to just ignore her?

But now she was stuck. She was in too deep, and didn’t know how she was even going to begin to explain that Surprise! She wasn’t Clint at all, she had just been letting them think that for three days now, because she was a lunatic, apparently. 

(She was also trying very hard not to be offended that nobody had figured it out. She loved Clint like a brother, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be him.)

Luckily, as it turned out, Kate didn’t have to explain herself at all. She was sitting in the enormous common kitchen area (the novelty of living in Avengers Tower not having worn off at all) trying to soothe her growing panic with an enormous bowl of Lucky Charms that she’d pulled from the cupboard, ignoring the warning of ‘CLINT’S ONLY. DO NOT TOUCH’ written in big, bold, Sharpie letters across the front. Then the door swung open, sharp footsteps entering the room. 

“Alright, Barton. What’s this I hear about you managing to turn yourself into a woman?”

Kate looked up with wide eyes, watching as Natasha walked into the room, flanked on either side by Tony and Steve. “Uh. Hi, Nat!”

Nat took one look at Kate and her guilty smile and rolled. “I am surrounded by idiots,” she announced. 

And that was the end of Kate’s career as Clint-Hawkeye. (But not, thankfully, the end of her career as an Avengers.)

Epilogue

It was another two weeks before Clint was able to come back on comms long to call and check in to see how she was doing. When Kate told him everything that had happened (because if she didn’t, someone would, and it would probably Deadpool, and it would just be much, much better if it came from her) Clint had laughed for five minutes straight. 

“I feel like I should be insulted that they didn’t even blink over the idea that I got myself turned into a woman,” he told her, still chuckling every few words. “But it’s so funny that I really can’t be.” 

“You’re insulted?” Kate retorted. “I spent three days with everybody just assuming I was you.”

“Yes,” Clint agreed, not even slightly offended. “That is definitely worse.” 

“Hey,” Kate said after a moment of comfortable silence. “How come you never gave me a heads up that Captain America and Iron Man are dating?” 

From the other end of the phone, there was a spluttering, choking, coughing sound. 

“I’m sorry, Captain America and Iron Man are what now?”

@tonystarkbingo

[alongthoselineswrites]

You against the World

Senhaku (Senku x Kohaku) from Dr. STONE fic. ~3000 words. Written for kissing prompt #11: “I almost lost you” kiss. Manga spoilers up through Ch. 127 with slight canon divergence. Cross-posted to AO3. Enjoy!

It was dark. 

So, so very dark. 

Kohaku had no idea how long she had been encased in stone, but she had been having the weirdest sensations since she had been petrified. Tingling sensations, throughout her lower torso and legs, almost as if she still maintained some sense in them. She had tried moving them a few times, but had no way of knowing whether or not she had been successful.

Look at her, conducting her own scientific experiments, rudimentary as they were.

She had eventually given up on trying. She couldn’t tell whether she was moving, or even whether her bottom half was petrified, but the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to the fact that she was still alive, because until Senku and the others came to save her and released her from this stone prison, she had to assume she was among enemies. If what she had seen done to Ginro was any indication, she had no doubt they would simply hack off any limb that was still moving. She didn’t even know if she’d be able to feel it at this point.

She knew Senku had counted seconds during his imprisonment. For literal millennia he had counted seconds. Kohaku kept getting mixed up around the 10,000 mark, and then she eventually would start over hoping to do better the next time. It was mind-numbingly boring, and as she had no practical reason to count the time like Senku had had, she eventually just stopped counting and instead counted on her friends to tell her how long she had been out of commission when she woke up. 

Instead of rote counting, Kohaku filled her time thinking of her fellow members of the kingdom of science. Everything had changed when she met Senku, in the best way possible. Ruri was no longer sick, the lives of her people were infinitely easier, and they all simply had more fun. For many years, Kohaku hadn’t really been able to consider fun, with hunting and training and going to get water for Ruri. But she was glad she had time for it now, in and around the endless work Senku had for them to do. 

Goodness this was boring. How did Senku and the others do this for so long. She felt like she would almost rather die than spend another second encased in this sightless, soundless world. 

She still had some sort of sensation in her legs and torso, but no feeling at all. She could still be sitting on the master’s roof where she had been petrified for all she knew. 

She really hoped her top half being encased in stone didn’t have a bad effect on her lower half. After all, Senku had mentioned once that your heart and your brain are essential to keeping the rest of the body moving. If both her head and heart were encased in stone, could the legs survive?

For a few minutes, Kohaku began to panic. What if her legs didn’t work when they brought her back? She was one of the village’s strongest warriors! Being stuck at camp doing mindless science work intended for Gen or the children would be torture.

But Senku will find a way. Her deeper thoughts gently reminded her, and this thought calmed her like nothing else. In the three years she had known Senku, he had told amazing stories of people gaining back lost limbs through science. Maybe he could make one for her if things went poorly. 

The remaining time of her petrification was spent thinking of comforting science stories Senku has told her. Usually around a campfire or even on the Perseus on the way here. She felt warm and comfortable, even in her petrified state. 

And she quietly thought to herself that if she had to stay encased in stone for several more years, she had plenty of stories of Senku to keep her company, and the assurance that someday, even if it takes him a lifetime, he would save her. 

Some time later (Kohaku wasn’t sure how long exactly, she was only sure that she refused to count), light returned to her eyes, and sound to her ears. She felt the distinctive thump thump of her heartbeat return, and drew her first breath in who knows how long. Tears sprung to her eyes in relief. All of her friends stood before her in some sort of underground bay. Ginro was alive and depetrified next to her, currently ensconced in a teary-eyed, crushing embrace from Kinro.

And right in front of her was Senku. He was holding a small clay jar over her head, and he seemed to be frozen in place. His facial expression was part shock but overwhelmingly full of relief, and Kohaku wasn’t sure, even with her incredible eyesight, but she thought his eyes were shinier than normal as he turned away to continue fiddling with some sort of device made with what looked like feathers. 

Before she could register much more than that, her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to the floor. Chrome was the first to reach her to help her up, and he slowly helped her wobble over to a chair. 

Looking down at her legs, she could tell even in the dim lighting of the cave that her legs were the wrong color. They looked nearly as gray and dark as the stone that had once encased her top half. She couldn’t seem to get them to work the way they used to, but she hoped that was simply a side effect of not using them for so long. 

“How long was I out?” She asked Chrome, who was still standing beside her.

“Almost three weeks.” He grimaced, “ we had planned to get you guys back much sooner, but Ibara stole your earring and figured out our drone plan.” He pointed over to the device Senku was still fiddling with. Senku paused to wipe something from his face, maybe even his eye, before returning to work, “So we had to turn tail and figure something else out. We ended up having to build infrared binoculars, which took longer than expected. Senku hasn’t slept in almost a week and a half.” 

Kohaku had no idea what binoculars were, nor what infrared meant, but the drone thing looked complicated enough all on its own. The comment about Senku’s sleeping patterns was really what caught her off guard though. For as long as she’s known him, he has always preached the values of getting a good night’s sleep. For Pete’s sake, one of the first conversations she ever had with the man was him telling her to go to sleep. If what Chrome said was true, what could have had Senku so on edge that he felt the need to sacrifice his sleep?

Over the next couple of days, color slowly returned to both Kohaku and Ginro’s legs. Regular bowel movements returned, and movements that had been so natural before the petrification were becoming easier by the minute. A few times since reawakening, Senku had come to her and given her body a very clinical appraisal, mainly to make sure all of her regular bodily functions had returned. Despite the fact that she was technically seeing him and talking to him, Kohaku could feel the distance Senku was placing between them. And even when she didn’t particularly want to see him after an especially awkward questioning regarding her monthly cycle, she still missed him. Although she had nothing on Taiju, she had spent the last three weeks basically sustaining herself on thoughts of him, and now that she was reanimated, she was having to come to terms with the implications of that fact. 

When several more days passed and even the excruciatingly clinical checkups had ceased, it became glaringly obvious that Senku was avoiding her. What was especially disarming was that he didn’t share the same attitude towards anyone else, least of all Ginro, who logically, since that was Senku’s thing, should have been receiving the same treatment as her because they shared the exact same circumstances. Except that oh wait, Kohaku saved Ginro’s life! 

Senku’s behavior made no sense. And so after nearly a week with no words spoken between the once close friends, Kohaku chose to act. 

The mobile lab was still parked up the beach from the coast line, absurdly high to be honest, since the entirety of a camp of nearly 50 people were positioned far from the tide’s reach between the lab and the ocean and the lab was still out of hearing distance from the camp… maybe even for Ukyo.

Amaryllis and several of her friends from the village were visiting before the kingdom of science shipped off in the next couple days, so the entire crew were engaged in campfire storytelling and drinking, and generally having a good time. But as per usual, a certain green-haired man that couldn’t hide if he tried was strangely absent. 

Approaching the lab, she heard sounds of science coming from the mobile building. Even to her own non-Ukyo level ears, however, the rustling and clanking sounded more agitated than Senku’s usual amount of frenetic energy. 

Approaching slowly, she leaned on the door frame and knocked lightly to alert him to her presence. He started slightly, which she couldn’t help but find adorable, obviously not having noticed her approach. 

“Kohaku!” He said tightly, before quickly averting his gaze and returning to whatever he had been working on, “what do you need?”

Kohaku wondered whether she should just come straight out and ask him why he’s been avoiding her. Then she wondered where this newfound timidness came from. Pre-petrification Kohaku wouldn’t have even wondered whether to come right out and say it, she just would have. 

She realized she was hesitating for too long right around the time she realized her new found shyness comes from her recently discovered feelings for their resident head scientist. 

Feeling a flush start to crawl up her neck, she stammers out, “N-nothing. You just weren’t at the party.” 

“Oh,” he still hadn’t looked at her again, instead peering into his microscope critically, “ I just didn’t feel like it one millimeter, had more important things to do. You should go though. Have fun!” 

Kohaku may not be a mentalist like Gen, but she can recognize a dismissal when she hears one. She doesn’t take the bait though, instead she stays silent before finally just getting it over with, “Senku, why are you avoiding me?” 

Senku froze. He stopped twiddling with the stubby knobs of the microscope. He stopped twisting his finger in his ear. If Kohaku didn’t know better, she would think he had been hit with the petrification weapon. 

He seemed to have no intention to answer, but Kohaku was no quitter. She waited him out. 

It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but Kohaku could have sworn it felt like 3700 years passed again as she leaned against the counter with her arms folded across her chest to wait out this stubborn man. 

Finally, Senku let out a humorless chuckle, still not looking up from his microscope, “Ha, I don’t know what you’re talking about Kohaku, I’m not avoiding you.”

Kohaku felt a flash of anger surge through her, “Look at me, Senku.” 

Senku froze again, but this time he came to sooner, only taking a couple seconds to recalibrate before turning and looking her dead in the eyes, daring her to look away first. 

Normally, Kohaku was intrigued by Senku’s eyes, as they normally had some sort of gleam in them, whether it be the gleam of a scientific breakthrough or the gleam of a madman. But these eyes were not those eyes. Senku looked at her with a blank expression, almost cold in its inexpressiveness. She held her ground. 

“Yes, Kohaku?” Senku said with heavy sarcasm. There wasn’t quite venom in his tone, but he was obviously growing frustrated with this conversation. Kohaku hadn’t the slightest idea why, but she wasn’t leaving until she had an answer. 

“Why are you avoiding me, Senku?” He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, “And don’t tell me that you’re not. You haven’t spoke more than two words to me in over a week, and I’m tired of it. I miss you.” 

There was a flicker of something on Senku’s face before he pulled himself together, “I’ve been busy, that’s all.” His gaze dropped to the floor. Not in an attempt to avoid her eyes, but it appeared, in shame. Kohaku could only guess what for. 

“That’s a lie and you know it, Senku. You’ve had plenty of time to talk to everyone else this week, and you even went scuba diving with Taiju a couple days ago, completely for fun!” She paused, realizing that in her hurt and anger her voice had risen. 

Senku looked thoroughly scolded, and it was honestly a welcome relief to see emotion enter back into his eyes. Senku claimed to be immune to emotion, but Kohaku knew that was just a façade. He cared deeply about everyone under his command, he cared about his science, he cared about the natural world and food and Sagara the wild boar. He tried to maintain an air of impartiality but Kohaku could see through it. 

“What’s wrong with me all of a sudden, Senku?” She could hear the tears forming in her voice, and it broke as she said, “was there something I did that we’re not friends anymore?” 

As she watched, Senku’s face morphed slowly from shame and sadness to anger. He didn’t seem to be angry at her per say, but he was definitely frustrated, “Nothing! You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why…”

“Look, Kohaku, I…” he took a slow step towards her, “I don’t…” another step, “I can’t…” and another, bringing him within arms reach of Kohaku in the small confines of the mobile lab. He froze once again, but it was different this time. While last time he froze because he had been caught, this time he froze because he was caught off guard. Senku and Kohaku were mere inches from each other, eyes locked on the other, barely breathing.

Several seconds passed before Kohaku breathlessly asked, “You can’t what?”

For the first time in her life, Kohaku fell victim to a surprise attack, because the next thing she was aware of was the press of Senku’s mouth against her own. He was warm and solid, despite his lack of physical strength, and Kohaku melted. 

It lasted far too short. Kohaku had barely begun to respond, reaching her hand tentatively upward to hold his jaw, when he was pulling away. He began to pace the floor in the small room while desperately tugging at the roots of his hair. 

“I’m so sorry, Kohaku. I shouldn’t have… I didn’t even…” he groaned heavily, leaning against the counter facing away from her and hanging his head. 

He seemed so distraught, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Senku?” She asked gently, wanting to give him the space he so obviously needed, but also needing answers for the way he was reacting. Regardless of whatever just happened between them, Senku was her friend, who obviously was going through something. 

He murmured something under his breath, and Kohaku wasn’t able to quite catch it. She still wasn’t Ukyo after all. 

“I can’t hear…” 

“I said I was scared to lose you!” He turned halfway around so that she could see the tears clearly forming in his eyes, and her heart broke. She knew Senku experienced emotions, but she had never in her years of knowing him seen this caliber of feeling on his face. She waited for him to continue. 

“Getting you and Ginro back was such a rough patch with several failed plans along the way, and I knew we’d win with science but I hated you being in enemy hands. And then when I saw that your legs and lower torso weren’t petrified I didn’t know whether the two of your would ever be able to walk again, because according to science, limbs are ten billion percent useless after around six to eight hours without blood supply, and it had been nearly three weeks. And when you were able to stand again, and came out of the petrification with no problems, I felt such a huge sense of relief that I didn’t know what to do with myself.” He paused, finally meeting her eyes once again, “I’ve never felt as intense of emotions as I do when it comes to you, Kohaku, and I don’t know what to do with them. Psychology is such a lame science.” 

He chuckled slightly, and Kohaku followed his lead despite not getting the joke. There were a couple moments of comfortable silence as they contemplated each other, before Kohaku slowly stood up from her place leaning against the counter, and came to stand next to Senku. She gently placed her hand atop his where it rested, and when their eyes met again, she knew that their friendship wouldn’t suffer from this, everything could go back to normal, at least for now. “It’s ok that you don’t always know what to do, Senku. The important thing is that you did save Ginro and I, and I know we can always count on you to save us with science.” 

She averted her gaze, still not quite brave enough to meet him head on as she said the next part, “And it’s ok that you don’t know what to do about your feelings either. Someday it will get clearer, and if it doesn’t,” she met his eyes again, “you always can come to me for help.” 

Realizing how self-centered that sounded, she tried to backpedal, “Or Taiju. Or Chrome. Or Gen. Or even Ryusui for all I care. You really can ask whoever you…” She trailed out because Senku was laughing. She removed her hand from atop his, happy to see him in good spirits again. 

“You’re too funny, Kohaku.” He smiled at her for a long moment, before nodding his head towards the door of the mobile lab, “Come on, let’s go celebrate with our friends.”

Smiling, she nodded, and together they walked back towards the bonfire where their friends were drinking and telling stories, the two of them laughing and talking like the friends they were the whole way. 

[chaoskirin]

The Seven Seas--Chapter Three

Fandom: Queen Genre: Sci-fi/Gen Rating: PG Chapter 3 Word Count: 1720

Freddie spent the next several hours (and hours and hours) pacing the barn and outlining a plan. For the sake of suspense, said plan will not be described here, although, wonderful readers, it might be described as amazing and daring! Filled with intricate precisiveness and wild creativity! Genius! And most importantly, incredibly unlikely to succeed!

Somewhere around the five o'clock mark, Roger ordered a pizza which never arrived due to the rather remote location of the farm. He spent the next excruciating hour complaining about his insatiable hunger, until John raided the chicken coop and fried some eggs.

Brian was torn between being appalled and relieved. After all, the chickens ought to be allowed to keep their eggs... since they made them, after all. Roger asked Brian what he thought cakes were made of, so Brian swore off cakes for at least the next couple days, at least until he could scrub the vision of affronted chickens out of his mind.

John said "at least they aren't being vaporized," which was quite sobering and put everyone directly back on task.

It should be said that the appearance of aliens on earth had a rather profound effect on Brian, who, up until that point, only hoped aliens existed. Ever the pragmatist, though, he never believed earth would make contact with the various other denizens of the universe until far after he was dead and buried. After all, relative physics still reigned supreme as the dominating theory of everything in the universe. And with no way to travel faster than the speed of light, aliens simply couldn't reach it from wherever they made their home.

Except they had. And they'd dropped by like a very undesirable relative during Christmas celebrations--everyone wanted them gone, but they had to be appeased and placated first. Perhaps even force-fed copious alcohol until they passed out in a peaceful stupor, while the kids drew fake marker mustaches under their noses.

"Do you think," Brian said to John after the four of them split into two groups. "Do you think they'd let me question them about the stars? How they got here? Where they're from?"

John blinked slowly.

"It's not a stupid idea to ask!" Brian insisted. "Just because they want to raze the planet doesn't mean I have to stop learning. And if they really think I'll spill all their secrets then they must not want to destroy me very much. I can't tattle if I'm dead. Don't you think?"

"If I say yes, will you get back to work?" John asked, flicking the end of a soldering iron at him.

Brian grunted and went back to poring over the star map Glasses left behind. He vastly preferred absolutes, whereas Freddie's "plan" just happened to be chock full of conjecture and dumb luck and a good measure of stupidity. Absolute stupidity, which Brian supposed counted as an absolute, just not the kind he wanted. That made him nervous, and therefore talkative.

"It's just..." he said as he tried to figure out Denmark's location in relation to an earth star chart. Thankfully, he never left home without one, just in case. "They could have the secrets of the whole universe stowed away on that little ship of theirs."

"And if they did, and you end up dead?" John asked. "What would you do with them?"

"Well, I'd know."

John rolled his eyes. He'd set aside the soldering gun in favor of a welding torch, and so he was able to dramatically flip the black welding mask down over his eyes to signal the end of conversation. The git. Brian looked away as John ignited the flame.

"I don't even know if it's in the right bloody hemisphere," Brian muttered to himself, returning to the star map. He couldn't read the alien language scrawled out across it, plus it appeared the aliens preferred some odd derivation of base-8 math... which meant he couldn't even parse their coordinates. He was sure it made sense to them, but in the moment, it was infuriating.

That meant he had to manually study every sector of the alien map, then line it up to the earth map. If he could figure out the first sector, he might be able to proceed. The problem was parallax. After all, why would the aliens make a map meant to be viewed from earth?

Damn parallax. Why couldn't all the species in the galaxy just decide on a standard map!

Meanwhile, John got to build... Well. Brian wasn't entirely convinced it wasn't just another cat tree for Freddie's cats.  Freddie assured everyone this little bit of the plan was critical, though. And it was up to Brian to find the proper angle of whatever it was so he could--

Ah. Wait a minute.

I'm sure you're all very bored by now, and I wouldn't blame you. After all, this is just filler really, since one can't just go from aliens arriving to aliens being defeated. The point is, all the great writers in history somehow universally decided that a story can't be told without costing its readers vast amounts of time when they should be doing other things. Say, filling their washing machine with lemonade, or ironing their socks, or stacking teacups on a sleeping cat. Or watching egg whites dry as they drip down the siding of your irritating neighbor's house. Not that the author has ever done that.

In order to create suspense and drama, most writers masterfully fill their stories with plot dynamics. However, this plot is fairly cut and dry as far as stories go, and the author is not masterful in any sense of the word, so she's just decided to waste your time with this rather pointless filler text.

However, as you've been reading this, Brian May--brilliant scientist that he is--has been using his time with all the wisdom and efficiency one would expect from a future astrophysicist. As John continued to weld his rather confusing scaffolding, Brian chanced upon the exact miniscule plot detail he could utilize to make sense of the alien map. Thusly did he shout "Eureka!" ending this particular section of the story.

You're welcome.

---

"You can't just write a whole song in one day," Roger said.

"Well, I don't intend to. We have five days," Freddie returned, straightening a bit in his seat and looking down his nose in haughty confidence. Into the phone, he said "No, I won't hold. I'm Freddie-Fucking-Mercury--What do you mean who??"

The line went dead. Not because the other side had hung up on him, but because rats had chewed clean through the phone line again. Bother of all bothers. If only he had his cats here, the damnable rats wouldn't be such an issue!

"Roger, be a dear and chase the rats off again, would you?" Freddie asked. When cats weren't an option, Rogers did just fine, and as a bonus, they didn't leave rodent corpses on your pillow in the morning. At least Freddie hoped they didn't. He probably should have asked.

"Five days or no," Roger said, returning from his chase, "the pressure must be intense. I mean, if it's going to work, it has to be perfect, doesn't it? No room for error. And you have to trust not only yourself to remember the lyrics, but you also have to have absolute faith in your bass player, and your guitar player, and your drummer who's a bit of a flake."

"Just a bit?"

"Last I checked."

Freddie tut-tutted. "It'll work. Look, it's a short story, and the author always writes happy endings. What makes you think it won't work?"

"Well, I have to be disagreeable, don't I?" Roger asked, flopping down on the couch next to Freddie. "Let's see what you've got so far."

Freddie handed over the notepad.

After a dozen quiet minutes of earnest contemplation, Roger said, "All you've written is the title."

"The Seven Seas of Rhye," Freddie declared. "It's a good title! I was thinking a sort of... Bar song, I guess. Maybe a--"

Roger was shaking his head.

"Oh, what. We've been bleeding out all our creativity lately." Freddie stood, hands on his hips. "There's none left, is there? You're right. Five days to put together a song and get people here so they can bear witness to my amazing plan? It's not long enough. We'll just have to cancel! There shouldn't be consequences for that."

"There probably won't be," Roger agreed. "Just the annihilation of humanity, I guess. Nothing major."

Freddie pursed his lips. Yes, that was a problem. He'd have to power through. As always.

"Look," Roger said, pulling a comic book out of his back pocket. He always carried one, just in case. We've got aliens on earth.

"Rhye."

"Whatever. We've got aliens. Make it epic."

Freddie paged through the comic book. Although the cover seemed to hint at an epic space battle far into the future with high-tech space suits and murderous monsters, the inner pages had been replaced by porn. Porn Freddie didn't even particularly like. "Roger," he said, holding up the least scandalous image he could find.

"Well, you weren't supposed to open it." Roger at least had the wherewithal to appear sheepish as he snatched the magazine out of Freddie's grasp. "If it gets boring in the barn, do you think I'm going to want to read comics?"

"I'd hope that you'd be writing like we're supposed to be," Freddie said, curling his nose up as Roger tossed the magazine on the end table. "Not--"

He paused as inspiration struck, and a single phrase popped into his mind.

I Stand Before You Naked to the Eye.

The basis of the song began to form around it. "Listen," Freddie said, handing Roger the phone, which was still not connected to anything. "First, I need you to take over securing the advertising to get us a proper audience. Make some calls. Get the people here. Can you do that?"

Roger nodded. "And?"

"Yes. Second, I need you to never, ever tell anyone that I got the idea for this song after looking at your raunchy porn."

Roger smiled. Narrowed his eyes. "Put I'm In Love With My Car on the B-Side to Bohemian Rhapsody and you've got yourself a deal."

[asiryn]

this post is going to be very rambly, so i apologize in advance. if you’re potentially interested in my liveblogs, and/or interested in hearing a bit about my current life and disability issues, tune in. if you aren’t, then....keep scrolling i guess XD

(if you just want the current liveblog schedule, scroll to the bottom)

[and this got predictably very long, so i’m gonna put it behind a cut for convenience] 

up to recently, my main liveblogs have been about the pokemon anime, with a few other shows, books, and especially video games sprinkled in here and there. essentially, waaaay back in yonder year of 2014, netflix added the first season of pokemon, the indigo league, to their site, and i, in a fit of nostalgia, made the veeery questionable decision to watch all of the pokemon anime---rewatching the stuff i hadn’t touched since i was kid, and then continuing on into the unknown, and watching all the seasons from gen 3 onward that i had missed due to dropping out of pokemon. i only really started actually making liveblog posts once i hit gen 3, then i stayed consistent-ish from then onward. (for the curious, i’m up to sun & moon, and i have 44 episodes left until i finish it (i’m not ready ;;;; ), and then netflix actually just dropped the first 12 episodes of the newest series, pokemon journeys, so....56 until i’ve caught up with the dub XD)

so, all of y’all who climbed aboard with those liveblogs are probably already aware of Who I Am, at least a little. (....this is making it sound like i’m Some Big Name in liveblogging, but i’m not really anything of the sort, just so we’re all on the same page XD) at least, in terms of the fact that i’m physically disabled, suffer from chronic pain, etc. but recently, i’ve joined two new fandoms, and i’ve begun liveblogging spop and my next life as a villainess. and my spop posts in particular are already becoming some of the most popular posts i’ve ever done (like wow, you guys). and i think part of that popularity is due to the fact that these are two pretty recent, pretty popular fandoms (tho i do also like to think that i do make good content XP). but the point is that quite a lot of new ppl are coming across me, and idk how much, if any, of you have taken the time to look at my bio or anything. so i guess....part of this post is just some ruminations, but also my way of letting you know more of what you’re getting into. 

so, for those who don’t know: hi, you can call me kiryn, i liveblog stuff sometimes, and i’m physically disabled. i suffer from intense, constant, chronic pain. it stems from a bone disease called HME, or hereditary multiple exostosis, if you’re curious (i have a severe case of it, joy of joys). the short version of what that means is that i have a lot of bone spurs everywhere on my body, and they....cause me a lot of pain. basically, i cannot do any kind of sustained activity without the already significant, never-ceasing pain that i feel cranking up to unbearable levels, and basically i’ll be rendered immobile. i do have pain meds that i take, and that very much help to take the edge off, and make it so that i can function at all (bc, believe fucking me, w/o them, i wouldn’t be able to achieve even the little i can do), but even with them, it only makes a dent in my pain levels, and again, sustained activity makes up that difference very quickly. 

now, the gist of this stuff i’ll mention from time to time, but....i don’t usually go into much detail about it (and this post is probably the most detailed i’ve been about my condition in years). bc, quite frankly, it’s depressing. (and seeing as i also already have clinical depression, that’s definitely not something that i need more of XD) i participate in fandoms for escapism, and bc i don’t really want to think about that crushing mountain of reality. i’ve had this condition since birth, and i’ve literally lived my entire life in constant pain, and i honestly have no fucking idea what it even feels like to be painless. and what’s even worse is that it’s a degenerative disease---essentially, the bone spurs are wearing down my joints, so....my entire condition will just keep worsening as i get older. (and no, surgery to remove the spurs isn’t really an option.) i’ll be 29 next month, and i can already tell you, i’ve been feeling that decline sharply. when i was a kid, i could still run. by the time i was a teenager, i couldn’t even do that anymore; the best i could manage was a jog. now....i don’t think i could even do that. 

i guess the main point in why i’m saying all this, is that for the last year especially, i’ve been dealing with the worst downward swing that i’ve had in years. in my late teens and early-mid 20s, i got into a pretty good rhythm, of knowing my body’s limits, how to budget spoons to accomplish things, etc. but now even that fragile equilibrium has been thrown out the window, and i’m currently struggling to learn the new limits and rhythm of this downward swing that is unfortunately now my reality. even before, i was pretty limited on what i could accomplish, but even that narrow window has shrunk even further. so basically, i’m in the testing zone still. and it’s a very slow process, bc once i exceed the limit, my body breaks down, and now it takes me even longer to recover. as an example, i used to know that i could wake up in the morning and get ready to leave the house in 20-30 mins. now? i need at least an hour, which involves me pushing through a wave of agony to be able to take my pain meds in the first place, and then wait for those meds to kick in and the pain to die down enough to move without feeling like i’m moving through a wall of spikes. (and that’s just the start of every day for me, and before even throwing in all of the other variables)

so, coming back to the liveblogs......obviously, that’s affected by all this too. if you’ve wondered why there’s been a gap between me finishing up spop s1 and starting s2....that’s why. partly, i didn’t expect how analysis-heavy i was going to get on spop; pokeani just doesn’t tend to be as consistently thematically deep, so those liveblogs took far less out of me than spop has, and pushing myself to finish 5 episodes in one day....well, it was too much. and the thing is, it’s obviously unhealthy for me to continually push myself to the point of total breakdown, so...that’s where learning my new limits comes in. so, these past few days, i’ve been thinking, and essentially trying to better figure out how to do liveblogs like this without pretty much killing myself in the process (bc i honestly do love making them....i mean, if i didn’t, then it really wouldn’t be worth the literal pain it takes to make them XD). and also there’s a component of managing my anxiety-brain, bc leaving things Unfinished stresses me out, and so when coming to terms with the fact that it’s going to take me awhile to finish one show....knowing that i’d be leaving others hanging....Doesn’t Help XD

so, here’s what i’ve got so far (and obvs, this is subject to much tweaking in the future XP)

currently, i’m watching 4 shows: pokeani, good omens, villainess, and spop. villainess rn is the least of my worries, bc 1 ep is coming out a week, so it’s not demanding a lot of my time. 

for the other 3, here’s the preliminary schedule i’ve sort of hashed out:

- pokeani sm103-106

- spop s2

- pokeani sm107-110

- spop s3 

- pokeani sm111-114

- spop s4

- pokeani sm115-118

- spop s5 

- pokeani sm119-122

- good omens

- pokeani sm123-126

- [catch up block] (i don’t have a good track record in keeping up with ongoing shows, so if i fall behind on villainess, this is where i can catch up)

- finish pokeani sun & moon [sm127-146] (the league starts on ep 128, so i’d rather not experience any big interruptions in the battles XD)

basically, i’ve given myself a limit of 4 pokeani eps in a single session (bc as stated, they don’t take as much out of me), and with spop, the most i’ll let myself watch in a row will be 3 eps (s2 will probably be broken up into a 3/2/2 block, s3 a 3/3 block, and s4&5 will be a 3/3/3/2/2 block).

now, keep in mind that i’m very deliberately making no guarantees about specific days, bc who even knows, but at the very least, scheduling and talking it all out like this will help me to better manage my spoons, and if you’ve actually read this far, then you’ll know the method in the madness and why i’m doing things this way. XD the vague goal is to get in a least 1 liveblog session a week (plus a bonus of the new villainess ep on saturdays)---at least for the shows. i’m still having to working out what i’m going to do about video games....maybe i should just go on a ‘once a week’ model for all my hobbies across the board XDD

in the next couple of days, i’ll be posting that in-depth look into all the ships of villainess (it started as me just pecking down a few thoughts while i was taking a social media break due to the Current Events, but now i’m at the point where i’m like, i’ve put too much effort into this to not post it, damn it XP), and then depending on spoons, i’ll try to start in on that schedule this week, so stay tuned for some pokeani! (again....i’ll try to hit at least 1 liveblog a week before i start trying to get more ambitious XDD)

in any case, if you have stuck through to the end, thank you very much. your support means a lot to me 💖