#friends i made of whole plan to go work at the shipyard so i can provide for him

[taeraenini]

[beskarberry]

Silver and Steel

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 2 (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

It was then you noticed the open wall next to you. The steel panel was slid open to reveal a vault packed corner to corner with more firepower than you had ever seen in one place. Your eyes roamed from blaster to rifle to flamethrower, noticing that not all of them were made for five fingered hands. This wasn't just an armory, it was a trophy case.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 7.5k

Content warnings: ALOT. Descriptions of violence (a little spicier than canon) blood mention, near death experiences, hurt/COMFORT, fluff, smut exhaustion sex, top!reader.

A/N: I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it but yeah PLEASE READ THOSE CONTENT WARNINGS!! It all works out ok in the end! Also good chunks of this was inspired by a particular filk song called Call the Navigator which I’ll link in the replies so the external link doesn’t ef up my post.

<-Previous Next->

"Med pack... junk....junk....spotchka?....is that all you've got?"

You were bent over a deep supply crate, your legs barely touching the ground while you dug through what you had hoped would be the food stock. There were several banged up tins of rations and a handful of miscellaneous junk, but nothing that looked real food. You were clean and dry after your shower, but the energy that had been spent in this very supply room just an hour or so earlier had to be replenished. "Where’s the rest of it?"

The silence coming from the cockpit was expected, but still frustrating. With a huff you grabbed two food tins and made your way through the old ship towards the ladder. At the top though a small antechamber you found your new comrade seated in the pilot chair, fussing with the buttons on the console. On either side and slightly behind his chair were two other passenger seats, though the one on his left was missing a good deal of padding. The cockpit was poorly lit save for the lighted console and the dusty starlight overhead. Though you were in the air, you could tell you were still on Tatooine. Hooray. Why are we still here? The great Dune Sea stretched out on all sides, sparsely dotted with sand people villages, but you couldn’t see any of the large space ports such as Mos Eisley or Mos Espa. In the ships’ darkness you couldn't tell what the lumpy thing was in the other chair, probably blankets or laundry. You went to toss it off the seat when a pair of huge black orbs peeped out from the heap of fabric.

"The fuck is THAT?!" You rocketed backwards, dropping the food tins in the process. The bug eyed creature made a soft cooing noise and lifted the rest of the blanket off itself, allowing two gigantic green ears to pop into view. It didn't look like a threat, in fact it looked kinda cute, but you knew it could still be dangerous. A pair of stubby three-fingered hands made grabby motions at you, the little creature giggling at your bewildered face. " Where'd you find this thing, is it some kind of pet?"

"He's not a pet." Finished fiddling with the console, Mando turned in his chair to readjust the blanket that had slumped off of the small beastie. It squealed happily and wiggled in its comfy cocoon before noticing the food tins that were still on the floor. He pointed the tiniest claw at them and chirped at you, demanding to be fed. "You'd better give him one of those before he gets mad."

It took you a moment to process what he said before scooping one of the tins off the floor, peeling back the lid and placing the dish in the seat next to the little thing. He greedily scooped the mystery mash into his tiny toothy mouth, gibbering between bites. You picked the remaining tin off the floor and leaned against the door frame, watching it happily chow down.

"If it's not a pet then what is it?"

"He's my..." the Mandalorian paused, fishing for the right words to say, "...he is my child."

That was not at all the answer you expected, if he had said emotional support gremlin you would have been less confused. The baby was still making a mess of his dinner, almost dropping his plate before Mando snatched it and set it carefully back in his lap. You had seen first hand that there was a human under all that metal plating, and your tired brain fizzled trying to make the connection between the two very different beings. Mando could tell by your puzzled face that he had some explaining to do.

He told you the tale of how he had been charged to bring the baby in as a high credit bounty, but after he used the reward to get new armor he went back and stole the child away from its captors. He talked about the Mandalorian concept of a 'foundling' and that he himself was one too. At some point you had popped your food tin open and started eating, though you were so captivated by his story that you couldn't remember doing so. When he'd finished you set your empty dish on the busted chair and gently held your hand out for the child to grab with one mush covered paw, who babbled excitedly at his new friend.

Behind you his parental guardian was rigid, ready to take you out if you made one wrong move against his precious cargo. Though he had been the one to steal you away and forgo freezing you in carbonite he still didn’t exactly trust you, your reputation as a hunter-killer was what had driven your bounty so high. He knew you were disarmed, but what else could you be capable of? However, you weren't paying mama-hen Mando any mind. Instead you let the baby play with your hand a bit before he returned to his food. You decided that the only place left to sit was on the floor. Squished into the tiny space between the passenger and pilot seats was cramped, but it gave you a fantastic view out the rounded transperisteel window into the vastness of the night sky.

“Your story sounds awful familiar.” You turned your attention to the metal clad man, watching him fidget with the steering controls. “You abandoned a guild reward for anothers wellbeing, like I did. Someone that didn’t deserve to be dragged back in cuffs. Is that why you picked up the puck on me? Some kind of kindred spirit something or other?”

“We’re nothing alike.” He was watching out the window, focused on flying the ship to unknown destinations, but he was bouncing the leg farthest away from you. So when the cogwheels turn in your head, the machine moves somewhere else. If you hadn’t experienced his human body first hand you could have easily convinced yourself he was a droid.

“Now that’s not true. You told the guild to get fucked because your moral compass was pointing the other way. I didn't just let that quarry go y'know? It was more than that. There was... there was someone she had to get back to. And the New Republic was just gonna lock her ass up and for what? It wasn't right." You remembered that Togruta woman, pointing a blaster at you with tears in her eyes and her belly swollen with a child that did not belong to the man she was being forced to marry. A few thousand credits weren’t worth another child being made an orphan, and you gave her your ship to escape in while you led hunters on a wild-bantha chase away from her. You knew it drove the guild insane but you wouldn’t have it any other way. A tiny green foot poked itself out from under the blankets by your head, bringing you out of your reverie. On reflex you tucked it back into the safety of his blankies.

Though you thankfully didn’t remember much of your early childhood, you knew you had come from Corellia. You didn’t know if you had parents or siblings, but there had been many other young street urchins in your alley behind the shipyard, and all you had then were each other. You never planned on having any kids yourself, but they were still something to be protected. At all costs, if necessary. “I’m guessing this little dude is happy with that decision.”

Mando had begun to take the ship closer to the ground, it was almost totally dark outside but you could see on the radar there was a large mountainous formation up ahead. Carefully, he landed the beat up craft on a sturdy outcropping of rocks, kicking up whirlwinds of dust and sand. Far out over the sand you could see a collection of lumpy looking ruins that were slowly succumbing to the march of the dunes. You guessed this was where your quarry was hiding out.

The baby was starting to get sleepy, his huge eyes disappearing slowly as the weight of his eyelids became too much. His little head rolled forward, threatening to toss him off his seat. Your big mean bounty hunter heart couldn’t take it, so you scrambled to your feet and scooped the baby up in your arms, sitting down in his seat to get him situated in your lap. He fussed and squirmed a bit, but you had learned a no-fail trick from the Corellian ship builders that would often help to sneak orphaned children onto their ships and off that skughole of a planet towards a better life. Many years ago they had done the same for you.

“Oh, I have sailed the midnight sea from Hoth to Arvala-5.

Seen the Cloudshape Falls of Alderaan, met rocks that were alive.

But soon I came to realize as world to world I roamed,

That nowhere in the galaxy could really be my home.”

The songs you knew were often sang by whole crews of starship sailors, loud enough to shake their durasteel walls, but you dropped your voice low and soft to turn the star-shanty into a lullaby. The baby was watching you with glittering eyes, he had stopped his wiggling and curled up tightly against your chest.

“So call the navigator, set the course and go!

We've stars and planets to explore, my wild heart tells me so.

Beneath the metal decking I can hear the engine sigh

And all I need is a mighty ship and a staaaa-aarr to guide her by”

A tiny yawn betrayed his wondrous eyes, and he gave up and closed them shut, rubbing his little hands on his face. You lowered your voice to almost a whisper.

“I've seen a million beauties and I've known a million fears,

And life is what I've found between the laughter and the tears.

Still I will sail the last frontier through worlds both tame and wild,

And marvel at their strangeness with the wonder of a child”

Soft snores were your only applause, the baby having drifted off mid stanza. You hummed a few more lines of the song to be sure he was asleep. The cockpit was as dark as the surrounding sky, but the glint of silver caught your attention. Starlight reflected off the beskar plates in a way that made the black of his visor seem darker than the heart of a collapsed star, and just as deadly. The Mandalorian was watching you intently, completely motionless.

The precious moment with the baby had made you very forgetful of the dangerous situation you were actually in. You had been captured, you were this man’s prisoner and yet here you were all cozy in the chair with his adopted son in your lap. You glared back at him, matching his fierce gaze when the little green bundle moved to get more comfortable, one tiny hand catching claws in the top you were wearing; a tunic that did not belong to you.

“Here, you take him then.” Your voice was hushed so as not to wake the child, and you raised him up gently to try and unhook him from your shirt. Immediately there were two gloved hands coming to lift the baby off of your lap. He was a monolith of leather and metal, but the way he pulled his son in close was so gentle that all the ferocity of his profession dissipated like mist. Mando carefully tucked the blanket under the sleeping little baby and wrapped him up tight before slowly turning away from you and the flight deck to head down the ladder in total silence, leaving you alone in the dark.

You watched him go, the top of his shiny silver head disappearing into the floor. Without the sounds of life in the cockpit the quiet of the night weighed heavy on your ears. He still hadn’t told you why he had kept you out of the carbonite, all you had done was let him use you as his personal play-thing... and maybe murder off some of his bounty hunting competition, but that wasn’t much to go off of. You had done worse for much less. Put your skills to better use, that’s what he had said. Absently you toyed with the end of your sleeve, no, not your sleeve. His sleeve.

That was another thing, what reason did he have to show you hospitality when his first interaction with you had been so violent? Binding you and marching your ass through the desert after he had fucking shot you. Your escape plan had almost worked, ha! All you would’ve had to do is tire him out and run but that had backfired entirely. The apex of your thighs still thrummed with sensation, warm and blissful. Though you’d had lovers in the past you usually didn’t still feel them so deeply afterwards. The smell of the fresher soap still clung to your body and clothes. Clutching at the collar of your sweater you pulled it to your face and breathed deep, letting the heady scent of it fill your lungs.

“Let’s go. We have work to do.” The modulated voice coming from the ladder startled you from your guilty indulgence and sprang you to your feet, but the source of the voice was already back down the ladder. You sheepishly followed suit.

“You plan on telling me what we’re up to exactly?” Down below the Mandalorian was loading himself with ammunition, each and every slot on his many bandoliers was packed to the brim with charges. His pulse rifle was slung over one shoulder, clanking up against a new piece of equipment you hadn’t seen before. Some kind of jet pack maybe.

“I have two bounties to catch on Tatooine. One of them conveniently fell into a sarlacc pit. The other one's hiding out down there." A bounty fob blinked red in his hand; quick flashes indicated that the target was close by. “If you help me with this, you’re off the hook. I’ll tell Karga you’re dead and the guild will stop sending hunters after you. But-” He turned to face you, he was holding your beat-up old back pack by one ratty leather strap. "If for one second I think you'll turn against me, I'll take the half credits for your corpse."

"You're one to talk!" You hissed, storming up to the gunslinger with the ferocity of a lothcat. "You kidnapped me! I didn't ask to be here."

The man in question didn't budge under your verbal assault. "Do we have a deal or not?"

He forced your backpack into your arms to accentuate his point. You ripped it from his grasp and stormed to the other side of the cabin. Everything was still inside; a pack of bacta patches, a few mementos, three busted tracking fobs and some blaster charges. Speaking of blaster-

"Where’s my gun, Mando?" Your question was answered when you turned back to face him. He was holding it by its barrel, extending the grip towards you. You met his visor with contempt, but took the old blaster from him carefully as not to cause a misfire. It would be nice to not be on the run from a guild you had pledged your loyal services to for so many years, that now wanted you delivered back to them in carbonite; and you knew that Karga would trust his favorite hunter. The life of a moisture farmer wasn’t what you dreamed of when you escaped Corellia. Fuck that. "Yeah, it's a deal. One hunt and I'm gone."

It was then you noticed the open wall next to you. The steel panel was slid open to reveal a vault packed corner to corner with more firepower than you had ever seen in one place. Your eyes roamed from blaster to rifle to flamethrower, noticing that not all of them were made for five fingered hands. This wasn't just an armory, it was a trophy case.

If he didn't want you to ogle his wares he should have closed the panel, but instead he joined you at the wall, picking up some extra plasma cartridges and a vibroblade with a curved handle, which he pushed into your hands. "Will that be enough?"

Either you trust me or you don't, pick a side, tin can. You didn't answer him right away, opting to pull a chest holster and another couple of blasters down from the wall. You cinched the holsters tight and tucked a blaster in on either side, slung a disruptor over your back and stuffed the knife in your boot. Once you had everything in place you stuck your fists on your hips like a superhero with a confidant nod. "Yeah, that should be good."

Mando was watching you with intensity, his visor going over each of your weapon choices. He tugged on your holsters’ cross straps to make sure they were secured. You rolled your eyes at him, "I know how to dress myself, sir."

No answer. Typical. He stopped fussing with your straps and turned back to the wall, selecting a heavy multi-ammo bandolier. He stepped closer to you, wrapping both arms around your waist to fit the belt in place on your hips. You tried to convince yourself that it was the cool beskar of his chest plate pressed up against you that sent a shiver down your spine. The physical contact was over as quickly as it had been initiated, and then he was back in the vault fishing out the tiny silver explosives that fit neatly into the circular latches on either side of your belt, handing them to you without a word. Finished with his selection he pressed a few buttons on his vambrace, one to slide the armory shut and another to summon an egg-shaped hover crib to float to his side. Inside its shell the child was sound asleep, a heart-melting smile on his tiny little face. As adorable as he was, you furrowed your brow in confusion.

“Is he coming too?”

“Where I go, he goes.” Mando said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He strode back to the supply crate you had been digging through earlier and packed a handful of rations into a bag for the journey through the dunes. Cool desert air gusted into the stuffy cabin as the access ramp fell open, and the three of you headed out into the darkness of Tatooine.

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

Your dreams were hazy and feverish, shots of blaster fire flickered through the fog from unknown assailants. The smell of blood and blast plasma strong in your nose even while unconscious. You saw the sneering face of a Twi’lek twist in agony and purple blood painted his face before he winked out of existence, replaced in your mindscape with bloody hands. Your hands. Then there was cold beskar on your cheek and strong arms hauling you from the carnage. Harsh wind in your ears and the ground spiraling away beneath you. The howling wind so loud you couldn't hear the questions being barked in your face. Pain, the smell of burning skin, then nothing. You felt objects moving frantically nearby, and something soft and green was pressing into your ribs. Your eyes, heavy as they were, fluttered open to see two huge black orbs staring up from your side where bright red blood was staining the sheets under you. Is that ... my blood?

“Hey green bean...what’cha up to?” Your voice was hoarse and weak, scratching its way out reluctantly past chapped lips. Talking made your head pound, you reached up to cradle your aching skull when two leather tipped hands caught yours and held them steady.

“Easy... Don’t move too much. Please.” Your hands were gently set back down at your sides, shooting pain up your arms. A large black and silver body was hunched beside you, frantically sticking bacta patches to your skin.

“Mand...do? What…what happened?” Your voice was barely a whisper, so faint the recycled air of the cabin threatened to whisk it away.

“You got the bastard, but that fucking Twi' managed to get a shot off in your gut point blank before he went down. You shouldn't have survived that but you did.” Is that a compliment? He was wrapping a long gauze bandage around your arm, fixing the bacta patches in place so they could do their thing. It hurt, but not as much as you thought it should have. Down by your side the child had rolled into you face first, passed out cold next to an emergency cauterizer. Mando nodded at his sleeping son, “And if it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead for sure.” 

The baby? How is he involved with this? Thoughts echoed loudly in your skull, and you decided that thinky time was over. The little guy had the right idea, you should sleep now, embrace the comfort of the dark behind your eyes, let it swallow you whole.

“Hey hey hey! Not yet. Stay with me, ok? You need to drink something. Here.” An armored hand slid under your head, urging you to sit up just enough to take a drink out of the metal canteen pressed against your lips. “You need to stay awake, just for a little while.” Cool water graced your dry mouth and dripped onto your chin. Embarrassed by your mess you tried to wipe the droplets away but once again your arms were halted in place. A rough piece of fabric dabbed at your face.

“I’m not a baby, Mando. I can take care of myself.” The creeping sting of blast-burn that still scalded your skin told you that might not be true. The bacta was just starting to seep into your bloodstream, but it would take some time to work its magic.

“I know that. I was with you down there in the fray. A rancor would have been less terrifying to face than you. But right now I need you to hold still.”

Another compliment? Or was that sarcasm? You’re losing your edge, tin man. You tried to roll your eyes but the effort made your head spin; you glanced around the cabin, trying to avoid meeting the visor that was pinning you to the cot. Strewn about the floor of the ship was what was left of your holsters and weapons, splattered with red and purple blood. You couldn’t be sure, but it looked like one belt had been blasted to smithereens, torn strips of leather the only indication it had been there at all. Farther away you saw a dark block in the carbonite freezer. The Twi’lek from your nightmare was frozen solid, though from his limp posture you guessed he had stopped moving long before he was put in the chamber. One of his long lekku had been cut clean off, and even in carbonite you could see the wound was fresh. Something long and curved stuck victoriously out of the center of his chest. Your vibroblade, lodged to the hilt in his sternum.

Mando was still kneeling on the floor by your side, and though you couldn’t see his face his hunched shoulders gave you the feeling that he was distraught. He still had your head resting in his palm, his thumb absently toying with your hair. Maybe it was the bacta running through your system that made you start to feel warm and gooey on the inside, but the sensation of his hand on your scalp felt... nice. Nice to be touched in a way that wasn't just for survival. Though you had already felt his hands on your body this was something else entirely. Sincere. Maybe it was just the first time somebody near you wasn't trying to kill or capture you. You foolish girl, you've already been captured. Are you so lonely that a gentle touch makes you melt? Maybe it's you that's losing your edge.

"You should have left me for dead, cashed in on that half credit reward."

"That is not The Way." His mantra was rehearsed, spoken as easily as he drew breath, but you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“Well... thank you for not letting me bleed out.” You could see the top of the baby's green little noggin still curled up against your side, though the part of your ribs he was leaning on didn’t have a single mark. You looked for the blast wound that Mando was supposedly talking about, but aside from a handful of plasma burns your skin was smooth and healthy; the pool of dried blood under you was the only indication anything had been there at all. What kind of mando magic is that? And what did he mean about the child? Your first thought was how disappointed you were there wouldn’t be a good scar. Your second was realizing your top was missing. Shreds of it were still on your shoulders, but the front had been ripped off completely to get to your vanished wounds. Mando seemed like he didn’t even care, he had been so focused on patching you up that the idea of modesty was thrown out the window, but you couldn’t help teasing him. “There’s not a scratch on me, Mando. You just wanted me topless, didn’t you?”

His thumb on your scalp froze, his visor going from your face to your chest with rapid snaps. Without letting your head drop he used his other hand to tear his cloak from his back and throw it over you and the sleeping baby. “Better?”

Party pooper. “Yes, thank you.” Why is he being so nice? He must have ulterior motives, right? Why keep me alive if not to cash in on that bounty? You decided to push his buttons some more. “This bed sucks. Is this why you're so crotchety? Because you sleep on this Maker-forsaken thing? It’s making my back hurt.”

The cot you were on was spartan at best, more of a cloth covered bucket than a bed. It was recessed into the wall opposite of the armory, bits of machinery and droid parts hanging over the space above you. There wasn’t much of a gap between your head and the durasteel plating of the ship’s hull. Your teasing was rewarded with a long, tired sigh. The hand that cushioned your head moved down to your shoulders, pushing on you so that you sat up straight. You scooped the baby off of your side and into your arms, trying to ignore the dried blood from your wounds that stained the sheets before swaddling the sleeping bean in his father’s cloak. The metal man rose from the floor, letting go of you just long enough to remove his cross-belts and unlatch his chest plate, setting them on the floor with a dull thunk. He squished himself between the wall and your back, his dorsal plate scraping loudly without its cape. He scooched one armored leg around you until it was between your hip and the wall on your side, pulling you into his lap and turning his whole body into a pillow, letting your torso rest on his. He was used to the sharp metal bed frame, but that didn’t mean you should be subjected to it.

“Is this ok?”

You could only nod, your cheeks flushing red with a mix of emotions. It was more than ok, his formidable body was warm and comfortable. His arms wrapped around your waist, helping to support not only you but also his foundling. The spice of him was strong now with him on your back, worn leather and metal and that damn fresher soap that was making a fool out of you. Underneath his steady breathing the sound of something rhythmic caught your attention, it was quick and faint, but unmistakably the sound of his heartbeat. His heart is racing. Listen to that engine purr.

Behind you a man with a name you may never know watched your chest slowly rise and fall with each breath, not with lust but something unfamiliar though not unwelcome. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, whether from the ordeal of keeping you alive or the fact that you were in his arms again he couldn't be sure. He sighed, trying to convince himself to calm down, but the deep breath he took only flooded his senses with the essence of you, threatening to melt the beskar off his head with the heat rushing to his face. He couldn't help the way his fingers traced over your skin, careful not to undo any of the bacta patches. He jumped slightly when your hands found his, but the weight of the child still in your arms made it difficult to reach your fingers. The glove you were touching was suddenly empty, and a bare hand snaked out from under the cloak that kept you modest. With the press of a button the child’s pram floated its way over to you from the supply crates. The baby’s adopted father carefully lifted the sleeping creature off your lap and into his hover crib, another button press on the vambrace and the shield door slid closed.

His hand returned to the safety of the cloak, pulling the other glove off before finding your fingers again. His skin was so warm you couldn't help but imagine his hands somewhere more intimate. Evil, evil bacta... Maybe you wouldn't have to.

"I should thank you properly." It was impossible to hide the tiredness of your voice, but he was close enough you only needed to whisper. His grasp tightened around you, your once plush pillow was now a rigid wall of muscle.

"You should go to sleep." the sound of his baritone words so close to your ear made your skin prickle. Too late for that. Slowly you guided his hand down your belly until your tangled hands bumped into your belt line. A low growl rumbled out of the modulator.  “Cyar'ika... you need to rest."

The alien term of endearment made you hum, but you ignored his words of warning and pushed his hand under the tough fabric till his fingertips found your heat, both of you gasping softly at first contact. His free hand fumbled with your button, and after some difficulty you undid it for him along with the zipper. With space to work, with his wrist moved freely, lazily rolling a calloused fingertip against your clit; remembering his lesson from the first time he experienced your body, his touch was light as a feather.

There wasn’t much you could do for him in the position you were in, so you leaned back against him and relaxed, letting him enjoy you at his own pace. The bottom of his helmet was pressed into the crook of your neck, and though it was sharp you could feel something warm and soft underneath it. So there is a real man under there. Scruffy stubble brushed at your skin and sent goosebumps down your chest. Under the beskar his eyes followed the prickling trail that lead under the tattered cloak you still wore to your breasts, watching the way the fabric pointed where your nipples grew hard for him. His other hand couldn’t resist finding its way to your pert peaks, rolling them between his fingers in that way he knew flushed you with heat. Soft gasps rewarded his ears as he worked at your breast and clit, rubbing them in tandem. Your hips rolled into one hand and your back arched into the other, urging him to help you build your climax. He obliged, adding a second finger to pinch your clit softly between strong digits until you fell apart around him.

The pressure that was building behind you and pressing into your spine told you that if you wanted more from him you would have to give him a better angle. You started to get up, but the hands on your sensitive spots held you in place.

“What about your injuries? I don’t want to hurt you.” What injuries? There’s nothing left! His voice was filled with sincerity, a far cry from your first encounter. You didn’t answer him, instead you found each of his hands and squeezed them with a hum, asking him to trust that the bacta had set in and made you comfortable enough to move from your impromptu med bay. He slid his fingers out from your burning core, dragging the wetness from your cunt over your skin until his palms were on your back, helping to push you up off of him. The teeny tiny bed frame made it difficult to spin yourself around until you were facing him, and even more difficult to kick your pants off as you passed over top of him, but he never took his hands away from you to keep you steady until you were seated in his lap.

Straddling his waist you rolled your hips over where his cock was hidden from you, making him shudder under your legs. His arms glided from your knees to your hips, languidly making their way up your sides and past your breasts to the last remaining tatters of the black knit sweater he had allowed you to wear. Hooking a thumb under its ruined edges, he slid it up over your arms and cast it away into the darkness of the ship. His hands went right back to working at your breasts, massaging them like dough in time with your grinding hips. You took a moment to admire how he looked underneath you, his remaining armor glinting in the hazy ship light as his hands searched for every sensitive inch of your chest. You knew from legend that his helmet could never be removed in front of you, but you’d never heard anything about the rest of his clothes. Where his chest plate had been was a strappy flak jacket dotted with magnetic fasteners. Your hands went slowly to the first clasp, and the hands that were so indulged in you froze, his body stiff between your legs.

“Is this ok?” The irony of you repeating his question from earlier back to him made your lips turn in a sly smile. 

“Y-yes.” His voice was nearly imperceptible, and you realized that he was shaking. You looked to his visor, watching him nod in consent before you continued. He dropped his hands to your hips, pulling down on your thighs and rutting up into you while you busied yourself with the complicated under armor until it fell away at his sides, revealing a pair of suspenders and an identical black knit tunic as the one that had been shredded off of you. You didn’t have the energy to peel every article of clothing off of him, so this would have to do. Without his cloak bunched around his shoulders you were able to see the flesh of his throat, so warm and inviting that you wanted to sink your teeth into it.

You bent down to nibble at the exposed skin, and the filthy moan that rattled out of the helmet sent shivers down your spine. The taste of him was exquisite, better than you could have imagined under all that fabric and leather. The overwhelming cocktail of his scent straight from the source made you bold. You kissed your way around the edge of his helmet where the metal met his skin until you found his pulse point and made good on your desires. His body convulsed when you bit down, sucking at the tender skin until you left blooming marks that would be there for days.

“Cyar'ika... Please...“ There was that word again, you didn’t know what it meant but the way he breathed it like a prayer felt like warm honey in your belly. Releasing his tormented neck you ran your hands down his broad chest until your thumbs bumped the leather suspenders that lead you down to his waist line where you were able to tug the edge of his shirt free, giving you a delicious window of his tummy; well-muscled and dusted with dark brown hair. 

“What’s wrong, tin man? Nobody ever touch you like this before?” He was still shaking while you ran your hands under the edge of his shirt and through the soft treasure trail of fuzz from the top of his belt line to the bottom of his ribs. He couldn’t answer you, his breath caught in his throat at the sensation of your hands on his skin, but you were starting to put the pieces of his puzzle together. No, probably not.

You decided not to torture him any longer. The fabric of his pants was nearly stretched to capacity and wet with your slick. You had to stretch one leg out onto the floor to get enough of a footing to lift yourself high enough off him that you could free him from the canvas prison. His cock nearly burst out of its confines, and your face flushed red at the sight of him standing proudly at attention, twitching in your hands with a flood of shimmering precum made just for you.

His chest was heaving, ragged breaths forcing their way out of his modulator before you’d even taken his length. You used your hips to notch him at your entrance and his grip on your thighs clenched like a steel trap. Slowly you lowered yourself onto him, letting him fill you until you were stretched wide. Your eyes met his visor, though from the way it was tilted you knew he was watching himself disappear into you. His arms wrapped tightly under your ass as he thrust into you hard enough that he lifted you off the cot, quickly scooting both your bodies down the bed until he was flat on his back. You tried to stay upright, but his pounding soon had your head spinning until you were falling forward into his chest, digging your arms around his shoulders in a way you were becoming familiar with. Your hands found their way to the back of his helmet to where his hair line started, sneaking a few fingers under the metal edge to tangle in his curls. The Mandalorian’s hands were on your waist, holding you in place while he rocketed up into you, filling the ships cabin with the sound of wet slaps. His thick cock hit different from this angle, grinding up against the sweet spot deep inside you with each rut until you started seeing stars behind your eyes. He could feel you building up around him and he quickened his pace until you were gasping his name.

“M-mando! I... I’m gonna....” Your muscles coiled with heat until you burst, your sweet cunt fluttering around his still pumping cock until he went cascading over the edge of ecstasy with you, his helmet vibrating with a guttural roar. His feverish body shook, giving you a few short thrusts to milk the cum from his cock until it spilled out from where he was lost inside you.

His shaky arms held onto you so tightly, as if you would blast away into space if he let go. The endorphins flooding his head made him want to pour his heart out and tell you everything, bare himself in body and soul for the first time in his life. He wanted to tell you how nice you had looked in his clothes, how the loose knit fabric draped over your breasts was a work of art; even more so when you were standing before him armed to the teeth in his hunting trophies. How seeing you slice that fucking Twi’lek to ribbons was more graceful than any ballet. The sight of the bloody hole that had been burned into your side had made his skin crawl. Mando wasn’t ready to explain the child’s healing powers, he barely understood them himself; but if it wasn’t for the baby he would have been burying your corpse instead of tending your wounds. Instead of experiencing your living body like he was now.

His heart fluttered at the thought of his foundling healing you with his baby sorcerer magic, his tiny green paws pushed on your side where the blood was spilling from your wound. The thought of you dying for his bounty made him sick, but pride flushed the sensation away when he thought back to that first day with you up in the flight deck. How when his baby boy was restless that you acted, not with malice but with tenderness and care. He'd never wanted to rip his helmet off faster in all his days than when you sang his son a lullaby, the sweet tune of it filtering through his sensory equipment, and he longed to hear it as it was meant to be. In that moment he had been entranced, but the fierce glare of his visor had made you feel threatened. He didn't want that. He wanted to make you feel safe. The same way you had made his child feel, the same way you made him feel now. Like the galaxy itself couldn’t tear you from him.

But the ugly truth was that soon it would all end when you both went your separate ways. All the feelings he wanted to confess to you died in his mouth, leaving a bitter taste that brought him back to reality. You still straddled his waist, and though the blood had long since left his cock it still sat neatly in your heat, letting him feel your gentle heartbeat around him. Carefully he pulled himself free from the apex of your thighs and rolled you both sideways onto the unforgiving cot, letting gravity shuffle you down until you were nestled in the crook of his arm. He couldn’t help brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, meeting your half lidded eyes with his own behind the visor.

“I don’t think I can get to the fresher this time.” Your voice was barely a whisper, and the edges of sleep crept unbidden to your eyes; the traumatic activities of the day finally winning over your endurance. “You’re probably going to have to burn these sheets.”

Mando hummed with indifference, though for you he would burn all of Tatooine down if you asked. All the lovely thoughts that had danced through his mind came rolling through again, haloed in the warm light of afterglow. Only one made its way past his lips, sneaking out of the helmets’ modulator like a prayer.

“How does the song end?”

“Mmm?” You were so close to sleep, so cozy and full of cum that you knew would be a fun mess for morning-you to clean up. You wracked your brain trying to remember what the hell he was talking about. The star-shanty? “Why, do you need a lullaby too?”

“N-no. Just curious. When you leave, my foundling might ask me about it.” Liar. The calloused hand gliding up and down your spine brought the original contract you made with him ringing through your skull. One hunt and I’m gone.

“Leave? I’m not going anywhere until I see you tell Karga face to face that I’m rotting in a sarlacc pit. No take-backs. That old dog will probably dance when he hears he won’t have to part with his credits and I want to catch it on holo-corder.”

The rumbling sigh deep in his chest sounded more like an engine powering down than a mortal man, and it told you more than words ever could. The arm you had around his chest was met with strong fingers that intertwined with your own. He doesn’t want me to go. Who are you, Mandalorian?

“Tell me anyway? Please?” His arms tightened like a fortress around you. His words were distant, echoing out from somewhere in dreamland instead of right by your ear. Alright you big softie, if you’re going to beg me. You sighed heavily against him, trying to recall the songs of your distant past. 

“The nights are long between the stars, and lonely too for me,

I wonder how I might have fared with home and family.

But the bonds of friendship I have formed will last my lifetime through,

Security is not for me, my dreams are all of you.”

The same soft snores that had been your original encore with the baby now ghosted in your ear, muffled by the mysterious beskar helmet but still unmistakable. Like father like son. 

The weight of his arms around you was like nothing you had ever felt in your years on the run. You had traveled so far and met so many living beings but not once had you let another share your bed while you slept. You could get used to this. The thought was the last you had before sleep overtook you, your body slumping against his while you dreamed of silver and steel.

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@mandoinevarro​ @mrsparknuts​ @cookiejuicedesu​

[adventuresindolls]

May Photo Challenge!!

Our next photo challenge, #Daisies and Daffodolls, will begin on May 1st! It’s a creative, for fun, non-competitive daily challenge for you to share pictures of your doll(s). There will be a new prompt each day, listed below to give you a month to prepare, and you can participate in as many or as few days as you’re interested in. There is no judgement whatsoever, so please share regardless of how complex your props are, and don’t worry about posting a prompt late.

First of all, thank you so much to @desertdollranch​ for helping with the prompts, especially those surrounding AG birthdays and holidays, and for getting this whole photo challenge thing started back in September! And a huge thank you to @lesbianelizabethcole​ for designing all 5 banners!

The ground rules are the same as in October and December, but I’ll reiterate them for anyone that might be new. Tag all of your prompt posts with #daisies and daffodolls - all three words, complete with spaces. This will allow us to better find and share each other’s posts. You can organize your own posts however you want, but I recommend including the day’s prompt somewhere for context. Also feel free to post on other social medias if you want.

This is not a competition, and there are no prizes, but it should be a lot of fun. Feel free to use any size and brand of doll that you have! American Girl is very popular on doll tumblr, but all other types are welcome as well, including both established (historical or modern) characters and OCs. This could range from 18-inch dolls to Barbies to handmade dolls or porcelain dolls or even paper dolls.

I’ll reblog this post weekly until the beginning of May, and then begin each week of May with the prompt list for that week. Please find a list of all prompts below the cut.

5/1: The first day of each photo challenge is traditionally for seasonal fashion. Does your doll have a favorite spring outfit? Is it cool and light, or are they still bundled in a sweater for the chilly mornings?

5/2: Spring is all about new beginnings. Is your doll learning a new skill or trying a new activity this spring? Or maybe they just met a new person who became important in their life?

5/3: Today is National Textiles Day. Kirsten’s friends gave her a quilt they made after she missed school to help her family. Does your doll have any clothes or other items that are handmade? If not, do they make any textile items themselves? This could be something sewn, knitted, crocheted, or quilted.

5/4: May the 4th be with you! Does your doll like Star Wars? Who is their favorite character? What about other stories? Pick a hero from any movie, show, or book that your doll loves and have them act out a scene as that character.

5/5: Friends are forever. Who are your doll’s closest friends and what do they do together? Maybe they like to play board games or go to the mall or play pretend. Or maybe your doll is planning something special for their friend.

5/6: As the weather gets warmer, it’s the perfect time to head outside. Does your doll play sports, or do they prefer casual games with their friends? Maybe they like picnics or quiet hikes through the woods.

5/7: Happy birthday, Maryellen! Maryellen often feels overlooked in her large family, and she works hard to stand out and show her unique personality. What makes your doll special and unique?

5/8: It’s career day! What does your doll want to do when they grow up? Show them dressed up for and/or acting out their dream job.

5/9: Happy Mother’s Day! Addy and her mother escaped to freedom together, Caroline’s mother ran a shipyard, and Kirsten’s mother encouraged her not to lose heart. Does your doll have a special bond with their mother? How do they celebrate Mother’s Day? If they don’t have a mother or don’t have a good relationship with her, consider today a free space to show us something you really want to but that isn’t included in these prompts.

5/10:  Bugs are everywhere! We might avoid some of them, but others are welcomed. Lightning bugs, ladybugs, bumble bees, and dragonflies are a few happy spring bugs. Show your doll doing something bug-themed. They might take a net out to catch bugs or draw a picture of a bug or hold a ladybug they found. Be creative!

5/11: Parties are always fun! Is your doll going to any birthday parties or sleepovers this spring? Maybe they’re attending a wedding or some other celebration? What are their favorite party activities?

5/12:  Spring weather can be a relief after the cold and darkness of winter. What is the weather like where your doll is? Foggy? Rainy? Bright and sunny? Show your doll interacting with their local spring weather.

5/13: Everyone needs mentors and heroes. Who does your doll look up to? What have they learned from them or how do they honor them?

5/14: It’s the last day of the school year. What’s your doll’s favorite extracurricular activity or aspect of school that they’ll miss until next fall?

5/15: Happy birthday, Luciana! Luciana loves learning about space and wants to be an astronaut and go to Mars one day. Getting to space involves studying many different things, particularly various fields of science. Show your doll doing something related to space or science.

5/16: Today is National Do Something Nice for your Neighbor Day. What does your doll do that helps others or makes the world a better place?

5/17: Let’s try something different today! If your (OC or non-AG) doll had their own American Girl-style book series, what would be the central theme? What sort of things would happen to them? Show us at least one scene from this hypothetical series.

5/18: Beaches and swimming are iconic activities as the weather gets warmer and people have more free time. Rebecca and her family went to Coney Island for a picnic. Does your doll enjoy picnics, sunbathing, or sandcastles on the beach? Maybe they like to swim for exercise or hang out at the pool with friends? (I do not recommend putting your doll in a public chlorine pool)

5/19: Happy Birthday, Kit! Growing up seeing the effects of the Great Depression on people around her, Kit is determined to report on important things happening to real people. How does your doll relate to current events? Are they involved in activism or spreading awareness? Is there an important social issue that affects them personally or that they feel is very important? Or is there something good happening in the world that they like to think about?

5/20: Spring is a great time for tea parties. What’s in your doll’s teacup? Maybe they’re drinking a fancy tea, or maybe they prefer a refreshing glass of juice.

5/21: Spring is full of baby animals. Show your doll interacting with some sort of baby animal. (Safely! Please don’t grab a real squirrel or bunny!)

5/22: In December we celebrated Pretend to be a Time Traveler Day. I’d like to reprise that, but with a twist: this time, we’re headed into the future! The amount of time and what your doll finds in the future is completely up to you. What do they do while there?

5/23: Cakes and pies and ice cream, oh my! What is your doll’s favorite dessert?

5/24: There may be fewer holidays in spring than in December, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to celebrate! Does your doll celebrate Passover or Easter? Or maybe they prefer a more obscure spring holiday to liven things up? Show them participating in whatever celebration you like.

5/25: Yellow is the color of flowers and sunny days and ducklings. Show your doll wearing or using something yellow.

5/26: Happy birthday, Samantha! After her birthday party, Samantha hears Aunt Cornelia speak at a suffragette meeting in New York City. What is a cause that is important to your doll? Show them with a sign supporting or protesting something close to their heart. As an added challenge, use a cause unrelated to the current events prompt.

5/27: It’s summer vacation! What are some of your doll’s favorite activities now that they’re free from school? Alternatively, what are some of their favorite hobbies to do anytime?

5/28: Happy birthday, Cecile! For her birthday, Cecile’s brother Armand gave her a beautiful porcelain doll that looked like her. Does your doll have a favorite doll or toy?

5/29: Late spring and early summer is a great time to go on a road trip or vacation. Where is your doll traveling to, and what are they doing there? Or maybe their family chose a staycation this year - what new fun new things are they discovering close to home?

5/30: Today is National Water a Flower Day. Show your doll interacting with flowers or other plants.

5/31: What is your doll planning for this fall? What are they looking forward to when school starts again? Is a big change approaching as the seasons and leaves turn? What does the future hold for them?

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Helmeted Hunter: Chapter 17

Boba Fett x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Blaster fights

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

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Chapter 17: Only Improvising

The three of you, without saying anything, began walking into the shipyard as casually as possible, careful not to draw attention to yourselves as the stormtroopers got organized just behind. But one of the officers took notice just as you were descending an unfortunately noisy metal staircase and called out to halt.

Maz and Boba slowly turned to face the man as he approached, but you had another idea. Being the furthest on the steps, just far enough below the level to be hidden, you quickly slid under the railing and into an alcove in the wall. No one would be able to see you unless they were standing directly below and happened to look up.

You could hear the officer addressing your comrades above.

Who are you and what is your business here?

Maz Kanata, with my personal mechanic. We are picking up my ship and heading home.

Wasn't there another one of you?  

No, sir, just us. I came to catch up with some friends for the Festival of Stars, but one can only take so many days of that sort of thing. There was a malfunction with my ship's landing gear but Robert here has her all patched up now.

You wished you could see Boba's face as Maz gave him that pseudonym.

Sorry, but no flights are permitted to leave today.

Oh, but that nice man inside just gave me my access card.

Imperial orders, ma'am. No one leaves before these ships are inspected.

Inspected? Is this for safety violations? Because I can assure you Robert is one of the best mechanics in the galaxy. I'd fly home in a bucket if he was the one who made it.

Ma'am, please, I need you to vacate the premises. You can try again tomorrow once the inspections are clear.

Only a day? Well then it's certainly no safety inspection. I've dealt with enough scoundrels in my lifetime to know you must be on a man hunt.

Ma'am...

I can't imagine what sort of person you'd be looking for out here, but who am I to ask anyway. I'm just going to need some time to sort this out with that gentleman in the office. It'll be another day of rent to leave my ship here, and these outer rim yards aren't cheap, you know.

Ten minutes. Make it quick.

There was some shuffling as they left with the officer to head back to the entrance. And then it was just you and your thoughts.

Your thoughts were wild, running on an anxious energy that made all your senses feel on edge. You'd ducked into hiding on instinct. Even with a head wrap, you could've been recognized. Your concern had merely been self-preservation.

But now that you were successfully off the Empire's radar, you had the advantage, or rather, the responsibility to help your friends out, too. If these soldiers truly were looking for someone, it was not by coincidence. They had either found the Slave I and were on the hunt for a helmeted Boba Fett and his prized bounty, or had heard about Hondo's heist and were ensuring he couldn't run away. Neither of those options meant any of you could stay on this planet another night.

You'd first need to (somehow) get out of this alcove undetected, then you'd have to (somehow) help Maz and Boba sneak away while they still had that access card for the ship, and then you'd all three need to (somehow) get over to the ship undetected and (somehow) pick up Hondo before blasting out of here.

You could feel sweat pooling on your hairline under the scarf. Your eyes cast about, as if a plan of action would be written in the sky for you. You were not good with this sort of thing; the planning and scheming was much more Boba's forte.

But then you suddenly recalled something he had once said to you. Don't pretend you have a plan...You've only been improvising this whole time. He had meant it as an insult, but now it was giving you a new sense of self-confidence. You had been improvising this whole time, and so far, it had worked pretty well.

So without further thought or ado, you jumped out from your hiding hole and onto a concrete ledge below. The bag you wore across your body thumped heavily against your side, so as you scurried along the ledge, you dug into it to see what could possibly be in there. Your fingers brushed by your music player, your alphabet chart, and then landed on an object you instantly knew was a gun.

Boba had packed your bag early that morning, paranoid about missing the train again. You'd thought the extra weight was food or something, and had been too mad at him to check. But despite his own frustration with you, he apparently trusted you enough to give you his gun again. You decided to leave it in the bag for now, remembering all your failed attempts at using it back on Jakku.

You continued to slink around the shipyard, darting around corners and skipping up stairs. It was like your first days after coming through the portal. You had no clue where you were going, but knew you had to try going somewhere. Occasionally you'd catch glimpses of the entrance through some scaffolding, and all the stormtroopers piled in front of it. It was going to be next to impossible to help Maz and Boba get past them.

After a while you passed by a group of shipyard mechanics, some human and some droid, as they reluctantly set down their tools and were made to clock out for the day. You watched from the shadows as they swiped cards through the electronic gates that surrounded each ship, and then silently followed as they grumbled their way into a sort of locker room. Most kept their cards with them as they packed up, but a one had his strapped to a belt that he threw into a cubby before stomping out.

Maybe you wouldn't be able to get your friends over to a ship, but you could try getting a ship over to them.

Before the thought of piloting a massive spaceship could scare you, you slipped the keycard into your pocket and rushed back into the shipyard. You had your pick of vehicles, but realistically you'd have to pick one close by so as not to waste time running through the entire industrial space. You settled on a smaller cruiser nearby that seemed unassuming, in case you'd need to blend in later.

But no sooner did you start making a beeline for the ship did a line of stormtroopers start snaking their way down into the yard just in front of you. Two of them noticed and peeled off from the pack, ordering you to state your business.

You panicked and took off running, which ended up being a bad idea. They pursued, firing warning shots from their blasters, giving you flashbacks to the last time you'd run from stormtroopers. That time you'd ended up paralyzed on the ground. This time, you decided to try firing back.

Crouching behind some nearby boxes, you brought out the gun from your bag. You took one big breath before popping up and pulling the trigger.

Nothing.

You cursed and crouched back down, a blast nearly missing your head. The soldiers called out for you to cease firing as you fiddled with the gun, trying to find the safety. Their voices were growing closer. You finally found the switch and tried again, firing as many blasts as you could. The gun kicked in your hand more than you thought it would, throwing off your aim, and as the stormtroopers returned fire, you crouched lower and continued firing blind.

Suddenly, their blasts stopped. You peered over the boxes to see both soldiers fallen with one sizzling hole in each of their chest plates. Had you done that?

"I really need to teach you how to use a gun," Boba said from behind you.

His tone was disappointed, but his face had a touch more... concern? No, you were imagining it. You shook your head as he held open a door behind him. You wanted to say something snippy in reply, but the commotion was drawing more stormtroopers your way, so you swallowed your sass and followed him inside.

It was a hallway just outside the lockers you'd been in earlier. Boba jammed the door shut and led you down it, gun poised for action. He moved differently than he would in his armor, more cautious and stiff. You could tell he felt exposed and was trying to compensate. But you were relieved to have someone else carrying a gun for you.

"I got one of those access cards," you told him.

He looked over his shoulder with a cocked eyebrow. "Oh? Planning to steal a ship are we?"

"Commandeer," you said with a smirk.

He laughed a little, but you could hear his nerves through it. He really was having a hard time without his armor.

"Where's Maz?"

Boba poked into a room, found it empty, and moved on. He did this all along the hall. "She's taking the speeder out to Jedha City. We're pretty sure they're looking for Hondo. He must have finished the job early. She'll look for him and we'll pick them up."

A bang came from behind; the soldiers were trying to get through the door. You both sped up your pace, eventually running through the hall, unsure where it was leading you but trusting it'd take you somewhere deeper into the shipyard and further from the Empire.

The hall eventually led into a large break room of sorts, with news monitors lining one wall. There was a door on the opposite wall that appeared to lead back outside. Boba rushed for it, but you wound up stopped in front of one of the screens.

You could hear him call your name a few times, but couldn't tear your attention away from the images flashing before you. News of war, of the Empire forcefully expanding their influence to new planets in unknown regions. One such planet had resisted recently, and in return, had been completely decimated.

His hand on your upper back pulled you out of your shock just enough for you to whisper, "It's my home."

[othercat2]

Jam: Egg fic with worldbuilding but no title 1/?

So this is a thing I’ve been putting up on the homestuck gang discord. I decided to play with the “oviparous trolls” au thing. As you do. As usual, I have no idea of what I’m doing, and there’s a lot of worldbuilding.

_________________________

He's fussing (he is not fussing this is his first clutch okay) with the temperature controls of the incubator. Four eggs was  a reasonable sized first clutch and they were all on the small end. (But perfectly acceptable Zahhak!) Karkat snapped pictures of the speckled eggs and sent them to their genetors with his usual message of "red and blue slurry still does not make purple grubs." In honor of some of the most idiotic questions he'd  been asked by someone supposedly not a subadult. (Zahhak was lucky his matesprit put up with him.)

After egg coddling was breakfast and waiting for his attendant to arrive with his schedule. (And check his work.  Fucking up temps for a clutch could alter their projected caste or render them nonviable.) Karkat was hoping Kanaya was going to be bringing him good news from the medics; he's been on rest for what feels like forever and wants to get back to his work out. He checks the news feeds and catches up to social media. He also does a lot of shit talking at various internet hate friends. He's  doing some online shopping when Kanaya turns up. He's about to offer her a muffin and some coffee but...

"Kanaya are you okay?" She did not look okay.  "The Cavern Matre called me into her office," Kanaya says in a numb little voice. "Something terrible has happened."

Karkat felt a little thrill of panic at that. "Did something happen to my genitors?" He asked. “Zahhak doesn't  message too often but usually I'm exchanging stupid smilies and emojis with Megido by now."

Kanaya shook her head. "No this is something else. Worse."

"Worse?" Karkat asks. Kanaya nods. "The other attendants are speaking to their genetrices," she says.

"The Matres felt this would be better than simply announcing this during assembly."

"Announce what Kanaya?" Karkat asks.

Kanaya takes a breath. "Despite the strictest security measures we've discovered there's been trafficking of a genetrix bloodline."

"Holy shitfuck." It was easy to see why it hadn't been announced during assembly there would have been a fucking riot. "How?" Cavern security by necessity was tight for the very purpose of preventing kidnappings. Genetrices were trained to fight or take more extreme measures if taken. The punishments for attempting a kidnapping were gruesome.

"We don't  have all the details yet. The Church hasn't been very forthcoming."

"Of course. Mother Grub forbid they give a full report to the ones it's  relevant to." Kanaya gives him a look of reproof. Or tries to. Karkat's pretty good at staring her down.

"I'm sure we'll know more soon. There could be a reason behind the with held information."

Karkat did not agree but also didn't  want to argue. The reproductive and attending castes relative independance was hard won. It was also fragile. He knew that in the early days of his castes creation there had been total chaos until the early prototypes, led by the Signless had proven  it was more trouble than it was worth for the highbloods to try to keep their own little pet genetrix. The idea of an entire bloodline having been stolen was an immense blow. ( And horrifying purely from a stance of compassion. ) After breakfast Kanaya checked on the eggs temperature and the development of the embryos.

She checks his notations and makes a few of her own. Karkat tries not to fidget too much. They go to assembly next. Karkat takes his sickles. Out in the corridor are other adult genetrices and their attendants, all armed. The mood is too tense for the usual greetings and shit talking. Everyone heads into the assembly hall.

The Matre of the Cavern, flanked by the Matres of Medical, Education, Support, Assessment, and Genetics were on the stage. As a group they bowed. "By now you've been informed of the crime," the Matre of the Cavern says.  "We still don't have the details.  What we do know is that since  our Cavern is closest the genetrices will be brought here."

There was a flurry of questions, but the Matre of the Cavern signaled for quiet and  the Matre of Assessment stepped up. "The line has three living members. A third molt adult, a gravid adolescent and a two sweep old child. We don't  yet know if there were others that were sold elsewhere or culled."

"What's going to happen with the traffickers?" one of the older genetrices asks in a hard voice.

The Matre blinks. "They're ours of course. As always."

"Clowns," the genetrix points out as if this alone was an argument.  (It probably was. Fasces' most frequent genitors were a kismesis pair who were deacons in cult of the twin messiahs.)

The Matre's mouth twitches like she's  trying not to laugh. "I don't  think convincing them to turn over the criminals or what's  left will be a problem," she says.

More questions were asked about the situation and plans for the bloodline. Most of them were deflected, though Support indicated plans for housing and integration if possible were being discussed.  Karkat knew he wasn't the only one to shudder at the "if possible."

Assembly turned to other subjects such as the graduation of the most recent brood from the trials, the up coming Ascension for the next brood, and the Fete of the Last. (Karkat was on the decoration and planning committee for his sector of the Cavern.) There was also an announcement that due to the discovered theft, the Caverns had called off the Lottery and all genitors who hadn't taken vows were being asked to leave early. No one was especially happy about this.

After assembly was a doctor appointment where Karkat was approved for "light exercise." The doctor from long experience with her patient told him that extended sets with his sickles did not constitute light exercise. Twenty minutes a day, with a three minute increase over the next twelve weeks. "This is a monumental load of feculence in the backed up sewers of stupid bullshit I have to deal with," Karkat griped.

"I don't caaare," Zheydh almost sings. "This is what you get for over exerting yourself while gravid! You fainted and probably traumatized the class you were teaching Vantas. Then you wouldn't take my advice because quote 'you're not the one whose a waddling troll turducken.' Now I get to have my revenge."

"I hate you so much," Karkat says. "Shut up Kanaya."

"I didn't say anything," Kanaya says, amused.

"I can hear your I told you so," Karkat says, giving his attendant a glower.

"I doubt you're developing telepathy Karkat," Kanaya says teasingly.

 After the doctor appointment Karkat teaches his Lit class and goes to lunch. Then he attends  a section meeting where the main topics are morning assembly and the next environmental failure drill. (They were past due for a bolide emergency procedure. There was also strong argument for an actual raid drill.)

The meeting ran over, but he didn't get into very much trouble with his supervisor in the creche over it. The wigglers however were very sad he was late and manipulated extra story time out of him. After creche was dinner, which he shared with Kanaya.

The next few days were much the same except for an underlying simmer of anger for the traffickers. They still hadn't found out how it had happened, still weren't sure if the clowns were going to turn them over. Assembly was generally full of shouting that the Matres couldn't quite mediate.

The clown ship finally docks in the Cavern bay. It's surprisingly small and sleek and for a Church ship. (The cult had its  own shipyards and from what he'd heard their ships tended to be much bigger than standard Imperial ship  classes.) It's  painted with multicolored eyes and wings that spiral from bow to stern, and it's  maybe a quarter  the size of a cathedral ship. The ship is disturbingly named  Dance of the Angel.

Karkat is very very surprised when the Cavern Matre sends him a message that he's been asked to come with her to the ship and meet with the   Grand Highblood. "What the fuck?" Karkat asks. He waves his shelltop at Kanaya. "What is this? Am I reading this right?"

"I...it would seem so," Kanaya says. "The Grand Highblood wants to meet you."

“Why?" Kanaya gives him a look as if he's being deliberately obtuse. "Perhaps for some reason he feels is related to your Ancestor?" she suggests.

Karkat stares blankly back. "My Ancestor and nine caegars can get me a vaguely historically accurate romance novel."

"Karkat," Kanaya says. "I don't know whether you're being prickly about your Ancestor or you really believe that."

"It can be both!" Karkat says. "It's not like I have any special rank or responsibilities. Isn't it even in his will? 'If I should have a Descendant or if such should still exist in the future generations, put no burdens on him he doesn't take up.' I mean I'm  pretty sure there was a whole thing about it."

Kanaya smiles at Karkat. "Maybe that's something you could bring up with him.

 Karkat snorts. "Right I'm sure that's going to go over well," he says. There's a certain amount of fussing and preparation before Karkat is judged presentable for his meeting. Despite Kanaya's best efforts, he's never had much in the way of formal attire. There are some festival clothes, casual clothes, clothes for socializing or meeting with his genitors. But nothing really formal.

Kanaya ends up putting him into his favorite black velvet divided skirt, bright red long sleeved tunic, and a darker red robe with a wide black fabric belt. Also included were low leather boots, and a veiled hat. His only jewelry are some steel rings, and an ear cuff. He arms himself with his electric dart device (concealed) and his sickle (very much not concealed). Kanaya of course, is already dressed and perfectly made up. Her colors are the traditional jade green and black, though with  accents of genetrix bright red. She has no obvious weapons, but Karkat knows she's carrying.

"Ready?" she asks. Karkat nods, and  they both head out the door. They're met at the ship by the Matre of the Caverns, and a huge indigo, obviously a Church deacon.

"Karkat," the Matre says by way of greeting. "And Kanaya."

"Matre," Karkat and Kanaya chorus, and give a salute. They give another salute to the deacon.

"All y'all follow me," the deacon says, and heads up  gangway of the ship.

The Matre heads up first behind the deacon, followed by Karkat, with Kanaya taking up the rear. The inside of the ship is decorated much the way the exterior is. Eyes and feathered wings and spirals in rainbow hues. There are more indigo crewmen, who step aside as they pass. Karkat can hear conversation, and music, many voices singing.

The deacon leads them down several passages, and into something between an office and a sitting block. There  are low chairs and multicolored cushions everywhere, and a small dais where the Grand Highblood is sitting on more cushions in front of a low desk with books and readers scattered everywhere, along with a high end computing device. He's huge, and his paint is strangely simple. Flat, blank white, which seems to mean something to the Matre, because she gasps.

The three of them start to bow, but the Grand Highblood waves. "Sit yourselves down," the Grand Highblood says. When they've done so, (with some hesitation) he continues with, "Let me give you the full debrief," he says. "My word to your ears. There were rumors of undocumented crew and false papers. It was the legislacerators game at first, thinking it was stolen eggs or stolen grubs and wigglers, subadults. But it turned to something more heinous. A high barrister brother was bribed with a genetrix, and being not an idiot called on the church. We took over and rooted them out."

"You found only three?" The Matre of the Cavern asked. It was an oddly blunt question.

“That's on me," the Grand Highblood says. "The traffickers killed most of them, trying to destroy evidence, like they thought we wouldn't wring the truth from them. There was just the oldest of the line, the one the oldest  locked himself in a bitty room with, and the wiggler given to the barrister."

As he speaks, there's movement by the Grand Highblood's lap, behind the table. What seemed like another pile of colorful cloth turns out to be a troll. An adult genetrix, with white hair wearing what looks like second hand Church motley. He's long limbed, and skinny instead of the usual blocky build of most genetrices, and if he were standing, would be almost as tall as the Grand Highblood. He blinks sleepily at them.  "Sup."

There is a look of unmistakable fondness on the Grand Highblood's face. "You went and fell asleep on me again, thinking I'm a relaxation platform."

"No, I'm being sultry as fuck," the genetrix says.

"More like a underfed purrbeast," the Grand Highblood says. "We're at the Cavern. These are all to being your kin." The gentrix's eyes flick from the Matre, to Kanaya and Karkat. "I'm Matre Markstar, the Matre of this Cavern," the Matre says. "This is Kanaya Maryam, and Karkat Vantas, how should we call you?" "

Dhuvid Straid," the genetrix says.

"We're still in pursuit of some of the traffickers, who went on with a whole cloning lab and canisters of frozen tissue, but the most of them we'll be handing them over," the Grand Highblood says. "All mostly in one piece."

The Cavern Matre bows where she sits. "We thank you for rescuing our charges."

The Grand Highblood's mouth tilts in a slanted smile that reveals the curves of his fangs. "All I did was do my duty toward the children of the Mother, didn't I?" he casts a glance toward Karkat, deep indigo-purple eyes have a certain gleam to them. "Clever motherfucker, your Ancestor," he says to Karkat. "We the last children of the mother have a duty to each other and the future He was all sneaky talking about the castes outside of his newly formed one. You have his miraculous way with words? You've been quiet enough."

"With all respect, Highblood, if you want an argument with my Ancestor, you should hire a necromancer," Karkat says in a flat tone. The Grand Highblood laughs quietly. "It's the Descendant I wanted a word with," he says. "I promised Dhuvid his kin would be safe and together, and I won't turn them over to anyone who'd keep them apart or harm them."

Matre Markstar looks momentarily offended by that,but she recovers. "Sir, are you implying you want Teacher Vantas to mentor or take custody of the genetrice line?"

"Sister, I want him to have the care of Dhuvid's little brothers," the Grand Highbllood. "As I promised him."  A beat. "There being a matter of serendipity between us, such that I would take over his care."

"Frail and wilting flower, that's me." Dhuvid says. "I need the gentlest and sweetest pale pity."

"You speak more true than you know, rattle bones," the Grand Highblood says, amused. "With your permit I'd get to doing that, jade sister. My Descendant's taking over the hunt for the traffickers and all Church duties so I settle Dhuvid in."

 "Accommodations may be arranged, Highblood," Markstar says. "I will have the Imperial suite prepared for you."

"I'll be put up with Dhuvid by wherever Vantas is," the Grand Highblood says.

"The genetrice apartments are separate from the genitor and admittance suites," Markstar says. "Genitors generally do not go there, for obvious reasons." "Quadrants and the genitors that take vows do," the Grand Highblood points out.  "I want to see where you'll be mewing up my diamond, and see all how you'll be treating him and his kin. I'll take whatever vows the genitors that don't leave do."

"That would mean you don't leave," Karkat blurts over whatever probably more polite version of "what the fuck," Markstar was about to voice. "It is not actually like Servitors of the Genetrices down in the genetrice apartments," Karkat says, naming a series of porn videos that everyone has been warned about. (Since genitors often got weird ideas, especially the older high caste trolls still around from the last Mothergrub's broods.) "The imperial suiteblock is supposed to be all fancy and shit, according to your station. Dhuvid and his line are probably going to be in the infirmary getting checked over before anyone gets moved anywhere, anyway."

"You think I don't know what I'm asking for?" The Grand Highblood asks, voice hard."I'll stay by him, where ever he's put up."

"Enduring great privations and all that shit," Dhuvid says. He's leaning up against the Highblood's side, and despite the bland tone, there's a certain amount of tension in his shoulders. "Boss, explain me a thing, what's this argument about?" a beat. "You said it was goinng to be safe here."

"So I did,"  Grand Highblood says. "And it is, there's just these little particulars."

[f-117-nighthawk]

I’m in a Playlist Mood

I was scrolling through my dark matter tag looking for something I made a while ago to reference in the next chapter of Carry Me Home and ran across my last playlist explanation post. It put me in the mood to think about this again, and I’ve added...a lot. The playlist might’ve actually doubled in length since then (Thank You Abyss) and I’ve moved some stuff around in order. So, more playlist meta under the cut (it’s LONG)

So first thing: I’ve actually created two new playlists (well, one new one and actually made the third playlist have more than two tracks) since that post jhadsfljd. Working forwards in time (kinda), we have:

Dark Matter: The Road to Ruin

The Road to Ruin is the Main Playlist, the thing I use to write to, the thing I lie in bed and listen to to think up new things, and half the thing that keeps the timeline in place (it’s actually more updated than World Anvil rn whoops). Here we have overarching plot hooks, character development, and the story of six Paladins and their friends trying to save the universe.

Turn the Lights Out I sort of explained in the last post and I can’t think of too much more to add. The TLDR is it’s about the Lions (and, well, technically [REDACTED] too....) and sort of why I refer to a fully-melded Lion-Paladin duo as Spirits.

(I was here/Will you welcome and recognize me/I'll be there/I was here/Will you dread me, will you despise me/I'll be there/For the last living thing)

Remnants of Stars is again about Galran philosophy and the actual process of the quintessence nurseries filtering quintessence back into the universe. But the bit about giving in to know the truth becomes important much, MUCH later.

(As children of space/With stardust in our veins/We will give in to know the truth/We are the remnants of stars)

Your World Will Fail, Dark Matter, and Eater of Worlds are about [REDACTED], about what happens between that instant between the first plank time and the next. They’re an overarching theme, but also the event that everything else builds from, whether that be interpreted as the beginning of the universe or the Voltron comet crashing into Daibazaal.

(Your world will fail my love/It’s far beyond repair/Your world will fail my love/It is already there)

(Bring me your soul/Bring me your hate/In my name you will create/Bring me your fear/Bring me your pain/You will destroy in my name)

(Can’t imagine the violence/The rage and the love in my madness/I am the eater of worlds and I’m looking for someone to feed me)

Apocalypse 1992 is actually the main story of Through Apocalypse Skies, although its framing story is shortly after String Theory. It happens between parts of Awakenings, detailing the rise of [REDACTED] and the final hours before the destruction of everything sentient species knew beforehand.

(Fly high through apocalypse skies/Fight for the world we must save/Like tears of a unicorn lost in the rain/Chaos will triumph this day)

You Keep What You Kill covers the slow degeneration of the Empire between The Fall and the Battle of Arus. The knowledge harshly taught by the Thuanial War is forgotten under the influence of Zarkon, Haggar, and [REDACTED]. Marzin and Galraasa quickly rise the ranks as the Empire’s left and right hands, like omens of destruction before them. The four are the ‘holy half-dead,’ the ones who shape the devouring of the universe before them.

(Defying dimensions/These ruthless creatures will steal your soul/Breaking away from the chains of mortality/They won't be taken down/Bow now to the holy half dead/The master to death mongers calls)

The Seven Sisters is about Keith, mostly, and connected to Closure via its influence on Child From the Stars (Lost in the Dark) and also to Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met

(I cast my hope upon The Pleiades/The Seven Sisters who would come for me/They'd fall to Earth to grant a child's dream/But I'm still waiting)

Starlight is the newly added Adashi song. Here, it’s the sad part, based around the time that the SFSS Genesis launches for Kerberos. It also is sort of about Shiro’s thoughts throughout the war as he watches ‘from distant skies’ (and influences String Theory kinda)

(At night the earth will rise/And I'll think of you each time I watch from distant skies/Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite/I'll think of you each time they wash me in their light/And I'll fall in love with you again)

Abyss is Awakenings again. It’s specifically the Red Lion waking up on Sendak’s ship to her new Paladin, but also sort of the rest of the Lions as they find new Paladins for the first time since The Fall

(Open my eyes in a daze/How long has it been? Am I so out of place?/Warmth I can no longer feel/My mountain is gone, I'm surrounded by steel/The strangest of structures arises ahead/Seems to be held up by nothing/Where have I gone, do I dream?/How can the stars be all I can see?)

Who Will Save You Now is about the Paladins in First Contact. It’s the video messages they send to their families, the warning that Something Is Out Here that they need to prepare for. It’s a declaration of protection for Earth, but a recognition that the Paladins may not be able to do what they say.

(I will not take from you and you will not owe/I will protect you from the fire below/It's not in my mind/It's here at my side/Go tell the world that I'm still alive)

The End of the Beginning and Nobody Gets Left Behind are the aftermath of the Battle of the Sarnan Nebula, the end of season two. The End of the Beginning hasn’t been posted yet, but it’s also the second of the four Closure fics. The End of the Beginning also has influence on String Theory. 

(Every night I die just a little/All this time, I'm caught in the middle/All your life, you fought with no winning/This is just the end of the beginning)

(Don't even try to pretend/That you're rough and just as tough/As when you're missing a friend/Attack and take him back/Cause when the team isn't whole/You've got a hole in your soul)

A Simple Plan is sort of part of The End of the Beginning, but really takes place after it. It’s the newly shuffled Team Voltron attempting to track down Lotor as Haggar tries to keep him under her control, and the new Black Paladin’s slow shift away from the things that he was pushed into and to the Blade. (And... guess what... it has influence on String Theory!) Fun fact I found out recently: The Spiritual Machines are by and large also the people behind Les Friction, which explains so much.

(What is this space we’re climbing/What is this place we’re stuck in/Why do we feel we’re sinking/How do we get out – get out of this) 

Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met skips all the way over Naxzela and to the Mission to the Baaria Shipyards, the first major offensive that isn’t somehow connected to canon (even if only a very very small part of it is actually at the shipyards lol). This is also the song that solidified Keith’s very queer identity in Dark Matter.

(In this lonely place, bathed in silence and thoughts of you/I can't see your face but I'm trying to envision you/So are you really out there? Are you awake with memories/Of a boy you haven't met yet who's wished upon the Pleiades?)

TRIALS (reimagine) and String Theory are.... hoh boy. [REDACTED], [spoilers], and the turning point for a lot of things, which is why it has the honor of being the separating fic between my two main Dark Matter folders. TRIALS being on here is a fun story, because I associate that song very heavily with my main Star Wars fics, since that’s where the series title comes from, but the reimagine version of it gave me such strong Dark Matter vibes, it ended up here. It has heavy influence on the first part of String Theory, and is what I’ve been using for general pacing of the first half. String Theory itself isn’t the weirdest song on the playlist, but it’s really hard to find the connections to it without several layers of abstraction and backstory on [REDACTED]. String Theory is also weaved into a good chunk of fics before it.

(The ending won't be forgotten/It's written in the stars and the hieroglyphs/Sending the lionhearted/The stones break bones, but we're venomous)

(You don't believe in space/You don't believe in light/You don't believe that anything is well beyond your might/We walk across the sky and beneath the ocean floor/We're never going anywhere we've never been before)

House on Fire is the aftermath of String Theory, and a large vibe of We ARE Struggling Together! (Rise Against says it’s about parenting???? lol fuck that) (okay but actually, switch the parental love part to sibling love/general familial love and that’s a pretty good description....)

(So I'll just hold you like a hand grenade/You touch me like a razor blade/I wish there was some other way right now/Like a house on fire we're up in flames/I'd burn here if that's what it takes/To let you know I won't let go of you)

Belgrade is the klance song! It is a) bop b) always stuck in my head because it is That Good. The line in the chorus about ‘sweet songs of seduction’ is eternally funny to be bc a)they’re both ace and b)QPR’s don’t usually involve seduction as far as I know. Belgrade also leads almost directly into...

(We pretend in the darkness/We pretend the night won’t steal our youth/Singing me the sweet songs of seduction/Let me be the fool, fool, fool/Who will live and die for you)

Here to Save You is about Sam. Mostly. It’s also about Pidge. And Zaivorge cannons.

(A slave for humankind/I made sure I would survive/To stay alive/Now it's time to move on/When there's nothing left to prove/I'm coming to get you)

Iron is what eventually replaced Ten Thousand Against One. The plot has actually changed a lot since it was that song like. two years ago (three?) at this point. It has more of a focus on Keith knowing what’s going on due to [spoilers] and coming to accept parts of himself that are suddenly very obvious (kiiiinda the third closure fic?)

(You can't live without the fire/It's the heat that makes you strong/'Cause you're born to live/And fight it all the way/You can't hide what lies inside you/It's the only thing you know/You're embracing that, never walk away)

Birthright and Firewall are not exactly a direct result of Iron, but they wouldn’t happen how they do without it. They’re actually largely about Lotor, but then [REDACTED] swings back into the fray and things learned in String Theory/the framing story for Through Apocalypse Skies hit in full force.

(The voices in my head have all begun to sing/(The voices in your head have all begun to sing)/And they sure as hell hope I am listening/(I sure as hell hope you are listening!))

(They come to your dreams with illusion/They come to bring shape to your mind/You know how to stop the intrusion/We all have to fight for our lives)

and then, The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Here Comes the Reign doesn’t come into full effect until several months after Birthright/Firewall after Galraasa meets their fate, but starts with The Day the Earth Collapsed. It’s largely about Haggar and [REDACTED]

(You made something they can't take away/Now bring the fire of the burning sun on everyone)

Closure is placed where the fourth of its fics is. Closure in general is a lot of Keith’s character development and some of the struggles he goes through to accept his place in the universe and the fact that yes, he does have people that care about him. The last fic is me shining a brighter light on Closure’s chorus and taking a ‘last goodbye’ as never needing to say it again

(I am the child from the stars/That got lost in the dark/Between heaven and hell/I am forced to live on/I am the cause when you sin/I am the demon you skin/But there is no more tears to beautify/This is my last goodbye)

Ember and Soulbound are two closely related missions involving both Voltron and the Blade (specifically the Dark Whispers) in which [REDACTED] comes in with a vengeance, and some revelations about certain people’s fates are had. Soulbound is actually sort of from Krolia’s perspective.

(Dark matter falling from the sky/Dancing flames reflecting in your eyes as you watch them burn/Watching all your riches witches burn)

(Soulbound, endlessly forever/Locked between the darkness and the light/Don't drown in the swarming, blackened rising/Hold on to humanity and fight)

Darker Matter and Other Worlds Than These are. Well. [REDACTED] and [spoilers] and String Theory’s revelations rearing their ugly head once again, but this time with extra context and just a little bit of [spoiler]

(Dream yourself away/The pull of you shredding time and space)

(There are monsters in the sky/There are demons in the sea/I have seen them with my eyes/I've seen what you won't see/Pull the wool out from your eyes/It won't shade your frail belief/In the end we cannot hide/There are other worlds than these)

Godhunter is a fun one. The combined effects of String Theory, Soulbound, and Darker Matter/Other Worlds Than These come to a head and Team Voltron goes, well, hunting.

(She's been watching for a century/With hatred, and with scorn/If you know the hunter's coming/Then you hide or keep on running/'Cause she's slain the gods before)

My Darkest Hour is revenge for Godhunter, as well as a distraction from it, although Godhunter continues all the way to Louder than Words. 

(When the sun comes crashing down/When the world is spinning round and round/I will face what must be my darkest hour)

Faster Than Light is almost direct aftermath of My Darkest Hour, and sort of the inverse of Godhunter, where now Team Voltron are the hunted, even as they attempt to continue hunting. Oh and, Marzin and [REDACTED] are big parts

(Once more we're flying fast as light/Dark matter passing in the night/Pursued by a force we can't outrun/As we hurtle towards a dying sun/We maneuver through the remnants of a moon/On the solar winds of supernovas/There is not a place to hide, the Matriarch is close behind/It's plain to see she's coming for us all)

The Reckoning, This is a Call, World on Fire, The Wind that Shapes the Land, and Louder Than Words are the finale, what everything has been building towards. Earth’s faction, Haggar, [REDACTED], Voltron, the Empire, and the Coalition, all clash together in a final desperate bid to finish or prevent the final result of Your World Will Fail/Dark Matter/Eater of Worlds.

(I see your face, find peace of mind/Between the madness and the sadness and the fire burning/The end of war, the great divine/We'll see the day of reckoning)

(This is a call to action/This is a call to arms/All lives for one, together/There are no false alarms)

(World on fire with a smoking sun/Stops everything and everyone/Brace yourself for all will pay/Help is on the way)

(Search within/Uncover the will to win/Turn against the tide that washes o'er/Find the strength to fall and rise again/Open up the gates, unleash the force/I am the wind that shapes the land/Old as time and twice as strong/Oceans arise at my command/I alone can carry on)

(We have the force to fight/We have the blinding light/A war is more than heard/Coming in louder than words)

Dystopian Fiction

Dystopian Fiction is focused on what happens on Earth during the main playlist. I split it out because putting stuff like Cross the Line on the main playlist was getting clunky, and I figure Adam and Veronica (and the rest of the Paladins’ families, but mostly those two) deserve a chance for their story to shine on its own.

Dark Matter is on here because title track, but also it does end up with effects.

(Don't stop, don't think/Move up, don't blink now/On your knees pray for rain/Don't breathe when you take your aim)

Codebreaker is Adam’s song! I have him primarily as a cryptologist for the Garrison, teaching on the side and as a reserve pilot. Aviators says Codebreaker is actually about Cyperpunk 2077 but uhhh Fuck That it’s about Adam being The Best and dealing with...

(Codebreaker can't you find/Can you read between the lines of code?/Tell me all that you know/How far down the hole does it all go)

Cross the Line is the Éskhayklos’ image song. They’re a neo-luddite movement turned terrorist group that are upset with the way the Sol Federation is trying to fix Earth, stating that humans are the one that pushed it into this state, they should leave it to die and die along with it. Akane Shirogane was their worst nightmare. Cross the Line fits because, well, they crossed the line when [spoiler beep] and they were happy about it. (And “human cause” comes into play later when they pick up anti-alien leanings)

(Cross the line, redefine, break away unbent, unafraid/Together we stand in the dark/Seeking the light and what is right, together we cross the line/Our journey will come to an end and then our human cause will be/Justified)

Who Will Save You Now here is about Sam, and the aftermath of Here to Save You, in addition to its referenced role in the main playlist

(Alone with this vision/Alone and blind/Go tell the world I'm still alive)

The Day the Earth Collapsed is exactly what it says on the tin.

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Dystopian Fiction is the title track for this part. With the events of The Day the Earth Collapsed, the Garrison and our heroes on Earth are at their lowest point. It really is a piece of dystopian fiction, between [spoiler] and [spoiler]. And also: “Nobody can shoot me down, not just yet” is about Adam bc Fuck Canon

(I'm a dead man/In the wasteland/I'm a soldier fighting for superstition/Under search lights/In the long nights/We've been written like dystopian fiction)

The Reckoning is the only one of its little subset that made it over here, because it’s the only one that references events from before its eponymous fic (both verses are Very Earth)

(We're all alone, walking in twilight/The night has been long and so many have fallen/Feel no remorse, light will be breaking/Our freedom is worth it all)

Filaments

Filaments is the least complete, mostly because it’s the ‘sequel series’ of sorts. I have ideas for it, but I still haven’t posted most of the major story beats from the main portion of Dark Matter, so I’ve been purposefully putting it on the backburner. I do have enough to write Carry Me Home and put some foreshadowing in other fics.

Dark Matter is here because, well. A) Title track, B) yes, it still has effects. It’s the overarching theme, after all. Filaments sort of has a subtitle itself, which is ‘The Undoing,’ after the other part of the lyric that the subtitle of the main playlist comes from. It’s about undoing a past mistake (that wasn’t obviously a mistake until much later) and reconciling the events of Your World Will Fail.

(I am the keeper/I am the secret/I am the answer/I am the end)

Filaments is the title track of this part. It’s... a little hard to explain why without giving away the entire plot (what little I have planned lol) but it’s about the connections between different parts of the universe, and some fall-out of Darker Matter/Other Worlds Than These.

(These glowing filaments/Conducting this enchanting/Sarcophagus that's holding us)

Starlight is, again, Adashi song, and this time the happy part

(Don't leave me lost here forever/I need your starlight and pull me through/Bring me back to you)

Carry Me Home is what I’m in the process of writing right now, and it’s about the aftermath of the Quintessence War, specifically about how Shiro decides to settle down on Earth and what he does to build himself a home.

(Carry me home to the morning light/carry me home before you wave me goodbye/Oh, carry me home...)

[coldflasher]

Part of Femslash Week, organised by @flarrowverse-shipyard​ :D Femslash Week Day 4 - Bed Sharing/Snuggling

Pairing: Charlie/Zari Tarazi

Rating: Teen (mentions of sex)

TW: mentions of sex and character death

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23028457 

All That Glitters by coldflasher (capriciouslouis on ao3)

“Most of the rooms down this corridor are spoken for," says Sara. "You’re gonna have to bunk up.”

Thanks to a mysterious shortage of rooms on the Waverider, Zari and Charlie have to share a bed. Neither of them are particularly upset about the situation.

“So can you really shapeshift into anything?”

They’re lying in bed together in Charlie’s bedroom, which looks like a teenager’s emo phase met a museum exhibit in the middle of a tornado. Glossy vinyl records spill out of their sleeves all across the floor like the world’s most dangerous stepping stones. There are clothes abandoned everywhere where Charlie’s stepped out of them and left them there, including a pair of lacy black underwear draped over the lampshade, and battered punk posters of howling singers plastered all over the walls. It wouldn’t have been Zari’s first choice of bedroom, but she didn’t exactly get to choose. When she’d announced she was staying, she’d had a look through a bunch of different rooms and thought she’d finally found a nice one - a little vintage, smelling faintly of perfume - when Sara had grabbed her by the arm.

“Nope. This one’s off limits.”

“Why? There’s no one in here.” And there hadn’t been for some time, judging by the layers of dust. 

Sara hesitated. “It belonged to a friend.”

“Well your friend isn’t here now, and I am, so…”

“You’re temporary,” Sara snapped. “You don’t get to rearrange everything just to suit you.”

“Who made you the boss?” asked Zari. Certainly no one who believed in the importance of manners.

Sara smiled thinly. “Popular vote.” She released Zari’s wrist. “Most of the rooms down this corridor are spoken for. You’re gonna have to bunk up.”

At the time Zari had been deeply unimpressed by this rudeness - the ship was huge, and there were so many empty rooms, so why shouldn’t she take one that was free? But when she’d tried to let herself into another empty bedroom, this time it was the AI that locked her out.

“What is with you people?” she demanded. “Why do you hate me?”

“This room belonged to Leonard Snart,” Gideon told her. “It has remained almost untouched since his death at the Vanishing Point in 2016.”

Zari had been trying to prise a panel off the wall to see if she could have another flash of inspiration that would let her hack her way in, but at this, she paused.

“Wait,” she said. “This room belonged to a dead guy?”

Gideon explained, and she discovered the sad truth of all those rooms lying empty. Each one was a time capsule for a departed team member. Some had left voluntarily, others had passed away - but regardless of the circumstances, each bedroom still remained as its occupant had left it, like a time capsule. As if the team was waiting for their lost and fallen members to come walking back through the door. They could travel back and forth in time, but the people they loved were still lost… and apparently it was easier to leave everything as it was than to move on.

This deeply traumatising discovery had a horrible effect on Zari, who was an empath and highly sensitive. She’d ended up in the kitchen having a staring competition with a doughnut, afraid that Behrad’s peace offering the other day had started a dessert-related backslide that she’d never be free of - and that was where Charlie found her.

“You all right?” Charlie asked, concerned. “You look a bit bummed out.”

“All the free bedrooms are for dead people,” Zari mumbled.

Charlie had given her a big grin that had a strangely uplifting effect, like she transferred happiness across the room with one glowing smile.

“Well. If you need somewhere to rest that pretty head, you can always come and have a kip with me.”

That was how they ended up in Charlie’s disaster of a bedroom, and if Zari’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t hate it. Thanks to her social media following, she doesn’t really have the opportunity to be messy. She has to be ready to turn on the camera at all times, to look pretty and perfect and put-together. Dirty laundry isn’t conducive with her brand. 

“So you can really shapeshift into anything?” she asks.

Charlie turns towards her with a  grin. “Ah, there it is. Knew it’d come up eventually. Come on then, spill the beans. Who’s your fantasy shag?”

“Excuse me?” says Zari.

“You know, your fantasy shag! George Clooney, Gillian Anderson… who makes your fanny flutter?”

“George Clooney’s like, super old,” says Zari, wrinkling her nose. “And for the record, your word choice leaves a lot to be desired. I don’t know how you do things in England, but where I’m from ‘fanny’ is not a sexy word.”

“Sorry. Picked up an English accent back in the seventies and for some reason I can’t seem to shake it.” Charlie stretches lazily, pointing her toes, one painted nail poking out through a hole in her fishnet tights. “But you’re changing the subject. Being in bed with me means you can sleep with anyone you like. Who do you want me to be?”

Zari thinks about it for a while. She looks at Charlie sprawled out on the bed with her fuck-me eyes half closed, her wicked grin and the wild cloud of hair wrestled into its braid, tinged purple at the end; her stripey shirt and mesh jacket. Effortlessly sexy and cocky enough to know it. 

“I don’t think I want you to be anybody. I like you how you are.”

Charlie looks surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Zari says. “I mean I know this isn’t your original form, but it looks good on you. I’m sure you still look sexy with your tentacles or whatever -”

“My original form would melt your brain,” says Charlie. “But I can probably rustle up a couple of tentacles if you’re into that.”

“Maybe later,” says Zari. “That’s not my point. I feel like if I was going to sleep with someone with shapeshifting powers, I’d want them to look whichever way made them comfortable. A body’s just a body. The sexy part is what you do with it.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course. I’m very sincere. It’s one of my most awesome qualities.”

Charlie grinned a little bit at that. Zari found herself smiling back.

“I don’t think anyone’s said that to me before,” says Charlie. Her expression dims slightly and she starts toying with a loose thread on the pillowcase. “This isn’t my real face, obviously. Belongs to some bird named Amaya who lived here a few years back. When I first met the team, I put her face on just to mess with them. Then I kind of got stuck with it for a bit. Now I can change again, but I’ve had it so long that it feels like my face. But they still don’t see it that way. Sometimes I feel like they still look at me and see…”

“Her,” Zari says softly.

“Yeah.” Charlie rolls onto her back. “It’s partly my fault, I know. That’s the whole reason I looked like this, because I knew it would throw them off. But now I want to just be me, Charlie, without some random woman hanging over me making them do a double-take when I do something that’s super anti-Amaya. You’re the only one on the ship who hasn’t met her, the only person who looks at me and sees… me.”

It’s the first time she’s ever heard Charlie be serious. No flirting or wisecracks. For the first time, staring into her eyes, Zari can believe that Charlie is a fate. That she’s seen civilisations fall and the centuries pass like seasons. No one as young as Charlie looks could have eyes so old.

“I get that,” she says quietly, propping herself up on her elbow. “It’s not the same, but… when you grow up famous, people think they know you. It’s like there’s a part of you that doesn’t belong to you. I can never just be me; I have to be the brand. And I love it, I’m proud of it, I spent years building it - I just wish people could see past it. Even my parents don’t know me.”

“I have a confession,” says Charlie. 

“Go on.”

“I don’t have a bloody clue who you are.”

Zari cackles. It’s a horribly unattractive sound she would never have permitted in one of her vlogs, but it feels so good to let it out.

“I’m serious! You could tell me you’re the Queen of Sheba and I’d believe ya.”

“You gotta join the Z-nation,” Zari teases, snapping her fingers in a Z-formation. “I’ll add you to the mailing list.”

“You’d better bloody not.”

It feels good to laugh, and even better to have someone laughing with her. When she first joined the team and realised none of Behrad’s friends recognised her, it had pissed her off. She’s an icon! She has a make-up range and a million followers and even if the perfume launch didn’t go exactly to plan, she’s still in the running for influencer of the year if she can knock Stormi Jenner off the top spot. But although Charlie doesn’t know her, she doesn’t make it sound like a bad thing. It’s not because she thinks Zari is vapid or irrelevant or beneath her notice. She just… doesn’t know. There’s no prior expectations, no way she can disappoint. For the first time in years, she can be judged not on who she has been for a decade, but on who she is today.

“I may not know you,” Charlie says softly. “But I’d like to.”

“Well then,” says Zari, offering her a manicured hand. “I’m Zari. Nice to meet you.”

She’s expecting Charlie to shake her hand, but instead, she lifts it up to her mouth and kisses it. And like a fourteen-year-old with a first crush, Zari blushes.

“Yeah,” Charlie says with a smirk, knowing exactly what kind of effect she’s having. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

[adoredontour]

all the fics i read and loved this month. under the cut and in order from longest to shortest! 

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy @daisyharry 149k 

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes.

Empty Skies by green_feelings  134k

For three years, Harry has been running from his past. Now, he is moving to London and pledges to fulfil his only dream -- making it big in the music industry. Not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. As is his past catching up on him.

Louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there had meant a lot of hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. He's still happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?

Featuring Perrie as Harry's adorable flatmate, Niall as his manager, and Liam and Zayn as Louis' bandmates.

The Killing Type by protagonist_m @protagonist-m 130k

Liam breathes hotly through his nose, eyes twitching shut as he squeezes a bit more on Zayn’s neck. “Do you know how dangerous what you’re doing is?”

Zayn draws in his own ragged breath. “Do you?”

Zayn is a doctoral student who goes to great lengths to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Liam is heading the biggest serial murder investigation London has seen in half a century. And before this, he'd never been sent a love note via corpse.

That Sounds Fake But Okay by dancingontheceiling 112k

Harry Styles is a rookie journalist forced to work the gossip desk at a major New York magazine. Louis Tomlinson is the A-list actor who doesn't appreciate Harry or his articles.

Ghost Note Symphony by whoknows @crazyupsetter 96k

Louis is on tour when he first hears about it. It’s all over the news – Harry Styles Attacked By Fan runs in headlines for days. It’s not even just the gossip rags, either. Actual journalists are covering the story. It would have been impossible to avoid hearing about it. Technically, Oli is the one who tells Louis about it, but it’s not exactly being covered up. Harry doesn’t answer Louis’ text asking if he’s alright, but that’s not really surprising. They haven’t spoken for months, and it’s been a lot longer than that since they’ve had a real conversation. The sting of the text going unanswered is still there, less painful than it might have been a few years ago.

It’s not that it’s easy to forget about, exactly. Louis has a whole life outside of One Direction now, though. So Louis goes on with his life, figuring that if Harry was seriously hurt he would have heard about it by now. He might currently be in the same country as Harry, but being on opposite sides of it puts enough distance between them that putting it in the back of his mind is easy. There’s nothing Louis could do, even if he thought Harry might want him to.

That’s why everything that happens next comes as a complete shock to him.

Nothing But You On My Mind by nonsensedarling @absoloutenonsense 83k

Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

The Lone Hydrangea by lightswoodmagic @lightwoodsmagic 77k

the post Hogwarts AU where Harry's a florist, Louis' a muggle who edits fantasy books, and they both have no say in how quickly they fall for each other

Hands Clasped Tight by afirethatcannotdie  @afirethatcannotdie 44k

Or the one where Harry and Louis are high school teachers and their students have been playing matchmaker for over a year. Little do they know, Harry and Louis are already married. 

blind from this sweet, sweet craving by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 31k

"So, I guess we'll go?" Louis asks later, when Harry has calmed down and eaten his weight in Chinese food. He plays with this chopsticks, spearing another piece of chicken and pops it in his mouth. "I mean, I wouldn't mind. We could make it an adventure."

Harry observes him, watches him seated across from him on their old living room carpet, with a container of food on his lap. He's fidgeting, avoiding meeting Harry's gaze–he probably knows that Harry's mad at him for ruining the one chance they had to get out of this situation. And he's not wrong, Harry is definitely very mad. Harry wants to strangle him and castrate him and smack him upside the head.

But he's also Harry's best friend, and despite everything, despite all the fuck-ups and the plot twists and everything just not playing out the way it should, he'd still rather be stuck in this situation with Louis than any of the other boys. He's got Harry's back, and in a weird, abstract way, he knows they'll be able to get out of this situation, together.

Harry sighs. "We're going," he says resignedly, his shoulders slumping.

Oh well. There are definitely worse ways to spend the weekend than pretending to be engaged to his best friend.

Play The Odds by alivingfire @alivingfire 25k

Harry and Louis are best friends since childhood who, after a night of drinking, find themselves locked in a bet: first one to kiss the other a thousand times wins. Wins what? They don't know. Glory, Harry supposes. Bragging rights, though those don't do much in this economy. All Harry knows is that this is one bet he can finally win. What he doesn't expect, though, is what happens when he starts kissing his best friend on a daily basis.

Namely, he doesn't expect falling head over heels in love with his best friend.

Now all he has to do is make sure the bet never ends, so he never has to stop kissing Louis.

Harry The Helpful Ghost by tempolarriefics @tempolarriefix 15k

“I just like to help.” Louis blinks at the ghost in shock. “Were you the one who fixed the lights yesterday as well? And made me food?” “I helped you,” Harry says simply. He raises his eyebrows, nodding towards where Louis’ hands are folded in his lap to cover his erection. “Could help you out with that as well, if you wanted.”

If Tomorrow Never Comes (We Had Last Night) by FallingLikeThis, Rearviewdreamer  14k

Louis accepts the call without bothering to look at the caller ID. Only Zayn would be a big enough asshole to call him at two in the morning. This fucking better be important. “This fucking better be important,” Louis greets.

On the other end of the line comes a soft giggle. “Li, you don’t usually curse. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I like it.”

Yeah, that’s not Zayn. Louis sighs, his anger melting into resignation when he realizes that it’s some poor bastard probably drunk dialing his ex or something. “Sorry, mate. Think you’ve got the wrong number.”

what i’d do to have you near by softhar @wastelandharry 1.4k

Oh, to be a handsome young navy man in 1930 with curly hair and dirt on my nose on my break from hauling cargo from the shipyard, reading a Little Blue Book titled Homosexual Life that I bought for 5¢, pretending not to notice the banker’s son eyeing me in a truly sinful way.

[rpmemesyo]

Spyro 3 sentence starters

“We managed to capture the eggs, your highness.”

“Maybe you will amount to something after all.”

“Go guard the tunnels. Stop anyone from coming through!”

“Where are the eggs?”

“You’re our only chance.”

“You won’t like me when I’m angry.”

“I just found one of those portal thingamajigs that leads to a different world!”

“I saw something shiny in that cave over there. Let’s go check it out!”

“Let me catch my breath and I’ll kick that other guy’s butt.”

“Thanks for the help, but I think I would have worn him down in a minute.”

“Have you seen any of our giant chickens?”

“I’m sorry, that was the ugliest chicken I’ve ever seen.”

“I found this gladiator training arena and it makes a pretty cool skate park!”

“Your kind-hearted nature might be your downfall someday.”

“I hope you appreciate this favor I’m doing in letting you out.”

“No hard feelings, eh?”

“Dragons used to rule this entire world, you know.”

“The weird thing is, after they left all the magic in the world just sorta went with them.”

“They say this world used to have magic coming out the wazoo! Flying ships, singing forests, wishing stones, you name it!”

“Let’s play a joke! Take this egg and smash it on __’s house, ok?”

“Look out, it’s the scaaary sorceress!”

“Come back when you’ve finished witch school!”

“Is it just me, or is __ kinda cute when they’re angry?”

“I’m late for a dinner party at the Tiki Lodge.”

“If I can’t find where they’ve hidden their heads, they won’t let me join the Tiki Lodge.”

“Take this egg as a sign of your honorary membership in the lodge.”

“My friends borrowed the rhynocs’ submarine. Then they took it for a joyride, and then they smashed it into a big pile of rocks.”

“The rhynocs have built a fortress on our beach and we’re going to blow it to smithereens!”

“Wow! I can’t believe I survived that blast!”

“__ has challenged us to a naval battle. Our speed boat versus his nuclear shark submarine.”

“I’ll never see a rainbow again.”

“Our sun has gone out. We can make a new one with our lava fusion cauldron and three sun seeds.”

“Why haven’t you disposed of that infernal dragon!?”

“I’ve tried to scare him off, but he’s just not afraid of anything!”

“Why have I been training you all these years!?”

“Use some magic!”

“Kill him?”

“This wussy green toad will be no match for the two of us!”

“You’ve managed to survive longer than I expected.”

“The rumors of our extinction were slightly exaggerated. We just wanted a little peace and quiet.”

“Without your leadership we didn’t put up an effective resistance.”

“I’ve captured the enemy rations. They won’t march far on an empty stomach.”

“There is no yeti here, and there never was! He was just a myth. As far as you know.”

“Why’d you have to scare her off?”

“I haven’t been able to hit a dang thing all morning.”

“Behind this door is the single greatest show on earth!”

“Oh I sure wish I had a partner. Someone courageous and strong and handsome and… purple… who breathes fire.”

“That’s ok, it didn’t hurt as much as it looked.”

“The world breathlessly awaits my brilliant four-dimensional masterpiece.”

“Well there’s no shame in losing to the master… At least not much shame.”

“Oh no, he’s started his bone dance again!”

“You’re not gonna believe this, but there are sheep saucers and space cows all over this place!”

“He swore to destroy whoever lights the tea lamps. Better you than me.”

“I’m off to kick butt.”

“No more Haiku… please!”

“I’m sure you would succeed if you were to try again.”

“You bumbling, idiotic, worthless fool!”

“__ is planning a trap for you, and if she catches you… believe me, you don’t want to know what she’s going to do.”

“The first rejuvenating breath of freedom!”

“It’d be really cool if you smashed that boulder.”

“Some bear sold us a laser defense system.”

“__ and I were having a snowman building competition when the sorceress brought them to life with a spell.”

“That dumb yeti took my ball!”

“As you probably know, Frozen Altars is the birthplace of the great sport of cat hockey.”

“Dere be more ghosts in dis here shipyard den I kin shake me pick at!”

“They said you’re slower than a Molten Crater fire slug. I stuck up for you, though! I told them I’ve seen some pretty fast fire slugs.”

“You schooled ‘em like a bunch of dizzy, one-toed sand gnorcs!”

“Did you bring any chips?”

“If we don’t stop them right away, they’ll force __ to marry __!”

“According to legends, there’s a golden goose at the top of this here mountain.”

“She’s just a friend, you understand… it’s a strictly platonic relationship.”

“Won’t that kill them?”

“I don’t have to kill them, it just stops them from wriggling so much.”

“You’re terrible! I can’t believe I ever listened to you!”

“This might be our last stand, __.”

“It’s a life-size space monkey action figure, complete with a fully operational laser!”

“You’ve always had a weakness for helping silly little creatures, haven’t you, __?”

“You ever see a bear dance?”

“Huzzah! Yippee! Whoohoo!”

“Take it from me, __, never spend a week in a cage!”

“Mr. Laser Blaster and I have a whole lot of work to do!”

“The machine room is overrun with birds.”

“I’m not sure if this is a bird egg or dragon egg. What do you think?”

“Would you like to see a magic trick?”

“Did you know I happen to be a very talented amateur magician?”

“They need a good bonk on the head to calm them down.”

“You know, sometimes you just long for the simple, old-fashioned pleasures of yesteryear.”

“I spend all day pressing switches and shoving boxes around, and you just waltz in here expecting to claim the treasure!”

“I’ve been training my new pet manta ray to carry the latest technology super-high-impact underwater missile launchers!”

“Try not to get hit with the exploding ammo, ok?”

“Let’s just hope you’re made of tougher stuff than the last guy.”

“__ seems to have disappeared again so I should go make sure he’s not in more trouble. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“How many times have I told you not to tease that moose?”

“It was __’s idea!”

“Another noble warrior falls victim to the plague of love.”

“You’ve come this far, __. I know you can beat her!”

[ravenchaitea]

Hello out there! I don't know how many of you followed this blog just for the P5 content itself and how many followed it because of my fic writing. Either way, I'm flattered! For any of ya'll that are interested, I've started a new P5 Pegoryu fic and I'll be posting a preview of the first chapter here. Eventually it'll move to Archive.

Summaries are not my thing, but here goes nothin’: 

Ryuji's two years out of graduating from the Colony Defense Force program when he gets his first real assignment in deep space. It's not something in his field as a fighter pilot, he'll basically be acting as a glorified ambulance driver. If he can pull it off, in a year he can put in for a transfer. It might be his only chance. He's never been good at following the chain of command and he doesn't shine academically, but he knows ships. He knows how to fly them, build them, repair them. It's the only reason he was able to get into the program in the first place. It's the only thing he's good at.

He’s surprised when someone takes notice, especially when that someone is Commander Akira Kurusu. The man is the youngest war hero in Earth Colonies history. He was there during the fall of Shido, when the entire planet was wiped off the map. Now he’s a walking poster child for the Alliance of Emergency Medical Services, AMES. He leads a specialized team that travels from planet to planet, offering aid when needed. It’s the complete opposite of everything Ryuji was trained to do, but he’s finding it impossible to say no. Especially when he’s going to be serving under such an attractive commander. 

Act. 1.1

On the Earth colony planet of Kamoshida, the sun is going down, bathing everything in a honey-orange glow. Acres of tall yellow grass grow up from the ground. The stalks roll like waves, stirred up by a mild evening breeze. Ryuji Sakamoto sits on the hood of his silver hover car, hands folded neatly behind his head as the last light of day bakes heat into his skin. He strains to keep his eyes open, drifting in and out of a lazy afternoon nap. It's one of the few moments he's had to himself since spring ended.  

They say Kamoshida is the closet of the Earth colony planets to resemble Old-Earth. It's the only planet in the sector to have a true four season cycle, making it ideal for growing most Earth staples. The planet's major export is its crops, providing more than half of the colonies' food supply. The entire population of the Kamoshida colony is involved with the farming efforts, growing, selling, or packing. Ryuji's family happens to be fifth generation bean growers.  

He opens his eyes and lifts his hands up in front of his face, studying his oil-stained fingers. He's supposed to be working on his hovercar but he can't muster up the energy. Between school and chores, his free time has been limited. This is to say nothing of the spring sowing and all the extra chores that came with that. Their farm is one of the smallest in the area and he's always been expected to help wherever he can. His father won't tolerate laziness. Any time spent working on his car definitely falls into that category.    

He's been putting on the finishing touches for weeks, pushing himself towards the goal of being able to take it out. Although 'out' is a bit of an overstatement. He won't legally be allowed to take it anywhere besides ground streets for two more years. Air flight is restricted to the eighteen and up crowd. Despite that, he figures two years is nothing compared to the four it's taken him to get it all put together. It was little more than an empty chasse full of scraps when he brought it home from the junkyard. A fact his father continues to lord over him every chance he gets, even with all the progress he's made on it.  

He's poured all his monthly allowance into buying parts and making needed repairs. What he couldn't afford, well-... He figures it's all stuff that won't be missed. It needs fresh paint and to have the chrome touched up, but there's time for that later. Having a ground vehicle will at least get him away from the house on weekends. Plus there's a point of pride to be had in being the only one in his circle of friends with a car.  

His hazy mind is busy going over possible paint combinations when he catches himself dozing off for real. He allowed himself to be lulled into sleep by the darkening sky and the warm pre-summer air. He forces his eyes open and glances up, able to see the beginning of stars among the pale pink hues of atmosphere. His body is bone tired and for a few more minutes he lies still, fatigued from weeks of not getting enough sleep. He thinks it odd that someone of his age should feel so run down. There's no time to dwell on that though. His mother will be finishing up dinner and he's expected to be home to set the table.

He slides down off the hood and begins the short walk through the fields to get back to the house. When he emerges from the sea of tall grass he sees his father's truck in the driveway. It's an instant disappointment. Friday nights are usually the night his father stays in town after work to have a drink and 'catch up with the boys'. It's a rarity for him to forego bar time for family time. Ryuji crosses the yard at a slow pace, dragging his feet to stave off the inevitable. The thought of sitting down to eat with his drunkard father is more than he can stand.  

As he's approaching the house his wristwatch display lights up, receiving an incoming call. He pauses just off the porch to answer it, waiting for the video connection to buffer. The eager expression of his longtime friend and classmate Takeishi appears on the screen.  

"What's up?"  

"We still on for tonight?" Takeishi asks and the question throws Ryuji for a moment. Had they made plans? He thinks they might have made plans. "Y'know. Captain Kidd's ship. Parked at the shipyard."  

"Oh shit," Ryuji breathes as his chest lights up with excitement. "Man, I totally forgot about it."  

"How the hell did you forget?"  

"Spring sowin', remember? We've gotta get the fields resown before summer rolls around. I've been busy."  

Takeishi studies him for a moment, eyebrows furrowing in concern, "You good?"  

"I'm okay," Ryuji assures him. It's not exactly a lie, at the moment he's fine. He's tired. Worn down from weeks spent working in close quarters with his father. From trying to meet the man's impossible expectations. "We're meetin' at midnight in old man Iwai's cornfield, right?. Hope you and Nakaoka don't bail on me this time."  

"I wasn't the one who bailed."  

"I'm serious, man. If you guys don't show I'm goin' in alone."  

"We'll be there." Takeishi insists though it does nothing to diminish Ryuji's doubt. "See ya."  

"Yeah." Ryuji sighs, tapping the end call button. Inside he can hear his father's voice. It's more the tone than actual words and he already sounds riled up about something. He ascends the porch stairs and presses himself against the wall beside the front door. He's trying to give himself a moment of composure before he goes in.

He doesn't want to deal with this right now.  

"Hey," He calls out as he pushes the front door open. From his vantage point, he can see into the kitchen. His mother is standing with her back against the counter and her arms crossed over her chest. She widens her eyes at him, a silent warning for him to tread cautiously. He kicks his shoes off and nudges them into neat alignment by his father's work boots. He crosses the living room and turns the corner to his father seated at the dining table.  

"The hell you been?" The older man demands, swinging one of his worn hands towards the table. "I come home from bustin' my ass and your mother can't even get dinner on the table because you're off god knows where."  

"Yes sir," It's less of an agreement and more of a neutral answer. Ryuji knows he's already on thin ice and he's not about to make things worse by arguing.

"Welcome home," His mother offers, a subtle change in the conversation. He hates this. Friday night dinners are usually their thing. It's the one night of the week they don't have to tiptoe around his father.  

"Go ahead and sit down, Ma," Ryuji insists, guiding her towards the table. He washes his hands clean at the sink and gathers the plates from the cabinet. He has to reach around his parents to set the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his father watching him. He's looking for a reason to yell at him again. Wordlessly Ryuji serves the food and grabs his father a bottle of beer from the fridge. On his way to his chair, he sets a light hand atop his mother's shoulder hoping to reassure her. She pats his fingers lightly in acknowledgment. The whole exchange is missed by the man at the head of the table as he pries the lid off his beer and takes a long drink of it.

Ryuji watches in silent disgust as some of the foamy liquid pools at the side his father's mouth and runs down his chin. His entire face looks like well-worn leather. It's creased and tanned by his many long days working in the fields. He runs equally aged fingers across his spotty stubble covered chin, wiping the beer away in an almost thoughtful gesture. He sets the bottle down and clears his throat before taking up his utensils to begin the meal. Neither Ryuji nor his mother dares to start eating before he does, lest they affront him.  

"Spring harvest was profitable this year," He announces, sounding almost on the verge of pride. There's no doubt in Ryuji's mind that his father spent most of his day in town stroking his own ego. Beans are not a big spring crop and their farm has been mostly dormant since winter. That doesn't stop Ryuji's father from acting as if the entire town's spring harvest is his own personal success story. 

"Ryuji,"  

"Yeah?" He's surprised by his father's calm use of his name. He sets his fork down beside his plate and lifts his eyes up to meet the older man's. They're the color of a stormy ocean and dark, cold, and dimly glazed over from the alcohol. Ryuji's always been thankful that he got his mother's brown eyes. He hopes that they somehow make him look more like her and less like his dad.    

"Y'worked real hard these past couple months. Don't think I didn't notice."  

"Uh, thank you," Ryuji replies, feeling his guard go up and his hands curl into fists on reflex. It's not often that the man offers him praise and it usually doesn't come without strings attached. His father rises to his feet, his body swaying under the effects of the alcohol. The half beer that sits on the table is a pallet cleanser for whatever hard stuff he drank before coming home. It's a wonder he was able to drive without causing an accident. Sometimes Ryuji wishes he would crash. It's not malicious but out of a desire to keep him off the road and away from other people. It's easy to picture his father drunkenly swerving in front of somebody else's family.  

His stomach lurches at the thought, the feeling intensified by the sudden approach. The man stands over him like a tree shadow, blocking out the kitchen lights. It casts darkness over him. He turns his head upwards to meet his father's eyes. He strains to keep a straight face as the scent of alcohol on his father's breath wafts down over him like a heavy fog. The older man smiles a grin of yellowing teeth and brings his hand down to clap over Ryuji's shoulder. He flinches away, a sharp jerk of his muscles that's more memory than anything else. The reaction doesn't go unnoticed.  

"The fuck, Ryuji?" His father breathes, training his callused fingers up the back of Ryuji's neck to grip a handful of his hair. Across the table, his mother sits up straighter in her chair. He body is tense with nerves as she prepares to intervene. Ryuji prays that she doesn't, wills her to sit still and stay quiet. "I'm not gonna hit you."  

He definitely would, and has.  

"I was gonna say," He continues, gripping his hair a bit tighter, bordering the point where it becomes painful. Ryuji takes measured breaths to force his body to relax and like a cue, it eases his father's hold on him. Almost affectionately he runs his weathered fingers up through the top of his hair to tussle it. "-that since you helped out so much, I'll give you a bigger allowance this month so you can get your car fixed up."  

"Really?" Ryuji forces enthusiasm into his voice because he needs to act accordingly. "Thank you. I appreciate that."  

"I've never been prouder. Makes me think you've got more than shit for brains after all. Might have someone worthy of passing the fields down to someday."  

Ryuji pointedly ignores the insult.  

His father turns unsteadily on his toes and almost falls over in an attempt to seat himself. He shakes it off and returns to his food. Ryuji and his mother follow suit and for the rest of the meal, he's forced to avoid his mother's concern filled eyes. His father continues to ramble, making small talk and bad mouthing his bar friends. It's a one-sided conversation. He's too drunk and too into his rant to notice that no one's paying attention to him.  

Ryuji continues to mindlessly force food into his mouth, though he can't taste it anymore. Twice he has to pause to keep it from coming back up, his stomach so tied into knots that it's making him nauseous. He doesn't have to suffer for very long, his father begins to doze in and out of consciousness at the table. His mother stands and coaxes her husband to his feet. She leads him down the hallway to their bedroom, guiding his wobbly footsteps the entire way. Ryuji turns his attention to clearing the table and putting the leftovers away.  

It's half past ten when his mother emerges from the bedroom, looking exhausted and frustrated. She enters the kitchen and makes a beeline for the fridge. She almost rips the handle off the freezer door as she yanks it open. Ryuji grabs two spoons from the silverware drawer and waits while she chooses a flavor of ice cream.  

"Feels like a mint chocolate chip sort of night," She mumbles, to herself more than anyone. The two of them sit side by side at the table, sliding the pint back and forth, eating in silence. Ryuji thinks it would be comical if it wasn't also so damn sad.  

"Hey," Ryuji begins, watching as she carves out a large spoonful of ice cream for herself. She glances up at him, prompting him to continue as she tries to find a way to fit the entire oversized scoop into her mouth. "I'm gonna go hang out with Nakaoka and Takeishi tonight."  

"Mmm," She muses, raising her eyebrows in a clear question of 'Oh yeah?'.  

"It's not a school night and I'm pretty sure that he," -the drunken idiot in the bedroom, "isn't going to wake up anytime soon."  

"It's getting pretty late."  

"You really gonna try and pull the curfew thing on me?"

Narrowing her eyes, she points her spoon threateningly in his direction, "It's my right as a mother."  

"I have to get out of here. At least for a little while," He presses, glancing over his shoulder towards their bedroom door. "If you let me go out, you can lay down in my room and get some decent sleep. We can swap beds when I come back." 

"Where are you going exactly?"  

"We're gonna troll around old man Iwai's corn field. Might go down to the lake or somethin'."  

"I hope you realize you're going to have to learn to lie better," She sighs. She takes her spoon and begins to scrape at the bottom of the ice cream carton, hoping to get one final bite out of it. "Fine, but you need to be back before sunrise. And I mean before sunrise."

"I will be," Ryuji swears, leaping to his feet with a sudden surge of new energy. He takes the stairs up to his room two at a time, though his footsteps are measured and quiet. He's not about to risk waking his father up, even though he knows that the man is out for the night. He gathers his backpack and throws his tools into it. Screwdrivers, wrenches, portable laser torch, he runs through a quick mental inventory to make sure he has everything.  

He grabs his ComTab off his bed and sends a quick text message off to his friends to remind them of the time and place. He tosses the tablet into his backpack and tiptoes rapidly back downstairs. His mother gives him an uneasy look as he brushes past her on the way out the door. Despite himself, he can't stand for her to be disappointed in him. As an act of good faith, he doubles back for a hug and promises once again to be back before sunrise.

He slips out the front door and sails over the porch steps and down the driveway. Old man Iwai's cornfield is a few miles down from his house. The night air is crisp and clear, it's temperature situated in the middle of warm and cool. It's the perfect atmosphere for a run. Sometimes Ryuji thinks he was born for it. He should have joined the track team with Nakaoka and Takeishi, but he knew it would be one more thing for his father to play against him. Still, it's a favorite past time to turn to when things get bad at home.  

It doesn't take him long to fall into a steady rhythm of feet on dirt road. The roads are from the early days of the colony, back when vehicles had actual wheels. Once hover crafts became the norm, the roads became more of a guideline for those who preferred to drive closer to the ground. Ryuji himself can't imagine wanting that. He's been dreaming of air flight since he was young. This is due in part to his admiration of Captain Kidd.  

Captain Kidd, like Ryuji, is from the colony of Kamoshida. Something of a local celebrity, he started his career as a well-known stunt pilot. Later he joined up with the Colony Defense Force and within a few years became captain of his own crew. They traverse the galaxy to fend off threats from hostile planets. Ryuji's been obsessed with him ever since the first broadcast of his trick flying. He's collected every holo-vid he could find and has spent hours watching them. The flips and spins are burned into his memory. Even as he jogs he can visualize it.  

It's the reason behind his meeting with Takeishi and Nakaoka. There's a rumor that Captain Kidd is in town visiting his family and that his famous stunt ship is with him. According to the rumor he's even parked it at the local shipyard. Ryuji isn't sure if he believes it, but he's not about to pass up an opportunity to find out. He's broken into the shipyard before to collect discarded parts or to look at the ships and cars. It's almost a joke that Captain Kidd would want to store his trick craft there.  

Their meeting place is on the far end of the Iwai cornfield, where the crops end abruptly and give way to an open flatland. He glances at the time on his watch, ten till midnight. He's the first to arrive, that is if his friends decide to show up. The last time they planned something like this the two boys bailed out, leaving Ryuji waiting for hours. Although, the mission to sneak into Ann Takemaki's sixteenth birthday party was a little less dire than their current plan.  

It's almost midnight on the dot when Takeishi and Nakaoka arrive, stepping free of the tall corn stalks. Takeishi is full of smug arrogance, hands tucked casually into his pockets, head held high. He's always been a bit full of himself, though it's a facade that always seems to crack when things become dicey. Nakaoka is reserved and somewhat nervous. He tries to be the voice of reason for the other two, but his words often fall on deaf ears. He frequently gets dragged into Ryuji and Takeishi's schemes. Although on this particular night, even he seems to be somewhat excited.  

"Told'ya we'd be here." Takeishi steps over to Ryuji and the two of them bump fists. Their knuckles crack together in a way that feels very manly.  

"I was about to go without you," Ryuji shoots back, hoisting his backpack further up onto his shoulders. "If I had any sense I would'a."  

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up and start walking, Sakamoto."  

Ryuji is all too happy to fall into the role of leader, moving with confidence over the large expanse of flat land. Kamoshida's twin moons gleam overhead. They light the way as he guides them along a well-memorized path.  

Before they can get to the local shipyard they have to pass Kamoshida Commercial Shipyard. It's a literal metal city where all the off-world space ships dock. It's one of the larger ones on the planet, a center of commerce for all imported and exported goods between the colonies. Twice a month huge ships dock there to load or unload, staying only a few brief days before departing again.  

As they near the yard, bright overhead beams of light come into view. Steel rafters rise up like metal giants, dotted with high rising staircases and elevators. Skyscraper buildings intermingle with the docks, full of places for ship crews to spend their shore-time. It all feels very exclusive, surrounded all on sides by thick metal walls. They're designed to keep foreigners inside and locals outside. A huge impenetrable fortress in the middle of miles and miles of farmland.  

It's not their destination, but every time Ryuji passes by it, he has to stop to take it all in.  

"Wouldn't it be badass to go off world?" He breathes, turning his head around to look at Takeishi and Nakaoka. The two of them look just as awestruck, maybe more-so, since this isn't a common sight for them.  

"Those ships are huge," Nakaoka says, stepping up next to Ryuji. "I mean, I knew they were huge. They have to be to carry so much stuff, but I guess I didn't have a scale for it before now."  

"My dad works down on dock 37. He says that they're even bigger up close. Bigger than the buildings in the capital." says Takeishi, then adds as an afterthought, "I think about leaving this shitty planet all the time, but let's get real here. The only way any of us are going to make it off is if we join the defense force or the medical brigade. We're all too stupid for that."  

"Maybe you're too stupid. I bet I could get in. Sakamoto could get in if he got real good at fixing ships."  

"Yeah, you're probably right. He'd get himself a job doing custodial work or something."  

"I would not!" Ryuji protests, although they might be right. The only way he'd ever get off Kamoshida is if he got a crappy job on a transport ship. Although the alternative as a bean farmer isn't exactly appealing either. "Maybe I need to become a trick pilot like Captain Kidd."  

"What? You'd never be able to pull that off." Takeishi laughs the words into his face and Ryuji feels his blood heat up under his skin.  

"Why not?"  

"Sakamoto, you got beans for brains? The only thing you've ever piloted is a wheel-tractor. You don't even have your car up and running. What makes you think you're going to be able to do flight tricks?"  

"Guys, let's just go." Nakaoka intervenes right as Ryuji opens his mouth to reply. "If you guys get into a fight we'll never make it to the shipyard to see the ship. So let's just go."  

"Fine," Ryuji concedes for the moment, knowing that Nakaoka's right. He ignores Takeishi for the rest of the trek.  

The local public shipyard is a much less impressive sight. It's a large flat patch of concrete surrounded on all sides by a well worn and rusted chain link fence and an unfathomable amount of weeds. It's mostly a glorified parking lot with a few hangars on the far end. There's even a small collection of Old-Earth style vehicles, camper trailers, and trucks. Most of them are covered in thick layers of dust and surrounded by grass that pushed up through cracks in the concrete.  

"Where do you think he parked it?" Takeishi steps up to peer through the fence, or rather over the fence. It's so old and weak that it halfway hangs off of its support poles. "Inside one of the hangars?"  

"If it's in a hangar, there's no way we'll be able to get in to see it," Nakaoka mumbles, giving into defeat before they've even made it inside. How very typical of him.

"I've broken into this place to collect parts for my car," Ryuji says, stepping up to the fence beside Takeishi. He shifts his backpack around to the front and digs through it until he finds his portable laser torch. "Security is an old guy who falls asleep watchin' the monitors and outdated patrol robots. I don't think the keypads on the hangars work and even if they do I'm sure I can disable them. They're simple coded panels."  

"Since when did you become a hacker?" Takeishi challenges, though there's a touch of admiration in his voice.  

"Not that kind of code, like a number combination. It's less hackin' and more... Cuttin' wires."  Ryuji grabs hold of one of the fence supports. He flicks the torch on and cuts through the small pieces of metal holding the fence up. The panel collapses the rest of the way down into the grass and the three boys clamber over it. Ryuji breathes a sigh of relief. They're finally in, all that's left is to find the ship. "Stay close to me and keep your voices down."

The three of them make slow but steady progress through the shipyard, avoiding motion sensors and cameras. Ryuji knows the layout of the complex like the back of his hand and he continues to lead his friends onward. They've almost reached the long line of hangars when Ryuji hears the unsteady approach of a security robot. He motions for the other two to get down and follow him up under one of the Old-Earth vehicles. They're packed together like sardines and every time Ryuji shifts he's poked by bramble weeds that grew up under the truck's front end.  

Nakaoka's nervous breathing stirs the hair on the back of Ryuji's neck. It's the only sound outside of the approaching patrol robot. The tread on its tires is almost non-existent and it bounces violently over every crack and dip in the concrete. It stops beside their hiding place and begins to run it's scanner down over the side of the vehicle. Blue light beams down into their eyes and Nakaoka stops breathing entirely. The robot lets out a soft crackle of static before turning to wheel away.  

"This is a bad idea. We should leave." Nakaoka insists as the three of them crawl free of the undercarriage of the truck.  

Ryuji resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead offering words of encouragement, "We're almost there. It'll be another half hour before the robots make it back over here."  

"We can't go back," Takeishi adds, though his words are anything but soothing. "You can't wuss out on us now. Not when we're this close. Grow a pair already!"  

"Come on," Ryuji is tempted to ditch them both, tired of their theatrics, but Takeishi is right for once. They've come too far and there's no going back. They begin scoping out the hangars, peering in small side windows to check the inside for the ship. They're almost to the last one when Ryuji finally spots it, an unmistakable outline. Grinning ear to ear, he waves to his friends and they join him at the window. "In here!"

"No way," Takeishi laughs, slapping Ryuji jovially on the back. "I didn't think we were gonna find it."  

"Kinda pissed that you two doubted me."  

"Let's get in there to get a closer look."  

"I'm on it." Ryuji slips around the side of the hangar to the entry door while Takeishi and Nakaoka keep watch. It doesn't take him long to pry the panel off so that he can access the wires. He snips through the alarm wires and then gets to work on the ones that control the lock. He shifts them from connection to connection until he hears the lock click open inside the door. "Guys, come on."  

"Sakamoto, you're such a badass." Takeishi raves as they enter and the compliment fills Ryuji's chest with pride. He's the first one who approaches the cruiser. He runs his fingers admiringly over its sleek navy blue paint. The chrome accents along the front and sides are gleaming, perfect mirrors that reflect Ryuji's wonder-filled eyes. The other boys join him and the three of them circle the cruiser like sharks, drooling over every last detail. "Alright, now that we've looked at it, let's start it up."  

"Whoa, what?" Ryuji glanced at Takeishi, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "What do you mean start it up?"  

"Well you're good at hot-wiring things, right? So get in there and start it up."  

"For real? I can hotwire the crappy hover cars parked in town, but this is a really high-class ship. It's got to have a whole computer devoted to an alarm and protection system," He says it as if he doesn't already know. He does know. He knows everything about it.  

"C'mon, Sakamoto. I know you lay in bed at night fapping to ship schematics."  

"The hell?!"  

"Jerkin' it to all those Captain Kidd posters you've got.”

"Takeishi, I swear-..."  

"Moaning his name when you cum."  

"I'll do it if you shut up," Ryuji growls. He swings his backpack down to the ground and kneels over it. He knows there's nothing in his bag that could possibly work on such an advanced ship. He's got to at least try for the sake of his dignity. It isn't enough for Takeishi that Ryuji brought them to the shipyard and broke into the hangar, no, he's always got to push things too far.  

"Ryuji, don't." Nakaoka implores him. "Guys, this is stupid. We should go. There's no way Ryuji could hotwire a craft like this."  

"Let him work." Takeishi snaps, beginning an argument between the two. Ryuji ignores them as he approaches the stunt ship, heart pounding with nervous anticipation. He never dreamed he would ever see it up close and in person and it's better than any photo he's ever seen. He lightly runs his hand over the lock panel, surprised when it opens up to reveal-... An Old-Earth style key lock? This isn't what Ryuji's expecting.  

Most high-class ships and cars are programmed with fancy identification software. Usually, that means voice recognition or palm and iris scanners. To see something so archaic on Captain Kidd's stunt ship is both amusing and fortuitous. Ryuji can pick old style car locks without even having to think about it. He pulls his tools from his bag and gets to it. He presses his head against the hull, listening for the pins inside the lock.  

"He's got this," Takeishi whispers, earning a sharp look from Ryuji.  

"Don't talk," He commands, straining his ears to move the final pin out of the way. The lock clicks and then turns and with a soft whoosh of air, the door to the ship begins to fold down. Ryuji's eyes bulge inside his head as he realizes what he's done. The lights inside the cruiser flick on, bright white LEDs that make the interior shine like the gates of heaven. Without even thinking about it, Ryuji steps forward to climb the stairs and enter the craft.

Takeishi and Nakaoka bumble up after him, but he hardly notices that they're there. His wonder and excitement have dimmed upon seeing the craft's interior. Although the outside of the ship for all the world resembles the trick craft, the inside is that of a basic hover car. It's even got cup holders and a console. It dawns on Ryuji that Captain Kidd's trick ship likely isn't street legal. The vehicle they're sitting in now is either his civilian car or a really really good fake that someone made.  

"It's not the right one," Ryuji explains lamely, turning to glance over his shoulders at his friends. Nakaoka is wearing a similar mask of disenchantment, but Takeishi on the other hand-... Anger flares to life inside of Ryuji's chest, he realizes he's been baited. "You knew."

"C'mon Sakamoto. You didn't actually think that Captain Kidd would drive his stunt ship into town, didya?" Takeishi gloats, his grin wide with amusement. Sometimes Ryuji wonders why they're friends. Why does he even bothers spending time with someone who acts the way Takeishi does? It's likely all close proximity, they certainly wouldn't have met by any other means. "My dad says Captain Kidd's got a regular hover car made up all nice like his stunt ship. I knew he'd probably park it out here."  

"You're such a friggen asshole."  

"I never said it was the actual ship, you just assumed that."  

"You brought us out here for this?!" Even Nakaoka's upset, a rarity for him. Normally he's immune to all the usual bullshit that Ryuji and Takeishi drag him through. It makes Ryuji feel even worse knowing that his own anger is justified in Nakaoka. "Come on, Ryuji. Let's go."  

"Yeah. Right behind you," Ryuji says, following Nakaoka down out of the ship, or rather, the hover car. He gathers his tools and throws them back into his bag with a satisfying use of force. They clink together as they hit the bottom of the bag and settle. "C'mon Takeishi. Get out of there. We're leaving."

"You're not gonna try to crank this thing up?" Takeishi asks, oblivious to the sour mood of the other two.  

"No! I'm not! Now get outta there!"  

Takeishi pouts as he climbs down the stairs. Ryuji ignores him. He seals the car door back up and starts for the hangar exit, eager to be out and on his way back home. Once they're outside again, he can breathe better. The cool night air calms his nerves a bit. Overhead the stars glimmer and the twin moons shine like the eyes of a cat. It's beautiful in a way Ryuji can't always describe and looking up at it takes the last bit of the edge off. He's still disappointed but it's less biting than it was inside the hangar. That is until Takeishi opens his mouth again.

"You're both being a couple of little bitches about all this," He goads. Ryuji bristles with newfound anger. He tosses his bag onto the ground and brings his hands up to slam against Takeishi's chest. It knocks him against the side of the hangar. The metal rattles and echos across the shipyard.  

"Find your own way home," Ryuji seethes, hissing the words through clenched teeth. Takeishi opens his mouth like he's going to say something else, but Ryuji doesn't allow it. He slams his fist against the hangar, knuckles making contact with the hard metal. It sends a shockwave of pain up his arm but he doesn't care. Takeishi flinches away from both the action and the sound, his eyes wide with disbelief. Ryuji shoves away from the wall and snatches his bag up. This time when they turn to leave, they're not immediately followed.

"Should'a hit me like your daddy hits you!" Takeishi taunts, but the two of them ignore him. The vein in the side of Ryuji's forehead is pulsing and he feels lightheaded. When they're out of sight of Takeishi he stops for a moment to catch his breath.  

"Sorry. You shouldn't'a had to see that," Ryuji apologizes, glancing sidelong. Nakaoka offers him a worn smile.  

"He deserves it," Nakaoka concludes, shrugging his shoulders. "For real though, let's go. I don't want to get caught in here. My mom'll kill me."  

"Mine too."

The two of them set off together in comfortable silence, following the same path they took to get in to get back out. They're almost to the fence line when they hear approaching footsteps. It's followed by the sound of tires bouncing over the cracked concrete. Ryuji throws his head over his shoulder to see Takeishi barreling after them. There's a security robot hot on his tail. Only once has Ryuji ever found himself in a similar situation. He knows from experience that the security bots can outrun a human. There's no way Takeishi is going to make it to the fence in time.  

He knows he's going to regret this, but-...  

"Take this and get outta here," Ryuji snaps, tossing his bag into Nakaoka's arms. He gives the other boy's shoulder a firm push. Nakaoka does what he does best and takes off. Ryuji spins around in the opposite direction to go back for Takeishi. He's doing a fair job of throwing the bot off, ducking between hover cars to cut off its straight forward path. Despite that, the machine is still closing the distance between them. Ryuji sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles, catching both the bot and Takeishi's attention.  

"Go long!" Ryuji calls out, gesturing towards the far end of the shipyard.

"There's another downed fence that way!" Takeishi throws up a fist in acknowledgment and breaks out running. He's a few aisles down from Ryuji, zigzagging a path through the parked cars. It's a good method to prevent the bot from gaining distance on a straightaway. So far it's working, the bot only has ground capabilities and it can't keep up with Takeishi's random changes in direction. Ryuji for his part races ahead, keeping his eyes out for more security bots. They've almost reached the fence line again and the opening that waits there for them.  

Takeishi's been doing track since middle school and it shows in the way he runs, his stride long and practiced. He catches up to Ryuji and the two of them push on towards the fence. For a moment they catch each other's eye and share twin smiles of amusement. This is easily the craziest thing they've done to date. This Takeishi is the one Ryuji is friends with. He's briefly reminded of that as they come upon the end of their shared row. They dash around the side of the last hover car and almost crash into the fence.  

"No effin' way!" Ryuji curses, staring incredulously at the brand new panel of fencing. "This thing's been down for months! When did they replace it?!"

"Worry about that later! Where else can we get out at?!" cries Takeishi as he checks over his shoulder for the bot. "Shit, Ryuji we gotta go, man! There's two of them back there!"  

When Ryuji looks, sure enough, two security robots are coming down the aisles towards them. In the distance, Ryuji can make out a third. He turned to Takeishi, his stomach clenching nervously at what he's about to do.  

"Takeishi, climb! I'll help you over. Then I can go back down to where we came in," Without thinking he kneels down and offers himself as a foothold to his friend. Takeishi stares at him for a heartbeat, eyebrows furrowed with indecision. They both know its unlikely that Ryuji will be able to make it out. "Please man, just go."  

"I'm sorry," Takeishi apologizes as he steps onto Ryuji's back. He hoists himself up and over the fence, turning around in time to offer a mournful look. Ryuji doesn't have time to do more than wave him off, the bots are closing in around him. As a last-ditch effort, Ryuji takes off back towards the hangars, hoping he might be able to get inside of one to hide. He's almost there when his foot catches in a crack in the pavement. His body shoots forward and lands against the hard ground, skinning his palms and forearms in the process. For a moment he lays winded, trying to will himself to get back up.  

The security bots surround him, having picked up a fourth on the way. They began to run their scanners over him, bright blue beams of light that shock the back of his eyelids. He raises up a hand to cover his eyes against their glow. There's a soft crackle of static that passes between them like they're having a private conversation in robot. One of the bots scans him a second time for good measure and then it begins to speak.  

Ryuji Sakamoto, age 16. No prior offenses. Citizen, please remain where you are. An officer has been dispatched to this location and will arrive shortly. Please do not leave the scene, as this could be taken as a sign of an attempt to resist arrest. There are no charges currently being brought against you. However, I will begin the Mirandizing process should this incident be taken to court in the future. In accordance with local laws, you have the right to remain silent-...

Ryuji pushes himself up onto his knees, listening to the security robot's electronic voice. His pulse pounds at the side of his forehead and he thinks for a moment about how fucked he currently is. He's going to be arrested. The moment that gets back to his father- Ryuji isn't sure what will happen then, but it knows that it won't be good. He debates on trying to run again, but the bots have already logged his identification code. There's a slim chance that they haven't yet transmitted it, but it's a long shot even then.  

In the distance, he can hear sirens.  

[scarlettlillies]

Hetalia- Beautiful Goodbyes: Ch.5 (EstIce)

(You can read from the beginning here)

(Ao3 Version)

I can't believe it took a year to finish this. 2017 was not very forgiving when it came to free time and 2018 is not really any better. This chapter didn't fully form to the way I wanted but I'm satisfied that it's good enough to post. Still, I hope you enjoy this chapter! For those of you new to this fic, this is a 1920s human AU.

Name Legend: Eduard (Olev) - APH Estonia Eyvindur - APH Iceland Timo - APH Finland Heino - OC

The skies changed over so quickly. Eyvindur rushed to the living room windows and shut them fanatically. The rain was such a surprise that they hadn't considered a “Plan B” when Eduard showed up out of the kitchen with a picnic basket in his hands. “What a shame,” Eyvindur sighed. “To think we spent our whole morning preparing all that food for nothing.” “I wouldn't say that,” Eduard said cheerfully. “We'll just have a picnic indoors then. Besides, we'll still have to head out into the rain anyway. I need some ingredients for dinner tonight.” “I'll help then.”

The two men laid out a picnic in the living room and enjoyed a hardy meal with potato and pasta salads and BLT sandwiches. Desserts were chocolate and vanilla cupcakes made the night before. Eduard was sure to have the radio on as they ate. Friday afternoons were when they played some of new brass and jazz music currently popular in the clubs. When they were finished, Eyvindur helped Eduard clean up and threw the leftovers inside the ice box. They could use the rest of the salads for tonight as a side dish.

Though the rain didn't look like it was letting up any time soon, it had been reduced down to a drizzle and it was enough for Eduard to decide to head out for some grocery shopping. Eyvindur was quick to follow him to the door, the two of them changing out of their matching slippers and into their outdoor shoes, raincoats, and all. Eduard grabbed his favourite umbrella, the one with a large blue plaid pattern on it, while Eyvindur had a hold of a dark brown wicker basket. They wasted no time running to the car and headed towards the city.

Their usual routine was to park within the core and browse around the markets. But with the weather being unpredictable as it was, Eduard decided to find a spot closer to the shops he needed to visit. He wasn't lucky however and found himself parking far from the shopping core. No worries, he said to himself, they'd just do what they could and take shelter if they needed to.

Eduard and Eyvindur always did their errands together. Eyvindur often helped him pick out the freshest vegetables as he seemed to have a better eye for it than Eduard did. Eyvindur's opinion mattered to Eduard and it made his efforts worth the while. When Eyvindur worked for his previous employer, he accompanied her during her shopping runs but she always seemed to have an opinion of some sort (often negative) about the way he did certain things. Eduard was not like that at all. He was always content to join him on days like today.

Eyvindur had been living with Eduard for the last four months. In the weeks that followed his first night at Eduard's home, he immediately hit the streets for work so he could pay for his portion of the bills. Despite Eduard saying it wasn't necessary, the man quickly discovered how stubborn Eyvindur could be and no longer made a fuss over it. He was fortunate enough to land several different kinds of jobs, however he proved to be an ill-proper fit. Eyvindur was simply not cut out for hard labour. He was smaller and not as well built than many of the men who worked in the shipyards and factories. Customer service jobs didn't fair much better as he was rather shy and could easily get short-tempered with certain customers. He rapidly went through five jobs within two months.

But Eyvindur was in a happier spot now; he had found part-time work at one of the library branches in the downtown core. On the days Eyvindur needed to work, Eduard would drive him back and forth between the city and their home in the countryside. Eyvindur assisted with all kinds of tasks like processing returns, restocking the shelves, and working the front desk. The thought of working another service job had him feeling anxious during his first week but he quickly discovered the people weren’t as bad as he thought they were going to be, as he dealt with mostly young families and students just like he once was. His book recommendations proved to be highly popular too, as well as his charming appearance. Young women would occasionally flirt with him but their words would fly over Eyvindur’s head. Eduard had caught a few of those moments as he waited for the boy’s shift to end and always had a good laugh out of Eyvindur’s confusion. With a mix of vegetables, some herbs, eggs, and salmon, their shopping was complete and it was time to head back home. Eduard was worried that Eyvindur was carrying too much as he was quick to take notice that the man was often swapping the basket between both his hands. But Eyvindur insisted that he was doing just fine. Turning the corner, the market was still buzzing with so much traffic. Each shop on the block was different and had a unique character to them. One was bright and open selling various flowers while the neighbouring shop appeared dark and unwelcoming with a large poster advertising fortune telling for one dollar. It felt eerily out of place with its other neighbouring shop, a butcher, who they normally get their meat from. But out of all the shops on the block, only one caught Eyvindur’s eye. Sandwiched between a small pub-style restaurant and a furniture store, the building was empty with a sign on the door saying ‘For Sale’ with a name of a real estate agent and their phone number. There was somewhat of an attempt to cover up the windows but the brown paper was gradually falling off. It allowed Eyvindur to grab a peek inside. However, there wasn’t much to see with the exception of some chairs and a desk. Eduard hadn’t noticed that Eyvindur had vanished from his sight until he realized the man was no longer responding to his questions.

“Eyvindur!” Eduard called out as he ran towards him. “Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Eyvindur was a little dazed, not even noticing he was drenched from the rain. “Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” he replied flatly as he walked away and Eduard followed him closely. But he can’t get the building out of his head as he turned his head once more to grab another quick look before he turned his focus back to what was in front of him.

“You seem entranced by that empty shop,” Eduard said.

“Kind of. It seems odd that place is abandoned considering how busy the area is. Do you know what was there before?”

“Yes, that was a show repair shop ran by a pair of German brothers. We’ve been there before, about four months ago, when you just started living with me—remember?”

Oh right, that shop, Eyvindur recalled. His shoes were in rough shape when he had arrived to Eduard’s home and only lasted another week before the back end of his left shoe had opened up. “Yes, I remember those two.”

“I was always impressed by their work. The older brother got on my nerves many times but the younger one was always a pleasure to chat with. I wonder what happened to them?”

The conversation went cold and they retraced their steps back to their vehicle. But the building had stuck with Eyvindur and the feeling couldn’t be washed away. There was something about the place that made him want to go back.

“Eyvindur, does he have the scores ready?”

“Yes, but he looks nervous though.”

“It’s understandable. It’s his first exam,” Eduard said as he shut a small book with musical scores inside and rose from his chair. He joined Eyvindur who stood behind a young boy, who looked no more than ten years old, and ordered him to play the notes seen on the sheet in from of him. The tune is a basic children’s song and he played it perfectly, albeit very slowly.

“Nicely done. But try to pick up your pace.” Eyvindur instructed. “Let’s move on to the next song.”

The boy changed the sheet and it was another children’s song. Just as before, he plays it perfectly.

“Good, you’ve picked up your speed. Next song please,” Eduard said.

The next song was a little more challenging. They had moved away from children’s song to famous composers. The song of choice was Debussy’s Clair de Lune. When the boy begun the piece, it had started off nicely but with noticeable pauses in between some notes, it was clear he was beginning to struggle.

It was then a loud and jarring note echoed in the room and the boy froze in fear. Eduard however didn’t appear to be fazed by it and urged to keep going.

“It’s alright. Just keep playing.”

He did as he was told and he was slowly redeeming himself. Eyvindur was carrying a clipboard and jotting down notes as the exam was taking place. Eyvindur found his eyes wandering towards Eduard and caught a glimpse of a sweet smile as he praised the boy for not messing up a difficult note. Eyvindur quickly looked away and tried to stay concentrated on the performance in front of him. Now was not the time to be focusing on the looks of his friend and business partner.

Even though his heart really wanted to.

Eduard had nearly finished putting away all the dishes when the sounds of a loud knock made him jump.

“Who could that be at this hour?”

But when Eduard turned and found himself staring at the calendar hanging by the entrance to the dining room, he immediately knew who it was. He anxiously walked through the dining room and towards the door. But before he answered, he took a peak inside the living room and saw Eyvindur sleeping peacefully on the sofa. He breathed a sigh of relief and slowly opened the door. Eduard was greeted to a well-dressed man with short blond hair and a round face. He was much shorter than he was, bore a sweet and soft appearance, and spoke with a heavy Finnish accent.

“Good evening Olev,” he smiled. “May I come in?”

Before Eduard could answer, the man stepped in and he quietly repeated the words “No” and Eduard pushed him back. It was then the man saw Eyvindur sleeping on the sofa and his soft expression was quickly replaced with a dark glare.

“Outside. Now.”

The two of them stood on the door step and Eduard quietly shut the door behind so he wouldn’t wake Eyvindur up.

“Why is he still here?”

Eduard sighed, “I told you Timo, he’s living with me right now.”

“You’re supposed to be undercover until all this blows over! That means no job, no friends, no nothing.”

“I understand that but I couldn’t leave him to fend for himself. Besides—”

There was a long and lengthy pause but Eduard struggled to find the words of what he wanted to say. Not that Timo needed it. He knew Eduard long enough that he knew exactly what was on his mind.

“Eduard,” Timo said as he placed his hand on Eduard’s shoulder. He was surprised to hear Timo call him by his real name. “I understand that you’re lonely. It’s not easy being in the situation you’re in now. But you’re on a watch list and all it takes is one slip-up to put you on the first trip back to Tallinn. We asked this of you because we only want to protect you. You understand that right?”

Eduard nodded and gave Timo a faint smile, “Yes, I do—and I’m grateful for everything you and Heino have done for me so far.”

Timo reached inside his handbag and pulled out a thick white envelope. He handed it to Eduard and he took a peak inside. It was overflowing with cash with various denominations of bills.

“I’m sure this will hold you over for a while?”

“Yes, this is perfect. Thank you,” Eduard replied as his stuffed the envelope inside his vest.

Timo closed up the handbag and tipped his hat towards Eduard. “Alright I’ll take my leave then. I’ll be back in a few weeks with some more cash for you. Don’t blow it all in one place.”

Timo’s tone was playful in nature and it got Eduard smiling as his old self again. The two shared their goodbyes and Eduard quickly re-entered the home quietly. He was surprised to hear the piano playing a soft melody and he quickly realized that Eyvindur was up for his evening nap.

“Eduard, is that you?”

Eduard quickly grew anxious but he somehow managed to retain a cool and calm tone with Eyvindur.

“Yes, I’ll be with you in a second. I just need a moment to wash my hands.”

Quick on his feet, he rushed to the bedroom and stuffed the envelope of money underneath his mattress and tidying up the sheets to give the appearance that nothing had been touched. He then followed through on his words and watched his hands with the new soap he bought in the market a few days ago. The soap had a pleasant smell of lavender and loved the feel of it against his skin. Feeling a little more comfortable, he joined Eyvindur in the living room and took a seat next to him on the bench.

“Was someone outside? I heard you shutting the door earlier.”

“Just a lost man,” Eduard lied. “He got the wrong address so I gave him a hand with his map.”

“I see,” his voiced trailed off. Eduard felt guilty each time he had to lie. He’d always tell himself that it would get easier with time but the sharp sensation in his chest never seemed to fade away. He tried to ignore the feeling but it was becoming increasingly difficult and exhausting trying to keep up with this false life he was forced to have built up for himself.

“Is something wrong?” Eyvindur asked.

Eduard looked at him oddly before shaking his head, “No, no, I’m fine. Just a little tired.” Eduard said with a reassuring grin. He quickly tried to change the subject and the focus on music was an easy target.

“That music, it’s Clair de Lune that you‘re playing isn‘t?”

“You have a good ear Eduard,” Eyvindur replied as he continued playing the melody. “I had a dream just now that we were teachers and we were watching this child play this song. I felt a little inspired.”

Eduard chuckled, “That sounds like a wonderful dream. I wish something like that could be real. I always wanted to be a teacher.”

In a move that surprised Eduard, Eyvindur had cut off the tune but his fingers remained frozen at the keys. Eyvindur appeared almost expressionless leaving Eduard to wonder if what he had said upset him.

“Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry if I did.”

It had felt like minutes had passed before Eyvindur had finally spoken up to him. He moved his hands away from the keys and placed him against his thighs. Eduard had watched a weak and melancholic smile appear on the boy’s face as he appeared in almost a daze.

“No you’re good. I was just thinking the same thing.” Eyvindur replied. “I wanted that dream to be real too.”

Well, most of it, Eyvindur had replied to himself. He quietly pushed away the scene that found itself on loop since he awoke from his nap: the part where he found himself staring at Eduard in a more enamoured light. The idea baffled Eyvindur to no end. He had never though of Eduard as anything more than a friend—a person who saved him in a time of need. It was probably time to cut back a bit on the romance novels and poetry. At the end of the night, it was the only logical explanation Eyvindur could come to.

Yes, they were nothing more than friends.

And that’s all that they ever will be.

[leigh-kelly]

Say You’ll Never Stray More Than Two Lips Away

[writesandramblings]

The Captain’s Secret - p.100

“The Captain’s Secret”

A/N: Concludes episode 15, "Will You Take My Hand?" Any resemblance to a certain deleted scene you might have seen on Youtube... that's not coincidental, it's that the show writers essentially reached the same conclusion I did. I just did not write fast enough to get my version posted before theirs. I realize no one has any reason to believe me on this count, but it's true!

Two more chapters and then we're done. Also, this is farewell to O'Malley and Groves, but say hello to a familiar face you probably didn't expect to hear from again.

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 99 - Sigh No More 101 - The Memory of Your Heart >>

Locked away in the bowels of Discovery, Lorca could only guess at the details of Discovery's present mission. He was aware when the spore drive engaged, jumping them to a location that made the ship creak under pressure, and aware when they jumped again, but entirely ignorant as to what happened in-between.

Lalana, however, was watching and listening to the bridge, so she heard when Burnham contacted Discovery from the surface of Qo'noS to inform them that what they thought was a mapping mission to locate military vulnerabilities was in fact an attempt to detonate a hydro bomb in an active volcano chain and cause an explosion that would render the whole of the planet uninhabitable. Worse, the bomb was already too far within the planet's crust to extract.

It was, to Saru and the rest of the bridge crew, an unthinkable atrocity. "Is this how Starfleet wins the war?" Burnham demanded of Cornwell. "Genocide?"

Cornwell was gone from Discovery now, back at Starfleet's current temporary command, far from the front lines where her tendency to freeze on the bridge would not undermine the efficacy of an active starship. Lalana listened as Cornwell responded to Burnham's criticisms by defending the decision as a necessary atrocity. "We do not have the luxury of principles!"

Saru rose from the captain's chair. "We are Starfleet," he said. Around him, Detmer, Owosekun, Bryce, and the rest of the bridge crew rose in support of their acting captain. They had been to another universe where humans committed these kinds of atrocities and they were determined to prove that they were different from the Terrans in every way that counted.

"What is it you're suggesting?" asked Cornwell, registering shame as she realized her proposal to destroy Qo'noS was more of a threat to Starfleet than the Klingon incursion. The Klingons could only physically destroy the institutions of the Federation. Cornwell's plan threatened to destroy the Federation's soul.

There was no reversing the course of the bomb, but they could give control of it to someone who could use the bomb's presence as a bargaining chip against the many disparate Klingon houses.

L'Rell was surprised when they returned her clothes to her and released her from the brig—even more surprised when they handed her the detonator controlling the bomb and told her what it was. "Klingons respond to strength. Use the fate of Qo'noS to bend them to your will," instructed Burnham. "Preserve your civilization rather than watching it be destroyed."

L'Rell had once followed T'Kuvma, a visionary who believed in a united Klingon Empire, all houses working together under a single banner of strength. She still believed in that ideal. Now she possessed a tool that would enable her to see this vision made manifest. L'Rell wondered what part her scarred friend from the brig had played in orchestrating this moment. From where she stood, her freedom seemed to be the culmination of Petrellovitz's promise, and more.

She stood before the assembled houses, revealed that she held the power to destroy Qo'noS in the palm of her hand, and the war ended not with the destruction of a planet, but with something almost approaching diplomacy.

"Prepare for transport" was the only warning given. Light shimmered around Lorca and Groves and they rematerialized in a proper guest room with windows and real seating. After what had been a long and exhausting night, the beam-out genuinely felt like escaping from a hole.

Saru was waiting for them. "Apologies for not releasing you sooner, a great deal has transpired. The war is over." This was a slight oversimplification. There were still Klingon stragglers, a few houses resistant to the idea of giving up on so glorious a victory even when their planet's fate depended on it, but the larger part of the Klingon forces had withdrawn.

"How?" asked Lorca. He watched Groves turn greenish at hearing how Cornwell had ordered the annihilation of Qo'noS. It was, Lorca silently thought, a tactically sound plan, as much as it reeked of Georgiou. Still. Some part of him was relieved it had not panned out exactly as intended. Discovery's crew—his crew—had held fast at the crucial moment. He hoped that rankled Georgiou. "Where is she now?"

"She has been released, as per her agreement with Starfleet."

It seemed unthinkable. Georgiou was being allowed to go free and impersonate herself in this universe. "And my agreement?" said Lorca.

"Arrangements are being made. I am not privy to the details."

Sighing, Lorca shook his head in disbelief. Cornwell had essentially taken everything he wanted and given it to Georgiou, right down to winning the war and being the great hero everyone would remember until the end of time.

"Now what?" asked Groves.

They were at Tri-Rho Nautica, the last remaining active Federation shipyard. It had become a crucial Starfleet installation, its repair facilities the only thing keeping the remaining one-third of the fleet operational, and more resources had been committed to its defense than almost anywhere else.

Now, the engineers at the shipyard were preparing to dismantle Discovery's spore drive and revert Lab 26 to its original design specifications.

"Whoa," said Groves to that. "Hold on. Does Mac know about this?"

Saru was reluctant to answer the question, but he did. "Colonel O'Malley is presently unavailable."

"Well, one of us has to be there!" Groves exclaimed. "Can I—can I be excused?"

Cornwell had ordered Groves and Lorca confined to Groves' room, but Cornwell was gone and word had come that no charges were being sought against Groves. "You may."

"'Unavailable?'" Lorca asked pointedly when Groves was gone. In the back of his mind, he was still mulling over the decommission of the spore drive. That had been his last and best chance of getting back home.

"I..." Saru pressed his fingers together. It was difficult to admit that he wanted to consult a man who had turned out to be a fake Starfleet captain, but for almost a year, Saru's captain was what Lorca had been. "I wish to ask you something. I am aware that you are close with Colonel O'Malley. I believe I may have made an error in telling him something..."

Lorca listened quietly. It helped a bit, having someone else's problems to focus on. When Saru was done, Lorca said, "You made the right call."

"He is... devastated. I did not realize it until recently, but Emellia was his sister."

"He never told you?" said Lorca, surprised.

Saru turned away, slightly annoyed. "I take it then that he did tell you." It had been Groves, actually, at that abortion of a dinner, but Lorca only nodded. Saru remained looking away from Lorca and brought his hands together. The situation clearly disturbed him. "I had thought the colonel and I were friends. It appears I was mistaken."

Lorca's tongue clicked lightly. "I wouldn't take it personally. He didn't like people knowing."

"Cadet Tilly was aware."

That sounded entirely bizarre to Lorca, but then, everything connected to Lab 26 tended to be. "I don't know what to say, Saru."

"I wish he had trusted me," said Saru.

"Sometimes... Sometimes it's not about the person you're lying to. By not telling you, he made it so there was one place he didn't have to be her brother. My guess is he was lying to himself."

Saru realized that statement applied just as much to Lorca as it did O'Malley. It was an entirely unintentional self-description, but it put into context many of Lorca's actions during his time commanding Discovery. "I am sorry."

"Sorry?" echoed Lorca, eyebrow raising and face twisting into a demand for something less nebulous than three generalized words.

"That you did not trust me with your secret."

Lorca considered that. "I would've," he said in a way that sounded like a promise. Out of everyone on the ship, Saru impressed him the most. The Kelpien had risen to the challenge of serving as first officer with bravery, intelligence, and compassion.

Saru's fingers gracefully pressed together one after the next. "Perhaps. We will never know."

Disappointment filtered across Lorca's face at the truth of it. He might have told Saru eventually, but more likely he was still lying to his former first officer and himself. He had always been too afraid of the consequences of telling anyone. Fear was the great constant in the Terran Empire and despite all the months in the Federation, he had yet to find a way to escape the emotion. Maybe in time he would have found the strength to tell the truth, or maybe he would have pushed aside the universe of his origin and hidden in the life belonging to the other Lorca forever. Instead, here they were in this moment, and neither thing was true.

"You look like death," was Lorca's greeting.

"Thanks," said O'Malley bitterly, despondent as he stared at some imagined point on the floor.

In all honesty, they both did at this point. Lorca was haggard from not getting enough sleep and O'Malley from getting entirely too much of it in sickbay—and both had received enough bad news in the past twenty-four hours to thoroughly remove whatever vestige of hope they had remaining.

At least Lorca was being permitted to keep the guest quarters for the moment, and Saru had been amenable to stocking it with a few necessities like clean clothes and bourbon. "Drink?"

O'Malley did not answer. Lorca poured out two drinks anyway and offered O'Malley one. O'Malley reached over, took the whole bottle, and went and sat in an armchair. With a faint shrug, Lorca tipped the first cup into the second and sat down on the couch opposite.

"You have some questions, I imagine."

O'Malley didn't drink from the bottle. He hugged it to his chest, one hand firmly gripping the neck. "No one could tell me what happened. Implant... overload?"

"Sort of," said Lorca, taking a deep breath. For the second time he found himself trying to explain Mischkelovitz's actions and falling far short. O'Malley stared off into space as he listened. Lorca concluded with, "I told her not to."

"Told her?" said O'Malley, voice soft and small. "You told her not to do it. You just... told her." His head shook back and forth. A tear rolled down his cheek and plinked quietly onto the bottle. He finally looked over at Lorca with a look of pained accusation. "You should have stopped her!"

"I tried," lied Lorca, because while he had attempted to talk Mischkelovitz out of it, some part of him had not wanted to stop her and he had failed to do the one thing he knew would have worked: woken O'Malley up.

O'Malley curled around the bottle. The inanimate object was probably more affectionate than his new fake sister Petrellovitz would be in the long run.

The explanation was not the main reason Lorca had summoned O'Malley. Mischkelovitz had died and Lorca felt obliged to fulfill her request. "She asked me to tell you something. A message. 'Just as much.'"

Closing his eyes, O'Malley exhaled until he could exhale no more. Words emerged in a soft, high-pitched trickle. "I never said it, did I. It seemed... I didn't hear it growing up and the first time I did say it was to a girl I had a crush on and she ran for the hills. Fair enough, I was a scrawny, spotty thing, it was entirely unrequited, and as you've pointed out, I don't look much better nowadays. But after that, it seemed... impossible to say, and when she said it to me, I couldn't say it back. I started saying 'just as much' and it became our thing. That way I never had to say it. I just said those stupid words instead."

O'Malley drank from the bottle at last, taking a hefty swig. Lorca sipped at his own drink. There was an additional fact in there that O'Malley kept to himself. Lorca had said "just as much" when they first met. A casual three-word utterance that had amused O'Malley with its accidental relevance and set off a cascade of events that Lorca would have ascribed to fate.

"How did I go twenty years without ever telling my sister I loved her?"

"Mac," said Lorca, shaking his head and actually smiling in amusement. For all the hours of entertainment Mischkelovitz had given him on the lab security monitors, he decided to fix at least one thing for her and her brother. "You told her you loved her every day and she heard you. It's not the words you say. It's the words you mean. That's what she wanted to tell you."

The words were an effective consolation to O'Malley. He drank again, just a small taste this time, and asked, "How are you holding up?"

Lorca lifted his cup as if toasting and said proudly, "One piece, thanks." It wasn't really an answer because the last thing Lorca wanted to do right now was think about his own problems, which seemed insurmountable. He would rather enjoy the distraction of O'Malley's. "So, tell me. Anton?"

There was only one person that question could have come from. "Please tell me you're not willingly making yourself messenger of John's torture."

"Depends. I told you my story. Seems you left a few things out of yours."

"I'm going to kill John."

Lorca snorted. "No, you're not."

"But I should."

"No argument here."

O'Malley sighed and gave Lorca what he wanted, as always. "James Narvic was the face of QORYA and the impetus for its creation. Anton Nguyen was... You could call him the shadow master of the whole thing. He was handsome, charismatic, suave, deadly smart, and slippery. Could sell a man his own shoes. Little bit like you. Entirely and exactly like you. D'you know, if I saw him now, I'd still..." O'Malley sighed deeply at whatever unmentionable intent had just popped into his head. "Well, what can I say? I suppose I have a type. Tall, dark, and jackass."

Lorca imagined Groves was having a good laugh right now and grimaced. At the end of the day, even O'Malley only apparently had feelings for Lorca because he was reminded of someone else, and worse, this pretty much destroyed the tiny sliver of hope Lorca had been holding out regarding the significance of O'Malley's marital status. "I'm not gay."

"I know. Why on earth would I want something I can actually have. It's not like I'd ever leave..." O'Malley froze. He fumbled with the bottle and attached it to his mouth and left it there with the impression he had no intention of removing it. The level of bourbon in the bottle visibly dropped by a quarter. Lorca reached over and pulled the bottle away. "Oh, come on! Give it back!"

"Drink yourself to death on someone else's bottle," said Lorca.

"How many months do you suppose it took them to declare us legally dead? Two? Four? I bet Aeree didn't even wait that long."

"At least you get to go back to being alive. I don't even get that," growled Lorca, betraying for a moment the extent of his lurking fury.

O'Malley's head tilted back. The alcohol was already hitting his bloodstream and he was not paying attention to Lorca. "He was the one named them Mischka. Anton. He used to call them little mice, and in his grandmother's tongue, 'mischka' means mice. D'you know, he got out first? Cracked a deal for early release. And I was glad! I helped him get it!"

"Since when are you such a lightweight," Lorca grumbled. While a quarter of a bottle was a lot of bourbon to imbibe in one go, O'Malley had never demonstrated such an embarrassingly quick and low tolerance before. Unbeknownst to Lorca, the last time O'Malley had eaten was in another universe, and then his meal had consisted of a fortune cookie. He was operating on several days of IV fluids at this point.

"When I met you, it was like, here we go again. I knew you from the first minute... Have you ever seen something so clearly you know what's about to happen and you're powerless to avert it?"

Powerless was not something Lorca typically felt. Fear, yes, but something within him always told him he had the power to change things and shape his own destiny. Even now when people were telling him he had to be dead to history and he felt like this was the end of everything, that inner drive remained, suggesting there was some way to wriggle out of this to a fate less awful. It was the only thing keeping him going. "Nope."

"Do you know my favorite part of it all? The way you compartmentalized us, controlled who had what information at what times. It was brilliant! I know. Turns out I don't mind being compartmentalized. I'm not that claustrophobic. It's nice to have a little something to myself now and again."

Lorca decided to call Saru. Forget distraction, forget whatever Mischkelovitz thought Lorca was going to do to "fix" O'Malley, this was an abject mess he had no interest in dealing with. "Computer, contact—"

The door chimed. Lorca allowed entry, expecting this would clear the problem up entirely, because only Groves and Saru knew Lorca was in here and both of them were capable of taking O'Malley off his hands.

The woman who walked in was entirely unfamiliar to Lorca. He had never seen her before in either universe. She was medium-height, in her sixties, with a short shock of latte-white hair and a strong jaw. Her uniform indicated she was a vice admiral, but Lorca had studied the command structure of Starfleet down to the level of its captains as part of his subterfuge and had not encountered her anywhere in it.

O'Malley turned to see what Lorca was looking at and jumped unsteadily to his feet. "General Myers!"

No wonder he didn't recognize her, Lorca realized. This was O'Malley's mentor. She wasn't proper Starfleet, she existed somewhere in the unpublicized command structure of Internal Security.

Lieutenant General Janet Myers looked at her protégé and judged him to be drunk. "Really, Mac? It's fourteen hundred hours." She had a twang that came from somewhere deeper in the American countryside than Lorca's did.

O'Malley wavered. He looked very much like he was going to fall over and Lorca tensed, expecting O'Malley to get a well-deserved dressing-down.

Contrary to expectation, Myers dropped all pretense of formality and asked with genuine concern, "Are you okay?" O'Malley managed about two seconds before he shook his head and began crying. Myers embraced him and O'Malley blubbered something unintelligible into her shoulder. "You and your monsters."

They remained like that for a good minute, Lorca standing off to the side like an afterthought. Myers finally patted O'Malley on the back and released him, turning her attention towards Lorca. "Well," she said with something approaching wry amusement. "How are we going to spin doctor this?"

"How about in a way that gets me back my ship," said Lorca, crossing his arms to mirror the cross expression on his face.

Myers smiled faintly as she shook her head. "He's ballsy, just like you said. Here's how this works. Tit for tat. If you're straight with me, I'll be straight with you. I can get you a command, but it's not gonna be what you think. As far as regular Starfleet goes, you are dead, and from what Johnny tells me, you need to stay dead or history is gonna come knocking and she is a harsher mistress than I."

There was a lot of information to parse in that. Lorca immediately gleaned that Myers was the origin of O'Malley's little fair trade shtick and that she had come prepared to offer him something that might be commensurate with what Starfleet had given Georgiou, albeit with some additional strings attached.

"I'm listening," said Lorca, deciding he liked Myers. She was quick on the draw.

"Black ops. You're a little old for a commando, but you're good with tactics. There are places the Federation wants to influence that we don't exactly have jurisdiction. Complete disavowal of your actions. New cover identity. No allowances made for contacting anyone from your old life. That won't be a problem, will it?"

Lorca started to smile. "What old life?"

O'Malley was stricken. Myers caught the look, frowned at her underling, and said, "You know the rules, Mac. No more pets."

"But—"

"I already let you have the one."

This was not the answer O'Malley wanted. He started crying again, partly because he knew his wife had abandoned him for dead months ago in this universe, partly because he was upset at the fact this was more upsetting to him right now than losing Mischkelovitz, and entirely because the alcohol had completely overtaken the IV fluids. "Then I quit! I'm done! I don't want to do this anymore."

Unphased, Myers flipped open her communicator. "Myers to Quelron. Ree, stop sniffing around the cargo bay and get in here already. Your husband is losing his shit."

The crying stopped. "Aeree?" But Myers had already closed her communicator.

"You can thank me later."

Thanks were not going to be the next thing to come out of O'Malley's mouth. His shoulders gave an involuntary jerk and he dashed to the bathroom to throw up. Lorca chuckled. This was kind of great. He tilted his head towards Myers and said, "Level with me. The reason you took Mac on, guilt? Pity?"

Myers squinted as they watched O'Malley's back through the open door. "Why would you say that?"

"The man's got no useful skills and he's a drunk, emotional wreck."

The twinkle in Myers' eye was entirely knowing. "Is that what you think? He's got the only skill that matters in our line of work. He can put himself in someone else's shoes and completely see things their way. He's taken the side of every criminal he's ever sat down with. Gives us everything we need. Without that, well, you'd be up shit creek without a paddle, wouldn't you, 'captain?'"

Lorca's lip twitched.

Myers smirked. "Course, I don't think he's coming back from this one. It was only a matter of time before he snapped and threw the baby out with the bathwater." She was remarkably frank as she essentially deconstructed O'Malley in discussion with a man she barely knew. (She knew more than Lorca realized. O'Malley was not the only person who reported to her about Lorca, and the other operative had already submitted an informative initial report.) "This is something else, though. You seem to have broken him fairly thoroughly."

"Admiral Cornwell took a few whacks first," said Lorca. His own drawl was growing more pronounced in response to Myers'. "She had him trying to serve two masters. That never ends well."

"Geez. That woman is too emotional. They both are. You know what happens when you put two people that emotional in a room together?" A beat. "If you're lucky, they run out of oxygen." She laughed quietly at her own joke.

Maybe Lorca would never have told Saru the truth, but he suddenly had the impression that if he had met Myers sooner, he would have told her because she was entirely, disarmingly appealing. He suspected this was a calculated gimmick on her part. Probably everyone felt this way when they met her. O'Malley was a fumbling, meandering mess in comparison; Myers was the master he was trying to emulate and not quite managing to.

"You're not Terran, are you? 'Cause you'd fit right in where I come from," said Lorca, meaning it as a vague disparagement.

"Thank you," said Myers, who found that idea about as disparaging as a bowl of home-cooked grits.

Lorca wondered who, where, and what Myers was in the Terran Empire and why he had never met or heard of her. Perhaps she was that rare individual whose Terran counterpart was not as formidable as this version of her. Perhaps she'd simply died before his time. Lifespans were a little shorter for Terrans on average.

They watched O'Malley move from the toilet to the sink and rinse out his mouth. Myers took a turn asking a question. "I've been wondering something myself. How'd you know that Mischkelovitz'd be the one to pull off your little plan?"

"I had one in my universe," said Lorca. The way Myers phrased it, Lorca guessed she did not know his version was the one currently on the ship.

"Only one? They're much better as a pair."

Lorca frowned thoughtfully as he recalled Emellia Mischkelovitz's desperate and likely doomed desire to unite with herself in another universe. "I think they'd agree with you, general."

O'Malley emerged from the bathroom looking slightly less worse for wear as the door chimed again. The alien who entered was grey-skinned, a full head taller than Lorca, slim and graceful, with red slits for eyes. The silken white gown she wore shifted as she moved, fabric seeming almost to float on the air. There was a statuesque beauty to her.

O'Malley was elated to see his wife, but before he could manifest this elation into some form of happy embrace, Aeree sniffed at the air and her eye slits widened almost into orbs. Her head swiveled towards Lorca. "Why do you smell like my husband!" When her mouth opened, it revealed sharklike rows of frilled teeth. The sense of ethereal beauty from five seconds earlier was completely lost.

News of the transfusion did little to quell Aeree's anger. "If you ever take my husband's blood again, I will drink every drop you contain. And you, if you ever give your blood without my permission..." This admonishment continued out into the hall. Lorca and Myers did not see the conclusion of it, which would have revealed to them both it was not a true admonishment at all.

"She's a real peach," said Lorca.

"Peach pit, more like. But she's useful. Formidable species, Misellians. I'd stay on her good side if I were you."

Lorca heard the implication in there and raised an eyebrow. "Now why would I have to do that, general?"

"Senior operative assigned to you requested my best, and Aeree is as good as they come."

"Your best person is married to O'Malley? Come on, now."

"It's an incestuous little department I run," admitted Myers, though the truth was a little more nuanced than her words belied.

Lorca snorted, enjoying the pun. "As for this senior operative... It's not a command if there's oversight. I don't need someone looking over my shoulder." As far as he was concerned, Cornwell and Terral's attempts to do just that had been part of the problem the first time around.

"Don't think of it as oversight. Think of it as backup. At least till you've learned the ropes."

"You can't call a spade an onion with me."

"And you can't have a command without some conditions. I'm not trying to put a fox in a dress here. It's a pretty reasonable request for you to work with someone we trust. So what's it gonna be?"

The engineers were already at work when Groves arrived in the lab, crating up every loose item and carting out furniture. Petrellovitz was nowhere in sight. "Who's in charge?" Groves demanded.

"I am," said a gracefully athletic woman with thin lips and faded blonde hair pulled into a bun. Her uniform identified her as a commander.

"Great. Commander..." Groves extended a hand.

"Billingsley," she supplied. She did not extend a hand in return. Instead, she glared at him with barely-restrained bitter disapproval. "Are you the one responsible for this mess?"

"No, but I am the one who's gonna help you clean it up," he grinned. She rolled her eyes at that. There was something in her glare that intrigued Groves. "I'm John, but you can call me Rove. My friends do."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are we friends?"

She was extremely defensive. Delightfully so. "No, but maybe I can take you to dinner and fix that?"

Billingsley scoffed at him and directed her underlings to fill the crates so they could begin the real work in the walls. Only once the piles of engineering detritus were gone did they begin to remove panels and the full scope of the task came into focus. The modifications requiring reversion were not restricted to Mischkelovitz's secret null time spore project. There were also the many cubbyholes she had specified in her schematics, the double-door security lock, the reinforced plating to prevent anyone from transporting into the lab and accidentally displacing Lalana, and Lalana's room itself. The engineering crew worked from the back of the lab to the front, meaning Lalana's area was the first part to go.

They did not finish the work the first day, nor did they seem to appreciate the man hanging around watching and waiting on them to finish. "Is there somewhere else you'd rather be?" asked Billingsley the following morning.

"And miss seeing your smiling face?" replied Groves. Billingsley growled and looked away, but every time she glanced over at Groves, she saw him smiling at her unreservedly.

When the engineers removed the section of wall behind Mischkelovitz's desk, her hidden sleeping alcove finally revealed itself. This was what Groves had been waiting for.

The clutter inside matched the former clutter of the lab at large. The difference was that the items in the secret room had no engineering use; they were everyday objects, a random collection of things that, at a glance, had no reason for being in there.

The largest of the collected objects was an old red guitar. Groves practically shoved the engineers out of the way to retrieve it. "She did have it!" he exclaimed, retreating with his prize. "I knew it."

"What the hell is this?" asked Billingsley, peering at the blankets and assembled objects lining the compartment.

"It's a pattern." Groves felt a momentary pang of despair. Each item represented someone of importance to Mischkelovitz. There was a set of nesting dolls belonging to Milosz's mother Agnieszka, an old leather suitcase belonging to O'Malley, a threadbare stuffed bear that had once been Milosz's, and a lock of Faiza's hair. This was Mischkelovitz's way of keeping the people she loved with her when they could not fit through the door to her hiding place. There was even a bowl Saru had eaten blueberries from and a glass tumbler O'Malley would have recognized as belonging to a set in Lorca's original quarters. "Box it up and make sure none of it gets damaged."

"I'm sorry, your rank is?" said Billingsley, glaring daggers.

"Grand Vizier," declared Groves, settling down in his chair on the other side of the room and tuning the guitar.

"You should know I have no sense of humor."

"Oh? Who told you that?"

Billingsley sniffed disdainfully and looked away. "Your friend Gabriel Lorca."

"I hate that guy!" exclaimed Groves, with such earnest emphasis it was clearly the truth. "He's wrong, by the way. I can tell you're laughing right now."

Billingsley looked at Groves again, her face seemingly impassive, her lips a thin line, but then the laughter wasn't on her lips. It was in her eyes. It had always been there, even back in 2247. Lorca had missed it entirely. Groves could see it just fine.

Groves strummed the guitar experimentally and continued tuning. Billingsley ignored him initially, but then he plucked a few notes of a tune, testing the sound, and began to play.

"Pale, pubescent beasts roam through the streets and coffee shops..."

"Do you mind? We're working," scowled Billingsley after the end of the first verse.

"Just a little accompaniment to pass the time," replied Groves, playing in an extra set of bars to keep the tune going uninterrupted. She would have interrupted during the intro if she really wanted him to stop. He resumed, "Young uniform minds in uniform lines..."

The first song ended. Groves began another. "Katherine kiss me, slippy little lips will split me, split me where your eye won't hit me..."

Billingsley pretended to ignore him. She seemed as cold and unflinching as ever to most of the people around her, but Groves could see the laugh, the smile, the pretend. When the work was finished, she sent the rest of the team away and remained behind. "Dinner," she said, spitting the word sharply at him. "One condition."

"Name it."

"Let's see your teeth."

That, Groves decided, was the most delightfully strange request imaginable and he couldn't wait to find out why she'd made it. He bared his teeth for inspection. They seemed to pass muster. Billingsley sniffed in approval and almost smiled.

"So what do I call you?" asked Groves. "Commander seems a little formal."

"Sarah," she said. They set a time and place and she left just as a lightly hungover O'Malley arrived to collect the box with Mischkelovitz's belongings.

"I'm gonna marry that woman," declared Groves, staring at the door with a delighted grin.

"Then she has my sympathy," said O'Malley, wondering how Groves could even think of such a thing while he was holding a box of everything they still had left of their sister.

The answer, of course, was that sometimes when you met someone for the first time, you just knew that you were willing to give them everything you had. Maybe because they were an alien from an unknown species asking for your help, or because they possessed a unique fearlessness even while hiding under a table, or there was a laugh hidden in their eyes only you could find, or simply because they happened to say your three favorite words. Regardless of the reason, it was the closest thing to fate there was.

At last Lalana turned up. She was so late coming he had begun to wonder if she was coming at all. "Apologies for not being here sooner, I have been very busy making arrangements."

"That's fine," said Lorca. He would have minded, but between Myers' proposal and the sobering particulars of his current situation, there had been plenty to occupy his thoughts.

He was presently sitting on the couch with his feet up, Larsson's book in hand. Groves had dropped it off as some sort of peace offering. At first, the run-on sentences had been kind of annoying, but Larsson's literary voice was moderately amusing and the Uanar-Barosic Wars were an unknown conflict in Lorca's universe, so the content in the book was all new to him. Lorca tilted the cover towards Lalana so she could see he was honoring her dead friend with his choice of reading material. "I've been keeping busy. Sorry about Larsson."

"No, you are not," said Lalana. She crossed over to Lorca in three and a half strides, stepping easily across his legs and flopping onto the couch beside him. "But that is all right. I am glad you found him in the end."

"His book anyway."

"That is the best part of him." She knew that better than anyone. "Discovery will be leaving soon, so it is also time for us to go."

"Us," said Lorca in clear judgment of the unilateral decision-making her words suggested.

"Yes. Unless you wish to live in this room for the rest of your life. I do know how much you love Discovery, so perhaps Saru would let you." She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, essentially biting back laughter.

"A gilded cage is still a cage." No amount of love for the ship was going to make confinement to a single room aboard it palatable. Besides, there were things on this ship Lorca was desperate to get away from. He'd come to that conclusion after a considerable amount of thought, abandoned as he had been by everyone for most of the past day.

Lalana's tail swept through the air in a whimsical circle. "Then let us fly out together."

Lorca clucked his tongue, which from him was an admonishment, not a laugh. "It's kind of you to offer, but I got some stuff brewing of my own."

"Oh? Do tell!"

He took a deep breath. "They offered me a command. Nothing fancy, few officers and a ship. Guess someone out there realized what an asset I've been for Starfleet, past nine months notwithstanding."

"But of course they do. Had we never left this universe, you would have eventually won them the war, provided Discovery remained under your command."

"Let's not relive that again," said Lorca with a grimace. The what ifs were a rabbit hole he needed to avoid for his own sanity.

"Apologies. What do you know of your new command?"

"It's an off-the-books operation, cloak and dagger. Head off into the reaches and do things the Federation wants done without anyone connecting it to them." Honestly, that was the worst part of it. Lorca knew this universe wasn't perfect, but the wide-eyed idealism here was something he admired, and this black ops business spat in the face of it.

Lalana saw a flicker of disdain. "You are not happy about this?"

"It's not very Starfleet, is it? And there's the fact it'll mean putting aside going after Georgiou, at least for now."

"Now that she is the hero of the war, I do not think you can kill Georgiou without being revealed."

"Doesn't mean I shouldn't try."

"That is exactly what it means, Gabriel."

This topic was another angry dead-end for them both. Lorca was dangerously close to snapping at Lalana even though they both knew she was neither the crux nor the cause of the problem, it was the ridiculous threat of somehow collapsing reality. That vanished holodisc was starting to make even Lorca think there was something to it. He'd been in the room the whole time and could not figure out where the disc had gone. Vanished from time was as good an explanation as any.

Lalana shifted to a different tangent. "Have you met your crew yet?"

"One of 'em, apparently, is Mac's wife. I met her. She's... hard to forget, I'll say that." (Cornwell had met Aeree once, too, and would have described her the same way.) "There's also some 'senior operative' who's supposed to oversee me. We'll see how long that lasts."

"I would expect it to last a long time. Assuming, that is, that you accept the offer. Otherwise I suppose I shall have to find something else for us to do."

He heard the plural again and began to smile. Since returning to this universe, there had been very few moments containing any sort of genuine humor. O'Malley vomiting was the closest he had come to laughing at anything. "Arrangements." He snorted and shook his head. "You..." He started laughing. "You little minx!"

Lalana's tongue clicked rapidly and her hands spun. "I am sorry, I could not resist! That was what Hayliel and I would call an effective joke."

Her security clearance, her intelligence work, her friends in high places and enduring loyalty to his face. He should have seen it coming. "How am I gonna get rid of you?"

The laughter was written on every cell of his face. Lalana saw the stars returned to his eyes. "Why, Gabriel Lorca, would you even try to?"

His laughter finally faded into a sigh. "If I’d met you in my universe, I would've killed you."

"Then it is good we met in mine."

Then another sigh, raspy and melancholy. "I don't know if I can do this. I don't fancy being some dusty footnote in history."

"Simply because you must remain hidden does not mean you cannot make a mark on history. You simply cannot make it as yourself."

"Then who am I supposed to make it as? Captain Nemo?" He did not need her to answer because the moment the name left his lips he realized the truth of it. That was exactly what he was supposed to do. That was what Nemo had done, too, in taking the name. "All right. I'm in."

Lalana watched the spreading satisfaction on his features and quietly spun her hands. He had seen a path he could run and she was ready to run it with him. "Excellent. The ship is still a few hours out. Are you enjoying Einar's book?"

"There are a lot of run-on sentences."

"Yes, that is how Einar wrote. Will you read it to me?"

"Sure." He found his place and began. "In the second quarter of the fall season three scouts of the Seventh Durallan Legion were engaged in locating a rumored source of tritanium in the Karser Sector when they came across sixteen Barosic cruisers hiding in the debris field of the Battle of Kallam-Horical who were in the process of refurbishing derelict Uanar ships with the intent to execute..."

Hearing the words spoken aloud, Lalana recalled the truth she had learned from the first Lorca. Words really did hold the power to keep the people you loved alive. Right now, they were both of them alive, Hayliel and Larsson, thanks to the survival of another universe's Lorca.

Lalana left Discovery first, but because she had to travel by shuttlecraft, she would arrive at the new ship after everyone else did. Lorca used the opportunity to review some personnel files Myers had sent, as well as a list of potential missions they might dive into at a moment's notice. Officially, Lalana had final say for all of it, but Lorca had a feeling she would go along with whatever he wanted up to and eventually including hunting down Georgiou when the time was right.

Aeree's skillset was a little terrifying. Essentially she was a bloodhound who could shoot a phaser but would rather slice things open. "I can taste fear on the air," she informed him. "As well as lust and sickness and kindness. Do you know what I taste on you?"

"Your husband's blood?" offered Lorca dryly. She hissed through her many teeth at him.

"Impotence!"

He tilted his head and fixed her with a look. "Yep. More sex, less consequences. Don't foist your lack of children on me. I made that choice for myself. You got anything else?"

They were going to get along horribly. Even bringing O'Malley into the room to try and mediate failed to produce any promising common ground. They would have a few more days to try because O'Malley was going to hitch a ride and make up for time he had missed with his wife, but Lorca was ready to write the whole thing off after ten minutes.

The only positive was that the occasion seemed to merit some social lubricant, so at least they were standing around with drinks. Then it turned out Aeree preferred to drink her alcohol through her husband, and since O'Malley had finally eaten a few square meals, he was not drunkenly falling over himself for Lorca's amusement.

It also turned out O'Malley had decided he was done with space for the foreseeable future. "It was Melly who loved starships. She hated staying still. Maybe I'll finally get that cat."

Lorca was a little disappointed as he stared at the smear of bourbon remaining in his glass. While he had no official use for O'Malley, unofficially, he was going to miss the comic relief. He sighed and asked Aeree, "But you like starships?"

"No," she said. "They're means to an end."

In the middle of this ill-fated search for commonality, Groves wandered in with news to share and no one else to share it with. "I asked her to marry me!" he announced, pouring himself a drink.

O'Malley was horrified. "That engineering woman? You've known her for twelve hours!"

"No, I've been dating her for twelve hours, I've known her for two days."

"Groves, get out of here," said Lorca, but not only did Groves not leave, he launched into an enthusiastic ramble on the finer points of his new love, "Rah." She sounded like a real piece of work, whoever she was. "And this woman agreed to marry you?"

"No, but I'll keep asking."

"John, that's ridiculous, you can't stay here. You're coming home with me." O'Malley had by this point realized the abandon with which Groves was throwing himself at some unknown woman was probably a coping method to deal with Mischkelovitz being gone. (Lorca had realized the same and reached that conclusion within four minutes rather than the twelve hours it had taken O'Malley.)

"I'm not going with you," said Groves, returning to his usual veneer of casual boredom. "I've got work to do here."

Lorca could see the rising panic on O'Malley's face and knew it had nothing to do with present circumstances and everything to do with the way Groves had responded to family deaths in the past. "Really? Starfleet's gonna keep you on?"

Something came over Groves. He straightened, looked at them all with determination, and said, "Someone needs to hold Cornwell and the rest accountable. I know I said I wasn't ethical, but she seriously considered destroying an entire planet. More than that, it was the Klingons' homeworld. What kind of person even considers that? Someone who shouldn't be in command in Starfleet, that's for sure."

O'Malley shifted his weight, glancing at Lorca. He knew Lorca had done something of similar evil on a much smaller scale aboard the Charon when he deployed Georgiou and Stamets' weaponized spores.

If O'Malley had been smarter, he would have seen the trouble Lorca saw in Groves' future. Anything Groves did regarding the hydro bomb on Qo'noS was going to potentially undermine the tentative new peace. Groves was about to poke one of the biggest bears in the galaxy.

Lorca put a hand on O'Malley's shoulder in some sort of reassurance and said, "Sounds like you finally have a purpose, Mr. Groves."

Groves scrunched up his face in distaste. "Took a while, but I guess I got there in the end. Sort of thanks to you? There's some cosmic irony in that the person who showed me what Starfleet was wasn't even Starfleet himself. Guess it's true what Mac says. You really do give everyone exactly what they need."

Lorca's eyebrows shot up and he tilted his head, looking down at O'Malley. "Suppose you had to choose between me and Anton..."

"Oh my god, I'm going to kill you," intoned O'Malley flatly.

Lorca laughed and yanked O'Malley's shoulder, half-staggering the smaller man a step, then slid an arm around O'Malley's neck. "There's no one I'd rather have do the deed."

O'Malley's face split into a smile and he chuckled happily, flushing red. "I hate you!" he laughed, shaking his head.

And with a glint in his eye, Lorca said, "Just as much."

Weirdly, this was the moment Aeree decided she liked Lorca.

The last person Lorca spoke to on Discovery was also the first person he had welcomed into its crew. The change between now and then was immense. Gone were the deference and trepidation that had marked their first meeting a year earlier. In their place stood a truly formidable commander. Lorca smiled with subtle pride. "Well, captain, guess this is goodbye."

Saru's head tilted in respectful disagreement. "I have not been promoted. I am merely acting captain until our new commanding officer is appointed."

"Captain Saru," insisted Lorca. "I'm leaving Discovery in your hands. Far as I'm concerned, there's no one better for the job."

Saru considered that. Just like Lorca before him, he was a captain with a secret. He could have resented Lorca for it. Instead he felt sympathy. The position of holding a secret was not an easy one. "Your confidence means a great deal to me."

There was a glimmer in Lorca's eyes. Not full tears, but enough to show how much those words meant to him and how much he was going to miss this ship and its crew. "Thank you for everything, Mr. Saru."

And for the last time Lorca would ever hear it, Saru replied, "You are welcome, Captain Lorca."

Part 101

[norsecoyote]

MCU Rewatch: Iron Man 3

Man, if it weren’t for the last two minutes, this movie would be just about perfect.

There are a number of overarching story arcs through the complete MCU, but one of the most central is the redemption of Tony Stark. He starts out, famously, as a narcissistic playboy, and by the time we get to Infinity War he’s finally acting like a legit altruistic superhero (probably leading up to some dramatic self-sacrifice in Part 2 so that RDJ can finally exit the role). By the end of Iron Man 2 he had overcome the self-destructive playboy element of his character and was genuinely thinking about the future and building a new world (note that his first appearance in Avengers has him repairing an underwater cable) but was still fundamentally self-focused (note the direct callout of the parallel between him and Loki right before the climax).

The Avengers, of course, ends with Stark making a more-or-less split-second decision to sacrifice himself to save New York, his first truly heroic act yet (since in the Iron Man movies he was purely reactive to threats for which he himself was indirectly responsible). Avengers itself ends on an oddly muted note, with the beautiful little shawarma scene [1], but in Iron Man 3 we learn that Stark is not merely muted, he is actively Not Okay, suffering from panic attacks and PTSD. This makes perfect sense, both in the context of a realistic response to trauma, and because that act of sacrifice runs completely counter to Stark’s self-image.

Because, as I mentioned in my writeup of Iron Man 2, this is a movie about finally breaking Stark out of his narcissism, and his choice in New York was nothing if not a narcissistic self-injury. His journey in 3 is to choose to actually, genuinely care about anybody other than himself, and it terrifies him. The more I reflect on the movie, the more I realize that this journey is an absolutely deliberate decision of the filmmakers, and the more I appreciate how well they handled it (except for that final two minutes, because what the FUCK, but we’ll get there).

The prologue, in 1999, shows us Stark once again creating his own villain in Aldrich Killian, but what’s notable this time is it’s not Stark’s carelessness that’s at fault (like his weapons being used to kill the “wrong” people) or his privilege (like with Vanko) but his own, very personal, total and callous lack of consideration for Killian’s existence as a human being. In an even subtler touch, it looks like he’s going to alienate his date, Hot Scientist Lady, by not remembering any details about her or their history, but then he gets super into her science and it’s all okay... except we later find out it isn’t, that she is also turned against him, and that it turns out that being an asshole is just being an asshole, and you don’t get a free pass if you happen to also be brilliant [2].

So we jump forward to the present, and Killian’s schemes put Stark’s friend and former bodyguard Happy into a coma, and NOW the righteous fury comes out! Now Stark is finally fighting on behalf of someone ELSE! Hooray! Narcissism = over. Except of course not, because Stark immediately makes what should be a protective instinct 100% about himself, because he hasn’t actually learned his lesson yet, and so his challenge to the Mandarin is all about “it’s you vs me” -- the injured friend is just fuel for his vengeance fantasy.

And so, because he clearly hasn’t learned shit yet, the film blows up his house.

The segment in Wherever The Fuck, Indiana Or Somewhere is the crux of the breaking-out-of-narcissism story because it forces Stark to engage with the question not of who he “thinks he is” but what he can actually do. This is why it’s so important that he finally shows up to take down the Mandarin wearing a cobbled-together approximation of a real Iron Man suit: it’s a physical emblem of him finally having stripped away his mental pretensions. 

(Ooh, ooh, and we should also talk about the significance of his most recent suit model being one that can break down into pieces that can fly independently and envelop others against their will, but that’s going to have to be a whole separate essay.)

(additional side bar: god damn Ben Kingsley is fucking wonderful in this. His delivery of “The Mandarin’s” monologues is genuinely chilling for all that the words are (purposefully) overwrought, and holy shit his coked-out Trevor is really funny even when you know it’s coming.)

The final piece comes when Stark purposefully, with forethought and consideration, puts himself back in harm’s way to rescue Pepper. Yeah, it sucks that the movie pulled a literal Damsel in Distress, and no it doesn’t redeem it that Pepper’s the one who finally actually kicks Killian’s ass, but it does give Stark a chance to revisit the trauma of New York and both reconcile with himself and deliberately choose to place another’s life above his own (plan or no plan, he definitely knew how dangerous it was, and again straight-up would have lost without the piperis ex machina, so I’m comfortable counting it as a legit self-sacrifice). 

So, hooray! At the end of the movie, Stark has had all his comfortable pretensions destroyed, has rediscovered who he really is underneath all the armor, and has made a genuine, two-way connection with another human being that he understands to be an equal. He even symbolically destroys all the remaining connections to his old self! That’s not a bad visual metaphor! 

Wait, what’s up with this epilogue? Why is Stark speaking directly to the audience?

Oh, cool, so immediately after coming to genuinely understand that Pepper is an independent person and not just a prop for his personal narrative, he instantly and magically takes away the AMAZING NEW SUPERPOWERS she got despite zero indication from her in the actual film that she wanted that (or that they still posed any danger to her). Then, he “finally” removes the shrapnel from his chest, which it’s never clearly explained why he can suddenly do that now, and although it does signify another clean break with his old self, we LITERALLY JUST HAD ONE OF THOSE THAT WAS ALSO A VISUALLY SPECTACULAR WAY TO END THE MOVIE.

It’s just, WHY? That final shot at the shipyard was great! Both the central story and Stark’s character growth were complete! The last two minutes or whatever are so bad and out of place that they nearly retroactively spoil the film -- it absolutely left me with such a bad taste in my mouth that it took a lot of active work to realize that the two hours preceding them were actually pretty damn solid.

Because, they are! After Iron Man 3, we finally have a Tony Stark who’s ready to be a genuine hero and/or leader, and while he now has a lot of growing to do in those dimensions, this film does a great job of putting a neat bow on his internal development... 

...right up until he literally turns to the camera and says, “If I can put a neat bow on all this, my armor was a cocoon.”

[1] fun fact I learned recently: the reason Captain America spends that entire scene with his face hidden in his hands is actually just that it was added late enough after primary shooting that Chris Evans had grown a full beard for his next role.

[2] In direct contrast to any number of other Tortured Genius Assholes in modern media

[genocidershodan]

Tagged by my good writing/space buddy @johnandrasjaqobis

List all the things you’re currently working on in as much or little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on: writing, art, gifsets, whatever.

Well. First off, I’ve stopped doing fanfics. At least for the time being. The last fanfic I wrote was a sweeping MLP epic story that I kinda stopped writing a few chapters in, even though I had grand plans. But my waning interest in both MLP and writing about other people’s characters, as well as the show having progressed to a point that my story was no longer canon (I started writing it in like the middle of season 3. i think.

Anyway, I just told you what I’m not working on, let’s talk about what I am…

Black Horizon This is my current project, and everything else is on the back burner. Black Horizon is the first book in what is projected to be a series of about 6 high fantasy novels.

The story for the first book follows Drade and Darius. Too child hood friends who were children growing up together in the northern frontier town of Durst Ridge. The setting in the story has an incredibly long and complicated history. But most recently, nearly 2 hundred years ago an apocalyptic war had almost wiped humanity clean from the world. However, now Toraan (the only country to survive the war), is entering a golden age of industry and technological advancement. People are saying that we’ve finally recovered from the war. The nation is undergoing a huge social change as a lot of the government institutions implemented for regrowth are becoming irrelevant.

In this world Drade and Darius come in, growing up they fantasized about being soldiers together, but their fates change when Elzor the Wind Walker, court spellbinder to the king, arrived in Durst Ridge to inform Drade that many years ago, he journeyed across Toraan, testing new born babies for a particular affinity for spellbinding. Drade had been one of those babies, and now the choice was laid to his feet to go back south with Elzor and become an apprentice spellbinder.

It’s a no brainer really, I don’t think anyone would say no. But the story follows Drade and Darius as they grow older, and learn, until eventually their fates intertwine again when a shadow of Toraan’s past threatens to swallow it whole.

Unnamed Science Fiction project. This is a fairly recent idea that, admittedly started off as a Star Trek spin off. As such, it is very inspired by Star Trek, including the concepts of unity and embracing multiculturalism, but most of all the optimism for a better life for all humans.

The story, set in the 23rd century. Is set after the construction of several ships equipped with brand new class 5 Alcubierre drives at Dire Dawa shipyards in Ethiopia. (Well, technically the parts were constructed there, then brought out to space and assembled). Journeys that could take over a month before can now take just under a week. And these brand new top of the line ships are built for long term space expeditions, that could sustain the crew for years without having to return for supplies. The media and the public are going crazy. Finally we’re out there, exploring the galaxy in all of it’s glory.

Nabihah Abu El Sayid, an experienced and cool headed captain in the USSEA. Has demonstrated in her career the ability to take command and control an emergency situation, being able to deal with complex moral issues, and has a strong background as a scientist. As such, she was selected by the board of the USSEA to take command of the USSS Āsisi, one of these brand new ships.

The story follows her and the crew of the Āsisi, as they explore space, come across anomalies, and perhaps maybe spearhead humanity’s first contact with an intelligent alien species.

I’ve been working on mostly the world building and the back story. So far I only have two characters. Captain Nabihah Abu El Sayid, a Muslim woman born in Gaza, Palestine with a background in science but some solid leadership experience. And Captain Alejandra Monero, born in Cali, Colombia. XO of the Marine detachment assigned to the  Āsisi for defence. While on the ship though, as per marine tradition, she’s referred to as “commander” instead of “captain”. She’s a devout marine and the corps is her life.

Overclocked “I think. When you kill someone. A part of you dies as well. And if you kill enough people, at some point there’s be nothing left of the living person you used to be.” 

This is actually a bit of an old idea, If you’ve watched Purepwnage, Overlocked could actually be set in the same universe. This was also planned originally as a TV series. Korn would feature heavily and thematically. With each season being represented by themes in a different Korn album. It’s a bit of a weird idea. and ok maybe I was going through a korn phase at the time I was coming up with this. The story was pretty dark. It dealt with trauma, PTSD, death, the effects of killing other human beings can have on your psyche, etcetera.

Basically, the story is about a group of characters. Veterans of the 8-bit war. When Sega fell at the end of the war. The remaining people either defected to Nintendo or were hunted down by the inquisition. A group of nintendo fanatics who made it their mission to eradicate every last remaining sega loyalist. Of which our main character, Kaiden is one.

He’s in hiding and as far as he knows, all of his squad either defected or are dead. He never really wanted to go to war. He was young and naive and followed his older brother on adventure, having been fond of the sega. His brother was the smart one. Got out before the war started making his head too funny. But Kaiden couldn’t leave. Not after what he’d seen, and to abandon his new family? Never. He resented his older brother, for bringing him along and for leaving. When the war ended, however hadn’t died or defected went into hiding. Refusing to denounce their loyalty to sega.

Growing up in war. There’s only one skill that he has left now. Killing. He works as a hit man for local mobsters. He gets paid exceptionally well for what he does for two reasons. One, he’ll do the jobs that other people won’t take. Two, he’s an exceptionally good gunslinger.

Indeed, the first episode revolves just pretty much about his mundane day to day life. And then at the end he goes for a job, and umm, kind of murders an entire family including two 6 year old girls. And then his actual target comes home, finds his family slaughtered, and Kaiden delivers him a message from his employer, and kills him.

This is our main character. And the main story kicks off when he’s contacted by some guy he used to know from the war named Dex. Telling him he’s got information about the high inquisitor (yeah, he’s involved in Kaiden’s back story a bit too). And to meet at a certain time and place. Kaiden goes there to find that it isn’t Dex waiting for him. But Gilligan. who was his best friend during the war before he defected, right before the end. The two argue, and almost come to shooting at each other. With Kaiden accusing Gilligan of turning his back on his comrades. And Gilligan accusing Kaiden and all their friends of being too stubborn and basically sacrificing their lives for a cause that didn’t matter any more. But before they start shooting, they realise that Dex must have set a trap for them to be in the same place at the same time. Just then a group of soldiers come in to try to take them down.

The plot goes on from there. And the overall story had like 5 seasons I think? I may probably go back and do this idea as a book. Everyone uses light guns to shoot, and the type of light gun people use is like, indicative of their character and things like that. A focal point of the show was fast and intense gunplay that didn’t wander out of the realms of realism too much. So something along the lines of John Wick. And of course loads of videogame references abound.

Haha, So that’s that. This went on for longer than I expected. And I didn’t proofread this post. So my apologies for any typos.

In return I’ll tag some of my other creative buddies. @thedevilishdouble, @mistbornhero, @zarina-the-nocturnal, @heyparadiamonds, @nellysketchesnstuff aaand @oceanblue971

If I didn’t tag you, and you see this post, and want to do it too. Please tag me in it so I can see the cool stuff you’re up to!

[janeykath318]

Closure 9

When Jamie’s presence was recognized at the shipyard around the Enterprise, a collective cheer went up from crew and workers alike, warming her heart and bringing a proud smile to her face. Emerging from the construction area, Scotty came hurrying towards her, round face beaming with delight.

“Captain! ‘Tis a pleasure to see you well again! I’ve got oodles of reports for you, if you care to look You’ll find that the Enterprise is on schedule with repairs, despite appearances.”

He waved a hand toward the ship, which still had quite a few large holes in its hull. She could see sparks flying as welders worked to join new sections of plating.

“She’s looking better already, Scotty. Refit’s going well, I take it?”

“Very well, Captain. I’ve implemented new safety measures around the core to prevent what happened from ever occurring again.” He looked at her rather pointedly.

“Good thinking, Scotty. I don’t wish that on anyone else, either.” Jamie said frankly.

“Which is why ye did it in the first place, right?”

“Right. But I have good news, Scotty. We’re officially assigned to the five year mission and I want your help picking the best engineers to work under you in my crew.”

Scotty’s smile covered his whole face and looked like he could have danced a jig in triumph.

“Oh my stars! That’s….that’s our dream come true!! Wait till I tell the wee man!! Keenser!!” He bellowed.

The Roylan grunted and shuffled over to his boss, looking up inquiringly.

“I’m going on the five-year mission, Keenser,” Jamie said to the sturdy green fellow. “Wanna come along?”

“Kirk. Always follow Kirk,” Keenser said, shaking her hand. It was settled. Keenser had an intense loyalty to George Kirk, who’d befriended and recruited him, and it clearly extended to Jamie Kirk.

“That’s fantastic,” Jamie grinned. “Now, for the grand tour. Time for some inspection.”

So she followed Scotty all over the ship wherever they could go, seeing and hearing progress reports on repairs and upgrades.

When they arrived in engineering, he was very reluctant to let her near the core.

“I know it’s turned off and everything, but I get cold chills just standing near the reactor door,” Scotty confessed, scuffing his foot on the floor sheepishly. “I keep seeing you, lying there dying and I can’t do anything to stop it.”

Jamie swallowed hard. She’d walked into hell on purpose and the consequences hadn’t been pretty, but they’d been worth it.

All she could remember, really, was a mess of jumbled thoughts, pain, sorrow, and Spock’s eyes staring sadly at her.

Then she’d slipped away and had that little moment in The Afterlife with Chris, but she’d never tell anyone but Bones about that. They’d probably try to tell her it was all a delusion and she knew it wasn’t because she still felt his words in her soul.

“Never forget I love you.” “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

She’d treasured those moments everyday since she’d been awake and they’d kept her going as she cleared out his half of the closet and dealt with the lawyers about the will and handled the questions from the Admiralty.

“Captain?” Scotty asked, interrupting her reverie.

“Oh, sorry, Scotty. I got lost in thought there. I actually can’t remember much of that, thankfully. Going near Daystrom has been the trigger for me instead. I’m glad it’s still inaccessible.”

Scotty’s eyes shone bright with sympathy.

“Aye, lassie, no wonder, with losing your husband there. That was terribly sad about the good Admiral, but if he were here, I think he’d be glad to see you back in the chair.”

“Thanks, Scotty,” Jamie said. “But I hope I’ll be a much better captain than I was. You all deserve it. Now, lead on to the new core.”

And amazingly, he did. It looked better than ever and was more powerful and Scotty bragged shamelessly about his baby. They geeked out together for nearly an hour, then Jamie went to the bridge to hang out. She made herself at home in her chair and watched the bustling activity with something near happiness.

“Figures I’d find you here,” said a gruff voice behind her. She spun around in her chair to see Bones looking at her.

“Where else would I be, Bones?” She asked her friend.

“Hopefully not tryin’ to help. I wouldn’t put it past you to turn grease monkey if Scotty asked.”

She giggled at his tone of disdain.

“Not just yet, unfortunately. I think you threatened him enough to keep him from letting me really do anything but look. I know how you work, Bones.”

“And I know how YOU work, Jamie. You’ll find any loophole to get out of restrictions.”

“Changing the parameters is my speciality,” she smirked. “And yours. Which is why I’m even alive.”

“I’d like to keep it that way,” he declared. Then in a softer tone, “I’ve missed getting to talk to you as friend, Jamie. You think we can find a crack in the schedule to hang out?”

“I can always find time for you, Bones,” she said softly. “You’ve been worked to death with all the casualties and it’s about time we relaxed. I’m also hoping you’ll be my CMO again when we go on the five year mission.”

“Of course Ill go, kid,” Bones said warmly. “Who else is going to keep you from using up your other eight lives?”

Jamie stared at him in disbelief. “You just compared me to a cat, Bones?”

“Course. You’re whiny as heck, stubborn as a mule, hate checkups, fight like a tiger and go through weird unsociable spells.”

At this apt description, Jamie roared with laughter in a way she hadn’t done since Chris died and it felt so good.

Bones himself looked astonished and then happy to see her crack up. He crossed his arms with a smug look and waited for it to subside.

“Oh, Bones,” she said fondly, when she’d caught her breath. “I’ve missed you. There’s no way I’ll make it without you to keep me human. You and Chris always knew just what to say when I’m feeling the weight of captaincy. I’m going to need you even more now that he’s gone.”

She got up from the chair and let Bones wrap her in a gentle hug.

“You’ll be amazing, Jamie,” he said a little gruff with emotion. “He knew that and I sure know it. I’ve never seen anyone turn a hardass Admiral into a lovestruck fool the way you did whenever you walked in the room. Of course, he’d have sent me to Delta Vega in a heartbeat if I said a word about it. Anyway, You better believe I won’t leave you willingly.”

Jamie giggled against him. Chris didn’t like the fact he had a soft side being known, but she’d loved that she could bring it out of him. Bones’s reassurance warmed her heart. He was so reliable.

The two of them parted with plans to meet for supper and Jamie returned home to read reports with extra energy.