#gonna take a break from comms to work on a concept for something :] //

[bubblebaath]

dragons dragons dragons for SarcasticHawke, kyruiz, Solcie,and XXVeil on flight rising

[terraliensvent]

guys i think civ isnt satan (edit: they lied)

EDIT: please see this post, civ played everyone like a fiddle and blatantly lied about having nothing to do with the pet species deletion. keeping this og post up to show how dedicated they were to painting their narrative

so, a few screenshots relating to their bulletin were given to me (you can see my initial thoughts here)

now as with all breaking news there are revisions to be made with new info

(all screens can be found in this imgur gallery, may be out of order because imgur is dummy stupid)

so it turns out, civ and coy actually werent contacted prior to the decision. i do agree this could have been handled differently and there should have been more of a discussion around it, HOWEVER im more inclined to the side of current terra staff. for one, they came to the decision of one adopt every two months for each staff member as compensation for their work on the team. their reasoning for cutting down coy and civ's amounts is to be fair to everyone especially considering coy and civ arent actively working on the species anymore. i dont necessarily agree with the decision to cut customs though, since people have to actively seek them out for that and its more akin to a comm service. i also want to note that i can understand why terra staff wouldnt want to negotiate about the number of adopts with civ and coy, considering that this is how it went last time

you can see in the imgur screens the original terms, notably that civ and coy collectively were allowed to make 12 adopts a month. i can see how it would be seen as unfair to not be able to be compensated as much as the people who left the place to die.

throughout the screens it seems civ is being a lot more reasonable, i think more discussion should have been had with them and after introspecting, it probably wasnt right for them to be banned, however, i dont see why they couldnt just be unbanned. i think that theyre getting lumped in with coy severely here and truthfully that isnt fair to them. i dont know how i would go about the downgrade from 6 to 2, but what i do know is they were being pretty polite about it

coy on the other hand...

throughout the screens they just seem to keep throwing salt into the wound, working through loopholes and being petty just for the sake of it. their behavior i would argue is still deplorable, and their unwillingness to work constructively is probably the reason why they and civ werent included in the discussion. ive gone over coy a million times before, these screens just keep hammering the point home

besides that, there are a couple other things to note:

Tycho's lack of presence

Tycho (furthermore referred to as cal) diverting the discussion to others is something that has happened before, and can be a point of criticism against him, but honestly my personal opinion is that shit happens sometimes. cal has very valid reasons to want to pull away from the discussion, especially with the myo compensation event he seems to be giving his best despite the situation. i am willing to give cal a lot of leeway when it comes to being stressed because we have seen the work that he and his team are putting in. i mean ffs we already have new pet species concepts not even a day after the old ones were removed. hes got a lot on his plate, and coys un-reasonability and demanding things be done NOW would drive anyone crazy even if they werent already dealing with species AND irl responsibilities. you could argue that cal shouldnt be in a place of ownership if he cant take the heat which is a valid criticism, however i think that hes a fine owner, good even, its just that these situations keep popping up one after another and he just cant keep up. these arent things that normal species owners deal with

"disgusting"

so regarding these screens (because i know some civ/coy whiteknights are gonna try and use it to excuse all their actions)

listen, was it the most professional way to respond? no. but also: (assuming it was cal who said these) i would argue this is a totally valid argument. granted, probably not to be directed at civ, but still valid. if i was dealing with the same continued problems from people who arent supposed to even be a part of the project anymore, i would have blown my lid way worse. this comment isnt even that egregious to me, its just that civ and coy have created such an echo chamber that any criticism is seen as sacrilege, and given cal's previously mentioned stressors its completely understandable for him to react harshly when they have to deal with coy drilling up his ass and being petty for no reason

civ's final words

the screens speak for themselves here. i do think there are some things to be criticized relating to civs bulletin (particularly comments painting them as this poor sad puppy dog tossed in the rain) but ultimately they are not as much of a villain in this as coy is. best course of action honestly is to just leave them alone, they were pretty professional in the screens and just seem to want to be done with it

final verdict? coy is an ass. civ kind of isnt. it could have been done differently but i really understand why it wasnt. cal needs a break. new mods are still doing good in my eyes.

and terravent fans eat good tonight

[run-aled]

RED VALLEY: WHILE YOU WERE HYPERSLEEPING 2

(transcript)

GORDON PORLOCK, AT HIS DESK IN THE RECORDS ROOM. IT IS LATE, HE IS ANXIOUS. BUT QUIET, BUT TONED DOWN. HE IS TRYING TO REMAIN CALM.

GORDON: Gordon Porlock, personal log. So, it turns out I'm not alone. Aubrey Wood is outside. Hiding in a camper van. We spoke a couple of hours ago over the comm Warren left her.

GORDON: I have no idea if I can trust this person. I've listened to the recording Warren gave me over and over but...I don't know. I can't think of any reason you'd go through what she's now going through unless you were sincere about trying to put something right. But then, my only friend is an amnesiac criminal whose fake wife threatened to cut my skull open with a bone saw the other week. There's a chance I'm not a great judge of character.

GORDON: We didn't talk very long. We weren't sure what to say to each other. Weird thing is that we haveactually spoken before. A lot. Online, a few years ago when I first heard the rumours about Red Valley. It was Aubrey. She was the source who first started getting me information. I think she thought telling me that would break the ice...If anything it made it more awkward to talk over the comm. I sound much cooler when you can't hear my voice.

GORDON: Aubrey told me a lot of wild stuff about Overhead back then. It's what got me hooked on Red Valley, on cryonics, in the first place. The utter madness of it all. The man who started it all was one of the founders of the company in the 70s, Malcolm Landry. He was the first head of R&D. To begin with it was all above board, boring cryogenics work on plants and amphibians. Aubrey's convinced he's behind everything that happens after that, but his name is nowhere near any of it. He's still at the company now though, on the board of directors.

PAUSE.

GORDON: It didn't take many years for Overhead's work to get grisly. Testing extreme temperature endurance on the homeless in the 80s. Igniting a vat of hydrogen sulphide that blew up an entire cohort of test subjects in North Wales in the 90s. And then…this place. So, I thought, I've finally got the whole archive here. Going through all this is what Bryony asked me to do anyway. And if I can corroborate what Aubrey told me with what's in here, then maybe that's a step closer to trusting her. I mean...I assume half of it isn't true.

CUT. TIME HAS PASSED. GORDON DUMPS A BUNCH OF DOCUMENTS DOWN ON THE TABLE HARD.

GORDON: Nope. It's all true. All of it. Here's a cutting of Malcolm Landry in 1972 barking on about suspended animation and how we're doomed to repeat our mistakes unless we 'harness the wisdom from past generations'. Here's a note from the lead scientist of those experiments on the homeless. Oh, good God. 'The vagabonds are a surprisingly cheerful bunch, which has made the liquid nitrogen immersion far less tedious than one might have anticipated.' Fuck.

A QUICK GULP OF TEA AS HE RIFLES THROUGH MORE DOCUMENTS,

GORDON: Photos of the burned down research station in Wales. The guy in charge of that one was so desperate to protect his work, he shot five members of the local volunteer fire service with a hunting rifle as they tried to put out the blaze and then injected himself with his own infusion.

HE TOSSES THE PHOTOS BACK DOWN.

GORDON: Here's my take on why cryonic preservation has been such a total bust (until Warren, obviously). It's not because the concept is ridiculous. Fringe science begets fringe scientists. Narcissists, control freaks, God complexes. Those are your entry level traits. It's not a long walk to get to sociopathy, psychopathy, and well, straight up Dark Lord of the Sith. In the end, it doesn't matter how gifted they are or what results they get. Maniacs gonna maniac.

PAUSE AS GORDON SEES SOMETHING IN THE PHOTOS. HE SCATTERS OTHER PAPERS OUT OF THE WAY AS HE SCRUTINIZES SOMETHING.

GORDON: Wait. Is that - no fucking way-

CUT TO: GORDON PACING THE SPACE, SERIOUS, TRYING TO REMAIN CALM.

GORDON: Here's a fun wrinkle. So, the brazen shithead running the homeless experiments disappears from the story once the project yields no decent data. Until you look at the photos of the victims in the Wales station fire 10 years later. He is one of the bloody test subjects. They turned the lead scientist on one project into a Guinea pig in the next.

HE STOPS. GOES BACK TO THE DESK, LEAFS THROUGH MORE PAPERS ANXIOUSLY.

GORDON: Which begs the question, what happened to the guy with the hunting rifle? Wait, what was his name? Umm... Hansmann. Alexander Hansmann. Where did I see that -

CUT AS GORDON MARCHES BACK TO THE ARCHIVE. CUT TO GORDON BACK AT HIS DESK, NOW STILL AND REFLECTIVE AFTER HIS EVENING OF NERVOUS ENERGY.

GORDON: So… here is where the past arrives unpleasantly at the present. At my present. To Red Valley being active as the new home of cryonic research. Before any Teddy Bears, before Warren Godby. Some dissection and analysis carried out on a selection of frozen internal organs. All clearly labelled. See… I thought Hansmann was the name of the physician who harvested them. No, he's the bloody subject. Their analysis was the first duty of the newly appointed cryonics lead. Doctor Bryony Halbech.

HE TAKES A BEAT.

GORDON: It's hard not to look back at Malcolm Landry's words about being doomed to repeat yourself and think, yeah, no shit. You hire lunatics, expect lunacy. I guess recycling your lead scientists is economical. Creates a tidy little closed loop. Once you've started cannibalising your own staff though, where does that leave you? Where next can you turn?

PAUSE. GORDON THINKS.

GORDON: Bryony knows everything I learned here tonight. She knows how Overhead treat their own people. Does she even need it archived, or did she just want to show me? To show me who she is. Show me what she can do.

ANOTHER PAUSE. GORDON SNAPS OUT OF HIS REVERIE AND STARTS SCOOPING UP DOCUMENTS AND PUTTING THEM BACK IN A BOX.

GORDON: Aubrey's stories match up at least. And if all of this is anything to go by, she might be the only person involved in this research that's ever managed to escape it. And she's come back. She's come back to stop it. I guess...I guess that's not nothing.

HE SEALS A LID ON THE BOX.

GORDON: Warren, I hope they wake you up soon. We need to talk.

END.

[whatanoof]

hello there mesh'la, i'm a major cal kestis simp and i absolutely adore your work! i don't know if you normally do requests but if you do, i had an idea! can you do one where cal and his girlfriend spend the night making love very loudly, and then the morning after the crew of the mantis teases them about it - and they point out that the both of them are covered in hickeys? xd

Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: references to sex, swearing, rather cruel banter until you consider that they're family and it's all good natured teasing?

A/N: Anon this would totally happen, I'm not going to lie to you. Cal would get so lost in the sauce that he wouldn't think too hard about holding back in any way. The found family dynamics are high in this one guys, not gonna lie, but the prompt is so freaking funny in concept that I couldn't resist? Also, I've totally moved into just finding Cameron Monaghan gifs that really fit the vibes, because Cal Kestis gifs tend to be super serious

Greez snaps awake, scared and disoriented. What had woken him? There’s a rhythmic squeaking coming from the wall, and heavy breathing echoing around the tinny walls of the Mantis.

“Fuck, please!” Someone groans, long and drawn out and breathless and loud.

Oh. He rolls his eyes, grabs his pillow, and smushes it as tightly as he can around his head. It does the job decently well, he supposes as he drifts back to a fitful sleep.

---

Merrin was already awake when the noises began to filter through the walls of her quarters. Dathomirian Nightsister texts are scattered haphazardly through her quarters, half of them skimmed through tonight and another two floating before her.

“You feel so good, baby.” A strangled moan follows the words, someone keening rather high, enough to rival that of a shrieking bird that she had heard back home. “Fuck, can I move?”

It takes a few seconds for the words to pull her attention from the texts, but when she notices, all she does is huff a heavy sigh. Green magic spins around her before expanding to press to the inside of her room.

She listens carefully for a few moments, but no sound gets past the magic barrier. She curls up under the covers and continues to read. At least someone is having fun tonight.

---

Cere is on night shift in the cockpit. No physical sound reaches her, but her connection to the Force twinges. She lowers the noise of the comm chatter and magnifies the Force sensation, identifying increased pleasure and thought projection coming from the aft quarters of the Mantis. Not again.

She sighs and pushes the Force as far as possible from her mind. Turning up the comm chatter again, she continues to monitor the surroundings.

A high pitched groan pierces through the stillness, echoing from inside the air system and managing to be heard by Cere even through her headphones. Her temper flares, but she inhales sharply and calms herself. There’s nothing to be done about it tonight. There will absolutely be words in the morning.

---

“Good morning!” Cal all but skips into the kitchen towards the caf machine. “How close are we to Bogano?”

He is greeted with less than an equal amount of cheer. Greez sends a highly unimpressed look his way over a cup of caf. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

Merrin snorts, “I bet I could tell you why.”

Cal blinks at them, looking like a swampling caught in headlights. “What?”

Cere appears behind him and claps a hand on his shoulder, “I believe that they’re referring to last night’s activities. Very loud activities.”

Cal says nothing, but the expression on his face can only be interpreted as, ‘oh shit.’

You really couldn’t have timed it better if you tried, because you chose that exact moment to appear from the back hallway, blinking sleepily with mussed hair and a truly impressive array of blue and purple dotting along the skin exposed by the neckline of your pajama shirt. All eyes land on you the second your foot hits the threshold, and you freeze at the sudden attention.

“What’s wrong?”

Merrin breaks the tension, “You got a little something there.” She gestures to her own neck, and your hand flies to yours to mimic hers, trying to peer down and see what she is pointing at.

“And there. And there.” Greez pipes up, and you rub your skin a little more frantically. “And there. Oh, you missed the one there.”

Cere shoots them a look. “Behave, you two.”

Cal moves to your side, leaning to whisper in your ear, “Sorry, I should’ve warned you this morning when I got up, but you were still asleep and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Warned me about what?” You’re going to blame your sleep-addled brain because you are not getting anyone’s meaning at all.

“I--uh--I marked you up a lot last night.”

Your jaw drops when you finally understand. “Cal Kestis!” You hiss furiously, glaring at him while you try in vain to pull the collar of your shirt up to hide your skin better.

“Leave it. Everyone’s already seen it anyway.” Merrin calls from her corner of the table, an amused grin spreading across her features.

“Everyone heard it too last night.” Greez chortles, hands slapping his side in mirth. “You are a loud one,” he said, referring to you.

Now it’s the second time you’re confused this morning. “What are you talking about?”

“You were moaning very loudly last night. Impressively high-pitched too, maybe you should consider joining a choir.” The Latero laughs at his own joke rather explosively, but your brow only creases further.

“I wasn’t making noises last night. Cal gagged me.”

A shocked silence spreads over the group as everyone turns their attention from you to the redheaded Jedi trying to edge back to the hallway leading to the quarters. He stops when he notices that he’s been caught, raising his hands in the air with a guilty smile on his face, “Sorry about that?”

Greez cackles, hands slamming onto the table and nearly upsetting his cup of caf. “That was you?!”

Merrin’s laughing too, “I thought those sounds weren’t within the range of a normal human male. Congratulations on your excelling vocal chords.”

Cere’s chuckling too, “Maybe she shouldn’t be the one wearing the gag.”

Cal’s flushed bright red, and he turns and sits at the table with a defeated air. “Okay, eveyrone just get it out right now and we can move on.”

“Oh no, we are never going to move on. You sounded like that Shyyyo bird on Kashyyyk, pretty boy!”

You sit beside Cal with a modest smile, squeezing his hand. “I suppose we deserve it for ruining their sleep.”

“You’re damn right you do!”

“And now that you know, it better not happen again,” Cere interjects with a stern gaze on the both of you, causing you to shrink under the severity. “We have to get sleep if we’re to keep running missions of such a dangerous nature.” You both nod sheepishly. “But--” You look up at her slightly amused tone, “Cal you really should consider joining a nature group. I’m sure you could imitate most of the bird calls in the higher range. It’s truly a lost talent.”

Cal groans as he thunks his forehead down on the table, and you pat his hand reassuringly. If Cere has jumped on the train of ridiculing, then the subject truly will not get dropped for sometime. It may be time to consider getting Cal a gag as well if you’re going to continue.

Cal Kestis Taglist:@marvelassassin221b, @my-awakened-ghost, @katethecrazy, @gabile18

[lifblogs]

Whumpay 2021: Day 27 - Accident

Missing All the Fun

read on ao3 1636 words graphic depictions of violence, star wars, the clone wars, prequels, obi-wan kenobi, anakin skywalker, hurt!obi-wan kenobi, fighter accident

Blast, this is why I hate flying.

Obi-Wan considered himself an excellent pilot (though he would never say so), but he still hated anything to do with flying. He wasn’t sure which he hated more, Anakin flying, or himself having to go into battle in his fighter.

Right now it was definitely the latter because if Anakin had been flying, perhaps his ridiculously fancy moves could have prevented all this. And by all this, well… First Obi-Wan had been fighting against the Separatist fleet, no problem, and then his ship had been shot at by vulture droids. Maneuvering away from those had caused him to crash into another fighter. His engines had died, but with nothing stopping his ship it just kept on moving. Now it’d been pulled into the planet’s orbit.

He didn’t fancy landing down there. All he saw as the ship was dragged in were mountains of ice and snow dotted with vast forests of deep green conifers.

Then, as if things weren’t bad enough, before he was within the atmosphere, the controls short-circuited, then overheated, and there was a fire in his cockpit. Problem with that was that the pressure was increasing. Increase enough, and… boom!

Not very pleasant, Obi-Wan decided.

The oxygen was decreasing too, the fire feeding off of it.

“Arfour, can’t you do anything about this?” Obi-Wan asked, voice pitched high with panic.

The droid beeped a non-committal answer at him even as she got to work.

In a few moments the computer was back online, except there was still the issue of the fire.

Arfour screeched and whirred at Obi-Wan as the ship plummeted into the atmosphere.

“No, no use,” he said, trying desperately to pull up. All that did was have the ship tilt wildly and then start barrel-rolling. Oh great. “Left engine’s still dead!” Arfour snapped at him. “Well, can you at least lower the pressure?” Obi-Wan asked, trying hard to not panic as the air became too hot, and his ears popped, and sweat was immediately soaked up from his body into the hot, dry air.

He tried to get control of the ship, feeling about it with the Force for some way to fix this predicament.

“Master, what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time?” Anakin asked.

Finally, someone who would know what to do.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” Obi-Wan argued.

Arfour sent him a message over the screen, and despite all the spinning and careening, he was able to take it in.

He tried to kill the engines, and thankfully air resistance and turbulence began to slow him down.

But still, there was Arfour’s plan.

“Are you serious?” he cried at her. “An explosion? Anakin, Arfour’s going to set off a controlled explosion on the ship.”

“With your pressure out of control that’s actually a great idea.”

Obi-Wan would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t being thrashed about the cockpit.

“Of course he agrees with the droid,” he muttered.

“Arfour,” Anakin commanded, “hurry.”

“What?”

“Only way to depressurize the cockpit. Either that or I break the glass and you get sucked out and mercilessly crushed.”

“No, no thanks. I think I’ll stick with… with blowing up.”

Everything was beginning to grow blurry, the heat pressing in on him, smoke filling his lungs. He couldn’t even cough, had to just sit there and suffer from the forces around him that were out of his control.

The heat in the cockpit was rerouted to the back of the fighter, and a burst of explosion had the pressure returning to normal. Cold air filtered in, beginning to clear the smoke. Obi-Wan was relieved at being able to breathe properly again.

The explosion rocketed the ship forward and down, and Anakin began to join him in the insane dive.

“If I can attach my cables—”

“No use,” Obi-Wan said after a cough, gasping. “Your ship will just get caught up in this whole mess.”

Still, Anakin tried to attach the cable.

The cable attached just fine, but now his engines had to work doubly hard to try and slow the momentum of Obi-Wan’s fighter.

It pulled Anakin’s own fighter along, and to Obi-Wan’s surprise, he heard his former Padawan laughing. Laughing!

“Don’t tell me you’re enjoying this.”

“And you’re not?”

“I hate flying.”

“Don’t worry, Master. I got you.”

More cables were attached, and at the right angles to minimize the amount Anakin’s engines would have to work.

Obi-Wan’s ship slowed, but they couldn’t get it to stop.

It hit the trees, Anakin’s fighter detaching just beforehand, and then it collided with the icy, rocky ground.

~~~

The cockpit was being forced open when Obi-Wan came to. It was something he could feel more than he could see. Blood was dripping into his eyes, and his head absolutely ached. His whole body ached, his spine feeling as if it had been ripped from his body and then put back piece by piece in the wrong order. His tailbone and hips and even his pelvis were alight with pain, like it was some substance he’d been injected with.

Bitingly cold air met him, and then strong hands grabbed him. Groaning, he was dragged from the cockpit.

An arm wiped over his face, and he blinked open his eyes. Oh, fantastic. The world was spinning.

He tried to fight it, but it was too much. Anakin’s worried face amongst a cold, clear day swam in his vision. He closed his eyes, moaning in distress.

“Don’t worry, I called down a gunship. Kix and some of the other guys are on their way. Are you alright?”

“It’s bloody cold!” Obi-Wan complained.

Anakin must’ve shed his robe because then Obi-Wan was being lifted up, and it was being placed between him and the snow. The upper part of his body was dragged into Anakin’s lap.

A droid nudged at his arm, an arm he wished he could pull back from the stingingly frigid metal.

“Arfour…” he got out.

“Yes, she’s fine. Hey, Artoo, leave it! We’ll have to take his fighter back to a cruiser and get it fixed up there. There’s nothing you can do.”

“How… How bad is it?” Obi-Wan asked.

“You or the ship?”

Obi-Wan tried to laugh, but that jarred him too much, and he curled into Anakin, groaning in pain.

“Both.”

“Ship’s worse than you, so that’s good.”

“Well I can’t imagine what condition it’s in if I feel like this.”

“I did a scan before I got you out. Nothing’s broken.”

“Joy.”

Obi-Wan began to shiver in the cold. Anakin was as well, but he didn’t complain. Years ago he would’ve. Years ago he was a boy whose only concept was dastardly dry heat that felt like it could suck out one’s very will to live. Now here he was in the cold, probably turning blue like Obi-Wan, yet all he did was hold him, remain sturdy for him.

Guilt struck him at that, when his bleary and addled brain could make sense of it. He was the master wasn’t he? He was supposed to take care of Anakin. Not the other way around.

Yet there he was, holding him, doing what he could to shield him from the wind.

“We’re in the atmosphere, approaching your location now,” Obi-Wan heard through the comms, but didn’t really make sense of it.

His legs were beginning to have sharp pains shooting down them. There wasn’t much that could be done for now. He just hoped beyond hope that sometime soon someone would put a large, cushy pillow under his hips.

Anakin temporarily removed his arm from Obi-Wan and said into the comms, “Good, you’re missing all the fun.”

The wind picked up as the gunship came in. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, not able to take not fully knowing what was going on. Anakin swam in his vision. Besides that, his vision was beginning to work fine. But the information his brain was getting began to make less and less sense.

Anakin spoke, his voice seeming to be traveling through a vast tunnel, “Don’t worry, Obi-Wan. You’re gonna be alright.”

Obi-Wan reached up for him with a trembling arm, tried to nod, and then he lost all sense.

~~~

“Here!” Anakin called through the flurry of snow, waving his arm to get the attention of Kix and the men. They rushed over, and Anakin reluctantly relinquished his master to their care.

“Can your fighter get off-world?” Boil asked.

“I’ll be fine. Just get him stable and make sure he gets back to his cruiser in one piece. I’ll be along shortly. And get Arfour on board!”

“Right away, sir.”

Fives was shouting orders, and getting to work, even as the stretcher took Obi-Wan away.

Boil stayed behind to place a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, and just from that simple touch, he felt some of the tension coiled tight in him bleed out of him. “Don’t worry, sir. He’ll be okay. You did good.”

Anakin nodded, and grasped his arm. “You did too. Okay, get him home.”

With a nod, Boil was off, jogging to join the rest of the men.

“Force, it’s karking cold,” Anakin complained, body shuddering painfully as he climbed to his feet. “Artoo, come on. We still have a fight to win.”

Artoo beeped in excitement, and Anakin laughed.

Before he got into his fighter, he spared one last glance for Obi-Wan. The gunship doors slid closed.

Right. Now time to focus.

Anakin fired up the thrusters and the engines and took off. Through the comms he said, “Blue squadron, I’m coming back to you.”

“Good, we saved some blaster fire for you,” Broadside answered.

With a fierce grin, Anakin responded, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His fighter left the atmosphere, and then orbit. Back into the fray.

[amphtaminedreams]

Spring/Summer & Haute Couture Week 2021: Whoops, I’ve Missed a Loooot (Part 2)

Hey to anyone reading,

I’m so sorry for the gap between the last fashion week review post and this one! Argh. I had no idea I posted it as long ago as the beginning of March but I think we can all agree that lockdown has fucked with our perceptions of time completely. I wish I could say the delay in posting was as simple as me being busy but I’ve also started to reflect on whether or not I want to carry on this format of posts for the time being; on the scale of problems, this one is wayyy down there in the very lower quartile of the first world region, but my motivation to carry on this kind of content in the form of long-winded text posts is...meh...not so much there anymore. At first I was thinking the issue was that working on these was my last priority on my daily to-do lists but as I’ve got back into writing fiction, it’s kind of occurred to me that the fact I was putting these posts on my to-do lists in the first place along with things like doing the ironing and contacting student finance speaks volumes. When I’m back from work or winding down, opening up Tumblr and coming back to this draft isn’t something that I think of as a fun stress reliever in the way drafting stories is. It doesn’t feel like I’m using my imagination or my creativity or expressing myself in any way and it’s not much of an escape from day to day life in the way that writing dialogue or exploring characters is. Maybe it’s because I’ve done quite a few of these posts now but I just tend to feel like I’m repeating myself, you know kinda like when you’re writing an essay and trying to fill up a word count; of course there are collections that I do have a lot of opinions on but by and large, sometimes it boils down to THESE CLOTHES ARE JUST FUCKING PRETTY, OKAY?! There’s only so many things you can say about a tulle skirt or an exaggerated collar before you want to strangle yourself with said tulle. I used to think iF VoGUe RuNwaY wRitErs CaN dO iT WhAT's MY exCusE until I realised that 1). Vogue Runway writers actually get paid and 2). for the most part all they do is explain the designer's intentions behind the collections verbatim without giving a critical opinion anyway.

I think a lot of the pressure I feel to justify what are in reality quite simple observations and opinions goes back to some of the feelings I explained in my first ever fashion week review where people who know more about fashion and have a formal education in the subject tend to be kind of gatekeep-y and elitist. It can never be that you appreciate different things about a collection but rather than one of you has taste and the other doesn’t and if it wasn’t obvious, the taste level assigned to you by the powers that be tend to positively correlate with the amount of money you have available to spend on a degree that has a reputation for failing to provide a steady income, which for most makes it an unrealistic avenue to pursue. I know, I know, the pressure is totally self-inflicted and wholly imagined seeing as I have under 500 followers on here and those who do interact with these posts most likely do so for the pictures but I still feel it, and given that I’m going to have enough external pressure to write essays when I return to uni in September, why on earth am I wasting time putting it on myself? When just posting photosets of my favourite looks is not only actually enjoyable for me but is also what other people WANT to see too? Nobody wants to read a self-indulgent paragraph like this when they’re here for the clothes and to be honest, for the most part I don’t want to write them anyway unless it’s something I have strong feelings about or if a collection can only be properly appreciated with analysis. I think I’ve made pretty clear which designers I’m a fan of, do you really need to hear me raving about Gucci or Zimmerman or Miu Miu or Balenciaga again? Is there gonna be anything revolutionary in yet another rant about Maria Grazia? Course not. I mean, if you are reading, you might have to witness those things one last time because I do intend to finish off this season’s review in this format for consistency purposes and because I’ve already got all the notes now but on the whole, I doubt anyone will miss my rambles.

So, with all that in mind, I think after I finish my S/S21 posts I am gonna start just uploading these posts without the written part. I mean, for one, the simplicity of doing this means I’m much less likely to procrastinate making them which in turn means I’ll be able to get them out right after the shows as a kind of summary as opposed to months later when they’re no longer as relevant. This will also give me more time to work on the writing I actually enjoy. Right now I’m going through and editing my 17 year old self’s “grown-up” take on the Pretty Little Liars blackmail murder mystery style plot line which I wrote back when I was completely and utterly obsessed with the show and bitterly disappointed by the last couple of seasons. The writing is pretty mediocre and often hugely cringey to read back now but I am still a fan of the basic plot and I’m genuinely motivated to see if I can make it something actually worth reading, and to get onto that ASAP; this feels especially important right now given that the HBO version of the series’ apparent upcoming release has sent that ever-present writer’s fear of seeing-your-same-storyline-done-better-by-somebody-else-thus-forever-relegating-your-version-to-being-the-poor-imitation-so-you-gotta-get-there-first into overdrive (or maybe that’s just me and my neuroses). Again, it’s a totally unfounded fear based on the fact that the HBO show will probs get millions of viewers whilst I will be doing little more than shouting into the void but anybody who’s used Turnitin to submit an essay that ultimately counts for little more than like 1% of your grade or degree will know that no matter how irrelevant your work is, the concept of failing a plagiarism check, be it via a computer algorithm or one random stranger on the internet’s assessment, is enough to conjure visions of the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse galloping towards you screaming “START THE WHOLE THING AGAIN” before releasing a hoarde of 2015 Chanel vs. Walmart style comparison memes.

Now, speaking of Chanel, I should probably get back into the reviewing. 

So for the last time for a little while, here’s Christian Siriano:

Siriano’s designs are a great example of work I feel guilty enjoying. I know that when it comes to quality, the high fashion community have a lot of (negative) things to say and I really can’t speak to that because quite honestly, I know very little about textile manufacturing. Solely from my own point of view though, I do like his work a lot. I wouldn’t claim for a minute that he’s a pioneer in terms of his creations but I would 100% love to wear them and I DO hugely admire his commitment to putting women of all sizes on the runway and designing pieces that don’t simply cater to straight up and down types which is more than can be said for most brands. I get that his collections are pretty formulaic, taking what has worked for the likes of Chanel and Alessandra Rich, De La Renta and Carolina Herrera, Michael Kors too (who is kind of guilty of the same thing himself), but that’s not to say his work is bad. Let’s be real, we’ve been on this planet thousands of years, we’re all taking inspiration from someone, and maybe figures like Kors and Siriano could wait a *little* longer before taking said inspiration but their aim at the end of the day is to sell clothes, not break barriers, a task which although often left to the big name brands, they too often fail at. I’m not going to lie, I’m feeling this whimsical mid-century tea party vibe, it’s elegant and it’s cutesy and My Fair Lady-esque, and you bet your arse I would be absolutely thrilled to wear one of these looks on a summer red carpet. I just can’t say no to anything tulle-maybe it’s that I was on Toddlers & Tiaras in a past life or maybe it’s that I watched too many Barbie Princess films growing up, but I like pretty much everything going on here, especially Siriano is giving us matching fedoras too. Plus, can we take a moment to praise Siriano for his COVID relief efforts? Near the beginning of the pandemic, he turned his studio into a mask manufacturing factory in order to send them out as donations, and I think that is very cool.

Then there’s Christopher Kane who once again came through with the most insanely gorgeous prints:

I mean, paint splattering is hardly a new technique but I haven’t seen it done as a print so tastefully before-it eats the Moschino biro scribble print (which apparently was copied too speaking of the tendencies of designers to “borrow” inspiration) for breakfast. It’s shit because there weren’t many looks in this collection and they weren’t really shot in a way that does them any justice but I thought I’d include the few I saved.

Comme Des Garcons is a fave of the high fashion community and one I look forward to seeing at fashion week but can never quite get behind. I appreciate the what-the-fuckery of it all with this show totally being able to pass as a run-through of some kind of nuclear waste themed scare house at one of Thorpe Park’s fright nights. I assume given that and the plastic Mickey Mouse print it’s supposed to be some kind of reference to the part late-stage capitalism has played in the hellish landscape we find ourselves in today? Or something all intellectual? In which case I made my interpretation with farrrr too much confidence. But Anyway! Who knows! I’ll leave the analysis to the fashion students, and give it one word: trippy.

Onto Dion Lee, a brand I truly do get excited to talk about because it’s rare that I don’t LOVE his work.

Without fail, Lee manages to be confidently ahead of the curve without going out of his way to announce it and his genius to everyone with flamboyant shows and exaggerated designs and extortionate prices. He is very much an underdog in the fashion world in terms of big names but you’ll be hard pressed to find anyone who doesn’t love his collections. His S/S21 collection is one of my favourites of the bunch. I love seeing something I’ve never seen before and the palm leaf breast plate is so odd but so cool and so perfectly Dion Lee at the same time; we’ve seen jungle/tropical inspired collections sooo many times *cough cough D&G cough cough* and THIS is how you make them fresh and unique. I mean, never in a million years did I think I’d get behind the resurgence of the gladiator sandal trend but Lee has me changing my mind. This is one of the very rare times you will ever see me using this meme to praise a man but:

I mean, he has Fernanda Ly modelling for him, that the man has taste goes without saying.

Now for a bit of a full circle moment, given that I did actually praise Dior’s haute couture collection in my first ever post; Maria Grazia did GOOD. Well, with haute couture at least.

She’s always pretty hamfisted with her references, there’s no denying, with that Grecian Goddess style RTW collection typifying that statement completely, but luckily she struck gold this time round; as someone who studied the Tudors for A-level history, seeing a modern take on the exaggeratedly feminine renaissance silhouettes with the baroque prints and the deep jewell tones got me super excited especially when you throw in the dreamy tarot theming and the nods to the mystical and arcane. Seeing as the Heavenly Bodies Met Gala (I know, I know, I need to move on) was some time ago now and Cersei Lannister’s *SPOILER* been crushed by a rock (could also be seen as a metaphor for the irrelevancy David Benioff and D.B Wise condemned GoT to when they aired that shitty ending tehe) and so probably won’t be getting a collection based on her costumes any time soon, this is the only fashion take on this kind of period dress I’m going to get…and you know what? I’m okay with that. Thanks Maria, I guess?

Her RTW collection wasn’t absolutely awful either, and slightly better than the past few collections at least. Put a monkey in a room with a typewriter (or show it enough similar well-received collections) and it will eventually write something that makes sense, don’t they say? I like the nomadic feel of a lot of the looks and there’s beautiful layering going on but the aura of exotic opulence unsurprisingly didn’t stick around for long and I found that there was a decline in quality in the midsection of the show that landed a lot of the outfits in either awkward mother of the bride at a beach wedding or The Only Way is Essex Ocean Beach PLT sponsored poolside party territory. The looks picked back up a bit towards the end stretch of the show but I wasn’t a fan of the Gucci style oversized glasses which were so out of place with the rest of the theming that if anything they seemed like a cheap grab at relevancy. So yeah, a middling, subpar Etro-esque collection which is better than usual for Dior I suppose.

Next, Elie Saab, whose S/S21 collection was kinda disappointing, tbh. Oh how the turns have tabled given that positive Dior review and my usual love of Saab’s collections.

I know his dresses lose some of their appeal when we can’t see them in motion but even ON the runway I can’t see myself being dazzled by any of these pieces the way I usually am. They’re lacking the level of detail and craftsmanship I associate with the brand seemingly in favour of block colours and suits and the issue is that the whole Disney Princess fantasy has always been the appeal for me because the silhouettes aren’t interesting enough on their own. They’re not ugly pieces, they’re nice, but does nice really have a place in high fashion when the pieces are so basic in both their design and presentation that the shots could pass as ripped from a catalogue? The strongest parts of the collection were when it did go down the more delicate route with the muted blue suits and the white feather trimmed dresses, the small, ornamental gold details reminding me of a very toned down nod to Schiaparelli’s hardware, but with regards to the bright coloured pieces, I can’t lie-they did look like something you could find in the M&S Per Una holiday section. Then you’ve got the weakest parts, which were just flat out ugly: sheer giraffe print, sweat band style elasticated waits, and long chiffon shirts that I hate to admit read as frumpy. There are times where I’ve not been particularly excited by an Elie Saab collection in the past, but I do think this is the first time I’ve actively disliked parts of it.

Conversely, Erdem’s S/S21 collection was super strong, and solidified the brand’s place in my mind as a dependable source of kooky maximalism, this time round giving us  Anya Taylor Joy’s Emma wardrobe on speed. You could tell me Erdem Moralıoğlu had just raided the Bridgerton set’s fitting rooms and put it on a runway and I would 100% believe you and I mean that in a positive way because to give my unpopular opinion, the clothes were the only good thing about that show. The endearingly florid details of exaggerated bows and clashing florals were still there but this time in a way that felt more subtle and self-assured, as if the calming influence of the wooded set’d had a direct hand in the designs, giving the rugged, ethereal feel to the collection I associate with brands like Brock and Simone Rocha, all whilst keeping the parts of Erdem I’m so fond of.

Is it really much of a shock that I included pretty much every look from the Etro S/S21 show?  Like, you know that Christian idea of God, like, (the voice in my head is very much taking on the dumb valley girl voice that anybody who reads this is most probably getting too) knowing our souls? I think Veronica Etro knows mine. So no, no surprise. Though there were a few unconventional touches thrown into these looks (the campier prints and nautical theming we see with the 80s beach towel print, for example, reminded me a bit of Versace) the mystical bohemian it girl that Etro designs for would still be highly satisfied. Sure, it might be a wardrobe fit for a holiday less adventurous than backpacking but if she wanted a tropical poolside holiday, this collection is the one, the paisley print chiffon mini and maxi dresses especially. I’m just gonna pretend I don’t see the monstrosity that is leggings worn as trousers-it’s a fashion rule I refuse to abandon-because they are the only stain on an otherwise expectedly gorgeous collection.

Next, an unusually reserved RTW collection from Fendi:

More in line with the wardrobe of a European fashion editor than the glamorous trophy wife (who let’s say uses that facade as a guise to ruthlessly run her husband’s whole business empire from behind the scenes because in this house we do complex female characters only), these pieces are lot “smarter” and more professional looking than Fendi’s typical offerings; where I feel Fendi usually designs for the society girl who wouldn’t mind a front page scandal, these are the kind of outfits a young member of Monaco’s royal family would wear for a positively received but business-as-usual press tour. I know, Fendi is an Italian brand, but this is more Southern France to me. We’re talking some 2nd page shots of a Kate Middleton type on a yacht on the Riviera smiling and waving as her PR team’s ideal scenario. Still, whilst fewer exaggerated silhouettes, animal prints and overtly luxurious fabrics (real leathers, silks and furs for example) mean that the drama’s a little toned down, it’s all still very expensive looking and combines the classically feminine glamour of the past and the minimalism of modernity in the artful manner that we’re used to. Maybe it’s me being a basic bitch but I always love seeing Ashley Graham on the runway too, even if brands to tend to use her as their single token plus size model.

Kim Jones’ debut haute couture collection for Fendi, however, wasn’t a very well received one. I don’t hate it personally but I can see where the criticisms are coming from. Whilst it’s closer to the version of Fendi I’ve come to expect and there were some stunning pieces which completely encapsulated that distinctive aura of luxe and glamour, there were quite a few lazy pieces which could’ve been from any designer. I also felt the collection was a bit upstaged by what seemed to be a who’s who of the modelling world; having Bella, Cara, Kate and Naomi ALL walk in one show was a bit distracting and took the focus off the clothes completely.

Giambattista Valli’s RTW collection was gorgeous as ever; the man has undeniably mastered the art of delivering classic, objective elegance, the kind of designs I feel would make you light on your feet and smell like strawberries and cream the minute you put one on. Whilst as a brand his RTW shows are rarely trendsetting, they reliably produce a plethora of unfailingly graceful and demure pieces, as appealing to your mum and your grandma as they are to young women and little girls, and this collection is another victory lap for Valli when it comes to upholding his signature tea party and artisan cupcake making and rose garden strolling and bottomless rosé brunch appropriate aesthetic. There were a lot of outfits that were bordering on overly juvenile, with structures a little too basic to justify the amount of sequins thrown on, but when it’s good, it’s so sweet that regardless of how to formula it is, I can’t help but fall in love.

Valli’s haute couture collection was stunning too and for sure a more exciting offering than the RTW. There was of course a lot of the signature tulle but it was head-turning, over the top in a way that leant far more towards the experimental than I expected. The photos themselves are 100% believable as a some kind of Vogue behind the scenes editorial shoot on the set of live action Disney princess movie (in between takes of the climactic ball scene if you wanna get specific with the vision); if you are looking for a prettier alternative to the primary colours and disruptive shapes of a Molly Goddard collection, this is the one. It’s giving the themes of excess and abundance I associate with that of the Hunger Games Capitol but through the softer lens of a Sofia Coppola movie, and being the typical cinema loving white girl I am, I’m obviously on board with that vibe.

I did SUCH a 180 on Givency’s S/S21 collection from when I first saw it to writing a review. My initial reaction was one of disappointment, I guess simply because Givenchy has given us so many bold pieces and presentations over the last few years whereas this is more low-key. After properly considering it though as I would any other brand, I came to the conclusion that I do actually really like it. It’s still got the strange, androgynous silhouettes popping up throughout and the futuristic space-age details but with a more down-to-earth, streetwear feel, albeit a very slick, glossy spin on the trends of the rabble (that’s us guys) of course before we go believing it’s achievable. On the one hand, the devil horn accents are a touch Claire’s accessories halloween range but at the same time, done with confidence they’re kind of cool and bring something new and fun to the table in line with the dark theatre of Givenchy’s last few shows.

Now for Gucci, which for the first time I have to say, if I'm attempting objectivity, is not a standout. 

Like, can I just start by saying though the format it’s presented in is cute, it’s not ideal as a way of actually showing the collection. I get that the vintage shop bin vibe is a huge part of Gucci’s brand but polaroids make it SO hard to actually see the clothes, and that’s what we’re here for right? I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t like what I see here-the clothes are gorgeous, an idyllic ode to the off-duty wardrobes of Studio 54-ers, bohemian style icons like Charlotte Rampling and young Olivia Newton-John, psychedelic rock guitarists and the inhabitants of San Fransisco’s Haight during the late 60s and early 70s, Alessandro Michele’s favourite period of reference. I can’t pretend otherwise, or act like I wouldn’t want to wear the shit out of this collection. Buut, for Gucci? It’s a little underwhelming. These are the kind of filler looks we get in a typical Gucci show to go alongside the more statement pieces, which this collection is lacking. It’s just that these are designs which usually gets people talking and these pieces don’t do that. It sucks because for most other brands this would be a stand out collection, an immersive, luscious vignette of what people tend to think of as a cultural golden era, but when you’ve had a show that involved models carrying replicas of their own decapitated heads down the runway in the last 5 years, of course something more toned down like this is gonna generate a lot of “is that it?”s.

I owe Hermes an apology. Looking back, I have disliked all their previous collections for the same reason that I now really like this one; maybe it’s in part down to the frustration of still having to whack out the winter coat on occasion in May (fuck British weather and climate change), but suddenly I really appreciate the value of some good quality, versatile outerwear. Hermes is giving us that in spades here and for that, I bow down to them. The pieces on offer are clearly well-made and genuinely practical, and through the minimalist approach manage to retain both an air of timeless sophistication whilst also being youthful and on trend. The leather tactical vest co-ord I can easily see edged up and taking centre stage on one of those insane Seoul street style slow-mo TikToks that were big a couple of months ago and there are several pieces that could tie together a grunge influenced k-style look just as well as they could exist for years on end as the wardrobe staple of a high-powered businesswoman. Designer Nadège Vanhee-Cybulski’s strengths really come through with the simpler looks and it’s the patterned pieces that drag down an otherwise flawless collection; I guess because the aesthetic is very minimalist, the patterns can’t be anything overly decorative but unfortunately this has a bit of a dowdy effect when you pair it with such modest silhouettes. Disregarding those elements of the collection though, it was super good.

It goes without saying that Iris Van Herpen’s haute couture collection was breathtaking; if the fashion community can agree on anything, it’s that this woman’s work is consistently awe-inspiring. She captures the wonder of the universe, the biological structures and kaleidoscopic colours we don’t even register, through fashion in a way that others can only imitate, to mesmerising, truly transcendent effect; I can only assume Van Herpen has mother nature whispering into her ear because how the hell else do you explain her ability to take the kind of microscopic organisms they show you images of in an outdated GCSE science powerpoint and make a dress that resembles one so stunning? Care to explain, Iris? Because if there is some kind of line of communication between the two of you can you please tell the bitch I’m over this weather and that I have cute summer outfits I’m waiting to wear so can she pack this torrential rain shit in? K, thanks xoxo

See it seems shady as fuck to go from IVH to Isabel Marant like this because we are talking 2 designers with totallyyyy different approaches to fashion; Iris Van Herpen is haute couture for starters whereas Marant is commercial, and that’s her thing, but unfair comparisons aside this collection is still a bit of a let down. This is considering I do usually really like Isabel Marant collections based on whether or not I’d wear the pieces, which seems a more appropriate barometer to use to come to a quality verdict. Whilst there were a few of the elegant bohemian pieces my mind goes to when it comes to her brand, the steps outside of that comfort zone didn’t pay off; graffiti print (can be cool if done with some subtlety which apart from a few exceptions was not the case here), cheap looking reflective fabric, and MC Hammer style dungarees, it seems to be an attempt to merge 80s trends with modern urban culture, and an attempt that at times verged on the disastrous. It’s good for a brand to experiment, of course, and appeal to a wider client base than usual, but when it’s bad the unfortunate take away is that the design team don’t have the chops to pull off straying from familiar territory; designers wouldn’t be showing at fashion week if this was truly the case because disregarding the influence of nepotism, fashion is an area you need real talent, perseverance and business smarts to excel in, and so it doesn’t do a team justice when they do fail.

J.W Anderson, on the other hand, really put his best foot forward this season and presented this work in a really cool way too which only added to the positives; whilst the way the shots were edited was funky af, it didn’t detract from the actual outfits, and if we are to see the same limitations when it comes to the F/W collections being released, this is something a lot of designers and editing teams should take note of. The idiosyncratic exaggerated shapes that we see as a recurring feature of Anderon’s collections were still on show but this time round with added femininity, billowing skirts and trailing jewellery that channel the stage looks of Stevie Nicks in a way that’s modern and functional and maybe even fit for the office if you were to work in a more creative industry with a chill boss. Could also work for a coven of witches who practice meditation by bonfires in the moonlight and burn the letters of men who wronged them in some Arizonian desert, so like I said, functional! Who doesn’t like versatility? The only thing I’m not too keen on is the shoes but they’re not so bad that it affects my opinion of the collection and they look comfy I guess.

Lastly, we’ve got to talk about Jacquemus, one of the most influential names in fashion at the moment. And yes, this time round, I’m doing it: I’m buying into the hype.

This collection is gorgeousss! I can see already that a lot of the recurring elements of the show are going to be big summer trends for this year (the cut outs and strappy details on the blouses are everywhere already) even though it isn’t hot enough to have collectively decided the time to start dressing for heat is upon us yet, and that’s always a good indicator of how successful the designer was in their vision and attempts to assess the needs and wants of fashion enthusiasts; whether I’m as big a fan of his work as everyone else seems to be, there’s no denying Simon Porte Jacquemus has always excelled at this practice if the buzz around him is anything to go by. It makes sense given the last year of us all being stuck in and suppressed that a lot of us are already romanticising the summer ahead, anticipating picnics and beach days and general Theresa May running through wheat fields type shenanigans galore, in spite of how dubious an assumption it is to make that British weather will allow for this; Porte Jacquemus has very much catered to this wishful thinking and the popularity of the whole escapist “cottage core” aesthetic, sexing it up a little bit with pieces that hug the body in ways only Mugler knows how whilst being lightweight and relaxed enough to look good with windswept, sandy hair and a little dose of sunburn. I’m talking enough to give you some cutesy freckles and rosy cheeks not PSA on the importance of suncream territory, guys, what is it with those of us on the gen Z/millennial cusp not taking sun damage seriously!? Why do I have to beg so many of my friends to wear it!? Does nobody else remember those photos they’d show you in PSHE in English primary schools of burnt people’s skin under UV lights? Or is that just me being weird and only having such a vivid memory of the images because teachers told us we had to wait until year 6 to see them due they to their “graphic” nature only for my gore-loving self to be extremely underwhelmed when we finally did get that lesson? They showed us a woman giving birth in year 4 for fuck’s sake. THAT was traumatising.

Back to the actual point anyway, with just a couple of negatives, the first of which being that the pieces are very similar to those feminine looks we saw dotted about the Jacquemus menswear collection from last year that were all over fashion Twitter. In Simon Porte Jacquemus’ defence though, it makes sense that those tones and silhouettes would be revisited in a full womenswear collection for that very reason; considering they went down so well and that lockdown gave us a bit of a half-baked summer in 2020, expanding on those elements enough for a whole new collection makes good business sense. We did get some cool additions too, mainly in the form of accessories, with the hardware details on the belts similar to those included in the Givenchy collection and the abstract hair slides being standouts for me. It was all exquisite-the shoes, the jewellery, the styling, everything 10/10. My other nitpick, and I say nitpick not because it’s not important but because it’s an issue that’s hardly restricted to Jacquemus (this casting team are far from the worst offenders, Saint Laurent I’m looking at you), is that I WISH we’d see more diversity with the models. Despite what my body dysmorphia yells at me, I am small, and yet seeing all those fucking minuscule waists made me die a little inside; it’s crazy to me that in 2020 the lack of variety in body types on the runway is still such a problem.

I must have said this a million times but I don’t want to end on a negative note so let me reiterate: this collection was STUN. NING. Plus there were some others I’ve talked about in this post that I’m sure will make it into my top 20 in the final part, Jacquemus, Dion Lee and Etro for sure; we even got some gorgeous pieces from Maria Grazia which I thought was a sentence I’d never type out. Have I said enough to not leave a bad taste in the mouth of anyone who read to the end of this post? I hope so, lol! TBH, it’s impressive given everything that’s going on that the majority of designers did roll out collections in September as usual so serious respect to them and their design teams for that.

In the next post, I’ll fingers crossed be able to include everything from Kim Shui (exciting!) through to at least Off-White (actually pretty good this time?!) and make this whole thing a 4 parter before getting straight on top of the photo posts I’m thinking about doing for the time being for the F/W21 shows. So as usual, if you did read to the end thank you so much and I respect the perseverance you must have to get through all my rambling, lmao. Hope everyone is well and coping okay and again, my inbox is always open for any post suggestions, constructive criticism, or just a chat for anyone who needs a listening ear.

Big love and thank you again!

Lauren x

[tuffin-tuffmuffin]

Having a blast with XCOM Chimera Squad. flash fic to get me back into the XCOM writing groove, especially with this new world to play with.

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Chimera Squad: Hell on Earth

words: 1082

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  The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

  But how could Whisper have known the first step would be a well-intentioned joke?

  The day Whisper would later realize he had doomed himself, the Mission Control Officer went to bed with a smile on his face. The moment occurred just a few hours before, as Chimera Squad relocated yet again to what would hopefully be their permanent HQ. 

  Whisper was loading in a smaller, fragile case, when Cherub stepped up to the ramp, holding a box so wide it could barely squeeze through the semi truck’s doors. For a moment or two, he was trapped before Cherub realized standing sideways was an option, yet the hybrid apologized like has confessing to murder.

  Whisper simply laughed it off, joking, “It’s alright, Cherub. Just feeling a bit boxed in. Heh.”

  “But you are free to go? And why are you laughing?”

  “It’s... it’s a pun, Cherub. A play on words.”

  “What is a ‘pun?’”

  So, Whisper took five, sat Cherub down, and went over the concept of homonyms, expectations and subversions, and everything that would thoroughly explain the inherent humor of a good pun. To his then-joy, Cherub proved an eager convert, smiling and laughing and attempting his own in just a few minutes. 

  “I see what you mean, with my Hybrid-eyes? Ah? Get it? Huh?” 

  He looked so damn ecstatic, Whisper laughed along, vowing to teach the young soldier the nuances of timing and context later.

  And so, Whisper’s embarked on his unintentional descent into hell. It started slowly, a pun here, another pun there. Cherub would pretend not to hear him approaching, so he could pretend to be surprised and say “he moves like a Whisper!” He would make an ‘X’ from masking tape and leave his radio on top of it, telling the beleaguered support staff that “It’s X-Comm!” When Cherub chided an unimpressed Director Kelly for shamelessly “mugging” him when she offered a coffee, Whisper started to realize something might be wrong, yet failed to act.

  When she arrived though, Whisper’s descent became a free-fall.

  He never quite knew why Torque hated him so much. He knew Viper actually held most people in contempt, but it wasn’t personal and she usually pretended to tolerate them. Not him, though, and he could only guess why. Sure, he was the Training Center’s comms operator where Torque helped train XCOM rookies, but even then, Director Kelly was her direct superior and they got along fine. Whisper thought he explained gently and sufficiently why Torque needed her cranial control chip removed, how it was deadweight and the process had been refined months ago and wouldn’t change her personality, yet she always insisted this messenger was personally ‘lobotomizing her’ and demanded payback. In his mind, Whisper decided that Torque needed someone to pin her frustrations on for picking the losing side, and unfortunately she chose him.

  And Director Kelly personally chose both of them, stuck them in a cramped warehouse, and demanded they either like it or shut up.

  Between Whisper and Torque, it was Cherub who suffered the Viper’s attitude the most. He never, ever stopped trying to be everyone’s friend, but Torque was the only agent who actively resisted him. No matter the respect he showed, the gifts he offered on his limited salary, the legitimately funny puns he tried on her, she always put a hand on her hip and rolled her eyes.

  Yet, the dismissiveness only made the plucky hybrid try even harder. More free meals. More jokes. 

  God, so many puns.

  But he couldn’t break the little Cherub’s heart. 

  So Whisper grit his teeth, grinned and bore it. Unfortunately, Torque noticed.

  He realized the nightmare only months after they settled in, on Earth Day. What was once a minor holiday about ecological preservation, post-Liberation society retooled it into a celebration of everything Earth, second only in observance to Liberation Day. A bit of every holiday into one, and aliens were explicitly invited to better integrate themselves, and Torque explicitly uninvited herself from previous years’ parties.

  Yet, here the Viper was, at the Headquarters’ modest celebration, approaching Whisper with a wrapped gift in her four-fingered hands. 

  Whisper didn’t like the way she smiled. He was lucky enough to see a genuine Viper smile from the first Viper to join XCOM, back before the war even ended. He never forgot that sight, and Torque’s smile looked nothing like it, barely concealing the sassy venom just behind her lips.

  “Torque...” He greeted, putting aside his reservations for a moment. “Didn’t expect to see you here. And with a gift, too. If I recall correctly, you didn’t get me anything last year. Or... the last two years before that.”

  “I know, right?” Torque responded cheerfully. “Hope you’re ready for round four!”

  Whisper sighed. Bearing a gift to a party and simply refusing to give it to anyone would be a perfectly Torque maneuver, in his mind. Unfortunately, he underestimated her.

  “This isn’t for you, ya dingus!” She giggled. “Hey, Cherub!”

“Yes, Torque?”

  The Viper waved him over, much to Whisper’s confusion, and she bobbed with such excitement that Cherub failed to notice was as fake as the Elders’ divinity. Torque bluntly asked, ���Cherub, remember when I said I hated your puns and that you should shut up forever?”

  He tapped his chin in thought. “Yeah, you did tell me that. Many, many times, too.”

  “Changed my mind. I love them now. So much...”

  Torque turned, locking her eyes with Whispers with an intense, seething disdain. A sense of dread fell over him, as she continued to address Cherub, “... so much that I found this, especially for you!”

  “Really? That’s so nice! What is it?”

  She never took her eyes off Whisper as Cherub took the package, tore through the wrapping paper, and gasped in excitement. “The Ultimate Dad’s Pun Book: Over 10,000 Laugh Out Loud Jokes, 2014 Edition! Torque, this is amazing! Thank you!”

  Whisper whispered, “Oh no.”  

  Cherub shot forward to hug her, and unlike every other attempt before, the Viper simply accepted it with a grin. She ignored the cheerful Cherub, A perverse joy lurked behind her eyes as she watched the happiness drain from Whisper’s face, misery quick to fill the void. That grin of hers, that devilish grin, covered the entirety of her face. 

  The Viper didn’t utter a sound, but her eyes said See you in Hell, you bastard. 

  And she did, because Hell just came to Earth.

------

Gosh, having so much fun. Cherub is so precious, and Torque is just so damn sassy, I love them.

I also wanted to reassure everyone I’ve still got XCOM, gonna give it to ya when it’s ready. There’s a lot of new lore and canon to take in, so I need to digest it a bit more as I plan my previous work’s continuation. by the power of snek, I will continue.

[princessselene126]

Kaider OTP Headcanons

Okay, so because I love Kaider so much I decided to do all of these for them. I literally can’t contain myself. I copy and pasted the ones I already did and then answered the ones that I didn’t.

1) Who is the most affectionate? Kai is the most affectionate of the two. Cinder is a pretty touch starved character, she grew up thinking that she wasn’t worth any type of affection, so she doesn’t go out of her way to hug people or tell someone she loves them, or anything like that. Kai, on the other hand, makes a point to always be holding her hand, or whisper a quick “I love you” when they’re in the middle of a world leaders’ meeting.

2) Big spoon/Little spoon? Cinder is usually the big spoon and Kai is usually the little spoon. But normally they sleep facing each other like in this art I found.

3) Most common argument? They don’t really argue, but they often tell each other to go to bed. Kai goes down to the garage and gets Cinder when she’s tinkering too late into the night. Cinder drags (or carries) Kai out of his office when he’s up too late looking over legislation or other important documents.

4) Favorite non-sexual activity? On the rare occasion they have free time, they love sitting together in a big arm chair and reading. They take turns listening to the other’s voice.

5) Who is most likely to carry the other? Cinder carries Kai. Kai tries to carry Cinder sometimes, but it’s difficult because of her metal extremities.

6) What is their favorite feature of their partner’s? Kai loves Cinder’s hair. He likes burying his face in it when they sleep. Cinder loves Kai’s smile. It makes her artificial heart melt.

7) What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other? We lived through that, so I’m not gonna bother. Instead I’m gonna talk about what changes when they first start living together. As we saw in Something Old, Something New, Kai and Cinder aren’t strangers to falling asleep in each other’s arms when they’re around their friends, but I have a feeling that didn’t happen much when they visited each other on Earth and Luna. I think Cinder has her own suite in New Beijing Palace set aside before they officially get married just because that seems like something Torin would say they should do to keep up with traditions... but that doesn’t mean Cinder ever uses it. In fact she never does. Now that they live together why would they stay in separate rooms? After dealing with a long distance relationship for almost two years, there’s no way in the stars they’re not sleeping tangled up in each other’s arms.

8) Nicknames? & if so, how did they originate? When they’re in teasing moods, they’ll call each other Your Majesty. If the rampion crew is around, Throne will make gagging noises when they do it. The maids at the palace think it’s adorable. Aside from that I don’t think they use nicknames very much. They like calling each other by their names because from anyone else it comes with a title ahead of it. They feel more like ordinary people when the other just calls them by their name.

9) Who worries the most? They’re both pretty big worriers, the difference is that Kai internalizes it while Cinder frequently voices it. Many would think it would be the opposite because Cinder is usually the more closed off, but that’s just not the case.

10) Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant? Cinder. She has a computer in her head, remember?

11) Who tops? I’d say it’s pretty 50/50 just depends on what they’re in the mood for.

12) Who initiates kisses? Kai usually. He’s a bit more physically needy.

13) Who reaches for the other’s hand first? I’d say it’s pretty even again. Cinder reaches for Kai’s hand under the table when they have meetings or at press conferences. Basically any time that she feels slightly insecure or intimidated by some other leader’s experience compared to her own. Kai reaches out for her all the time. He’s pretty much always holding her hand when they’re out in public.

14) Who kisses the hardest? I… I really want to say Kai. Like I said before he’s a bit more needy and desperate (not in a bad way) and Cinder is a bit more go with the flow.

15) Who wakes up first? They wake up at the same time every day because they have to be briefed in the morning–usually during breakfast–about what’s on their schedule for the day.

16) Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer? Kai. Cinder was used to having to get up early to go man her booth at the market. Kai on the other hand? He used to be allowed to sleep in and he misses it.

17) Who says I love you first? I honestly can’t remember who says it first in canon, it’s been too long since I’ve read tlc. But if I’m just allowed to make this stuff up? I’d say Cinder. Kai knew he loved her but he wanted her to say it first so he didn’t push her into saying it back when she wasn’t ready.

18) Who leaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does it usually say?) Okay they don’t leave notes in each other’s lunches, but they do comm each other randomly throughout the day. It’s usually stuff like “Vargas was being an ass today” or “I love Iko, but if she makes me wear heels again I swear to the stars--” or “I know it’s been 10 minutes, but I miss you already. Wanna skip lunch?”

19) Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first? They don’t have to, everyone already knows. Cinder was pretty fucking obvious about how much she liked *cough* loved *cough* him before they kidnapped Kai. And once Kai joined them on the Rampion? All bets were off if they even wanted to hide their relationship.

20) What do their family/friends think of their relationship? This depends on who you ask. Iko thinks they’re the cutest couple in history. Thorne thinks they’re sickeningly adorable and obviously enjoys teasing them. Jacin thinks the same but without the teasing. Wolf, Scarlet, Winter, and Cress think that Kai and Cinder just... make sense in such a strange way that it doesn’t make sense.

21) Who is more likely to start dancing with the other? Kai is the one to initiate dancing of course. Cinder is absolutely terrible at it, and often accidentally steps on his toes, but she’ll let him guide her along anyway.

22) Who cooks more/who is better at cooking? Honestly? Neither of them knows how to cook very well. Cinder knows the basics, but Kai is completely lost. Let’s just say it’s a good thing they have a kitchen full of chefs.

23) Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines? Neither of them. There’s a lot of heavy flirting and teasing, but neither ever uses cheesy pick up lines.

24) Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times? Kai does it a lot actually. When they’re dancing at galas or balls he’ll lean in close and whisper in her ear, or he’ll say something that’s subtle enough other people won’t think it’s anything strange, but he said the same thing the night before and Cinder definitely picks up on what he’s trying to do. Most of the time he does it to see if he can get a reaction out of her, a hint of red on her cheeks, anything. But more often than not he gets an eye roll or an elbow to the ribs.

25) Who needs more assurance? I feel like they both do equally as often. Cinder needs assurances from Kai that she’s a good person and that she matters. Kai needs assurances that he’s doing what’s right for their people.

26) What would be their theme song? I wanted to say “I’m not a Robot” by Marina and the Diamonds, but I feel like that’s much more of just Cinder song. For them as a couple I think I’d go with “Only Exception” by Paramore (not just because it’s one of my favorite songs) because they really are the only exception for each other? Kai def wasn’t going to love Levana–no way in hell. And Cinder never really thought of love until Kai came around.

27) Who would sing to their child back to sleep? I’ve said before that I headcanon Cinder as a closeted singer, so I’m carrying this over. Cinder sings their kids to sleep. By the time they have kids, Kai knows that she can sing. He often leans against the kids’ doorway and listens to her voice with a smile on his face.

28) What do they do when they’re away from each other? When one is on a trip to a different country without the other, they both try to immerse themselves in work so they can pretend they get to sleep next to the other when they go to bed that night. If they’re at home but can’t see each other for a while because running the country gets in the way, they comm each other every couple hours throughout the day to check in.

29) one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart The concept of happiness is very foreign to both Cinder and Kai. Cinder because Adri made her feel worthless. Kai because he was resigned to the fact that his entire life was going to revolve around his people and he would never get to do things for himself.

30) one headcanon about this OTP that mends it Now that they have each other, they know that they’ll be happy for the rest of their lives. It doesn’t matter if there’s another war, if they someday have to absolve the monarchy in the Eastern Commonwealth too. As long as they’re together, as long as they face things side by side, they’re happy and they’re okay.

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 152 [Begin: Age of Ultron]

The “secret” Hydra base was located on the tippy top of one of the mountains. It was also huge. And obvious. A wonder that none of you had ever thought to look at it before. Then again, Sokovia was such a small place. So small, in fact, that that giant research castle butted up against a town on the other side. That was extremely bad news. Casualties were a real possibility. Also. Getting caught doing this. Which … wasn’t worse than loss of life but it was pretty bad. 

It was enough to tick your anxiety on the ride over on the jet. There were so many ways this could go wrong. So many ways that it would. You just had to hold it together. For the team. This could be one less thing to worry about if everything went right. You had to put your focus on the positives. Even as hard as that was. 

This mountaintop fortress of theirs was on top of a dense forest. Too much coverage to see through on satellite- except for the watchtowers in very strategic placement. If the incident in Sudan had a little over three hundred soldiers, you imagined these guys had maybe a thousand. And lots of heavy ammunition and firepower. All things the team was going over one more time as the jet stayed in a hover just outside the starting radius. 

Oh and… “We don’t know how many enhanced there are, or what they can do. We have to keep sharp.” Steve was leaned over one of the holograph tables projecting the tippy-top base. Funny. Coulson had said the same thing. 

Human experimentation. The thought was repulsive. And to do it with the scepter? Something so alien? Hydra must have been extremely desperate. Yet… Jessica had come across something like this, too. Killian had been working on this as well. Was this just the way the world was trending now? Why? Because of the Avengers?? It was a tough thing to think about. Not something you wanted to think about. ...yet you couldn’t stop. 

The only thing that took your mind off of it was being thrust into the heat of battle. 

Tony had landed the jet outside the perimeter in an established safe zone. The idea was to take them by surprise. To canvas the entire sector inch by inch if you had to and take everyone out and then storm the base. 

...but that’s not what ended up happening. 

The team wasn’t even a mile in before a battalion patrolling spotted everyone. Bunkers had turrets with that charged Chitauri weaponry, no doubt courtesy of Dr. Jensen, all aimed in your direction. You weren’t sure when someone had shouted for a Code Green, but Hulk had appeared nonetheless. 

You and Tony took off together to try and flank the oncoming forces while the rest of the team charged up into battle. That plan had worked before. Why not replay it not even forty-eight hours later? Except the scale of this was much larger, they had much more firepower- and it was turning into a little bit of a shitshow. 

“I think we should storm the castle and make a point.” You could beat soldiers on the ground all day long, but if you took their prized possession and handcuffed their leaders, they might lay down their weapons. Wouldn’t that be nice. 

Tony arched a brow from his box on your HUD and then nodded. “Alright. Let’s see if Rapunzel will let her hair down for us.” There was a little sting of sass here that said I highly doubt it.

He bolted up and over the treeline and you were quick to follow. The two of you circled the massive property, up and up, to the top most compound. A little too easy to break into. It was just right there. And if anyone could walk in, it wasn’t much of a base. Which was why it only marginally surprised you when Tony closed in on the eastern-most wall and then promptly bounced off it, revealing a forcefield. 

“Shit!” More a grunt of surprise from him than anything, with a look to match. Maybe he’d been more startled than actually hurt. 

Steve’s voice was quick to chastise over the comms. “Language!” 

You couldn’t help the face you made. “Have you been doing more PSAs for schools or something?” Hanging around kids? What had prompted that? Though Tony was grinning. 

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.” Clearly Steve was very aware he’d made a mistake. “JARVIS, what’s the view from upstairs?” 

As the satellite in orbit zeroed in closer on the building, all the data got thrown up on your screen, including the live feed of JARVIS looking at the compound. “The central building is protected by some kind of energy shield. Strucker's technology is well beyond any other Hydra base we've taken.” 

Thor responded to that first. “Loki’s scepter must be here. Strucker couldn’t mount his defense without it.” 

You couldn’t help your look of confusion. “We just got out of a battle with Jensen who had brand new tech. We’re thinking this is scepter grown and not Chitauri?” It could have gone both ways, and maybe it didn’t matter in either case. But you had to wonder. 

“We took her down with ease, did we not?” He made a good counterpoint to that. So you let him have this, because he seemed pretty pleased. “At long last.” 

You rolled out from your position, a little too clear in the air as a few of the watchtowers had started firing on you from inside the base. Natasha’s voice got a little garbled as you took a hit from the side. “At long last is lasting a little long, people.” 

Clint sounded annoyed. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure we lost the element of surprise.” 

Following Tony’s lead on the opposite side alongside one of the lower-rung bases, not protected by that alien shield, the both of you fired on soldiers heading out of their barracks. Your eyes strayed to him as he spoke, “Wait a second, no one else is gonna deal with the fact that Cap just said language?” 

Despite the dire straits you found yourselves in, you couldn’t help the smile. “He’s been spending too much time with kids. Go easy on him.” 

Steve made a sound of resignation. “Look. It just slipped out.” 

You couldn’t help yourself. “We’re all about good, clean, family friendly fun here at the Avengers.” 

JARVIS cut into your good clean fun. “Sir, ma’am, the city is taking fire.” 

No. Your heart dropped right into your stomach. That was one of your worst fears. Immediately you broke dual formation with Tony, leaving him to circle the castle alone. “I’ll go deal with it.” 

“Honey, I need you here.” The both of you looked at each other from video screens. He wasn’t seriously telling you to let civilians take heat, was he? “Let’s send in the Iron Legion.” 

“I don’t know now is the right time for a trial run.” 

“Sometimes you gotta run before you can walk.” 

But he was waiting. Waiting for your permission. And waiting to see if you trusted him. He’d been working so hard on this one thing. It wasn’t Ultron- but it was what he had now. But to test proof of concept with real lives felt too dangerous. And careless. ...but you did trust him… 

JARVIS seemed to be waiting just as much as Tony was. “Ma’am?” 

You sighed, and doubled back midair. “Alright. Send them.” 

A new window popped open on your HUD and you moved it to the lower right hand corner. Iron Legion details. How many were flying out- five deployed, to be exact. Their status. They were moving, fast. Pre-loaded from the quinjet. At least Tony had come prepared. 

Just as you and Tony were taking out another lower bunker with a series of repulsor blasts, Natasha’s sudden cry startled you. “Clint!” 

Only seconds after, Steve spoke darkly. “Enhanced spotted in the field. I repeat, an enhanced is on the field.” 

Your heart was thundering in your ears. “What kind?” 

He sounded annoyed as he answered. “If I could see, I’d tell you.” 

You weren’t really sure what that meant. It really could have meant anything, but what it meant that was most important was that this enhanced was extremely dangerous. Natasha spoke again, “Clint’s hit! I need somebody to deal with that bunker!” 

This was going sideways. It felt hard to think. Tony had asked you to stay in the air with him, but everything was telling you you needed to get back to ground to help the rest of the team. It seemed Steve agreed, because he called your name next to Tony’s. “We really need to get inside!” 

Tony got to the punch first. “We’re closing in.” And then, a little less sure over the private channel, “JARVIS are we closing in?” 

Several schematics popped up in your immediate view. It was too much of a task to sift through them. Instead you asked, “Where’s the battery on this thing?” 

One of the blueprints came to the forefront and something locked as JARVIS answered. “There’s a pathway below the north tower.” 

“Great. Honey, let’s give it a poke.” As he barreled up and left, you took the right. Once up high enough you held your wrist out to match a targeted missile detonation on his mark. As the blast detonated, the blue wall crackled and then fell. “Drawbridge is down, people.” About as much signal as you got, following his lead as he plowed forward, headed right for the top tower. 

Steve and Thor were talking about the enhanced- nothing important. Which was why you didn’t feel bad going on private channel to Tony. “They’re probably dumping data right now, we have to hurry. ...and as much as they don’t deserve it, as little casualties as possible, please.” 

“Being the bigger people has not once yet felt rewarding. But, since you asked so nicely.” 

“Thank you.” 

Natasha broke up your conversation with something a little more relevant. “Clint’s hurt pretty bad, guys.” 

Thor replied, “I can get Barton to the jet. The sooner we're gone the better. You, Lady, and Stark secure the scepter.” 

Steve answered him. “Copy that.” 

It sounded like they got a little busy on the field, although not particularly in a very serious way. In the end Thor issued one command, “Find the scepter.” 

Tony couldn’t seem to help himself. “And for gosh sake, watch your language!” 

Steve’s defeated sigh had you holding back a little laughter. “That’s not going away any time soon, is it?” 

You tried to make him feel better. “Nothing wrong with being wholesome. Don’t let them bully you.” 

You spied Tony’s grin on his display window. “That part of your afterschool Cap-Hour PSA, too?” Him breaking through one of the windows of what appeared to be a lab cut the ribbing short. You were just behind him. Soldiers were aiming guns your way and the both of you were already taking fire. “Guys. Stop.” His tone was so very dry. “We gotta talk this through.” 

Your display converged with his as the targets locked, the mini-gun on his shoulder loaded up. Very pointedly all marks went to non-lethal places, mostly legs. Which had them all falling once the shots went off. 

He spoke again, “That was a good talk.” 

You couldn’t help yourself. “Very concise. Right to the point.” 

To your surprise, one of the soldiers actually answered in a groan of pain. “No it wasn’t…” 

In a quick jet as one remaining heat signature lit up in the room just beyond, the both of you came to a land just in the doorway. A man was at the console- LUNA ID’ed him as Dr. List- the one who had gotten away. He was standing in front of several large computer consoles. Presumably deleting everything. Tony was quicker than you, holding his hand up to fire off a repulsor blast that knocked him away and to the floor. 

Then, quicker still with a strange harried urgency, he released the suit, stepping out and hurrying over to the computers. Holding up one finger to the suit, while his other started typing, “Sentry mode.” His suit closed back up and started a low sweep of the room. Just keeping an eye on things. 

This felt dangerous. He really shouldn’t have given up the armor just yet. It was why you didn’t, though you did release your helmet. As you got closer to him, you saw what awaited the both of you on the screens. A big flashing deleting marquee. Tony unfolded a mini-tablet and stuck it on the side of the console. 

“Okay JARVIS. You know. I want it all.” Immediately switching that deleting to downloading after asking. 

You peered over his shoulder. “Did we lose a lot?” This data was important to somebody. ...Tony, it seemed like. For what reason you really couldn’t say. Then again, anything having to do with this alien tech probably pinged a lot of his interests. And maybe not necessarily in a good way. 

“Hard to say. JARVIS make sure to copy Hill at HQ.” It made sense for him to make that request. She was technically the head of Damage Control. But… the wiser part of you knew this was underground SHIELD business. It really didn’t matter one way or the other. 

Natasha broke the silence. “We’re locked down out here.” 

What a quick turn around. Only moments ago this felt pretty hopeless. Now all of a sudden your team had won? It was probably better not to question fate. You wanted to feel good about this… but your heart was still slamming in your chest. Something was off here. Your better sense was telling you… 

Tony turned from the computers to look at you. “You got something on your mind?” 

You’d probably pinged him accidentally. Your gaze, however, was sweeping around the room. There were shadows in the corners. It was cold. Impossibly cold. A shiver crept over your skin and you had to force yourself to stop. “Files are great but that’s not what we came here for. There’s something else here.” 

He nodded. “I agree. Hey, J, give me an IR scan of the room real quick.” 

A burst of red touched out across the room from the Iron Man suit. JARVIS spoke once it was finished. “The wall to your left. I'm reading steel reinforcement... and an air current.” 

The both of you looked at each other just once before moving over to said wall. He brushed up against it, pressing his palms flat over the brick. “Please be a secret door, please be a secret door, please be a secret door…” Just a little giddy at the prospect of such an overly cliched thing. 

Secret door in a villain hideout. Very fun stuff. 

Still… as he pushed his hands against the wall and it gave way, sliding to the side, you couldn’t help your little bubble of overt adoration while he leaned up a little on the balls of his feet with a tiny little, “Yay!” 

“Someone’s in a good mood.” And that one single shift in thinking had calmed you. 

“It’s not everyday you find yourself in a Scooby-Doo episode.” His grin was quick as he looked over his shoulder before going into the pathway. 

You were right behind him. “Shall we go find old man Jenkins?” 

“We shall.” 

The stairway you found yourselves descending was a little bit more than daunting. Dimly lit, a long way down. Really one long encased metal tube more than anything. And the further down you stepped the higher your alert was ringing. 

So much so that when Steve spoke just as you and Tony got closer to the bottom you actually jumped. “We have a second enhanced. Female. Do not engage.” 

That sent your heartbeat right back to painfully fast. You hadn’t even realized you were panting until Tony stopped just short of the bottom of the stairs, and reached a hand out to you. “We’re alright.” 

You clasped it with a small squeeze and gave him a nod. “I’ve got your back.” That second enhanced was clearly dangerous and clearly in the compound. You had to watch out for him. Protect him. Now was no time to get lost in panic. 

His smile settled you just enough to back off the edge. ...but as you both got to the bottom and entered a large warehouse, your terror came back tenfold. Steve signaled one of the last pieces of your mission, “Guys, I’ve got Strucker.” 

Tony one-upped him. “Yeah… I’ve got something bigger.” Hanging from the ceiling was one of those armored whales. And seeing it like this- 

Sounds of gunfire and guttural screaming lit up around you. Buildings were collapsing. 

Tony moving drew you out of it, but only a little. In an effort to keep up, you followed him closer into the room. And there, hooked up to machinery, finally, you saw the scepter. What they were doing with it, you had no idea. At least not yet. Tony would figure it out. But a familiar high pitched whine was the next sound to clog your consciousness. 

You remembered that noise. You remembered it very well. It was drawing you in. 

A yellow static emanated up and out and all too quickly you forced yourself to turn away. None of this was real. You were imagining it- but looking towards the left side of the room, you saw several tables. With very familiar looking robotic builds on top of them. They’d been using the scepter to try and replicate the Iron armors? Did that make sense? -...or were these Tony’s?? 

Coming closer to the table you leaned in, looking closer at one- 

And then very suddenly it was like someone had struck a match up your spine. A flurry of unhinged panic attacked you so strongly your knees went weak and you had to clutch the table for support. As soon as you had it in you, you whirled on your heel-

To see Tony standing there. Eyes open wide- and empty- yet terrified. Staring up at that whale. Sweat had started pouring from his brow. His breathing was erratic. And no matter how fast you wanted to rush to him, it felt like you were stuck in quicksand. 

But then your better consciousness broke free as a presence lurked up beside you. Behind you. And your own dark, angry fears took hold. Someone was whispering to you. And you would not let that happen. Not ever again. 

With a quick strike of your hand, blind and completely instinctual, you reached up and locked on to a wrist close to your face. And when you turned your head you saw her. Staring at you. A young woman- no- a kid really- long red hair and scared green eyes. She was there one moment- 

And gone the next. In a blur and a flash of wind. Not only that but it came back to knock you into the table. Nerves frayed as they were, you were quick to rebound onto your feet and fire a useless shot in any direction that made sense. But Tony’s fright was amping up- and it hit you like a tsunami. 

Vaulting over the other tables you let your jets carry you to the ground at his side. “Tony-” Trying to call to him. And when absolutely no cognizance showed- you put a hand on his shoulder. And that’s when you felt it. How off balance he was. And just how much he was drowning.

In the very next blink you were no longer there. You saw him with that second set of eyes. And he was awash in a blood-red glow. Struggling.

Laying both your hands against his chest over his heart, you settled the waves beneath the both of you, and focused. When that wasn’t enough, you gripped him harder. The edges started cracking. It hurt. You felt like you were taking it all in, watching as it seeped in through your skin and bubbled underneath your veins, working its way up- every inch like a knife cutting deeper and deeper until your entire being lit up in that crimson light. Everything went dark around you. 

Just the both of you. 

But with one last concentrated push- one wail of pain you broke him free. Lifting your hands as you felt that power travel back down in a quick bolt, all aimed at your heart- but when you extended your hands and sent one last burst into the air, you expelled it all. Something had happened, and as you went down on your knees you cast your gaze skyward, watching the shift of a takeover as brand new pinks raced across the sky-

His gasp for air drew your attention forward and present, and you swayed, feeling consciousness wane. The both of you reached for the lab table at the same time, steadying yourselves in mirror-moves. Almost like you were briefly one being just struggling to stay upright. He was quicker to regain himself, though not necessarily his composure, and as he looked at you, you felt- 

You felt- 

Some deep unsettled despair from him. And when he paired it with a touch of his hand at your cheek- and the look in his eyes- unhinged and- -...it was like the look he got- that he used to get- when he thought about- ...when he’d gone through the wormhole- and- and-

In the next shallow breath you barely were able to draw, you felt a million miles away as your vision circled the drain. It surprised you, to hear yourself crying as you barely voiced the only immediate thought that mattered. “I’m gonna pass out-” About as honest as you could be before everything went dark a second time. 

                                                               ---

They were so close to the end-goal. Secret passages meant big, hidden secrets behind them. And Tony had been pretty sure they were about to hit paydirt and make all of this worth it. Even more so than it already was. But the further they got down those steps, the harder she hit him. Unintentionally, he knew. Sometimes he wondered if she even was aware of just how bad she got sometimes- 

But she was all over the place, and he needed her to steady out. So he turned, offering her a lifeline, reaching his hand up to her, making sure his eyes were steady on hers, and that his voice gave nothing away. “We’re alright.” 

It seemed to soothe her over quick enough, something that always made him feel better. She clasped his hand, “I’ve got your back.” Always genuinely reassuring. And with that goal in mind, she became a little more focused. 

At least until they actually hit the bottom of the stairs and entered a room he almost wished they hadn’t. He hadn’t been prepared enough to see that Chitauri whale hanging from the ceiling in a vice, mouth half open. In tact. How in the hell had they stolen this? Steve said something- he answered- but he wasn’t really paying attention. 

She was moving around the room. And he wasn’t watching her, either. The scepter was right in front of them. They could take it and go. That’s what he wanted to do. But he found himself staring at it… 

And in the very next moment the sound of the chains above him rattling and then snapping urged his attention up. Too slow, as that armored whale dropped down with a monstrous roar. He put his hands up to try and shield himself and rammed into the table as it flew by. Breaking through the building- 

Drawing him deep down into a black void. He followed it- about as far as a hill littered with bodies. 

Their bodies. Hulk was lying face down, twitching, impaled several times through the back. Natasha- Clint- Thor- Steve- all down. Dying or… dead. 

 Cap’s shield was split in two.

He felt himself shivering, breathing hard as he approached. And seeing her made his knees give out completely. He dropped aside her, turning her head, fingers heavy on her neck as he put his other arm around her and hoisted her half onto his lap. Trying to find a pulse while clinging to her. Blood was leaking from her eyes- her nose- her mouth- she was battered and bruised and- there was a hole in her chest-

No pulse. This was a unique devastation unlike anything he’d ever felt- 

That was until she reached up suddenly, startling him, hand tight around his wrist. Her voice was a choke of tears. “Tony- you… you promised… you promised we’d… be okay...” 

He swallowed hard as the rest of her light died right in front of him, her hand slipping away, eyes just… empty. It felt like she’d taken him with her. 

Why didn’t you do more?

A murmur in the shape of too many voices. Floating above him, another whale captured his attention, and his head fell back, feeling the energy bleeding out of him in long draws. He wasn’t going to last here much longer. He didn’t deserve to. 

Up above him- beyond this hill spattered with bodies he’d failed to protect- the wormhole stared back at him. New York City- no the world- was under siege again- and he- 

Tony. 

Her voice jolted him just a little and his eyes fell to her lifeless body again. He cradled her face in his hands, sure that he would die here with her. 

At least he thought so- but it felt like someone was pounding on his chest- and the next slam into reality was a hard one. He barely caught himself on the lab table, breathing so hard it felt like his heart would give out- it might have- 

Wait. Lab table. Lab. He was in Sokovia. Of course he was in Sokovia- 

He’d had some sort of traumatic episode and she- Whipping his head up he caught sight of her also struggling to keep herself upright. Alive. Apparently she’d shared the burden with him. With a shaking hand he reached out to her, begged for verification- her skin was clammy but blazing hot as he made contact, fingers brushing at her temple and then down, holding her face in his hand as they stared at each other.

There was a strange glow in her eyes. Not the usual one-

He almost found his body again. But a hitch of a sob broke from her throat. A drop of blood trickled from her nose. Her pupils were wildly dilated. She looked crazed and unsure of herself. Unsure of anything. That made two of them.

“I’m gonna pass out-” 

Down she went not a single second after saying so, and he impressed himself, having enough strength to catch her before she cracked her head open on the corner of the table. Moving down into a kneel, he held her close, still panting. Sweat leaking from his forehead. 

“Cap I need-” He was aware how terrible he sounded, and he pulled every last energy resource he owned to even out. “Cap, JARVIS will guide you. I need you on my location. As soon as possible.” 

“Copy that. I’m headed your way.” 

Tony was glad he didn’t ask why. And when he looked at her again, that vision of her cut in between each blink of his eyes. 

You promised… 

He was still struggling to breathe. 

[gumnut-logic]

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 3.1

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Three - If not for the courage of the fearless crew – Part 1 Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2 | 2.3

Author: Gumnut

23 - 27 Dec 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 3823

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Artist!Virgil, Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D I hope you enjoy it.

Please note that I am not a scientist, only an artist with mad librarian skillz. I may have stretched a few facts in places here, for which I apologise, though I did research a hell of a lot to get this written (at one point I was only writing one or two lines before I had to research another fact…it was a very long process). I hope you enjoy it anyway. :D

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

 Day Three - If not for the courage of the fearless crew

 When Virgil woke late the next morning, the yacht was already in motion. He sighed as he crawled out of bed, body groaning the entire way.

Stumbling into the living area, he didn’t even have to look for the coffee. John simply met him halfway and handed him a mug.

He inhaled it. The hot beverage ran down his throat and within minutes his brain was beginning to boot.

A hand landed on John’s shoulder in honest gratitude. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Okay, so that grin was a little smug, but the coffee was worth it. That and it was a novelty to have John for breakfast at any time. He squeezed his brother’s shoulder, blaming not enough caffeine for the sudden soppy.

His brother frowned at him. “How are you feeling?”

Okay, that fixed the soppy. He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

The frown turned into a smirk. “Sure. Would you like some eggs? I hid the last of the bacon from Alan, so there is some if you like.”

The soppy returned. You’d think he was on drugs or something. Must be the sea air. “Thanks, John.”

His brother peered at him a little more before ushering him to sit down and busying himself in the kitchenette. It wasn’t long before the tantalising smell of bacon sizzling wafted through the living area.

“Hey! I thought we were out of bacon!” Alan was not impressed as he strode in, game console in hand. “You lied to me!”

John snorted as he placed the plate full of bacon and eggs in front of Virgil along with a glass of orange juice. “So, you would have eaten Virgil’s share?” The arched eyebrow was challenging.

“Nooo.”

“Sure, Alan.” John turned around and walked back into the kitchen obviously not believing his brother.

Alan sat down across from Virgil. “I wouldn’t, honest, Virg.”

Perhaps his littlest brother’s brain was not connected to his hand because Virgil had to slap it away from his plate almost immediately. “Sure, Alan.”

The bacon was good and the eggs just right. Mouth full, “John, this is divine.”

The snort from the kitchenette was loud, but the only comment he received in reply.

Virgil slapped Alan’s hand away again and glared at him. “So, who’s winning the game.”

Alan was immediately distracted. “I was, but then John pulled a stunt with a rogue asteroid, which I’m not entirely sure was legal...” His voice rose specifically in the direction of the kitchenette.

“Game allowed it.”

“Yeah, well, I PM’d the developers and they knew nothing about it!”

“Gregory never remembers what he programs. The guy does it in his sleep half the time.”

“Hah! Grez is totally cool. He said you’re a stick in the mud.”

John wandered back into the room wiping his hands on a tea towel. “Gregory is also a card-carrying member of the Flat Earth society.”

A snort from Alan. “So?”

“The man has been to space, Al. He designs video games, set in space. Explain the logic behind that?”

“Denial? Imagination? A little too much college night life?”

John threw the towel back into the kitchen. “All of the above. So, yeah, game allows it, it’s legal.”

“Well, I’m gonna whip your ass in the void between galaxies. Gonna stoke my ship with engines only you can dream of.”

Taking a seat at the end of the table, John did not appear concerned in the slightest. “Hey, Virgil, would you like to assist me in developing a fictional intergalactic drive.”

An arched eyebrow as he munched on bacon and glanced between the two of them. “Hmmm, sure.”

“Hey! No fair. No engineering brothers allowed. If you get Virgil, I get Brains.”

John grinned. “Go for it. International Rescue could do with one of those.”

Virgil snorted. He loved Brains like a brother, but the man did not know the difference between reality and fiction. Postulate an idea such as this, give him a few hours and he’d have a working theory. Let him go, and he’d build it. The game would be forgotten the moment Alan mentioned the concept.

“You suck.”

“Just using the tools at hand, Alan.”

Virgil blinked. “You just called me a tool.”

John shrugged and opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a string of profanity from their captain up on the bridge. The boat suddenly accelerated, swerving to port, and Virgil had to grab the remains of his breakfast as it tried to slide off the table.

A frowning Scott strode through the room. A worried glance at Virgil and John, he took the most direct route towards the bridge and disappeared. Alan dropped his console onto the lounge and darted after him.

At higher speeds, the boat began to bounce off the wave peaks. Virgil decided that staying put was probably in his best interests and apparently John agreed as he reached out and gently grabbed Virgil’s arm.

“I’m okay.”

“Just making sure.”

He didn’t bother responding to that.

Wherever the boat was going, apparently it got there quickly because it wasn’t at full acceleration for long and it slowed quickly to a stop, her hull wallowing in the water at the sudden lack of forward momentum.

As Virgil pushed himself to his feet, he glared at the hand wrapped around his bicep. John didn’t let go.

“If you fall on your face on my watch, Scott will kill me.”

“I’m fine.”

His brother still didn’t let go. This was ridiculous.

But apparently smother was in the Tracy genetic code, because John held onto him the entire way up to the bridge. Only to find it locked down and empty.

All three brothers were out on the bow of the boat.

He could hear Gordon swearing from here. What the hell had his brother all riled up?

It took his slow way onto the bow - those steps still hurt, damn it - for him to find out.

“It’s caught in her mouth. Goddamnit!”

“Hey, hey, Gordon. We can help her. Tell us what we need to do.” Scott’s voice was tense. Virgil read it clearly as pissed, but needing to calm a brother and fix a problem before blowing a circuit.

What the hell had happened?

“Gordon?”

His fish brother shot distraught eyes in his direction. “We’ve got a humpback calf caught in a gill net. A fucking illegal gill net. Here. I’m gonna string the bastards up and Mel is gonna skin them alive!”

Gordon stormed past Virgil and John, heading towards the back of the boat, thumbing his comms. “Mel, you got your ears on?”

Virgil turned to look out across the surface of the ocean and sure enough a single dark buoy appeared just off to port about fifty metres away. To his horror there was a weak whale spout just as his eyes focussed on the spot.

Scott strode past and gently clasped his shoulder, his eyes bleak before following Gordon aft. Alan hurried after him.

A glance at John found his brother’s professional facade well in place. Gordon could be heard yelling over his comms from the other end of the boat.

The whale breached again.

Shit.

-o-o-o-

Scott followed his little brother as he stormed down the length of his yacht.

“Mel, what the hell do you mean this isn’t the first time.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Gordon, I’m as angry as you, but these assholes know what they are doing. I’ve had the coast guard out here sixteen times in the last year and they haven’t managed to catch one of them. We’ve lost turtles, sunfish, rays and earlier in the season a humpback died of its injuries. We can’t locate the nets. They don’t appear on our scanners.”

“Well, they appear on mine and I’m not putting up with this crap.”

“Any help is appreciated, Gordon. If I knew you’d be able to detect them, I would have called you in earlier. If you can give us the locations, it would be much appreciated.”

“I’ll get John on it immediately. In the meantime, we have an injured calf and a distressed mother to attend to.”

“Do you want me down there?”

His brother paused a moment and dragged in a calming breath. “I’ll do an assessment. If I need help, I’ll call Kayo to come get you.”

“Keep me in the loop, Thunderfish. Play it safe. Mamma Humpback is going to be anxious.” A pause. “Sorry your vacation has been interrupted.”

“Screw my vacation. We’re gonna get these bastards.” Scott didn’t think he had ever seen his brother so angry. It was understandable. “Speak to you soon. A Little Lightning out.”

Gordon immediately turned to Scott. “We have a situation.”

Scott let his head drop just a little in acknowledgment. “Yes, we do. This is yours, Thunderbird Four. Tell me what you need.”

-o-o-o-

With the power of TB5 they discovered an intricate network of netting just to the west of the Kermadecs, trailing intermittently down their full length. To regular sensors they were invisible, but to IR sensors they were a flicker. A flicker John was able to focus on and bring up a clear picture.

Gordon, now dressed in his IR uniform, swore a bluestreak at how many nets were actually out there. John put him through to WASP Command and Gordon gave a very colourful report to the regional commander, who just happened to be a former squad mate of his. Her response was more formal, but no less colourful.

With tight expressions, Gordon, Scott and Alan climbed into the inflatable dingy and rowed their way out to the beleaguered cetacean. Gordon used the effort to push his anger into the oars. He couldn’t afford to have his thoughts clouded by the bastards who had done this.

Sensors told him the calf had a net caught in its mouth and wrapped around its right pectoral fin. The fine mesh hung down its left side, dangling into the depths where it had caught on a snag. The chances of it catching right there were ridiculously small, the waters so deep between the islands. But the net was hundreds of metres long, weighted, and, even tangled, it reached down far enough to snag itself on a submerged pile of rock.

Hell, he was going to need Four to get down that deep to get the net out of the water.

If the calf had been snagged while diving, she wouldn’t have been able to surface to breathe and would have drowned.

Bastards!

Scott darted a glance at Gordon. The aquanaut held his gaze. His eldest brother was dressed in an IR wetsuit. It was startling to see him out of his familiar uniform. Gone was his flight baldric and in its place, yellow slashed across his blue, visibility more the priority underwater. The only concessions to his commander rank were his shoulder patches and twin silver-grey bands on that yellow baldric. Alan was dressed similarly, but where Scott sported silver, Alan sported red. Neither had their helmets on.

Gordon had only mentioned the suits to Scott when preparing for this venture because he had hoped to enjoy some recreational diving. Their suits were far above average equipment, so why not use the best to have a little fun?

Scott had rolled his eyes, but five wetsuits had been thrown into their luggage. They had supposed to be used for sharing his world with his brothers.

Gordon swore under his breath again and tugged at the oars angrily.

“We’ll fix this.” Scott’s voice was calm, ever the commander when on duty. And on duty they were.

When he got his hands on those assholes...

“A Little Lightning to Inflatable. Mother Humpback is on the move towards you.” John had been tracking her frantic circles around her calf.

Gordon dropped the oars and grabbed his scanner. Sure enough, the worried behemoth was angling in towards them. She posed a serious threat despite their benign intentions.

“Roger that, A Little Lightning.”

The inflatable stilled in the water, three pairs of eyes stared out across the surface.

“Be quiet. Here she comes.”

Not twenty metres away, the mother surfaced, her spout spraying them all with angry water. Her huge mass coasted just under the surface and beelined to her daughter.

Gordon’s heart lurched at the distressed groans she made as she nuzzled her trapped calf.

“I’m going in.” He shoved his helmet on.

Scott caught his arm. “Are you sure that is wise?”

He caught his brother’s worried eyes. “You are just going to have to trust me. I know what I am doing.”

A bitten lip, but Scott nodded once and let him go.

Gordon slipped quietly over the edge of the inflatable and into the water.

-o-o-o-

Virgil stood on the bridge of A Little Lightning and swallowed hard. It was frustrating to be caught unable to do anything, but in this kind of situation, it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling.

Usually, though, he was hovering in Two far above the surface.

John stood beside him, a mission hologram projecting from his tablet, his hands playing the portable controls as smoothly as Virgil played his piano. Eos spoke up quietly, relaying reports from WASP as the organisation swooped in on the illegal fishing organisation somewhere off to the west. His brothers’ vitals danced in one corner, the readout from the sensors and the now deployed sensor buoy hung beside them.

Virgil could only watch.

“Gordon, approach with extreme care. The mother is emitting infrasound, beyond our hearing. She is very distressed.” John’s voice was sharp, but calm as the sensors traced the sound pattern in the air before him.

Whispered. “FAB, John. I can feel it. She may be calling for help. Silence on comms.”

And Virgil realised he could feel it, too. A rumble in his bones, a wail so deep it could only be felt, not heard.

He closed his eyes.

He felt her shift octaves, the sound pulsing, her thrum desperate. It vibrated at the edge of his sensory perception, slipping in and out, barely felt in his body tissues, his fingertips, the sensitive incisions in his gut.

“Virgil? You okay?”

John’s soft voice startled him, throwing him out of focus. “What?”

He received a copper frown for his efforts. “You’re pale.���

“I’m fine.”

Green eyes narrowed, but his brother didn’t comment further. He returned to his holograms, bringing up a satellite lifesign read of the area.

“We’re receiving a reply.” John frowned. “Another. Several. Locating sources. Eos, give me a narrow frequency band and pinpoint.” The AI didn’t answer but several dots appeared on the satellite view. John waved a hand and zoomed in on a cluster in the Southern Ocean. The view focussed and cleared and Virgil was again amazed at Brains’ skill as the surface of the ocean appeared and a pod of whales was defined. They were all travelling in a south-easterly direction.

Over two thousand kilometres from the mother and calf. John zoomed out again and scanned for a closer answer. He found one but it was still fifteen hundred kilometres distant. Far too far away to return to help the distraught mother.

But then another signal came in, this one only three hundred kilometres away to the south-east. John narrowed in on the location, only to find another mother and calf.

“Is that the mother and calf we encountered two days ago?” The subjects of his painting.

“More than likely. Gordon did say it was very late in the season. The humpback whales migrate from tropical waters north-west to south-east across the Kermadec Ridge on their way to feeding grounds near Antarctica during spring. That places the nets in the optimal position to do the most damage.”

Virgil stared at the kilometres of lines denoting the position of so many illegal fishing nets.”

“Do you think WASP will be able to stop this?” His voice came out parched and cold, an echo of the anger building inside.

“They will do their best. Gordon won’t rest, you know that. I’ve also asked Penny to investigate. This impinges on Tracy Industries’ ecological interests so I have contacted the board.” His lips thinned. “We will find those responsible.”

The lines taunted him. How many? How many lives had been taken moments before sanctuary?

“Virgil?”

The mother shifted octaves again and he found himself closing his eyes.

A hand landed on his arm. Soft. “Virgil?”

He startled. John’s turquoise eyes were frowning at him again.

“She’s terrified.”

“Gordon will free her calf.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

Her thrum was in his bones, vibrating his very soul.

And then the calf cried out.

-o-o-o-

Gordon had always felt small beside his brothers, but floating next to a leviathan of the open ocean there was no comparison.

The mother humpback was nuzzling her calf, a mixture of chirps and groans vibrated through the water accompanied by the modulating infrasound, screaming fear across the Pacific.

Knowledge of cetaceans scrolled through Gordon’s mind, but instinct was yelling at him.

Never get between a mother and her baby.

But the baby was in pain and her mother was unable to help her.

He could.

He edged closer, ever quiet, calm.

Mamma shifted in his direction, her great head swinging around and tossing him about in the resultant wake. Gordon caught himself and took the opportunity to slip in even closer.

C’mon, beautiful, I don’t mean you any harm. I’m here to help.

He reached out and touched the calf’s flank.

The calf shifted away, crying out and her mother propelled herself forward towards Gordon.

He darted backwards, holding up a hand. “Hey, hey, I’m here to help.” She couldn’t understand the words, but perhaps the intent?

A groan wrapped around him, followed by a click.

“Gordon!” Scott’s voice echoed about his helmet.

And into the water around him.

Shit.

He scrambled backwards as Mamma reacted. Surging forward she nudged him hard enough to force him to the surface. “Woah!” He got a brief glimpse of Scott gesticulating at him from the inflatable, obviously agitated and then everything was bubbles.

He lost orientation for a moment and just settled for swimming away from the chaos.

“Goddamnit, Gordon, answer me!”

“Shut up, Scott. I’ve got this! Silence on comms!”

He dove.

Deep.

He relied on his suit to keep his body pressure static as he propelled himself fifty metres straight down.

Sunlight flickered turquoise and disappeared into the depths.

Mamma didn’t follow.

Gordon hovered there a moment, looking up at the silhouettes of the two whales and the dingy far above. Mamma returned to nuzzling her calf, her pectoral fins churning the water into bubbles with the smallest movements.

Okay, Gords, you’ve got this. Gentle, calm and persistent.

He began his ascent.

-o-o-o-

Virgil tensed as his brother was thrown from the water only to disappear and dive down deep.

Gordon’s snarl across comms at Scott was acid.

The mother’s call shifted an octave to the point Virgil could almost hear the clear C, F, and G notes hanging in the air.

Three hundred kilometres away, the second mother and calf answered and turned around.

Virgil stared at the dots on John’s map as they slowly began moving towards them. It would take them a good chunk of the day and night to reach the distressed calf, but the other mother was answering the call.

John’s monitor sketched out the answer, far below human hearing and far too distant to be felt.

A complicated, pulsating aria of sound.

It wove around the mother’s distress call, each note dancing with its partner, an answer in form as well as content.

Staring at the readout, he found himself humming the notes, switching cadence, following the thread.

The rumble in his throat spoke counterpoint to the song in his bones. It completed. It felt...reassuring.

“Virgil?”

“What?!” He blinked. Shocked at his own outburst as John took a step back, Virgil drew in a shaky breath. “Sorry.”

John’s voice was quiet. “What is it?”

Virgil stared at his brother, then back at the sensor buoy’s holographic display showing Gordon swimming up the water column. “Can we transmit sound into the water?”

It was John’s turn to blink. “Of course.”

“At infrasound levels?”

John pulled up the buoy’s specs and Virgil knew the answer before his brother could vocalise it.

“Wait there.”

He had an idea.

-o-o-o-

The sight of the abrasions on the side of the calf’s mouth physically hurt Gordon. He swam up slowly beside the calf on the other side from its mother. He kept quiet but made sure the calf knew he was there.

It edged closer to its mother.

“Hey, beautiful. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She whined, her sonics vibrating through him.

Mamma growled in the way only a mamma whale could and, blowing spray up into the air, drew in breath and dove.

She slipped below her daughter and targeted Gordon.

Oh shit.

He flung himself to the left and down. He could manoeuvre easily around her, but...

...her tail swung and he was caught in a rush of wake, bubbles and the need to avoid the whacking she was trying to give him.

“Okay, I get the message. But Mom, you’re going to have to back off or your baby is going to die.” The calf could last only so long before exhaustion and predators put an end to her struggles.

Mamma swam around in a tight circle and for a moment one of her great eyes caught his, her intelligence and fear glaring at him through the turquoise light.

His external mic picked up a single note.

What?

The note shifted and became more of a wail, cut off and was silent.

Mamma whale was still staring at him.

Another note. Again it was modulated, but this time his brother’s voice accompanied it, Virgil’s raw baritone holding the note for a few seconds before shifting down his range to another note. His keyboard, for there was no doubt that Virgil had his keyboard with him, emitted a series of low moans.

Gordon shivered.

His brother was playing infrasonic, he could feel it, no doubt using the transmitter on the buoy.

Mamma was still staring at him.

He could give his brother all the points for effort, but there had yet to be a case where humans could communicate with whales. Many had tried. Most were ignored. The most success had been achieved with touch, which is what Gordon was attempting to do.

If he could get close enough without having his head handed to him.

Virgil shifted from single notes to a more complex weaving of sounds, combining his voice with the keyboard in a way he had never quite heard from his brother.

Mamma blinked.

Clicked three times.

And let off a wail of sound that tore at his heart.

Virgil answered.

-o-o-o-

End Day Three, Part One

Day Three, Part Two

[harleykeenee]

Parkner/Spiderlad soulmate AU idea

Disclaimer: I made this at 1 in the morning while I was exhausted and I don’t have the motivation to edit it so it might not make much sense

-Harley has a Spider on his chest while Peter has an arc reactor

-Peter always been nervous about who his soulmate will be because the only people he’s seen with arc reactors were Tony Stark, James Rhodes, and that one villain from Iron man 2

-all of those people are old enough to be Peters dad

-he’s rightfully scared about his soulmate being old

-so he does everything he can to hide his soulmark, after all he doesn’t want to be forced to be with someone three times his age

-he never takes off his shirt in public, he doesn’t wear v-necks, he doesn’t even wear light colored shirts just in case water gets on it and turns it see through

-when Peter gets bitten by the spider and gains his powers his first thought is to hide his powers

-he thinks that if he uses his powers it will put him on peoples radars and it will lead to people will discovering his soulmark

-that all comes crashing down when Peters uncle Ben is shot in front of him

-after all, how could he continue doing nothing when there’s people out there like Ben, people who will get hurt if he doesn’t use his powers to help

-so Peter becomes Spider-Man

-he’s super cautious about anyone discovering his identity

-he always wears a mask and tries as hard as possible to disguise his voice

-he even sews a black cloth cutout of a spider to the front of his suit to avoid his soulmark ever being seen

-what he doesn’t account for is back alley cameras which is what leads Tony Stark to finding out his identity

-when he first sees Tony Stark in his living room his first thought is that he found out about his soulmark

-when it becomes clear to Peter that Tony knows nothing about his soulmark his first feeling is relief

-his relief is short lived since it turns out Tony (Mr.Stark?) knows he’s Spider-Man and wants his help fighting the avengers

-Peters hesitant but agrees to go since it’ll be suspicious if he doesn’t go

-(plus it means he’ll hopefully be able to join the avengers someday)

-onto Harley

-Harley was super excited about his soulmate as a kid because “Spiders are super cool and awesome! Stop laughing at me mom!”

-he has a rude awakening when his dad abandons his family

-he gets angry and resentful about the whole concept of soulmates because how could someone just leave the person they’re destined to be with

-he’s still an angry kid when Tony Stark breaks into his garage

-while Tony’s there, Tony talks nonstop about his soulmate Pepper, “She’s just so amazingly brilliant and I need to get back to her!”

-it makes Harley realize that maybe not all soulmates are like his mom and dad were and maybe he can be happy with his

-when Tony leaves he promises to keep in contact with Harley and starts calling weekly without fail

-he even visits Harley when he has the time and by the time Harley is 13 they’ve built the first working Ironlad suit

-(the actual first one didn’t work because Harley tried to do it alone and when Tony saw it he decided to scrap the whole thing and help make him one that will be better)

-by the time Civil War rolls around Harley’s been training to be Ironlad for 2 years and is basically a master with the armor

-Tony asks him to help out with the fight in Germany since he doesn’t think his former teammates will actually go as far as to seriously hurt anyone

-Harley obviously agrees cause it’ll be his first real fight and he’s been wanting to punch Captain America ever since he saw his first PSA

-Tony tells him that the team will consist of him, Ironlad, War Machine, Vision, Black Widow, the king of Wakanda (who is apparently some type of superhero??), and a new superhero called Spider-Man

-as soon as Harley sees his first video of Spider-Man something inside of him clicks and he realizes Spider-Mans symbol is his soulmark

-he comes to the conclusion that Spider-Man is his soulmate and gets super nervous and excited for Germany

-after all, he’s gonna meet his soulmate soon and his soulmate is apparently young and strong enough to lift cars!

-(Harley falls in love just a bit when he hears about Spider-Man developing his own web fluid)

-meanwhile Peter is freaking out, cause Tony fucking Stark just asked him to go to Germany and help him beat up Captain America

-He’ll be forced to spend time around the 2 people (that he knows of) that have an arc reactor

-he’s super scared about one of them finding out about his soulmark and either A) one of them being a match or B) having it be an unrequited mark

-at this point he doesn’t know which one is worse

-when he gets to Germany he doesn’t have time to worry because as soon as he lands he’s being whisked off to fight the rouge Avengers

-when the fight starts he can barely focus on the things going on around him because apparently there’s 3 people with Iron Man armor now

-the person inside the new armor sounds young and Peter can hear Tony call him Ironlad over the comms

-when Peter starts making pop culture references while fighting Ironlad understands them and actively responds

-when the rouges surrender and the fight is over (team Ironman won in this due to Harley’s help) the Ironlad armor opens and out of it comes a boy Peters age

-oh no he’s hot

-and he’s heading right towards Peter

-while Peters having a inner freak out Harley gets to Peter and of since he’s a disaster of a human the first words out of his mouth are “Hi, I’m Harely Keener and I think you might be my soulmate”

- Peter is S T U N N E D

-this cute boy in front of him just said that he thinks they’re soulmates???

-at first Peter doesn’t believe him because there’s no way this gorgeous boy could be his soulmate, Parker luck wouldn’t allow it

-after Peter thinks about it for a bit he realizes that it’s probably true since the boy was wearing Iron Man armor which has an arc reactor in the exact location Peters soulmark is

-plus if the boy had come to the conclusion that they’re soulmates the boys soulmark probably has something to do with Spider-Man

-Peter agrees to compare soulmark once they get back to the hotel to make sure they’re a match

-low and behold, turns out they are a match!

-Peters never been happier, he lived his entire life thinking he’d be stuck with some dude three times his age and it turns out his soulmark is a hot dude that’s only a year older than him

-He’s so happy that in that moment he knows that everything will be fine

I might turn this into a full fic if I have enough motivation, for now I just had to get my ideas down. Y’all are welcome to use this concept for your own fics as well.

[musicprincess655]

“If you don’t sit still I’m gonna glue you to a chair.” Sawamura stopped his relentless pacing, pouting in Kazuya’s direction. Kazuya went back to resolutely ignoring him, tapping at his comm. in the vain hope that maybe it was off, and maybe Nori would have a message for him.

“How can you just sit still and wait?” Sawamura demanded.

“Easy,” Kazuya said, reaching up as Sawamura made another pass to grab the back of his shirt. He pulled until Sawamura collapsed in a heap on the couch next to him. “Park your ass, shut up, and wait.”

“I can’t just sit!” Sawamura protested, although he made no move to stand. “I have to do something.”

“If you don’t stop doing things, I’ll do something that’ll make you wish you were never born,” Kazuya threatened. He wasn’t usually so impatient with Sawamura. In fact, he prided himself on his extensive skills in idiot wrangling. Patience was an important part of that.

But Kazuya had been restless and frustrated all day, and Sawamura’s pacing was going to drive him up a wall.

He hadn’t heard anything from Jade in over a week, and he was starting to lose hope. Nori was keeping an eye out while studying, just in case, and he’d promised to let Kazuya know the second he heard anything, but no matter how many times Kazuya messed with his comm. a new message just wouldn’t appear.

He was just mature to recognize that he was taking it out on Sawamura, and that wasn’t entirely fair of him. After all, Sawamura had been most vocally on his side when he’d finally returned to the Tower. Kazuya had to take allies where he could get them, apparently.

“It shouldn’t have been like this,” Sawamura said, flopping back against the couch, his thigh pressing into Kazuya’s.

“What, Ryou shutting us out?” Kazuya asked. “Waiting around for orders while he gets his shit together?”

“The way Robin died!” Sawamura said. He stared at the ceiling, giving Kazuya plenty of time to study his face in profile.

It was like this that it was the most obvious he was half Greek. Looking at him directly, the Greek features were either hidden or close enough to Japanese features to not be noticeable. From the side, though, his nose sloped perfectly straight, just a bit too long to be Japanese. His eyes were huge, and would look out of place on any other face, but on Sawamura just looked beautiful, large and full and surrounded by thick lashes. Even his cheekbones cut in a way that was distinctly exotic from the side.

“No one’s happy about losing Robin,” Kazuya said, trying to clear how dry his mouth suddenly felt. Focusing on how objectively attractive Sawamura could be wasn’t helping him feel less restless.

“That’s not what I meant,” Sawamura said. He tilted his head until he was looking at Kazuya dead on, and his eyes looked haunting. Haunted. “This isn’t how heroes are supposed to die.”

“Not everyone can go out in a blaze of glory on the battlefield,” Kazuya said. He wasn’t familiar with any Greek myths in particular, but he knew the general gist. As Wonder Woman’s son and the only male Amazon ever born, Sawamura would have grown up on those stories.

“It’s not even that,” Sawamura said. “It’s...okay, so we have this concept called kleos, right?”

“Kleos?” Kazuya asked, trying out the unfamiliar word. It didn’t twist in his mouth the same way it did in Sawamura’s.

“Close enough,” Sawamura said. “It means glory earned in battle. It’s really important for getting to the best afterlife, the one everyone aspires to.”

“I’m with you so far,” Kazuya said. “What’s your point?”

“There’s nothing honorable about the way Robin died,” Sawamura said. “There was no glory in battle. This wasn’t what he signed up for. To die like that...in all our myths, there’s almost no worse fate.”

Kazuya was reminded almost uncomfortably of his mother’s death. There had been no glory there either. Just a young mother killed because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“None of us sign up to die,” Kazuya said. “What we do is dangerous. It happens.”

“Not like this,” Sawamura said. “He deserved so much better than this, even if what we do is dangerous.”

“Is there a word for pride?” Kazuya asked. Sawamura gave him a tiny smile.

“Megalopsuchia.”

“There is no way I can pronounce that.”

“If Robin died like this, all we can do now is avenge his pride,” Sawamura said. “At least, that’s what I believe. That it’s better to avenge him than not. Maybe the afterlife is real, maybe it isn’t, but either way, he’ll have that as a gift from us. And the Joker won’t be able to hurt anyone again. That’s what I believe. And that’s why I’ll stand with Onii-san, even though he lied to us.”

Sawamura’s eyes blazed, and Kazuya almost couldn’t bear to look at them, but he could bear even less to look away. He was too entranced by the fire in Sawamura’s eyes.

“Isn’t pride a bad thing in Greek myths?” Kazuya asked. He could vaguely remember a word like hubris, and that it was the cause of misfortune.

“Depends,” Sawamura shrugged. “There are a few words that can mean pride. One of them is all about thinking you’re better than you really are. That’s the bad kind of pride.”

“So, for example, self-satisfying revenge…?”

“I don’t think that’s what’s going on here,” Sawamura said.

“Don’t you?”

“Doesn’t Onii-san seem different?” Sawamura shook his head, giving Kazuya a brief reprieve from his gaze. “You’ve known him for longer than me, but I don’t think this is just about him.”

As much as Kazuya was still angry at Ryou, furious, he had to agree with Sawamura. This was more than just revenge. Ryou was hiding something, and that something was why he was breaking all his own rules. It didn’t help a whole lot to know this, though. Kazuya couldn’t help anything if he didn’t know what was specifically wrong, and as far as he could tell, not even Kuramochi knew everything.

So he was left here, with Sawamura, waiting for orders that probably weren’t coming.

Sawamura rocked like he was about to start pacing again, and Kazuya moved before he could stop himself.

“Nope,” he said, hooking a hand in the back of Sawamura’s shirt again, pulling until Sawamura fell against his chest. “I told you to stay put. You’re making me nervous.”

He wrapped an arm around Sawamura’s shoulders, fully aware that if Sawamura really wanted to get away, there was nothing Kazuya could do. Sawamura had the blood of Wonder Woman flowing through his veins, and Kazuya was only human.

Pathetically human, he thought at himself derisively at his reaction to the warmth of Sawamura’s back against his chest. He resolutely ignored his own response.

He’d lost count of how long he’d been ignoring it.

[pitchtocontact]

third eye

im gonna try my hand at a star trek au, because...i love star trek. and misawa. 

i haven’t planned this all out yet, but i want to write it in a few parts, so here’s the first one. it’s more of a preface than an actual chapter, laying out some groundwork. 

--

When all you’re left with is nothing, danger turns into a foreign concept. That’s the kind of attitude you’ll need if you’re thinking of joining the Medical Emergency Evacuation Service. Come hell or high water, they’ll be there when you call.

tw for graphic depictions of major injury.

Eijun is ripped from sleep by the blaring wail of a red alert siren, his sleeping quarters suddenly pulsating red from the warning light above his door. As he sits up, he feels an unfamiliar tremble from the ship, the glass of water he had set on his nightstand rattling for a moment before settling.

Unnerved, he throws his covers off and darts toward the comm unit attached to his wall. The display is awake with the words RED ALERT slowly gliding across it in a loop, the phrase spelled out in several languages following it. He hadn't been paying much attention when he was given the tour of the ship and shown how to use the device by the security officer, too excited about getting to their destination to care all that much, but in this moment he very much wished he had. He taps the screen a few times, but there is no apparent change, the warning message staying put under his finger. Feeling a little foolish, he says “Computer, report,” but this too yields no forthcoming response.

As he stands there willing the device to work, another tremble rocks the ship, this time strong enough to force Eijun to take a steadying step behind himself so he doesn't fall. Directly following the motion comes the unmistakable sound of the ship’s hull moaning under some unknown pressure. Fear sweeps through Eijun like wildfire as the alert switches from a siren to a voice.

“Warning, collision alert. Brace for impact. Collision to occur in: 45 seconds. Warning, collision alert. Brace for impact. Collision to occur in: 40 seconds.”

Suddenly out of breath, Eijun gasps. He whips his head around, trying to locate the place where he is supposed to brace for impact in the deep ominous red light his room is bathed in. Seeing none, he scrambles for his door and bursts into the ship's main hallway as the alert tells him he has 30 seconds to find something to hang onto. What's safe to hold onto? Should he brace himself in a doorway like an earthquake drill? Or is he supposed to stay in the open because he's in spa--

“Eijun!” He hears from behind him, interrupting his thoughts. He turns to find his mother rushing toward him, his father close behind. They look just as disheveled as he probably looks, no doubt woken violently by the alarms as he had been.

25 seconds.

“What's happening? What do we do?” He says in a rush. There's a steady flow of panicked people rushing in both directions as they stand still in the hallway. “Which way do we..”

“Hell if I know,” his father grumbles, pushing Eijun and his mother in the direction they had been going at a slow jog, joining the flow of people deciding to go in the same direction. Eijun hopes it's the right one.

20 seconds.

“Eijun, where is Wakana?” his mother asks.

A jolt of panic shoots down his spine. “I...don't know! I don't remember her room number!” He looks around as though she might appear out of nowhere, but she does not. “Mom we have to find her!” He turns around to go back the way they’d come, but his father grabs him roughly around the shoulders and turns him back around.

“We can't--”

15 seconds.

“--look for her now. Let's hope she's ahead of us,” he says, and it's the first time he's ever heard his father sound so desperate. Wakana is part of their family, his father considers her as close as a daughter. He's just as worried as Eijun, so he obeys his father's order and begins jogging faster.

A countdown begins as the 10 second mark is reached, and the ship is hit with another wave of unsteady trembles. Dead ahead, people are piling into a standard close-range transport shuttle, the kind they had used to travel from Earth to the ship. They run in, jumping the small gap where the shuttle is attached to the ship by some kind of flexible rubber Eijun had commented looked like an accordion when they’d first arrived. A security officer stands at the door, hand braced over the hatch control, waiting until the last moment to shut the compartment door, allowing as many people on as he can.

“Closing in 3, 2, --”

“Wait!” A panicked yell draws everyone’s attention, and Eijun sees Wakana and her parents running with another group of people trailing behind her. They’re further down the hall. Far enough to make Eijun’s stomach turn sour. “Wait for us!” She yells.

The collision countdown reaches 5 seconds, and Eijun whips around, jumping back onto the ship to reach Wakana’s outstretched hand.

“Eijun, no!” He hears his mother cry, and then she screams, because the security officer pulls the door hatch, closing it in an instance and cutting off her anguished pleas.

“Mom!” He turns back around and bangs on the sealed airlock door that closed along with the shuttle. He hears the shuttle detach just as Wakana runs into him, grabbing at him desperately. A moment later, her parents shove them to the ground, covering them. Bracing them.

“2, Brace for immediate impact.”

A moment of stillness and calm washes over them as everyone braces, a collective breath held from all who did not enter the shuttle in time.

Then, chaos. An explosion of sound surrounds them as they’re flung from their prone position and slammed into the nearby wall. Someone’s elbow jabs directly into Eijun’s eye, but before he even has time to scream out in pain, he’s flung again to the ground and a pain he has never experienced rattles through his entire right arm. He takes a gasping breath, but that too hurts in a way he’s never felt. He can do nothing but lay there, being slammed around by whatever they’re colliding with, getting more injured with every passing second. The metal grating on the floor slices every bit of skin it touches as he slides across it over and over, his clothes shredding into strips. He feels it when his ankle breaks, but has no more capacity for pain, he simply acknowledges that it happened.

After what feels like a lifetime of torture, the relentless onslaught of collisions dissipates, and he’s left lying facedown, his nose scraped raw and bleeding from the grating. He can tell he hasn’t lost his vision, but still he cannot see anything. Everything around him is dark and silent. He hears no voices, but he’s not making any sound either, so he doesn’t think about it too much.

Another wave of trembles has him closing his eyes and tensing in a useless attempt at bracing himself again, but they aren’t nearly as violent. Whatever hits them this time only has enough impact to turn Eijun from facing down to facing up so that he’s looking at the ceiling. In an odd moment of awe, he sees that it’s not actually dark in the ship, it’s still running on emergency power, dim yellow lights illuminating the hallways just enough to not be pitch dark. He stares up, blinking lazily, unable to even turn his head. Small tremors keep rocking the ship, and with each small movement, his injuries scream at him, his breath hitches, and his muscles tense involuntarily.

Someone far away from him coughs once, followed by a choking sound, and then silence. He can barely hear it. It’s the only sound he hears for the next hour. He wonders why his body is waiting so long to pass out. He’d love to sleep right about now, but his pain keeps him from doing just that. He decides to simply stare straight up, and count how many times he blinks until something happens.

--

122 blinks later, something happens. A buzzing sound directly above him, or maybe slightly to his left, he can’t be sure. It buzzes for a time. It buzzes for 11 blinks. Then, the awful screeching sound of warping metal.

Voices follow that sound, which is the last thing Eijun expects.

“Could you cut a bigger hole next time, jackass? I can barely squeeze through here,” an exasperated male voice says where the buzzing noise had come from. The voice wasn’t speaking in Standard or Japanese, so Eijun was having trouble understanding. After thinking on the sounds for a moment, he recognized it as English.

“Not my fault you’re getting fat,” replies another male voice in English. “Life signs?”

“Scanning,” says the first. “Shit, right here. Like, right here, Miyuki. This guy.”

A silhouette obscures his view of nothing, and then suddenly the brightest light he’s ever seen assaults his eyes, shooting pain up into his head. He clenches his eyes shut.

“Conscious, responsive to basic stimuli,” the same voice states, presumably to whoever Miyuki is, although he’s still facing Eijun. He hears the beeping of a tricorder roaming over his body, followed by a small gasp. “Damn, he’s critical. We need to beam him out, now.” He feels something being clipped to his shirt.

“Medical, this is Alpha sweep. Crit coming your way, acknowledge,” not-Miyuki says into a communicator, speaking in Standard this time.

“All clear, Alpha sweep, ready to receive, over,” he hears, the tinny voice coming out of both their communicators.

His view fills with a shiny haze, and suddenly he is no longer on the dark ship. He’s vaguely aware that he’s just been transported somewhere, but he still can’t see anywhere but straight up, and straight up is just more lights, so he closes his eyes. A rush of movement around him, and suddenly his body is being moved. He can’t take it. The pain shoots through his body and it feels a million times worse, somehow, like it was all happening at the same time, in this single moment. His head throbs and he feels his body go through huge waves and numbness and unbearable pain over and over.

“He’s seizing!” someone above him shouts. “Brace him down gently, he has a lot of fractures.” Strange strips of cloth are placed over his chest and knees. He hears an alarming number of hypospray hisses, but feels none of them. However, shortly after he hears them, he feels his pain dissipate dramatically. He lets out a deep sigh.

“Good, good. Deep breaths.” More tricorder beeps. “Minor. Convulsions stopped after 10 seconds, responding positively to medication. Alright, let’s get you attached to a drip.” The ceiling above him starts moving, and then stops moving. Someone lifts his left arm and roughly taps into the crook of his elbow a few times before he feels a prick in the same spot. Something gets clamped to his middle and index fingers. “I bet you’d like to sleep right about now, huh? Well my friend, you’re in luck. I’m the sandman,” a happy voice says, before another hypo hits his neck and the world floats away.

[sunflowersupremes]

The Starhawk and the Slave: Chapter 4

Yondu’s (accidental) rescue by the Ravagers.

Characters: Stakar Ogord, Aleta Ogord, Yondu Udonta, Martinex T'Naga, Mainframe (Marvel), Krugarr (Marvel), Charlie-27 (Marvel)

Additional Tags: Slavery, Torture, Rape, Abuse, child endangerment, Non Explicit, it’s all in the past, flashbacks in later chapters

Read Chapter on AO3, Read Entire Story on AO3

Aleta was alone.

She’d run off the rest of the stragglers - her ‘girls’ as Stakar so creatively called them - and sat in the darkness of the forgotten rec room she’d laid claim to years ago. She needed silence, which she was greatly enjoying until the door opened and Charlie ducked his head inside. “Permission to enter?”

“You’re already in, you know.”

He lumbered inside, sitting on the floor rather than testing out the durability of one of the chairs. It was probably for the best, they’d learned years ago that most chairs weren’t meant for someone of his size. Hauling a replacement down to the old rec room would just be annoying. “You’re brooding.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Aleta glared at him, breaking the silence again to ask, “Did my husband send you?”

“Is he your husband again? I lose track.”

He was. They’d re-renewed their vows as Charlie was more than aware. He’d been there for crying out loud. “You’re a dick.”

“I’ve always had it.” He patted his crotch with a grin.

The most frustrating thing about Charlie - in Aleta’s mind, most people considered it one of his better qualities - was his inability to be drawn into arguments. Bar fights, tussles with customers or clients, brawls among the crew, illegal street boxing - anything physical and violent you couldn’t keep him out of. But when it came to fights with words he refused to step up to the plate, no matter how much Aleta goaded him.

“Where’s Marty?” she huffed, pushing herself up, a bottle of whiskey swinging from her hand. The Pluvian she could fight with. He wasn’t as fun as Stakar - swing a fist at Martinex and he’d probably jump under a table (or you'd break your hand on his face) - but he would quite happily yell back if she pushed the right buttons.

“With Mainframe, working on something of Udonta’s.”

“Udonta?” It took a moment for Aleta to process what he was saying. “Is that the slave?” She took a swig from her drink and felt the burn as it slid down her throat. “Damn,” she muttered, mostly to herself, “he named it?”

“You do not like him.”

“My husband or his newest pet?”

Charlie laughed, swiping Aleta’s bottle from her and downing half of it in one gulp. “Both, I suppose.”

Aleta snatched her drink back from him, making sure to cuff him upside the head. “He’s already attached. We don’t need any more kids around.” They’d just die, after all. Charlie’s eyes saddened and he patted her shoulder, mindful of his strength for once. Aleta resisted the urge to shout at him for being stupid and sentimental. She was the one who’d brought up the kids after all.

Tara. Sita. John.

As little as Aleta and Stakar talked about them - or any part of their past - word got out. Stakar talked about them more than Aleta did, he claimed it helped. He even went so far as to suggest that she should try talking to someone sometime. But her method was to keep them in a small, private place near her heart, where they were hers alone, not his.

“Something bad’s going to happen,” Aleta vowed, gulping the rest of the bottle in one swig. “Something with that boy and it’s going to destroy him.” She paused, looking at the now empty bottle and wondering if it was worth finding another. “It’s going to destroy us all.”

“You’re being melodramatic.”

She probably was. But there was still a creeping suspicion in her chest that things Stakar loved never seemed to stick around for long. 

Stakar hadn’t considered the logistics of someone never having touched food before, but thankfully the medic, Arc, had caught him before he could accidentally give him something to eat.

“He said his stomach’s hurting,” Stakar explained, feeling slightly put off by Arc’s horrified face. “I thought food would help.” Udonta hadn't said anything so much as he had pointed at his stomach when asked if anything was bothering him, but it was close enough. 

“With all due respect, Captain, food is the last thing he needs.”

“That’s fair.”

Arc tilted his head and sighed, pulling at the blue fur on his fingers nervously. “I’ve given him a shot to get his organs working again - without being used for so long, his stomach has likely shut down - which is the cause of the pain.”

“They hurt because they shut down?”

“They hurt because he’s never used them before. The shot I gave him is waking them up.” Arc sighed and reached for something on the wall behind his desk. Stakar took the opportunity to spare a glance over his reading material, unsurprisingly, it was all on Centaurians. “Give him this,” he said, passing Stakar a cup. “It’s just water with a bit of nutrients. See how he takes it.” Something in Arc’s eyes said that he half expected Udonta to spit most of it back up.

Joy.

Stakar took the drink with a nod. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Udonta was sitting up, looking around him with interest when Stakar entered his room, but as soon as he saw Stakar he slumped back, looking at the floor.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yuh.” At least he had managed to remember that word, even if it was the only word that Stakar had managed to teach him so far. It was a start, even if it was a slow one.

But Stakar wasn’t convinced that he was magically feeling better, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he sat beside Udonta’s cot, dropping the cup Arc had given him onto a table. “Are you lying?”

It was the kind of question he would have posed to one of his friends - Aleta, Mainframe, Krugarr, Charlie 27, or Martinex - he hadn’t considered the impact it would have on the mind of the fragile rescued slave.

He also hadn’t considered how quickly Udonta could move when he was frightened.

The Centaurian practically threw himself to the ground at Stakar’s feet, pushing his forehead to the floor and licking at the ground. It was just as he had done in the cell earlier - or was it the day before? Stakar hadn’t slept and had lost track of time - but this time, the captain’s feet were within reach. Before he could do process what was going on, Udonta was pressing frightened kisses to Stakar’s boots as well. When Stakar stepped back he flinched, clearly expecting a kick, and managed to whimper, “Sor-rey.” 

Kneeling beside him, Stakar placed his hand on his shoulder and ignored his flinch. “Hey, kid. Look at me.” He waited until Udonta was able to lift his head and meet his eyes, then he reached out and gently stroked his forehead. “I’m not angry. I’m not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you. I know you don’t understand. But please, try.”

“Tr-y,” he sounded out.

Stakar offered him an encouraging smile, wrapping an arm around Udonta’s frail shoulder and rubbing his back. “Let’s get you back into bed,��� he said, pulling them both to their feet. Udonta leaned into Stakar, seeming to cling to the comfort of a gentle touch. Humoring him, Stakar settled himself on the bed beside Udonta, letting the other bask in the attention as he pointed to the cup. “That’s for you.”

Udonta tipped his head back, staring up at Stakar with confusion clearly written on his face. Stakar picked up the cup. “It’s a drink,” he explained. “Do you know what that is?”

There was a slight nod, and Stakar pressed the cup into Udonta’s hand, wrapping his fragile blue fingers around it and tapping his finger against the straw. “Suck.”

Udonta’s response to that word was instant, shrinking back from Stakar, his eyes darting to the other’s crotch, confusion and hurt in his eyes. “Not- no. Not that.” Trying hard not to think about what that reaction meant, Stakar took the cup and took a sip, then passed it back to Udonta. “Try it.”

He did as instructed, managing to get some of the liquid into his mouth. Immediately he grinned - just as toothy as the last time, but more genuine - and much of it spilled back out onto his shirt.

Stakar made a point of laughing, hoping that Udonta wouldn’t panic over the spilled liquid. “Good. Very good.” Udonta blinked up at him, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Do you like it?”

The Centaurian paused from licking his lips long enough to say, “Yuh.” He took another sip, managing to swallow most of it that time, and Stakar patted his shoulder. To his surprise - and glee - Udonta was more than happy to lean back against him as he continued sipping on the drink and Stakar checked in on his crew through his comm.

Author’s Notes: 

I’m doing Camp NaNo this month with one of my own stories so updates will be slow. I’m still counting my fics as word count though because I can and I want to. I MAKE THE RULES. Plus if I write about my characters 24/7 I’ll be fed up with them pretty quick.

I KEEP WANTING TO CALL HIM YONDU AND IT TRIPS ME UP EVERY TIME I CALL HIM UDONTA. I promise he’ll get his first name soon. For the sake of my sanity. Also for the sake of my spell check with thinks, I'm writing a story about Udon Noodles.

Also, FYI, I’m making up tons of medical shit as I go. Yondu’s an alien so I doubt WebMD is gonna be much help anyway.

Don’t worry, Aleta will come around. I just wanted to info dump some of their past and she wanted to whine and also fight everyone. Mostly Stakar. She’s definitely going to fight Stakar. Ravagers don’t have a concept of “domestic violence” so I’m tempted to add that to the story’s trigger tags???

And I'm continuing my joke/headcanon about Stakar and Aleta having numerous divorces because no one stopped me.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Viridian Vanguard (Part 27)

Qrow took one long, slow drink from his flask, pulled it from his lips, and sighed heavily. <Alright, I’m good—let them in,> he mumbled as he capped it again, put it away in the inner pocket of his shirt.

Soon, the door on the other side of the room opened up, their first interviewee of the day strode to the dais in the center of the room, Ruby and the rest of the Keeper Team surrounding her. They exchanged the usual formalities, before she knelt down on the large cushion provided for her, bathed in the light streaming through the high windows.

<Welcome to the first round of interviews for the Keeper Team!> Penny said smiling. <First off, congratulations for making it this far! Second, for the purposes of uniformity, we will have to request that you please communicate almost-to-entirely in Actaeon, save for any Nivian sayings, concepts, or quotes that you feel will not, or cannot translate adequately. Third, though we are sure you are already well aware, the questions we may ask you can get intensely personal, and that you are free to ask such questions back, if either of us feel that they may be relevant, or might prove to be a significant asset or liability in the future.

<With that out of the way: please state your name, who you are, and how your merits and achievements make you the best candidate for this position!>

<I am Anouke Kalla,> Anouke replied. <I have been a watcher since I was old enough to walk and handle a knife, and have been hunting down, slaying, and skinning almost every dangerous beast and horrific monster that lurks in this Valley for the past five decades. Whether they stalk no man’s land, lurk in the darkest, murkiest depths, or soar the most treacherous skies, I can guarantee you I have faced and bested them all, with one notable exception:

<Soul Eaters.>

Anouke put her hand to her breast, looked Ruby in the eyes, and said, <I swear, Keeper Rose, grant me the honour of serving under you, and those monsters will learn to fear my presence as much as yours.>

<Yeah, say no more, you’re out.> Qrow said calmly.

Anouke’s eyes widened, she snapped her head to Qrow. <Excuse me?!>

<We don’t need overconfident big game hunters who want to be part of team just get close to a Soul Eater, and try to bag its head for a trophy,> Qrow said. <They’re not ‘fun,’ or a ‘worthy challenge,’ they’re an abomination of magic and science we have to stop at all costs—even if it means killing it so hard there’s nothing left of it that you can see without the help of a scanner or a microscope.>

<Yeah, I’m really sorry, Watcher Kalla, but Uncle Qrow has a point,> Ruby said. <You have to put your very all into fighting a Soul Eater—and every bit you spend on trying to kill it in a way that preserves its body, rather than just doing everything you can to ensure it’s dead is more opportunity for the Soul Eater to kill you, instead.>

Anouke scowled, before she let out a short, disappointed sigh. <I feel you are incurring a great loss by rejecting me… but very well, I will respect your decision, Keeper,> she said, turning back to Ruby, and bowing her head. <Thank you for your time and the opportunity.>

Ruby and the rest of the Keeper Team said their half of the formal farewell, before Anouke was out the door, and the next candidate came in.

“Wow, that quickly and just for that reason?” Weiss asked.

“Yep!” Ruby said. “It’s kinda like one of those economic theories or something, where there’s hundreds of folks that want to fill in a vacant, permanent spot in the Keeper Team, so we can just pick and choose whoever we think is going to be the absolute best of the best, though there were some folks where the issues were more, uh, personal.”

“Such as?”

“Well...”

It was mid-day now when yet another candidate strode into the room, a pair of well-worn headphones around their neck. <Yo, name’s Yral Revene, but you might know me by my stage name: ‘Jackdaw,’> they said. <Officially my job is as a watcher-weaver, but only to pay the bills while I work on my real job: music maker. I want in on the Keeper Team as you all are gonna be the key to my revolutionizing music and weaving, and it’s going to start with me helping you kick Soul Eater tail like never before!>

<That’s an incredibly bold statement,> Ren said. <May you please explain how exactly you are planning to do this…?>

<With the freedom to use my Sound, is what,> Jackdaw replied. <I’ve been forced to use all the stock standard sheets and songs, so me and the rest of the sound weavers can harmonize and collab easy-like, and even then, I’ve barely been allowed to use my Sound on the field.>

<Your ‘Sound’…?> Ruby asked.

<They mean their personally composed music,> Penny said.

<Oh!> Ruby said. <So, is this also a set of custom-made and modified spells, then?>

<Yes,> Jackdaw replied. <I could go on and on about how awesome it is, but I think I should just let my Sound speak for itself,> they said, pulling out an external speaker and their comm-crystal.

<Excuse me!> Penny said, rising up from her seat. <I would like to remind you that elemental weaving of any sort is forbidden inside the interview room, and will be considered an attempt to harm the Keeper or her teammates, with the according grave punishment!>

<Relax, it’s just the music this time!> Jackdaw replied as they set it down, before they smiled. <You can experience the rest later, at the Grove. Ready?>

Everyone agreed to it, or didn’t mind, except for Qrow, who said <Hold on.> then ripped open one of the cushions, and plugged his hearing-holes with the stuffing.

<Oh come on, Uncle Qrow, aren’t you overreacting?> Ruby asked him.

<Alright, go!> Qrow said loudly, either ignoring her, or unable to hear.

Without any further issues, Jackdaw grinned, and pressed play, their personal music booming and filling the room. Merely ten seconds in, the smiles on Ruby and Nora’s faces disappeared, Zwei whined and pressed his two heads together and covered his outermost ears with his paws, while Penny looked concernedly at the increasingly uncomfortable and displeased members of the Keeper Team, sans Qrow.

<Oh, Eluna, make it stop!> Blake cried, clapping her hands over her ears.

<I’m really sorry, but please do!> Ruby added.

<Seriously?> Jackdaw asked, frowning. <It’s just new! It’s like an acquired taste! You’ll learn to love it, I swear!>

<My sincerest apologies, but I will really have to ask you to stop, or be forced to!> Penny cried. <Any more of this, and you might be charged with harassing and psychologically harming the Keeper and her Team.>

“And then there were some folks who’d been doing incredibly well, but we had to make the tough decision to reject them because of one deal-breaker or another...”

It was afternoon now, the curtains on the windows drawn to keep the glare of the sun from being too powerful. It was already past 2, their agreed upon lunch break, but they delayed it for the sake of their latest interviewee.

<… While I doubt I will be able to concoct, or even begin to research on something that might affect the Soul Eaters themselves, I’m sure that I’ve proven that my potions can be a great boon to you and the rest of the team, in combat or out of it,> he finished.

<Indeed you have, Maker Nyimu!> Penny said, smiling. <There’s just one more aspect from your record that we would like to address: we’re rather concerned about how dramatically your combat performance dropped after you finished drug rehabilitation, both in training exercises and live situations, and how that might be a liability when it comes to high-stakes situations like a Soul Eater attack.>

Nyimu frowned. <Ah, yes… to be honest, most of my stellar performance before it was all thanks to the constant abuse of enhancers, or using more to escape the consequences. Again, I swear I will improve myself without the cheap, dangerous shortcuts.>

<We know,> Qrow said, <but let me give you a hypothetical situation: everyone but you and Ruby are down or dead. She’s in deep shit, you’re the only one that has a hope in hell of saving her, but you know that the only way you can do it is if you pop a pot, or jam a needle into your arm, give you the boost you need.

<Would you do it…?>

Nyimu was silent, his eyes widening in surprise, before his face contorted into all manner of expressions, the inner turmoil clear for all to see. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, before finally, he sighed heavily, slumped his shoulders, and shook his head. <No, Watcher Branwen, I believe I cannot…> he said. <Even a single misstep will be all it takes to fall again into addiction, I’m certain of it..>

<So you don’t think you can sacrifice yourself, if it comes to that?> Ruby asked sympathetically.

Nyimu looked at her, and said, <No Keeper—I apologize.>

<Nothing to be sorry about.> Ruby said. <Though, I am sorry to say you’re not going on the Keeper team.>

<I expected as much,> Nyimu said, smiling ruefully. He bowed, they went through the formal goodbyes, and left.

As soon as he was out the door, everyone started getting up off their cushions and stretched, groans and sighs of relief echoing in the room.

<Ugh, I’m so glad it’s finally over...> Blake muttered as she arched her back. <Please don’t take this as a personal insult, everyone, but I never realized how much truth there was to the stories of what kinds of Fae would want to apply for the Keeper Team… I always assumed there was some element of exaggeration and fabrication to it to make it a more entertaining story, not that they were just reporting it as is!>

<Yeah, Keepers tend to attract misfits, outcasts, and oddballs almost as much as they do trouble,> Qrow said, bending his arms back and forth between their usual and flying configurations. <And sometimes, they’re both at once,> he added, looking pointedly at Blake.

She scowled, and said nothing.

<Be nice, Uncle Qrow,> Ruby snapped softly, before she smiled at Blake. <So, since this is your first time in the Bastion and being out of the house in general since you got here, anything you want to get for lunch? There’s plenty of great restaurants here, and I’m sure we can convince the Council to foot for our bill.>

<If none of you mind, I would really appreciate someplace that serves fish,> Blake replied. <Preferably fresh.>

<Oh, well you’re in luck!> Nora said, grinning. <Ren and I know this great seafood place in the Tender’s Fields, serves pretty much everything—freshwater and saltwater fish, squids, octopi, shellfish, algae, seaweed—heck, they even have these neat compressed balls of plankton you eat like chips! You even get a discount if you catch it yourself.>

Blake smiled. <I’d really like that, actually.>

<Any objections?> Ruby asked. When there were none, she smiled and said, <Then let’s go get some lunch!>

Then as if on cue, all of their comm-crystals sans Blake’s started flashing and beeping wildly in alarm, similar alarms echoing elsewhere in the Roost. Penny projected a holo and read aloud the message:

<Emergency Alert! Research Facility Hyrkanos in the Thundercall Tunnels is under attack by an aerie of Thundercall Rocs, confirmed lead by ‘Zeus V!’ Requesting Keeper Team and other Apex-class watchers to reinforce within an hour or less! Outposts have been overrun or isolated, security has sustained casualties and infrastructure has been severely damaged, evacuations impossible without outside assistance!>

<Isn’t Thundercall where we were supposed to go in three weeks?> Ruby cried as they started running.

<Looks like the date’s been moved forward, kiddos!> Qrow cried back.

<Sorry to sound self-centered, but what’s going to happen to me?> Blake butted-in as she kept pace with them. <I’m supposed to be with at least one of you at all times!>

<Simple: we take you with us!> Ruby replied. <Your equipment’s all fixed now, and you said it yourself that you’re willing to fight and hunt with us, right?>

<There’s a lot of legal mumbo jumbo about Keeper’s deputizing folks, so don’t worry about going to jail, and just focus on not dying!> Nora chirped. <It’d be really tragic and awful if you died so soon after you just got introduced into the story!>

Blake looked strangely at her, before she shook her head, and kept on running.

Note: Qrow, like many avian Fae, does not have ears, and has hearing-holes instead. Ren also has them, as reptilian Fae and some more exotic subspecies like snake Fae have acquired adaptations from others over the millenia, though the earliest of them reportedly could only “taste” sound or had very poor audio perception.

[warsamongstthestar-keen]

Chapter Thirty-One

"Why prepare to fight if we're not even going after Kanan?" Zeb grumbles from his seat in the cockpit of the Ghost.

"You think he'll talk, tell 'em what he knows about us?" Sabine asks the Captain.

The Twi'lek shakes her head, "He doesn't know anything."

"Sabine. Uh, where are the power cells? I need some for my...lightsaber," Ezra asks over the comms.

The Mandalorian sighs, looking up from the targeting system "Did you check the overheads?"

"First place I looked."

"Hold on. I know where to find some. Chopper, take over for me," she grabs the Lasat by the arm, dragging him with her, "You can help us look too, Zeb."

"Pfft. Really? Why do I need to–" he complains.

Sabine drags him through the ship straight for the Phantom.

"Is Chopper in position?" Ezra asks, just as the doors slide open.

" Yep. Let me in there," she responds, moving for the pilots seat that the Padawan just vacated.

"Wait," the Lasat cries, finally understanding what's going on, "you're going to find Keen and Kanan. You're disobeying Hera's orders!"

"Were they orders, or more like her opinion?" Sabine asks, setting the getting the Phantom ready to fly.

"If we're gonna save them, we don't have a choice. You with us or not?"

"Yeah, I'm with you."

"Good," the boy turns back to the viewscreen, "because the plan's in motion already. Just waiting for the signal." A light on the console starts incessantly blinking only moments later. "And that would be the signal. Let's go."

Sabine launches the Phantom, moving as far from the Ghost as quickly as possible, "Okay. So, where are we going anyway?"

"Our last resort. Vizago."

*Tarkin's Cruiser*

"It's only a matter of time before he breaks," Agent Kallus informs his superior.

"You have wasted enough of my time," Tarkin grumbles. "I have brought in an expert on the Jedi, he trained many of the Inquisitors."

A deep, heavy breathing fills the space, as the helmeted figure steps forward. Kallus, his eyes landing on the Sith Lord, pales. "You are no doubt unaware that Jedi are trained to resist mind probes."

"If he is the Jedi he claims to be, I take it you have a solution?"

"Pain," Darth Vader responds, "A Jedi still feels pain. And pain can break anyone. I have no use for him," he says, waving a hand at the Knight, "He knows nothing. But, Quinara, she knows more than she says, they wouldn't leave a Jedi of her caliber out of the loop. Continue with your silly games here, Agent Kallus, but you will find nothing substantial."

With those words, Vader turns with his cape whipping around rather dramatically, as he breezes from the room.

***

Tarkin leads the Sith Lord across the hall. "This is a true Jedi," Vader says, opening the door. "She trained in the Jedi Temple for many years. Sat on the Jedi Council. Jedi Master Ar'iabel Quinara, the last of the Old Religion," he tells Tarkin, although the Governor is very much aware of all of this, and Vader knows that.

Defiantly, she lifts her head up, her eyes glaring right at Tarkin, not that he can see them. "So, what's the plan now?"

"Pain," Darth Vader responds.

Her head turns, finally seeing Vader. She freezes for a few seconds, before saying, "Cool. Not really all that into that. Consent's an important thing, y'know," she snarks. Keen had heard Kanan's screams that had ceased only moments before, but she had turned to the Force, stuffing her fear down.

"There's the snark you Jedi were so well known for."

"Aww, you remembered? How sweet, you really shouldn't ha–" she's cut off as painful bolts of electricity jolt through her body, causing her muscles to convulse.

Tarkin smirks. "Tell me what you know of the other Rebels cells."

Breathing deeply, she slowly raises her head. "I've never heard of other cells. I've heard of other people, standing up for what's right, for the sake of freedom and peace in this Galax–" she screams as the electricity surges again, more powerful than the previous time.

When it cuts off again, her shoulders relax. "Tell him what you know, or I'll just keep going, with a higher, and higher voltage each time."

"Well, I can't tell you what I don't know, you kriffing piece of kung!"

The torture continues on the Jedi, and she refuses to give up what she knows about the Rebellion, endeavouring instead to keep them all safe, most importantly Luke and Leia.

*Ghost Crew*

"Well, this is unexpected. Looking for work? Or something else?" Vizago asks, as the rebels walk up to him.

"My guess is you already know why we're here," Ezra states, seriously.

"I don't know where your friends are. I'm sorry," the alien says, not sounding all that apologetic.

"You must have heard something."

"Even if I did know something, it would be of no use to you. The Empire is locking everything down. That's bad for you and bad for business." Vizago turns away, directing his droids as they carry the crates.

"Well, if you want to change that, you need to help us," the Padawan argues.

"I doubt that. In fact, I think your activities got the Empire's attention and have made things more difficult for me. Get out of here. You're bad luck," he shoos them away, walking further onto his property.

"Ever wonder why the Empire was so interested in Kanan, why they'd send an Inquisitor to Lothal?" He shouts after the alien.

Vizago, stops, turning back to face the Padawan, Sabine warning Ezra not to reveal too much. "No, please do."

"Because Kanan is a Jedi."

"Kanan? A Jedi?" Vizago breaks down, laughing so hard he almost falls over, "You're funny, kid. That scoundrel couldn't be a Jedi any more than you could." Ezra glares at him, slowly closing his eyes. He summons the Force, lifting a crate over the alien, letting it float above Vizago. He looks up, as Ezra's eyes snap open. He releases the crate, the alien jumping out of the way, just as the crate drops over his head, "You? You are a Jedi?"

"And so is Kanan. And so is Keen."

"So what does this mean for Vizago?"

"It means you help me, and you'll have a Jedi owing you a favor."

"Hmm. Whatever I ask?"

The Padawan considers the question, consulting his friends, responding, "Within reason."

"No deal," Vizago immediately states, once again turning to leave.

"Okay, okay, okay," the boy backtracks, "Whatever you ask."

"All right, come with me, boy," he says, indicating toward his ship. The Mandalorian, Lasat, and Padawan all start to follow him, so he adds, "Alone."

Ezra follows Vizago to his ship, stepping through the door, he immediately says, "So start talkin'."

"First, the deal," the alien states, bowing to the Padawn. Confusedly, Ezra taps his horn. "Hey! What's the matter with you? I bow, you bow, then we have deal."

"Oh, right. Yes, okay," the boy goes into an over exaggerated bow to Vizago.

"Okay, okay, whatever. You're overdoing it," the boy straightens, "Eh, look, since you blew up the Empire's comm tower–"

"That wasn't us," Ezra argues.

"Well, you probably know they have no long-range communications, so they've started using these," Vizago opens a hologram, revealing an astromech Droid, with a long conical done, "Droid couriers. They take data from the city up to their communications ship in orbit."

"What kind of data?"

"Everything. You name it personnel, weapons, deployments. Prisoners."

"Kanan? Keen?"

"Possibly, but I can't guarantee that," the alien shrugs.

"That's pretty typical for you," Ezra turns to leave.

"Hey, a deal is a deal."

"A deal is a deal," the boy agrees, turning back, "So what do you need?"

"Hmm. Today, nothing. Tomorrow, who knows? I'll let you know when I want to collect."

Ezra leaves the ship, strolling back towards his crewmates, "It's okay, guys. I have a lead." He rounds the corner to find a very angry Twi'lek glaring at him, "Whoa!"

"For what you just bargained, you better have something more than just a lead," she angrily states.

"Hera, I know you're mad, but–" the Padawn tries to placate, only for the Twi'lek to cut him off.

"Mad? Try furious. You just put all our lives in jeopardy. I give you a direct order, and you disobeyed me."

"Well, it paid off. I know how to find out where Kanan and Keen are," he states, before adding as an afterthought, "Maybe."

"Maybe? All that for 'maybe'?" Chopper looks at the furious Captain, uttering an 'uh oh' in his babble.

"Hera, none of us want to give up on them."

"And you think I do?"

"No, I don't," the boy says, wholeheartedly, "That's why I took this risk."

"Okay. What did you learn?"

"I have a plan, and it involves Chopper," the Padawan points to the droid.

The Crew head back to where Hera landed the Ghost, all marching straight to the cockpit. Sabine has Chopper bring up a hologram of an Imperial shuttle she'd been watching, "I'm betting this is the shuttle the Empire's using to get the courier droid to their comm ship. Our only chance is to intercept the droid before it boards the shuttle."

"The only way to be sure is to grab the Imperial droid and send Chopper in its place," Ezra responds.

Chopper looks up at the boy, grumbling angrily, putting his hands on the sides of his body. "Come on, Chop. I'll give you a paint job. The Empire won't know the difference."

He turns to her, continuing his grumbling. Ezra looks down at him, "For Kanan."

The astromech agrees, although voicing his displeasure at the concept.