#i mean who needs a main ship filled with glaring issues when you got them

[1jemmagirl22]

So you can either resent me or love me, but you're stuck with me.

Top 22 ships I loved(Or more accurately became obsessed/re obsessed with) in 2022, ranked:

17; Bonnie Bennet and Damon Salvatore, The Vampire Diaries

[swan2swan]

So, where do we go from here? 

Camp Cretaceous Season 4 Prediction (LONG): 

As much as I’ve argued that we need to stay on Isla Nublar the whole time, turning right back around after that final sendoff would be too much of a forced “Return to Status Quo” for a story that has propelled itself forward so much. The kids did it. They won. They got off the island. I feel like we've explored almost everything we needed to (what's left? The bamboo forests? The gardens?), and though we never saw Triceratops or Stygimolochs or got chased by Gallimimus, we can't just go back after everything's increased. The only Big Challenge remaining on the island is the volcano, and that's six months out.

But the story’s nowhere near done, because we have four major plot threads that need to be addressed before the show ends:

1. Most immediately, we have the dinosaur in the closet. Is it a baby Scorpios? Blue? A Monolophosaurus? A Dilophosaurus? A baby Ouranosaurus? A baby Baryonyx? Jeanie? We don’t know, but odds are that it’s going to throw a wrench into the kids’ plans to return home. 

2. The state of Sammy's family and the ranch are still in flux; what will happen to them? Did they get all the money they needed from lawsuits? Does Mantah Corp have dirt on them? Are they going to try to interfere with Sammy because she Knows Too Much? They were set up as villains for a reason.

3. Darius and Kenji's strained relationship is a setup for future conflict.

4. We need to see Bumpy again. This isn't something that “needs” to come up, but the fact is that she's one of the main characters—bringing her back is essential to the story's quality, and we're not missing that thread. She either needs to get off the island, or we need to see that she lives afterwards.

Considering all of these things, I can rule out a lot of options: we're not getting chased right back by the Mosasaurus, and the creature in the ship isn't just going to wreck the engines and send them back. They're less than a hundred miles off of Costa Rica, so even if they're cruising at a cautious ten miles an hour, they should be able to see the shore within twenty-four hours, which means we're not going on an island-hopping adventure, either. You need dinosaurs, too, so nothing generic will happen.

Thus we can consider:

1: The kids are on the mainland of Costa Rica, and lost in the jungle or mountains. Just because they found their way back to mainland doesn't mean that they're going to find a port, and if their stowaway or the Mosasaurus causes problems, they can crash easily. If it's a Scorpios Rex baby, they'll have to hunt it and capture/kill it to finish their mission from this season. The problem with this option is that it just retreads the threat from the last season, which is boring; if it's a Monolophosaurus (or two), then it might not even impact things...so, I don't think the “kids in the jungle” plot is going to stick. I give this one a “D”.

2:  The kids run into a patrol vessel before landing. Isla Nublar is under quarantine. While they're on the boat, their rescuers/captors unleash the creature (which could be Scorpios!), and now there's a tight opening adventure on the boat. Thrilling, but not much of a big season if it's just a navy vessel...which leads me to:

3:  This is the only way I think we go back to Nublar, and that is if they meet up with a patrol boat, and then the creature in the hold (a small Scorpios???) rampages through the ship. They put it down, but the noise attracts the Mosasaurus, which wrecks the boat and puts them right back on Nublar—separated and with a bunch of adults alongside them. With a cast of much-more-plot-vulnerable adults to care about now (perhaps including Roxie, who joined the crew?), the stakes are higher and the kids are guides—maybe even separated at different points on the island. Not a big fan of this idea, though—again, it's retreading, and the number of excuses for “military-trained adults can't radio for help” is slim. So, I give it an “F”. But let's refine it a little further:

4: The kids get picked up by a patrol boat that is actually working for Mantah Corp—and they discover the dinosaur that has snuck aboard. Seeing an opportunity, Mantah Corp excitedly takes the kids to their secret base...on Isla Sorna. Though the dinosaurs on the island are mostly extinct and sick from disease, the abandoned island was perfect for a field laboratory. Specimens to study, buildings that already existed, a quarantine keeping prying eyes away...there's a whole organization here now. The kids escape from captivity (as they do) and find themselves wandering around a new island with new dangers: all around them are long-decayed skeletons of dinosaurs from the past, and hunting them are bizarre creations from Mantah Corp's labs. It's an island of ghosts now, and the kids need to escape...and perhaps, when they do, they find that they only have enough fuel to make it to one place: and it's the place they never thought they'd return to.

This plot covers pretty much every base—the stowaway, Mantah Corp, the relationships, and a chance to return to Bumpy—and gives them a proper, probable reason to go to Isla Sorna that isn't “Fate decided that it would be fun if they went to a different island”. I give this one “B-to-A” probability.

However...

There is one other major option:

Three. Year. Timeskip.

There are only two things holding me back from leaning into this: one is that it would deny us the sight of the kids reuniting with their families. We need that. We need some sort of triumphant return home. The other, simpler, more obvious problem is the monster in the hold; that kind of cliffhanger seems like it should come up. Obviously both of these problems can be solved via flashbacks, or a prologue, but...the need for new models and such would be an issue, because “budget” has always been a thing.

The other major problem, obviously, is the fact that the kids would need a reason to come back together. Maybe they all gather together for an anniversary and a dinosaur attacks them; maybe they're all being interviewed; but a far more interesting, compelling, and obvious motivation would be this:

Bumpy is alive and in danger.

Thus, all six kids (well...at least two would be adults now...) go running off to find and rescue Bumpy. They're bold and independent, rebellious and reckless: they each go to save their dinosaur friend, and they end up running into each other and ultimately facing Mantah Corp, who is one of the major power players in the prelude to Dominion.

This one has the ultimate story potential, in my opinon. You have Kenji and Darius meeting again with death glares because they left on poor terms. Ben has adjusted. Yaz and Sammy have had three years of yearning, notes, and problems (or maybe Sammy vanished...). And Brooklynn has had to forge a completely new life for herself, because she can't deal with internet fame anymore—everyone asking her about the island wherever she goes was just too much.

It directly sets the stage for Dominion, allowing glimpses of the world as it will be in the movie. Maybe the kids set more dinosaurs loose from Mantah Corp's (land-based in this one) laboratories as they free Bumpy. Maybe they become renegades and outlaws—forced to live in the wilds of California, Nevada, or Mexico. They're no longer looking for rescue, but for refuge. Maybe Claire has a sanctuary, a real one, that they have to get to. This would make it a full-scale adventure in a world filled with dinosaurs. Whatever they brought back with them is out there, too...and perhaps an old, scarred nemesis they never thought they would see again.

The biggest drawback to this is that the show hasn’t been running long enough for kids who started it to connect with the grown-up forms of the characters, but also...at the same time...it could work? I dunno, I give it “B” probability, A+ potential. 

Other thoughts that could work in any of these:

Roxie is working for Mantah Corp. She's unemployed, combat ready, and bitter at InGen...also, she'd look great in a uniform.

Brand is involved in any mainland shenanigans.

Dodgson. Dodgson. Can we get Dodgson here?

[shadowfae]

We’re all pretty aware that the tumblr otherkin community is at a huge decline; I was wondering if you have any theories as to why that is?

American Protestantism, the decline of queer oppression in North America and the AIDS crisis, helicopter parenting, web 3.0, morality politics, and  Tumblr’s porn ban; roughly in that order and rolled up into one bombshell that was a few years in the coming but nobody really saw it and understood it until it was far too late.

That was a mouthful and probably only made sense if you follow current cyberpolitical theory. For some of you reading this, as with every other hot take I have this has a chance of being passed around, that alone is enough. But for others who had no idea what I just said and need the ELI5 version, let me explain that. Buckle up, this’ll be a long one, and will go into fandom history a bit as well because it is actually relevant.

As we know, tumblr is a very American-centric platform. Twitter is also this way, but less so, but tumblr has it bad. Now, I’m ‘lucky’ in the fact that I’m Canadian and a twenty minute drive from the American border, so that puts me in the ‘privileged’ majority. (I say privileged because I’m not really sure what else to call it. Most of the information going around about politics either directly affects me or indirectly affects me approximately one or two links of contact away. Someone who’s only influenced by American politics because it makes their sister’s online friends sad is not going to be privileged in that way.)

This means that American politics and their social climate overwhelmingly affects tumblr’s social climate. This also bleeds through into other fandom spaces, on twitter, instagram, and Pixiv to name a few places; but here’s where I spend the majority of my time so here’s what I’ve witnessed.

America’s main religion, as far as I understand (from the raised agnostic and currently neopagan view I have), is some weirdass capitalistic-Protestantism that is so many miles from what the actual Bible says that if I were a betting man and knew more about cults than I did, I’d say it’s some weird fucking cult and never set foot in the country again for any reason that isn’t gaming free shipping through a PO box. If you have no idea what I just said but are at least vaguely familiar with Christianity, this graphic explains it pretty well. So we can see there’s some glaring issues with that ideal.

The decline of queer oppression and the rise of queer rights in North America, which is to tenderly include my own country but we all know when people say ‘in NA’ they mean ‘America, and Canada where it applies because the right-wing Republicans are really good in the propaganda department to convince everyone that Mexico is a drug-lords-and-anarchy wasteland to the point where even I don’t actually know what’s down there other than bad drivers and heat’; means two things. One, it’s a good thing by a long shot and do not mistake this as me thinking queer oppression being lessened is a bad thing. But two, it means that thanks to the AIDS crisis, queer folks lost a lot of first-person sources as history.

The queer elders in NA who survived are typically either a) bitter anarchists who are often POC, probably still dirt poor and do recreational drugs or b) university-tenured TERFs (trans exclusionary radical feminists). Category A are the people who Republicans have deemed worthless in every way, because racism, queerphobia, ableism, and all the other ways to be wrong and different and Evil that they can’t handle, because Jeezus would never want them to actually learn to love someone who wasn’t just like them, and they don’t have the compassion to do better. Category B are the people who want to be different in just a teensie little bit, typically with TERFs they want to be lesbians, but they don’t want to challenge the status quo. They’re fine with the way things work, they just want to be on top oppressing others over ripping the whole damn thing down and building a more forgiving system.

Now, due to all those ‘isms and the cheerfully malicious aid of the Republicans, pun not intended but drives home the cruelty of it all, we also see the rise of helicopter parenting. The invention of the internet did not really help this. Basically what you’ve got is a whole bunch of parents who saw the civil rights movement, just got access to the internet and things going viral, know the world is changing, and like all parents, they’re scared for their children. Now instead of parents knowing one or two people in their classes who just went missing one day and everyone assumed they ran away, they hear about eight homicides in the city of kids going to parks at night and dying. The Satanic Panic was another event around this time that contributed to that, but I’ll let you research that one.

This means that all of these parents, instead of doing what their parents typically did and let their kids wander off for the day so long as they’re back by sundown, they can’t let their children out of their sight. There might be a freak accident where their child is decapitated on the playground swing! Their baby might get murdered by an evil Satanist walking home from school! Their dearest darling might go online and tell their address to someone who’s got a 100% chance of being a pedophile who will show up and kidnap them in the night!

…You get the idea. 

Combine those three things I just established, what we’ve got is a lot of queer kids who have a lot of internalized shame for being different and wrong, because they’re queer, and they can’t find spaces offline to be themselves, because all of the elders who would do that are dead and/or inaccessible and their parents won’t let them go to any clubs that aren’t school-related, which they’ll never find a GSA or queer club because Republicans, ‘isms, propaganda, and the war on Category A queer adults have all done their best to ensure that those spaces don’t exist.

So you have a generation of kids who I am the youngest of. The first generation on the internet. The late Web 1.0 (usenets and Geocities) and early Web 2.0 (livejournal was the big one, ff.net too, also 4chan but fuck those guys) generation. What we were taught was: trust nobody on the internet with your real info no matter how much you like them, this is a wilderness and any crimes that happen won’t be punished or seen so don’t put yourself in a position where you’re going to be the victim of one, and everything you put online is never getting taken down so don’t put anything up that you’re not willing to have on the front page of your local newspaper.

This worked out pretty well, actually! You had kids who knew that if they got in trouble, there was no backup coming to save them. Because the form that backup might take - parents and police - wasn’t going to help. Best case, they’d be banned from their friends and online support groups for being queer. Worst case, they’d be jailed and put in juvie and conversion therapy and turn to drugs and become evil Satanists just like everyone says they secretly are already. So they learned very quickly to take care of themselves. Nobody was going to save them, so they learned to not need saving.

And then, well, Web 2.0 shifted to Web 3.0. Livejournal died because parents - the Warriors for Innocence was the big name - went “gasp how horrible my children are being exposed to the evil pedos and homosexuals they’re going to do drugs and die of AIDS!”. Which is uh. It’s filled with a lot of bigotry, and I’m not excusing them - absolutely I am not - but you can kind of see where they’re coming from, if you tilt your head and squint.

Either way, LJ died, tumblr took its place, Facebook was fast taking off, and the fandom folks who had seen mailing lists go inactive, web admins take their fanfic sites down due to copyright, entire fandoms burnt to the ground in flame wars, said ‘fuck that we’re making our own place’ and that’s how AO3 got made.

That’s important. A lot of folks move to AO3, because well, the rules let them. The rules say ‘you can throw literally anything up here so long as it’s fan content and is not literally illegal, so we don’t get taken down’. It’s a swing for the first generation internet users, those kids who know this place is a wilderness and are carving out our own sanctuary.

But. The children under us. The children for whom AIDS is a nightmarish fairy tale, for whom the ghost stories are conversion therapy, for whom know they can’t really talk to their parents about being queer but can trust they probably won’t get kicked out over it. The children who haven’t spent ten seconds without supervision except online, and their reaction isn’t ‘oh thank god I’m finally free to express myself’ but ‘if I get in trouble, who will protect me?’.

And there’s nobody there. Because we went in knowing there was no backup. And that was fine. But now, the actual adults have figured out that hey uh, maybe we should make cyber laws? Maybe we should make revenge porn and grooming children over the internet crimes? And they grew up with that. They grew up learning that no, even if your parents are suffocating and controlling, they’re always be there for you! Some adult will always be there to protect you!

That isn’t the case. It’s not. But they expect it, because it’s always been done for them. They don’t really want to change the status quo, because that means doing it themselves. They can’t do that, because they don’t know how, they’ve been controlled for every single part of their lives thanks to helicopter parenting and without that control, they don’t know how to keep their lives together, and they demand someone come and control it for them, without restraining them.

Effectively, they want someone to ensure they never face the consequences of their actions. Helicopter parents will rescue you from whatever you did, because you’re their precious baby and it doesn’t matter if you punched a kid, you can do no wrong and the other kid clearly started it.

But being queer is doing wrong. Being queer is something Jeezus doesn’t approve of. So they want to make it something he could approve of! But if it’s too off what they consider to be okay, if it’s too different and weird and wrong and evil, that can’t do, that’s still bad, and they’re precious angels, and children, and minors, why are we the adults not protecting them and letting them see it? Why aren’t we being just like their parents  but queer-friendly, why aren’t we protecting the children?

The adults who taught us were the children of those who died as a result of AIDS. The eldest of my generation knew some of them personally. My therapist’s younger brother died at 20 of AIDS, and she told me what it was like. But they don’t have that. These kids of web 3.0, they don’t have that. What they have is over-controlling parents, and the expectation that someone will always be there to protect them but hopefully in ways that don’t hurt them this time, no real understanding of why Category A queer elders are the way they are, and so much internalized shame that they have to do some pretty fancy logic-leaping to keep them from collapsing entirely.

They can’t turn into Category A queer youngsters, because they don’t know how to unravel the system around them, because they’ve never had to actually make choices in their lives and live with the consequences, because they don’t have the example of how to do it. They can’t unravel their internalized shame because again, that’s hard and they don’t have their parents to take away the consequences and pain. It doesn’t come easy to them, so it may as well not come at all.

But, you ask, if Category A queer elders aren’t around to teach the kids, then how are they learning anything positive at all? Well, Category B, our university-tenured TERFs, who don’t want to change the status quo but want to just be at the top of it instead.

For a lot of kids who don’t know how to make hard choices but want to be queer, this is an extremely attractive option. But when they go online to queer spaces, a lot of them say fuck terfs, we don’t support your hate, and they go ‘yeah okay that makes sense’. They can say fuck terfs without ever actually questioning why terfs are bad. They’re Bad and Evil, just like drug addicts, just like fairytale nazis, just like the evil homophobes.

And we saw them say ‘yeah fuck terfs’ and we were like, ‘aight you got it’ and we never questioned if they actually understood us. They didn’t. They didn’t, and we didn’t do enough to fix it, because not enough of us realized the problem. So terfs got a little sneaky. They hid behind dogwhistles and easy little comments, hiding their rhetoric in queer theory that you’ll absolutely miss if you just memorize it and never actually question it and understand why that point is being made.

This goes back to America sucking, because their school system is far more focused on rote memorization over actual logic and understanding of the text. They’re engaging with queer theory the way they’ve been taught, which is memorize and don’t think, don’t question. Besides, questioning and understanding is hard. Being shown different points of view and asked what they think is not only hard but requires them to go against all of the conditioning that says to just listen and agree and never question it, which goes back to tearing the system and internalized shame down, and we’ve established they can’t do that so naturally they don’t do that.

This begets, then, the rise of exclusionary politics. They’re turning into Category B queer youngsters, because we told them ‘hey that’s a terf talking point what are you doing’ and they never questioned why. They learned you can do all sorts of things, just don’t say X, Y, or Z, because they never thought deeply about it.

The children who have grown on Web 3.0 do not want to do any heavy lifting to make things easier for themselves long-run. They want to do as little as possible and have things get better for them. There isn’t enough of us left in Category A, because Category B terfs are very good at recruiting young folks and Cat. A is overwhelming poor, dead, and easily dismissed in the system as evil and bad, so we can’t exactly convince the young folks to listen. If all of the young kids could agree to tear down the system, a lot more older folks might listen. Change always starts with the young, and there’s a reason for that.

But Republicans have figured out, if you get people fighting, they never put together a force that can actually stop you. TERFs, who want the exact same thing as Republicans but with themselves on top, are doing this to queer youth, and Cat. A elders can’t fight back because there isn’t enough of them and the odds are against them, and the young folk like me who follow their lead.

People can kinda handle gay people. It’s not so far from the acceptable normal that it’s impassable. But you want them to handle kinky people? Gay people of colour? Kinky gay people of colour? Trans people? Those are bridges too far to step across. The original idea was to get the foot in the door with marriage equality and inch our way through with racial equality, sex positivity, dismantling ableism and perisexism (forgive me if that isn’t the word for anti-intersex ‘ism), and see if we can’t patch up the system instead of inciting a civil war over this and have to tear down the system entirely.

Well, we might’ve managed that if not for AIDS being the perfect ‘Jeezus is killing all the evil gay people for being sinners’ propaganda machine. As it stands now, not a chance in hell. So long as Republicans and terfs keep everyone fighting, nobody has the power to dismantle their empire, and they stay in power.

So then, you ask me, “Lu what the fuck does that have to do with the decline of otherkinity on tumblr???” and now that you’ve got all that background knowledge, here is your answer.

Those children who want their experiences curated for them and the evil icky content they don’t like to be gone because it disgusts them and anything that disgusts them is clearly sinful problematic and should be destroyed, are what we call ‘antishippers’, or anti for short.

They like being progressive. Sort of. They learned what Republicans and terfs have honed to a fine talent: keep people fighting, hold them to a bar they have to constantly make or risk being ostracized, and harass the people who don’t play along into getting out of your sight forever. Sound familiar?

They learned of otherkinity, and particularly fictionkind, because web 3.0 means if something goes viral on one site, it doesn’t just go viral on that site, it makes it to worldwide newspapers and twitter and nobody ever, ever fucking forgets it. They realized the following: “Hey wait, if I’m this character for realsies, not only does it help me deal with the internalized shame I’ve done nothing to actually fix because that takes work, I can also tell these people who draw gross content I don’t like they’re hurting me personally, and that actually sounds credible, and I can shame them into stopping”.

If this is your first time here and that sounds sickening, it damn well should, and I am so, so sorry that any of us had to witness this, and I am more sorry I and everyone else who personally witnessed this didn’t realize what was going on and put a stop to it. I answer asks and browse the tags and clear up misinformation and it isn’t just a genuine desire to help. It’s damage control, and my own way of trying to deal with the guilt of not stopping this. I’m well aware I couldn’t have seen it coming, I was a teenager myself still learning and no one person has that much power. I still feel like I should have done more, and I’ll do what I can to fix what’s within my power to fix.

So back to the story. This all culminates around 2016 or so. Trump wins the election, and every queer person ever knows they’re fucked, and the younger generation’s only ever heard horror stories, never seen actual oppression that this could bring. We’re all scared. We all don’t know what to do. Nobody has any answers or any control over the situation.

So they lash out. They attack others for drawing things they don’t like, for challenging them in literally any way, for asking them to reconsider the vile shit they just said, for so much as defending themselves from the harassment they just got. And when challenged, they yell “But I’m a minor! A literal child! How dare you attack me, clearly you get off on this, you evil pedophile!” and they sling around every insult in the book until one sticks. Pedophile is a pretty good one, so is abuser, and sometimes zoophile works out too. Freak is great, everyone gets right pissed off about it.

The fact that Category A queer elders were called pedophiles and freaks is not a fact they know or care about. The fact that they are quickly making every fandom community super toxic is also not a fact they care about. The fact that the ‘kin community has words and terminology and they actually mean shit, and the fact that they’re spreading misinformation faster than we can keep up with, are not facts they care about.

So they come in, take our terms, make it impossible for us to find new folks. They realize our anger is easily a power trip, because we’re already made fun of, so they get off on the little power they can find and make fun of us too, and then when we get rightfully annoyed and pissed off, they can hide behind being minors.

Then tumblr implements their porn ban, because nobody’s stopping them, because it isn’t profitable to have porn on here. Considering most of the otherkin community, and most fandom communities, are full of adults who do occasionally talk about NSFW things, and the fact that they’re just banning everyone who so much as breathes wrong, this begins the start of a mass exodus, scattering already fragile communities to twitter, pillowfort, dreamwidth, and a few other places. Largely, twitter, where you can’t make a post longer than a snappy comeback and where the algorithm is literally designed to piss you off as much as possible.

So community elders have largely left, because they can’t stand the drama and the pain of what’s happened, and that’s if they didn’t get banned for being kinky furries who do talk about how their kintypes merge with their sexuality. Most community members have also left or stopped talking about being ‘kin, because they get associated with antishippers and toxicity and it’s just not worth it. Those of us who are left get drowned out by misinformation and trolls and wishkin and antishippers who appropriate our terminology because it supports them getting a power trip, and whenever we argue, we get called pedophiles and freaks and worse.

And now there isn’t much left. I hope we get to find a better place. Othercon was a good place to talk about it, I did a whole panel (it’s on Youtube!) about what we want to do about it. But I don’t really have any answers. 

But to sum it all up... America’s political climate ultimately culminated in destroying queer spaces, and we survived, and then people who wanted to destroy smaller communities to get on top showed up and we were all but defenseless against something we had never, ever dealt with before on this scale.

One of my twitter mutuals mentioned how kinning and otherkin are now completely separate communities. It’s really the best I can do to keep hoping that continues, until nobody realizes the words are at all connected to each other. It’s the best anyone can hope for, now. I hate it. I hate every part of this. But maybe we can salvage what’s left.

[notveryglittery]

birthday prince (3)

summary: virgil decides roman deserves a day off.  words: 2,100 / ship: prinxiety (roman/virgil) author’s note: this is part three of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts)  read on ao3

— — —

“Best two out of three.”

“I thought this was a birthday gift!”

“Yes and?”

“So why don’t I automatically get to pick the first movie?”

“Because I know you’re on a princess kick and full offense, if I have to deal with a talking animal as the comedic relief sidekick, I might actually die.”

“... Okay. Fine, okay, that’s fair.”

“On shoot.”

One, two, three, shoot — Virgil’s scissors versus Roman’s paper meant that the birthday boy did, in fact, not get to pick the first movie. He feigned upset for only a few moments longer before flopping back into their pillow fort. He supposed, given all the hard work Virgil had put into this, he could put up with one non-princess Disney film.

Earlier in the day, Virgil had rather unceremoniously kicked Roman out of his own room, claiming he had something important to do. Were it not for how close they’d grown, Roman would have been upset and suspicious; he trusted Virgil now, though, and knew that nothing would go wrong. He’d spent an hour playing cards with Logan and Patton before Virgil shouted for him from upstairs. When he’d arrived back to his room, it looked almost unrecognizable. It was mostly illuminated by fairy lights, providing a cozier feel than what he was used to; the floor to ceiling windows looked out into a rainy forest instead of the usual rolling hills; his bed had been turned into a truly impressive collection of blankets, pillows, cushions, and stuffed animals. The canopy had been removed which bothered him a little but only until he realized the projector that had been set up, pointing at the ceiling. There was a basket at the foot of the bed, filled with snacks and bottled drinks. Roman figured they could stay here for the next twenty four hours and be perfectly fine.

Surrounded by what was possibly every soft thing to be found in the Mindscape, Roman clutched Mrs. Fluffybottom to his chest as Virgil got the movie set up. She’d been his favorite plushie for the entirety of his existence; he’d taken her on many adventures over the years but she’d comforted him through a number of breakdowns too. He swore there was actually something magical about her.

Virgil threw himself down next to Roman; he had swapped out his usual hoodie for one that was fully dark purple and had even longer sleeves. After Roman had stopped gawking around his room, Virgil had tossed a sweater at him. It was so bright it was practically neon but it was rainbow print and he loved it. He’d immediately changed out of his t-shirt and had grabbed Virgil in a tight hug. Roman definitely intended on starting a sweater paw fight at some point during their movie marathon.

“You good with Hercules?”

“No comedic relief sidekicks, huh?”

“Phil is not a sidekick!”

“What? Are you trying to tell me right now that Philoctetes is a main character? You can’t say he isn’t comedic relief! He gets hurt just for laughs way too often!”

“No! I mean. Maybe?”

Roman laughed, bumping his shoulder against Virgil’s. “Whatever, you dork. Of course I’m good with it. You could have picked The Black Cauldron and I would’ve been good.”

“Talking animal. Comic relief. Sidekick. Gurgi checks all of those boxes. I would’ve been going against my own word.”

“Hmm, fair,” Roman said, humming a little.

As the Muses began singing them through the opening, Roman took a moment to appreciate everything Virgil was doing for him. The basket of goodies was stocked with every one of Roman’s favorite snacks, including enough chocolate to make him sick. In fact, it’d been the first thing he’d decided on, before Virgil could even tell him what the plan for the day was. Not that it was really much of a plan, anyway. Today specifically had been set aside just for Virgil to spoil Roman however he wanted. That apparently meant marathoning Disney movies, napping as much as they pleased, and eating all the junk food they wanted. It was a far cry from how Roman usually spent his time; what with all of the projects he was constantly juggling, or the content he had to help Thomas produce, or the issues to take care of in the Fantasy Realm. He didn’t really realize even how hard he was always working.

Apparently, however, Virgil had.

Something was shoved into his face, startling him out of his thoughts. He shot a glare at Virgil, who was watching the movie and acting totally inconspicuous. The item turned out to be a stuffed dragon, one he didn’t recognize from his usual pile of plushies. The scales were shimmery, a nice ombre of purple and blue shades, the wings were tucked against the body, and… Holding his hand against the stomach was warmer than the rest, as if it had a belly full of fire. That was so cool! He squeezed it tight in his arms and went back to watching the movie, feeling even comfier than before.

With the credits rolling, Virgil ushered them both out of bed and into a couple minutes of stretching.

“I’m not having you complain to me later on when your bones start creaking.”

“You make it sound like I’m so old, Virgil!”

“Older than me,” Virgil teased. He ducked out of the way of a thrown cushion. “Oh, is that what we’re doing?!”

Roman took a face full of pillow and suddenly it was on. He couldn’t begin to guess how long they fought for, darting around the room and over the bed, swinging their feather-filled weapons at each other. He did know that by the time he collapsed on the floor, he was breathless with laughter. Virgil was so far gone that he’d dissolved into alternating between wheezes and complete silence. Eventually, they did manage to get back into their nest of blankets, though there was plenty of shoving, poking, and tickling as they did so.

“I dunno if I’ll make it through this next movie so pick one that I won’t mind falling asleep during.”

“You besmirch the name of Disney if you think there’s a single film boring enough to allow that!”

“You dozed off the first time we watched The Good Dinosaur.”

Roman spluttered. “I had just come back from a week-long quest! And that’s Pixar!”

Virgil actually cackled. “You can’t pull that excuse! Disney owns Pixar!”

“Stop bullying me,” Roman cried, “it’s my birthday!”

“It’s two days before your birthday, actually, so I can bully you all I like.”

“I’m picking The Black Cauldron, then! See how you like dozing off during your favorite movie.”

It perhaps hadn’t been his best choice. With Virgil snuggled into his side, warm and soft, the sound of his even breathing accompanying the utter lack of any songs… Well, Roman really didn’t last much longer. They found each other in the Dreamscape. Edges were fuzzy, sounds were muffled, and touch was electric. The Dream Palace was a blurry shape in the distance, attracting his attention every so often when its crystal spires caught the light. Virgil sort of just appeared, as if created from the colors of the setting sun. Roman had a feeling he was made of the field of flowers he’d woken up in.

“I like it here,” Virgil said, sitting down next to Roman.

“Remy does a nice job with it,” Roman agreed, slowly picking daisies and dandelions to weave into a crown.

“You do, too,” Virgil argued. “You have a hand in almost everything, you know.”

Roman frowned at him. “I do not.”

“Yes, Ro,” Virgil insisted, “you do. The Memory Archives look the way that they do because you and Logan watched one episode of Doctor Who together and had the inspiration to redesign.”

Roman chuckled, a little nervously. “I guess.”

“Memory Lane doesn’t hurt Patton because it knows better than to hurt anyone you love. It might be connected to him and his room, but you’re the one that created that safety net.”

“Virgil…” Roman tried, voice slightly strangled.

“I just need you to know how important you are. You aren’t told enough.”

“It’s fine—”

“You’re important, Roman. You matter. You make a difference.”

Roman finally stopped trying to tie together the stems of the flowers. Virgil took his shaking hands into his own and held them tightly. It was just enough that Roman could actually feel it versus the tingly sensation that the Dreamscape normally worked with.

“We love you. We appreciate you and your hard work.”

If it weren’t for that everything around them was already blurry, Roman might not have noticed his vision swimming when tears filled his eyes. It was hard to not know suddenly that he was crying, though, regardless of how physically present he was in this space.

Virgil let go of his hands and instead, cradled his face gently. “I know I go against you sometimes but in the long run, I want you to be just as happy as you make the rest of us.”

He waited a moment longer before smiling and squishing Roman’s cheeks. Roman giggled a bit in response. Virgil gave him two careful pats before pulling away. Picking up the flower crown Roman had abandoned, he set to work on finishing it. Roman wiped his tears away and sat still in the sunshine, content to simply let himself soak it up until he was completely warm from the inside out.

When they woke, the screen projected onto the ceiling was displaying a screensaver of 3D pipes. The forest outside the windows had been replaced with a cliffside view of the ocean. Virgil stirred next to him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He absentmindedly pressed a kiss to Roman’s cheek before getting out of bed. He was gone for a little while, during which Roman found two more plushies that he didn’t recognize. They were a gryphon and a lion, both extremely soft to the touch, and with fierce expressions that reminded Roman of how Virgil looked when he was in fight mode. He wondered how these new stuffed animals kept sneaking into his collection but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

When Virgil returned, Roman burst into laughter, because yes, he supposed there was no chance of sneaking that one into the pile.

“There won’t be any room for me in bed, Virgil!”

“Guess you better get used to sleeping on the floor then,” Virgil said, dropping the massive Simba plushie on top of Roman.

This just made Roman laugh harder. The fabric on this one was fluffier than on the others, something he could sink his fingers into if he wanted. It was nearly as big as him, or maybe it just felt like that right now since it was smothering him. Before he could move it, though, Virgil sank himself down onto it as well.

“Virgil!!” Roman gasped between snickers. “Get off, you fiend!”

“Hmm…” Virgil hummed, pondering. From where he was laying, he could just barely look directly into Roman’s eyes. This made it all the funnier when he finally decided, in the most deadpan tone, “nah.”

After some wrestling, which led to them both falling out of bed and Roman bumping his elbow and howling for five minutes about his funny bone before Virgil kissed it better, they were finally settled back in to continue their movie marathon.

They watched Moana, Tarzan, and, Mary Poppins before sleep began to take them once more. Seeing as the sun had sunk below the sea quite some time ago, it was safe to assume it was late enough to call it a night.

“I got you…” Virgil paused to yawn. “Got you one more thing…”

“Vee—”

“‘S not much.” He held out Mrs. Fluffybottom for Roman to take. “I just… I made it so that she can never be hurt.”

For a moment, Roman’s lethargy was chased away by astonishment and surprise. He could feel the enchantment just from holding her, though it was passing by the second as the magic was fully absorbed.

“I know you… take her on adventures a lot. Fightin’ bad guys ‘n stuff.” Virgil shifted further into the blankets as sleep continued to take hold on him. “Wanna keep her safe. Know you will, anyway. But jus’ in case.”

Roman rolled onto his side so that he was facing Virgil. He kept the bunny plush tucked between them and took one of Virgil’s hands in his. “Thank you…”

“Love you. Happy birthday, princey,” Virgil told him, papping him once more on the cheek.

Sleep settled over them quickly after. Roman would wake in the morning, feeling more secure and warm than he had in quite some time, surrounded by plushies and Virgil’s arms, and know that he had so much to be grateful for.

[roman-writing]

no great revelation (3/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Tyalor

Rating: T

Wordcount: 6,444

Summary: Jamie just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day’s work on the Telosian Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself  caught up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please don’t expect anything from this story. I’m just doodling in between writing ch11 and ch12 of ‘bring home a haunting.’

read it below or read it here on AO3

III.

—

The only transport with availability they could find on short notice was a nine day trip through hyperspace on the Hydian way with a stopover on Coruscant to jump on another transport for the Byss Run. ‘Short notice’ actually being: a seven hour wait in the public hangar bays, during which both Jamie and Dani hunkered down on an unlit bench and attempted to look as inconspicuous as possible. By the end Jamie — who was not by nature a person inclined to sitting still — was ready to claw out of her own skin if it meant getting up and actually doing something. And to really make things worse, the last tickets on the transport were for eighth class quarters with only one sleeping cot. 

“I didn’t even know they had an eighth class,” Dani muttered. She tugged at the hood of her cloak as they were jostled down the crowded corridor that led deep into the belly of the ship. 

“The joys of being a Service Corps brat,” Jamie said dryly, then she grunted when she caught an elbow to the back of her knee. She growled over her shoulder at the huddle of little robed Jawas pressing in close behind her. “Hit me again, I fuckin’ dare you.”

The only response to her threats was a series of skitterish language and rude gestures. One Jawa even jumped up and down, miming hitting her again. Jamie was sorely tempted to get her handheld mining laser out and have a go, but there were about seven of them and the very idea of being dogpiled by a bunch of children-sized robe-rats was too much to bear. 

Dani seemed to not see this interaction at all, and was focused entirely on pushing ahead. She squinted at the faded room numbers over each of the narrow doors, and said, “I think this is us.” 

“About bloody time,” Jamie grumbled.

She and Dani scooched closer to the wall and as far out of the way as possible to let the mass of other low level passengers by. Jamie glared at each of the Jawas as they passed, and each Jawa in turn fixed her with their glowing yellow eyes, while Dani swiped the laminated card they’d been issued by the ticket officer. A light on the door flashed red. Dani muttered something under her breath and swiped the card again, and with a blink of green light the door hissed open.

The room inside was small enough that Jamie could hold out both arms and touch the walls on either side. The sleeping cot was little more than a slit in the wall with storage lockers built into the wall beneath. The most uncomfortable metal bench Jamie had ever seen crouched in the far corner, bolted into the wall as well to prevent theft. They hadn’t even bothered pretending there was space to make food; for the next nine days it was all dietary supplements or overly priced galley grub on the upper canteen deck. 

“Looks cosy,” Jamie said, peering in over Dani’s shoulder. 

“How long did that droid say the trip was again?” Dani asked, gripping the straps of her bag at her shoulder.

“Nine days.”

The two of them looked back, and marinated in the notion that they would be spending nine whole days in such close quarters that one could barely turn in a circle without hitting the other. 

“Where are the bathrooms?” Dani asked.

“Dunno. Let’s find out.” 

Jamie nudged at Dani’s back, and the two of them stepped inside. The door hissed shut behind them automatically and sealed itself with the blink of another red light. While Dani set down her bag on the bench, Jamie started hitting random buttons on the panel by the door to see what they all did. The first dimmed all the lights. Useful. She turned them back on. The second opened the door again, which she quickly shut. The third opaqued the tiny port hole that admitted a view of the cramped hallway outside. And the fourth slid back a wall panel opposite the cot.

“Found the toilet,” Jamie said. “And the shower.”

Dani, who had crouched down to open the storage lockers beneath the cot, straightened and turned around. She made a face. “All in one?”

Jamie poked her head inside. “Seems like it. Smells clean, at least.”

Indeed, the industrial-strength cleaning vapours were so overpowering they made her eyes water. Screwing up her face, Jamie leaned back. Dani came to stand beside her and investigate the ablutions closet as well. The moment she caught sight of the tiny mirror bolted to the wall inside however, she made a strangled noise and jerked her gaze aside. Jamie watched in puzzlement as Dani whipped back around and tried to pass it off as a cough.

Without a word, Jamie hit the button to shut the panel that hid the ablutions closet. “You all right?” 

Still facing the other direction, Dani nodded. She cleared her throat and said in the most unconvincing tone possible, “Yeah. Fine. I’m - I’m fine.” 

Carefully Jamie slipped past Dani so that they didn’t brush against one another. She dropped her own travel pack onto the bench beside Dani’s and unzipped the main compartment to rummage around inside. 

“Don’t reckon there’s much chance the menagerie will die down until well after we’ve hit hyperspace.” Jamie checked the time on her travel credentials chit, hitting a few buttons on the display until it was set to a standard self-regulating clock so she could actually remember to sleep on a decent schedule. “But if you’re hungry, I can battle my way to the canteen on deck 34?” 

“No. Thank you. The lunch we had at the hangar terminal was enough.” 

Peeling back the packaging of a dietary supplement from her bag, Jamie shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said, and tossed back the supplement with a dry swallow and a grimace. Another quick search around the room revealed a tiny spigot protruding from one of the walls, which delivered a dribble of fresh water when she set an open travel bottle beneath it. Jamie took a grateful sip, then filled up the bottle to the brim before capping it. 

“Wish they’d just knock you out flat for trips like these,” Jamie said. “But then they couldn’t gouge us at the souvenir shops, I guess.” 

Behind her, she heard a begrudging huff of laughter. When Jamie turned around it was to find Dani with her hands around her stomach, as though trying to give herself the galaxy’s most ineffective hug. Dani glanced up and shuffled her weight back and forth in obvious discomfort. Even now, standing as far from one another as they could, Jamie could easily reach out and touch her if she tried. 

“I - uh -” Dani made a feeble gesture towards the panel that hid the ablutions closet. “I thought I saw something. That’s all.” 

Jamie shrugged. “Didn’t ask. Not my business.” 

Beneath their feet, Jamie could feel a slight rumble as the engines hit maximum burn. There was a momentary feeling of weightlessness, and then the familiar pull behind her navel when they finally hit hyperdrive. Some ships — sleeker, more capable ships than this — liked to make an experience out of going into hyperspace. Like pushing in the throttle on a first rate speeder. This experience however could only be described as lumbering. Like an overworked beast of burden taking that first reluctant step towards its destination.

Letting out a long tired exhale, Jamie said, “Right. Nothing left to do, then.”

And without further ado, from her bag she pulled out a set of pajamas — the only set of other clothes she had brought with her, to be perfectly honest, apart from a heavy thermal jacket in case they got stranded on an ice-ridden hell hole like Hoth or some shit — and began to change. 

Unlike the previous nights, Dani did not avert her gaze or get flustered. Instead, her eyes traced the tattoo on Jamie’s shoulder, a series of vines and flowers curling down the bicep of her right arm and partway up her neck. A large enough piece to be eye-catching, while also easily concealed by clothing. Not that the Jedi Order cared about tattoos. Just that some planets had different rules than others, and when you hopped from place to place as often as Jamie did, then you hedged your bets. 

“Does it mean anything?” Dani asked, nodding towards the tattoo.

Pulling a soft shirt on, Jamie shrugged. “Means I was young and stupid. Seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

Dani didn’t have a reply to that, though the expression on her face said that she didn’t buy Jamie’s story for an instant. She squeezed by Jamie to start pulling out her own set of sleeping clothes, and Jamie had to hop out of the way while tugging a pair of sweatpants up her thighs. 

“Don’t suppose you have any you’d like to share with the class?” Jamie asked, giving Dani a quick once over. 

Dani, who had been in the process of taking off her cloak, froze, then continued what she was doing once more. “No,” she said, facing the wall so that her back was turned to Jamie. 

“Thought it was a fair question,” said Jamie. She stepped atop the first rung of the ladder built into the wall so that she could inspect the cot in all its glory. Thin sheets. Thin mattress. Thin pillows. Happy days. 

“I appreciate tattoos,” Dani answered, her voice muffled momentarily by the shirt she pulled over her head. “But I’ve never wanted one for myself.” 

“Fair enough.”

When Jamie had assured herself there were no unfortunate bugs or surprises in the bed, she hauled herself up into the cot. She had to lie flat to slip in, and the ceiling was close enough to her face that when she was on her back she could make out every scratch and detail in the panels. 

“Well, this is shite,” she muttered. Turning her head to one side, Jamie asked, “Do you get claustrophobic? Only that I can take the end nearest the wall if you’d prefer.”

Dani went very still in the act of pulling on a thicker set of socks. Then she gave Jamie a guilty little nod.

“All right.” Jamie shuffled over some more until she was wedged up against the wall. 

Padding across the small room, Dani dimmed the lights before she climbed up into the cot beside Jamie. It was so cramped with the two of them, that there was no way they couldn’t not touch, and there was no way for Jamie to plaster herself against the wall any more than she always was. Eventually Dani was lying flat on her back, sheets pulled up to her chest, and staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling, while Jamie tried her damndest to not move too much. 

A futile effort, in the end. With a muttered curse, Jamie wriggled around so she could reach up and scratch at her own tattooed shoulder. Dani frowned over at her quizzically, and Jamie answered, “Got a scar. It itches like mad sometimes.” 

Dani hummed a wordless note. When Jamie had finally stopped scratching, she asked, “Why are you helping me?”

Jamie adjusted her pillow and said, “I don’t like Czerka. And, well, I guess I’m stuck with you now.”

Through the dark, Dani’s expression was inscrutable. She rolled over to face Jamie, and the pillow obscured her partly so that the only eye that watched Jamie was the one that seemed to gleam golden in the deep shadows of her face. “You just left your whole life behind on a whim.”

“Jedi aren’t supposed to form attachments,” said Jamie. “Even Force sensitives are discouraged from it, generally. Especially at the Temple.” 

Dani blinked at her. “I’m sorry if I was too forward, or -”

With a snort, Jamie shook her head. “Not at all what I meant. Just — I move around a lot. And you’ve seen my apartment. Did it look like I was planning to stay long?” 

Rather than answer, Dani asked, “Do you not like the places you live in?”

“I like them fine. Telos IV is fine.”

“What about family?” 

Jamie arched an eyebrow. “What about them?” 

“Well -” Dani faltered over this for a moment. “I miss my mother. She’s awful and she drives me crazy, but I still miss her.” 

She said it like it was an example, an invitation for Jamie to give her own in return. 

“Don’t have one,” Jamie said. 

“What? Nobody?”

“Nope.” 

“But what about -? I mean -” Dani blew out a frustrated breath before continuing. “Surely there are people who care about you. You’re a good person.” 

“You’ve known me three days,” Jamie pointed out. “Less. Two and a half.” 

“Jamie,” she said in an admonishing tone.

With a sigh, Jamie rolled onto her back. She could hear their neighbours through the thin walls. Someone was playing thumping music and talking loudly amongst themselves in a language she did not understand, until they blended into a drone of white noise. 

“Attachments are forbidden for Jedi,” Jamie repeated, “but I’ve never been Jedi material. When I was still in training at the Temple, there were people in my group that I cared about. Sure. Formed an attachment with a youngling named Mikey. We weren’t related by blood but we might as well’ve been. I looked after him, and for a while things were good. But he was strong. Stronger than I could ever dream of being. And for people like him, people strong in the Force -” Jamie made a helpless gesture towards the ceiling. “They separated him from the rest when he was still so young. He’s a Jedi Knight now. We don’t talk anymore. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Dani said softly.

Jamie’s stomach swooped, and she grit her teeth against it. “I hope it is. It’s for the best.”

“And what about these other friends? The ones we’re going to visit on Tython?” 

“Just friends,” said Jamie. “Good friends, but friends. They’re actual Jedi, and they take that shit seriously. Or, well -” she huffed out a laugh. “One of them does. Sometimes I wonder if Owen takes anything seriously. Most people, though? No. No attachments. Most people aren’t worth the effort.” 

Dani's gaze was a dart of gold through the enclosed space, the two of them cramped together, their knees brushing despite their best efforts. Then, she said, "I'm glad."

Frowning, Jamie turned her head to look at her. "About what?"

"That this isn't an effort."

Jamie opened her mouth to retort but no sound came out. It hadn't been said with venom or sarcasm. It had been resigned. Matter of fact, even. 

And before Jamie could gather her wits about her enough to formulate a response, Dani rolled over and nearly took the rest of the blankets with her. Scowling, stomach churning unpleasantly, Jamie rolled over as well and tried to get some sleep. 

 --

Three days passed without anything noteworthy occurring, which — given the way Jamie’s week had been going so far — was a miracle in and of itself. And after three days of scouring the various lower and mid decks, Jamie could with great confidence say that no Czerka had followed them aboard this particular vessel.

Now, if only those weird fucking nightmares would go away. That would be grand.

Jamie was at the canteen bar on the mid decks. She was allowing herself to indulge in the vice of a foamy alcoholic beverage which resembled beer but which definitely wasn't beer. The location she would've preferred to drink at — a corner table with an excellent view of the whole room, and good access to one of the side exits — was already occupied by a group of surly looking humans, which meant that Jamie was forced to drink at the bar itself. She nursed her not-beer and tried not to think about how she still had six more days of sleeping beside a very attractive woman who was alternatively clingy or kick-y in her sleep.

Right when she was constructing ways of padding Dani's legs — more socks would do the trick, surely; and the woman was always bloody cold; she wouldn't complain — Jamie felt a frisson run down her spine. She straightened from her stoop with a frown, and looked around the room for any indication of new threats or danger.

Which was when someone stepped up to the bar beside her. He waved down the droid bartender and ordered himself a drink. Non-alcoholic. She looked at him, and went tense.

When it had seemed that she could finally allow herself to relax, to enjoy this leisurely cruise through hyperspace — as much as anyone could enjoy passage in their shit quarters — Jamie just had to go run into a Jedi.

An actual Jedi this time. Brown robes. Lightsabre. The whole lot. In fact, the last thing she noticed about him was his lightsabre. It was everything else that gave him away. The way he held himself. His clothes. The way he even breathed.

Immediately, Jamie buried her nose back into her glass and prayed that he wouldn't look her way.

He did. Of fucking course he did.

His sharp eyes promptly found the Service Corps dog tags hanging from her neck. Jamie was still mentally kicking herself for wearing them today, when he slanted his head sideways to read her Corps Assignment on the metal tags.

"And how is Telos?" he asked without preamble.

Jamie shrugged and stifled the urge to walk very quickly away. "Scarred," she said, "but alive."

He hummed. The droid brought him his beverage, and he murmured his thanks before turning his attention back to her. "And you're heading to Coruscant," he remarked thoughtfully. "Are you being Reassigned?"

Jamie shook her head. She bought herself some time by taking another sip of her not-beer. "Nah. Been three years since I've seen some friends on Tython. Thought I ought to say hello. They'll be sick of my pre-recorded postcards by now."

His answering smile was small, a thing barely there. Then there was a flicker of his brow. "You know," he said slowly, "I think I recognize you."

Well, that sure wasn't ominous. Not in the slightest. 

"Oh?" said Jamie. 

"Yes. You used to be ExplorCorps, didn't you?" He leaned closer, elbows on the bar, considering her. "My old Master was a Seeker. He showed me the proceedings of a smuggling bust he took part in about four years ago on an undisclosed planet near Nar Shaddaa. You gave the testimony that sent that Hutt crime lord to prison."

Jamie bought herself a second by buying her nose in her glass and taking a deep drink. So much for identity suppression. "Ah - yeah. That was me. Small galaxy, innit?"

He held out his gloved hand. “Pasha,” he said.

Switching her not-beer to her other hand, Jamie took his hand and shook it. “Jamie. And what brings you here?"

Setting his hand down, Pasha tapped his fingers against the bar top. Then he surveyed the rest of the room, as though checking for eavesdroppers. "I trust I can rely on your discretion?" he said in a tone that was too casual.

"Yeah. 'Course."

The droid bartender trundled by on its treads, and Pasha waited until it was gone. “I am investigating a murder."

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over Jamie’s head. "Someone in the Order?" 

His expression was grave, and he nodded. "A young Consular by the name of Edmund. His body was found on a transport cruiser passing through Vurdon Ka. We believe it was the work of a Sith assassin."

Well, that was new.

"What? That close to the Core Worlds?" Jamie asked, and her voice was as incredulous as she could make it.

"Yes," he said and he was the definition of sombre. "You understand why this is so important. If the Sith have managed to infiltrate so deeply into the Core, then the risk to the Republic is far greater than we had thought."

"Well, fuck," Jamie muttered. Though not for the reason he probably thought. 

She really had to go and get herself involved in the biggest clusterfuck of the decade. No. Biggest clusterfuck of the century. 

“We’re almost finished making our sweep of the ship,” Pasha sighed as he lifted his glass for a sip. “I’ll be glad to be done. It’s tiring work, and this assassin somehow manages to slip through our fingers every time we get close.” 

Wait, wait, wait. Hold the holo. 

Jamie jabbed her finger against the bartop. “You think the assassin is on this hunk of junk?” 

He nodded, lowering his glass. “We’ve done a thorough check through the upper and mid decks the last few days. Just making our way to the lower decks now.”

“I’m down there, and I haven’t seen anything,” Jamie said, hoping she didn’t sweat straight through her shirt. “Now, I’m no Knight, but I think I would know a Sith assassin if I saw one.”

“Have you ever met a Sith before?” 

Jamie paused. She’d had plenty of dealings with Sith associates over the years — smugglers, crime cartels, weapons dealers, drug runners, you name it — but an actual Sith in the flesh? She shook her head. 

“Pray you never do,” Pasha said darkly. 

Jamie felt the hairs on the back of her neck and arms lift with a shiver. Then the sound of heavy boot steps approached the bar. Two masked Troopers in scuffed body armour stopped behind them, the Republic insignia emblazoned in blue on their left shoulders. They were walking talking weapon arsenals with more military tech between them than the rest of this sorry boat combined. One had a massive assault cannon strapped to her back and a bandolier of grenades clipped across her chest. The other was armed with a blaster rifle, a shielding pack, and an honest to fuck harpoon. Jamie sank down into her bar stool a little further. 

“Sir,” one of them said, her voice muffled through the helm. “We are ready to descend into the lower decks whenever you are.” 

Pasha gave Jamie a commiserating look and then drained his glass in one long pull. “Seems like the job is never done,” he said with a smile. “May the Force be with you.” 

Jamie lifted her own glass in reply, watching them go without taking a sip. The two Troopers cleared the path just by walking in a straight line. People scrambled out of their way. The three of them passed through a door, rounded a corner, and they were gone. 

Exhaling the breath she had been holding, Jamie slumped against the bar, letting her head rest against the cool and slightly sticky surface. She could hear the whir of mechanical treads as the droid bartender shifted position behind the bar. Jamie lifted her head. 

“Oi,” she whistled to get the bartender droid’s attention. 

It stopped cleaning a glass and gave her a low tired beep.

“Is there some sort of tech or maintenance shaft I can use to get to the lower decks fast?” Jamie asked. 

Another beep, and a spindly mechanical arm popped out of the droid’s flank to poke a button. The garbage chute sprang open from the wall. Craning her neck, Jamie wrinkled her nose as she looked down into the chute, which ended in a trolley full of rubbish that was just big enough for her to fit inside if she tucked in her legs and arms. 

With a deep sigh, Jamie bolted back the rest of her drink, then stood and started to round the bar towards the chute. “Fuck me.” 

 --

Jamie was still picking eggshells from her hair when she walked the corridors of the lower decks. At least the bar’s garbage had mainly consisted of fresh fruit rinds and nut shells, though she had a stimcaf stain on her pants that would take an age in the ablutions closet to get out later. She hurried along the hallway, pushing past clumps of other passengers who wandered about or chatted with one another. 

For the first time since stepping foot on this ship, she wished they’d gotten a room on an even lower level deck. This was only two decks beneath the canteen, and battle-hardened Republic Troopers weren’t exactly known for sitting on their hands. 

The door to their room was open, and Dani was nowhere to be found. Swearing under her breath, Jamie looked left and right down the hallway, hands on her hips. She checked the time at her wrist, and then continued down the corridor at a light jog. Every open room she passed, every tightly-confined communal space, Jamie poked her head in for a quick check, until finally she found her.

Dani was, of all places, twenty doors down with the Jawas. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, nursing a steaming mug of something or another while listening intently to the surrounding seven Jawas chittering at her. Jamie stopped in the open doorway, slightly out of breath. 

“That’s extortion!” Dani remarked, and one of the Jawas nodded emphatically. Then she said, “I’m very impressed.”

This earned Dani a series of gratified chirps from all of the Jawas, one of which eagerly topped up Dani’s mug with more of whatever beverage they were all drinking. She thanked him, and several of the others began demanding Dani’s attention with small sharp hand gestures and fast-paced prattling. 

One of the Jawas noticed Jamie's presence and started making a high-pitched growl, like a territorial womp rat. The noise alerted the others, including Dani, who glanced up.

"Can we talk?" Jamie asked. She stepped further inside the room with a furtive motion for Dani to approach her.

Looking puzzled, Dani handed the mug to the Jawa sitting closest to her, then rose to her feet and crossed the room. “Is there something wrong? Why do you smell like orange juice?” 

“Long story.” Jamie smacked the button which shut the door and opaqued the tiny porthole that peered into the Jawas’ quarters. Lowering her voice so that the Jawas couldn’t easily hear her, she whispered, "There’s a Jedi on board and two Republic Troopers. They’re looking for you and they think you're a Sith assassin."

Dani stared at her. "But -" she spluttered, "I'm not."

"I know that. But they don’t."

Dani glanced towards the door, then at the Jawas. She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “What do we do?” 

“We hide and hope that once they’ve cleared this deck, they don’t come back,” said Jamie. “I don’t know how much time we have. They were making their way down here right as I left.” 

"Spike was telling me -"

"Who?"

Dani pointed to the Jawa she’d handed her mug to. "Spike."

"You learned their names?"

"They're cute!" Dani insisted.

Right as she said it, one of the Jawas snatched up what appeared to be a tiny live rodent from a container, and swallowed it whole. The rodent vanished into the impenetrable darkness of the Jawa's hood, until even its wriggling tail was slurped up as well.

"Yeah, they're fuckin' adorable," Jamie said dryly.

“Spike was telling me,” Dani repeated more firmly this time, “that there are ventilation ducts that they use to pressurise the cabins during take off and landing.”

“And what happens if they decide to de-pressurise the cabins while we’re in there?” 

“We’re in hyperspace. What are the chances we’re going to be boarding anything?”

“The way my luck is going,” said Jamie, “I’m willing to say the chances are pretty bloody high.” 

“Do you have any better ideas?” Dani asked, and there was an edge to her voice that from anyone else would have sounded angry, but which Jamie could already tell was just fear bleeding through. 

“I do, actually.” Jamie jerked her thumb towards the door behind her. “We ride the rubbish chute to the upper decks and lie low until they finish their sweep down here. They’re not going to retrace old ground, and once they’ve cleared the entire ship, we’re gravy.” 

“The garbage?” Dani furrowed her brow, giving Jamie a once-over. “Oh, I see. That explains it.”

In the background, a few of the Jawas had huddled around a small handheld screen and started chattering excitedly amongst themselves. Jamie and Dani ignored them until Spike scurried over and tugged at the trailing ends of Dani’s cloak. Both of them turned to listen, and Jamie felt her blood pressure tick up in real time. 

“What?” Dani asked, face going pale.

“They can’t have made it to this deck already,” said Jamie to Spike. “You must be seeing things.”

In answer, Spike motioned towards the cluster of Jawas, one of whom turned the little screen around to show the holo it displayed. They had somehow hooked into the security feed and on the screen, clear as day, was Pasha and the two Troopers, striding down the corridor towards them. 

Without peeling her wide eyes from the screen, Dani asked in a trembling voice, “Where did you say the garbage chute was located?”

“They’ve already passed it,” Jamie muttered.

Yammering in agitation, Spike pointed towards the ceiling, where a vent was located just above the sleeping cot. Jamie groaned.

“Oh, all right,” she relented. “C’mon.”

Picking their way across the Jawas’ quarters was like navigating a minefield. There was junk sprawled all over the place in piles. It was a mystery how they even managed to get it all in here. When Jamie climbed the ladder beside the cot, there were two sets of glowing yellow eyes watching her from the dark corner of the bed.

“‘Scuse us,” Jamie mumbled and pulled out her mining laser to cut the vent free just enough so that it swung open on two rusted hinges.  

If Jamie wasn’t in the habit of hauling herself up trees all day, she would’ve had a hard go at clambering into the crawlspace. As it was, she grunted and pulled herself up. With a bit of wriggling — her hips got stuck in the small vent opening — she managed to get inside. She held a hand down for Dani just as there was a knock on the door. 

“Let��s go,” Jamie muttered more to herself than anyone else, as she heaved Dani up and into the ventilation shaft with her. Dani scrambled in and Jamie barely had enough time to seal the vent shut before the door opened with a hiss.  

Jamie was squashed between metal on three sides and Dani on the other. The only light in this space shone through the slats in the grating. Every breath was loud, as loud as Jamie’s heartbeat. She couldn’t have moved much if she tried. At her feet she could feel the shaft turn a corner, and any attempt to crawl along after it would end in one or both of them getting well and truly stuck. 

“Pardon the intrusion,” Jamie heard Pasha’s cultured voice. 

"Official Republic business," said one of the Troopers, his voice sounding muzzy through the speakers of his helmet. "Your cooperation is appreciated and expected. Any opposition will be met with force."

The Jawas jabbered and quibbled, but the sound of heavy boots stepping into the room regardless of their protestations was unmistakable. One of the Troopers, the one with the harpoon strapped to his back, stepped into view right below the vent. Jamie watched him crouch down and open up the storage lockers beneath the cot for inspection. 

Dani’s eyes were squeezed shut. Jamie could feel the way she was trembling all over. Reaching up, Jamie took her hand, but Dani’s only reaction was to clutch it in a white-knuckled death grip. Jamie winced, the bones of her hand creaking, but she did not pull away. 

“What’s this?” 

The Trooper below had dragged something out from the locker, while his partner searched the ablutions closet. The Trooper nudged a large crate with the barrel of his blaster rifle, then turned to a nearby Jawa. “Open it,” he ordered.

The Jawa needed the help of two friends to heave the lid of the metal crate back. The Trooper had his blaster rifle tucked up against his shoulder, ready to fire, only to lower it once more, when the crate’s contents were revealed to be piles of more useless junk. Tangled skeins of wire. Dismembered droid parts. The works. 

“Have you checked the cot?” his partner asked. 

“Nothing but a litter at roost,” the Trooper replied. 

Pasha spoke up from the doorway. “What about the vent? It looks like it’s been tampered with.” 

Shit. 

Dani’s breathing started growing fast and shallow. She was a line of tense muscle pressed up against Jamie’s front, her jaw clenched so tight Jamie was amazed she hadn’t cracked a tooth. There was a groan of metal around them and whole sections of the walls started to flex and bend in an alarming manner, as though something were attempting to crumple the entire shaft in one massive fist. Meanwhile, Dani’s shaking fingers dug painfully into the skin of Jamie’s hand.

Double shit. 

“Shhh,” Jamie whispered. “Shh.”

Dani’s brow was furrowed and her breathing had shot straight past panting and into hyperventilating. The pipes beyond the crawlspace hissed and whined. 

Below them, the Jawas were crowding around the two Troopers, but Jamie paid them no attention. With her free hand, she cupped Dani’s cheek and said softly, “Look at me. Dani. Hey.” 

Dani opened her eyes, expression raw and panicked. Jamie could feel every sweeping exhalation as Dani struggled for air. 

“With me,” Jamie murmured, and she breathed in and out with slow exaggeration. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. 

Slowly Dani matched it, her muscles relaxing in the smallest of increments while Jamie coaxed her along, until they were breathing in synch, until Dani’s forehead rested gently against her own, noses brushing. 

“All right, all right,” Harpoon Trooper growled below them. “We’re going. You’ve made your point.” 

The Jawas were still talking over one another all at once and waving their tiny robed arms while the Troopers stomped out of the room. It was a small thing, the relief that burst like little fireworks in Jamie’s chest. She smiled, then breathed in sharply when that relief continued to branch out into something more, something alive, electric, and beyond herself. She gave Dani’s fingers another squeeze and shook her head quickly.

The Force retreated like a skittish hand reaching forth in the dark, but it was too late.

The footsteps below them had gone quiet. 

"Is something wrong, sir?" one of the Troopers asked.

"I thought I felt something,” said Pasha slowly. “We went too quickly through the deck above this one. I want to go back.” 

“But -”

“There is something above us, Commander,” Pasha insisted, and his voice was stern. “Ignore this floor, and let us go with haste.” 

When they had finally gone, Jamie allowed her body to slump with a beleaguered sigh. Then she began to laugh softly. One of her hands was still cupping Dani’s jaw, and she brushed her thumb over the round bluff of Dani’s cheek, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. 

“Well done, love,” Jamie said with a smile.

Dani’s gaze was surprisingly steady for someone who had just been in the throes of a panic attack. She swallowed thickly. “Thank you,” she breathed. 

It was an extraordinarily bad idea to glance down at Dani’s mouth. Jamie hadn’t even realised she’d done it until Dani blinked at her, tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. A nervous, automatic gesture, but one which Jamie could not ignore. 

“I think we can leave now,” Dani said. 

“Right.” Jamie cleared her throat and let go of Dani quickly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mind.” 

While she worked to open the vent again, Jamie had to sternly remind herself that Dani was a wanted murderer, and that the warmth pooling in her gut was a very very bad idea. Dani was silent as Jamie urged her to go first. One after the other, they squeezed themselves out of the vent and dropped down onto the floor below. 

When Dani did it, the Jawas caught her and cooed over her, patting off the dust from her clothes. When Jamie did it, the Jawas let her fall in a bruised and graceless heap onto the floor.

“Thanks, mate,” Jamie grunted at Spike.

Spike narrowed his yellow eyes, then offered Jamie a mug of that steaming stuff they’d been drinking before. Sitting up and brushing herself off, Jamie took it. The drink tasted like battery acid warmed over, but it filled her with such a mild and pleasant feeling that she drained the cup. 

“They’re not going to stop looking, are they?” 

Jamie ran a hand through her hair. “No,” she said. “Don’t reckon they will. He sensed that, so he knows now there’s something on board. He’ll be back.” 

Dani twisted her fingers together. When a Jawa offered her a cup, she demurred with a murmur. “So, now what?” 

Tipping her head back towards the ceiling, Jamie closed her eyes. She mulled over their options, then shook her head with a wry grin. “God. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this.” She waved the mug at Spike. “Don’t suppose you lot have a long-range transceiver I could borrow? Preferably untraceable, but beggars can’t be choosers.” 

Rather than hop immediately into action, Spike looked at Dani for confirmation. Dani nodded and said, “Please.” 

With a series of noises that could only be described as high-pitched grumbling, the Jawa rummaged around in the still open crate that the Troopers had inspected earlier. He unearthed a dented and ancient subspace transceiver, dusted it off, and handed it over to Jamie. 

“The hell is the range on this thing?” Jamie muttered to herself as she turned it on.

The transceiver blinked to life with a flicker of white noise. Hoping beyond hope that the frequency was still the same as she remembered, Jamie keyed it in and hit the transmit button. 

For two of the longest minutes of her life, the only answer was a blur of static. Then a familiar voice crackled to life. 

“Well, well. Jamie Taylor. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Jamie’s smile was more of a grimace. “Hello, Rebecca. Remember how you owe me a favour?”

[duskowithapen]

Of Flowers and Tattoo Needles Chapter Two

Read on AO3

Read on Fanfiction

Read Chapter One

The Flowers

Luka walked into the Secret Garden. Juleka took one look at his face, sighed, and led him towards the backroom. “Be glad I hadn’t had time to take this home,” she grumbled, emerging from the freezer with a tub of caramel ice cream tucked under one arm. After a moment, a spoon appeared under his nose.

Rose looked up from where she was doing paperwork. “What happened Luka? I thought you and Marinette would get along really well!”

With a groan, Luka flopped into a chair. “We were!” He totally-didn’t-whine. “She designed the most kick-ass looking tattoo that was everything I wanted, she gave me the friends and family discount, she didn’t laugh at me when I flirted…”

“Well, that’s an improvement,” Juleka sassed from her own ice cream rub – strawberries and cream, because she was a sap for Rose, who she was intermittently feeding. “But I can’t see the issue…?”

“It was all going well until her boyfriend showed up.” Luka glared over his ice cream. “So thanks for the warning, guys.”

Rose frowned and put down her pen. “What do you mean? Marinette doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

“She was moaning about it during our last girls night,” Juleka interjected. “Talking about how all the guys who came into her shop seemed to be over-muscled sissies who cried the second they saw the tattoo needle.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what to tell you. Him and Marinette were definitely close.” Luka was about ready to drown himself in his ice cream. Even the excitement over his tattoo had faded into abject misery. He looked into the depths of his slowly melting ice cream, recalling the last ten minutes with perfect clarity.

Marinette looked like she was going to devour him. Her eyes kept flicking between his, darting down to his lips and back. She had even started to lean in when someone coughed.

“Uh, excuse me, am I interrupting something?” It was a tall blonde, formally dressed in a pressed black suit that made his eyes stand out (yes, Luka noticed. He might have been besotted with Marinette, but he wasn’t blind.) While his question may have been innocent, the smirk that crossed his face wasn’t.

Marinette’s face lit up bright red as she jumped out of her seat. “Adrien! I wasn’t expecting you here till 4.30!”

“Look at the time, buginette. If I’d known you had another client, I would have waited.” Adrien laughed as he wrapped the smaller girl up in a hug, lifting Marinette off her feet.

Luka glanced down at his phone, while Marinette began to stutter out apologies. 4.28. He couldn’t have been a couple of minutes late, Luka thought bitterly.

“I’m really, really sorry Luka!” Marinette had come back, the blonde – Adrien – wandering away to look at dragon tattoos. “I didn’t realise how long I’d spent on your tattoo, and Adrien had been a last-minute booking, so I’d completely forgotten!”

“It’s okay, Marinette.” With an internal sigh, Luka gave her a smirk. “Gives me a reason to come back.”

It seemed to snap Marinette out of her anxious haze.

He didn’t know if it was his words or his smirk, but something snapped Marinette out of her anxious, apologetic haze. Her grin was evil when she stepped into his space. “You needed another reason? I thought you said you were fine with needles.”

Luka’s mouth opened and closed for a moment before he collected himself. “I’m fine with needles if you’re the one poking me with them.”

Whatever Marinette was going to say in return was interrupted, yet again, but Adrien. “Sorry Mari, but I’ve got dinner with Pere tonight, so if I’m getting this tattoo, I kinda need to get it now.”

Adrien was now shirtless.

That’s all Luka could process as Marinette stepped away with another apology.

Adrien was sitting in one of the tattoo stations, jacket and button up slung over the top of the chair. Marinette ruffled his hair as she walked past. “Don’t go rushing an artist, kitty. Otherwise you might end up with something less badass fire dragon and more Mushu.”

“Hey! Don’t go hating on Mushu!” Adrien gasped in faux-outrage, turning away with his nose in the air. “He’s travel-size!”

“Uh huh,” Marinette sighed as she walked back over to Luka. “Anyway, ignore him.” She held out a clipboard with a form on it. “If you just want to fill in your details, I can polish your design after I do Adrien’s tattoo, and then send it through for you to look at. If you like it, I can fit you in…” She paused and walked over to the desk near the door. “Well, I have a cancellation tomorrow morning, and I can get Nathaniel to do Ivan’s tattoo… I can fit you in for tomorrow at nine, if you’d like. If that’s too soon, I have openings next week?”

“Tomorrows fine,” Luka said as he wrote down his email. “And I’m sure I’ll love whatever you send me. Your rough sketch is incredible – I can’t want to see what it looks like in colour.”

The smile Marinette sent him was almost blinding. After Luka handed her back the clipboard, Marinette said goodbye and walked back towards Adrien.

The last thing he saw was Adrien’s smile as Marinette pecked him on the forehead. “Ready to get stabbed, mon chaton?”

Luka refused to look up as Rose and Juleka digested what he just told them. They shared a glance in that way all couples do – like they can communicate via intense eye contact – before bursting into laughter. Well, Rose burst into laughter. Juleka just chuckled and shook her head.

“You’ve got it bad, brother,” She said around a spoonful of ice cream, “It’s almost pitiful.”

Rose poked her with a pen. “Jules, don’t be mean to him!”

A scoff. “I can be mean to my brother as long as he remains a dumbass.”

Luka raised an eyebrow. “Oh really, sister? Do I have to mention the Prince Charming incident?” That had happened back in college, when Juleka had moped for days when she thought Rose had fallen for the foreign prince who she met on his visit to Paris. There had been much relief when Rose had clarified, no, the prince was too male for her refined lesbian tastes.

Alright, Luka had been pretty insufferable then too.

Juleka snapped the lid closed on her ice cream and turned to put it away. “You said that your appointment is at nine, right? Rose, we can open late tomorrow, right?”

“Ooo, yay!” Rose clapped, gathering her paperwork. “I can’t wait to see what kind of tattoo you’re getting Luka!”

“Do I get a choice in this?” He asked with a raised brow.

“No.” And Juleka pulled away his ice cream.

Later that night, Luka opened an email from marinetteDC@email.com. Hey Luka! I’ve attached the full colour layouts for your tattoo. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!

He was so glad he lived alone – there was no one there to watch him blush over an email from a girl who may or may not have a boyfriend. Then he looked at the photos. His breath caught.

These are incredible. The image was flat but drawn so that when the transfer paper was wrapped around his arm, the sides would line up. The snake was coloured in various shades of blue, with a lighter sea blue down what could be seen of the spine before merging into a deeper teal green near the belly. The belly itself was a pale yellow, blending in perfectly to the ring of daffodils just above where his elbow would be. As for the flowers themselves, they seemed to pop off the page. Bright blue iris’, with the edges of the petals tinted purple, bold red gladiolus’ with a white outline, pale yellow daffodils with brighter yellow middles… they all emerged from around the snakes body, with the gaps a deep shade of brown – the colour reminded him of his mothers’ mahogany chest – and tiny flickers of pale green leaves creating little spots of calm.

Beside the larger image was a single iris, connected to the main tattoo by two deep brown branches, with a scattering of leaves ringing it. The blues of this flower were paler – closer to the colour of his eyes, Luka realised with a blush – and the purple of the petal’s edges were the same shade as Juleka’s hair. The orange streak down each petal stood out starkly from the rest of the flower.

It was incredibly detailed, and just so much more than Luka ever thought a tattoo could be. He thought back to Rose and Juleka’s tattoos, how lifelike the flowers were, and found that he preferred this saturated, brighter than life version better. It matched perfectly against the calmer tones of the snake and stood out against the dark wood and pale greens of the supporting stems.

He sent back a response before going to bed. Luka couldn’t wait to go to Charmed Ink tomorrow.

This is amazing Marinette! I didn’t think your sketch could get any better, but you’ve blown all my expectations out of the water. Should have expected that such an incredible person can produce incredible art. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow – and get the tattoo.  

**************

The next day, a blushing Marinette waved Luka into the tattoo parlour, throwing a glare over her shoulder at where a red head was busy with another customer. “Luka! Hi! I only saw your email this morning – I was too tired yesterday to do much more than send you the design and go to bed.” She hopped up a little on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek, moving away before he could react.

“Rose! Juleka!” Rose was pulled into a hug that lifted the shorter blonde off the ground, while Juleka was greeted with a faire la bise, which his sister returned. “I believe I have you guys to thank for my newest customer!”

“Well if anyone deserves a Marinette Original tattoo, it’s Luka!” Rose chirped, “And he refused to show us the design – I can’t wait to see it!”

Juleka smirked from her other side, and Luka instantly felt on guard. It was never a good think when his sister made that face. “It’s something sappy, isn’t it? Mine and Mum’s name on a ship, or the score for his first song, or his guitar? Gods know he rarely goes anywhere without it – I had to convince him not to bring it with him today.”

Luka raised an eyebrow and wandered closer to Marinette. Her cheek kiss restored some of his earlier confidence, and he leaned into her space a little. “Marinette could make the most sappy tattoo concept into something that could even fit in with your Lady of Midnight, goth chic style. After all,” And here Luka returned Juleka’s smirk with his own, “She managed to turn your love song into a pretty cool looking tattoo.”

There was a hint of a blush on Juleka’s face as she pushed at his shoulder, making him wrap an arm around Marinette’s shoulders so that they didn’t both go over. Her first tattoo idea had been the Always from Harry Potter, surrounded by roses – Rose had always been a big fan of the series, and had actually cried onto Juleka’s shoulder as she read the last book – but when Juleka came back from the design appointment, it had been with the flower wreath concept. It maintained the original intent behind the tattoo – a permanent reminder of Rose’s impact on her life and of her feelings – while being truer to Juleka’s style and personality. Rose had loved it enough to get the same one.

Marinette glanced up at him, not bothering to move out from under his arm, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Ahh, so you’re one of those musicians. Any girl would have to fight your guitar for your affections.”

“With you, Marinette,” Luka said with a wink, “There wouldn’t be much of a battle.”

Another blush bloomed across Marinette’s cheekbones as she stuttered, almost drowned out by Juleka’s fake-gagging and Rose’s squeals. Despite that, it was a nice moment.

Of course, with Luka’s luck, someone had to break it.

The door of the tattoo parlour was slammed open, and a woman with black hair cut in a no-nonsense bob stormed inside, one hand curled around a wooden rapier. Behind her stood the blonde from last night – Adrien – and Luka’s stomach dropped.

“Marinette,” The scary woman started, “What exactly have you been tattooing on my fiancé’s chest?”

[gluupor]

No Law in Deadwood

inspired by this artwork by the incredibly talented @requiemofkings

“Fuckin’ finally,” said Kevin as they crested the hill and the ramshackle town came into view. “I’ve a hankering to get to town.”

“No surprises there,” replied Neil, adjusting his hat to keep the sun out of his eyes. “I’d a thought you were gonna shoot them poor sumbitches when the whiskey barrel went dry.”

“What in the hell are you insinuating? That I enjoy a fucking drink? I wasn’t aware that was outlawed.”

“Peace, Kevin, fuck. I’d forgotten what a miserable fucking bastard you are when you ain’t had a drink.” Neil shifted in his saddle and stroked his horse’s neck to soothe her as she tossed her head and stomped in place, as impatient as Kevin was to get going. Riding was second nature to him— he never felt more at home than running his horse at a gallop, leaning forward over her neck with her sides heaving as she let loose— but even he was ready for a rest. Days upon days of staying with the impossibly slow wagon train and listening to Kevin’s complaints was enough to make even the most experienced traveller saddle sore.

Neil spurred his horse down the ridge, passing into the town. It was haphazardly put up and quickly growing: tents were surrounded by partially-built structures. The clang of hammers and the buzz of saws filled the air and the smell of sawdust was pervasive, though it couldn’t cover up the scent of horseshit. The main thoroughfare was made up of sucking mud, made worse by the rain of the last three days.

The biggest building had a painted sign that identified it as the Grand Hotel and had an attached stable. Kevin dismounted and tossed his reigns over to the tall, grinning man that came to greet them.

The man did a double take when he saw Kevin and then goggled at him. “Kevin ‘Bullseye’ Day!” he said when he regained the power of speech. “The most accurate shot in the west!”

“Probably in the east, too,” said Neil affably, dismounting his own horse.

“And you must be his sidekick, Quickdraw Josten!”

Neil felt the familiar urge to run that occurred every time someone recognized him. By all rights he should have shed the name Josten long before, it was far too recognized these days thanks to Kevin’s need to be the centre of attention. “God fucking dammit, I ain’t that son of a bitch’s sidekick,” he griped as Kevin snorted a laugh.

“Don’t say nothin’ against my mother, Josten.”

“I’d never disrespect a woman who can outdraw me.”

The stable hand watched their banter with barely repressed glee. “My old lady might give you a run for your money,” he said. He nodded back at the hotel. “We’re the proprietors of this fine establishment. Matt Boyd, at your service.”

“We’d like a room,” said Kevin.

“Two, if you can manage,” added Neil. “We’re mighty worn out lookin’ at each other.”

“For y’all, I can manage,” said Matt.

“There a blacksmith in town?” asked Neil, giving his horse a final pat. “I want to get my horse reshod before we head out again.”

“Minyard has a smithy; I can point you the way.”

“Leave off ‘til tomorrow, Neil,” said Kevin. “Seeing as we’re gonna be here awhile.”

“What brings you to town?” asked Matt. “Prospecting? There’s gold in them hills.”

“This one got a warrant out for him in Cheyenne,” said Kevin, nodding to Neil. “Felt it safest to come to where there were no laws for him to break.”

“It true that there’s no law at all in Deadwood?” asked Neil.

Matt nodded quickly. “On account of it bein’ Indian land and all.” He looked at Kevin curiously. “I thought you were a marshal up in Montana?”

“Until he came to his fucking senses,” said Neil. “No more law man ambitions for him.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Tell me, is there anywhere in this goddamn shithole where a man can have a drink in peace? Maybe a game of faro?”

“Can have a drink, a game, and some pussy up at the Gem,” said Matt. “Miss Renee who owns it runs a tight ship.”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “A woman owns it?”

Matt nodded. “She used to be one of the whores workin’ there ‘til she got fed up with the way they were treated. Knifed the last owner and took over running the place.”

“Maybe somewhere less excitin’,” said Kevin. “I only need a drink and a game.”

Matt grinned. “You want the No. 10 saloon owned by Jeremy Knox.” He pointed helpfully.

Kevin tipped his hat and turned to leave. He’d taken several strides before he realized Neil wasn’t following. “You coming?”

“Kevin, you are my very best friend in the entire fucking world,” said Neil, “but if I have to spend another goddamn minute with you I’m liable to shoot you in your fucking face.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it none.”

“If I used fancy fucking words you’d mistake it for a compliment,” said Neil. “Get off. I’ll see you later.”

Kevin pouted, not liking being alone, especially in an unfamiliar place, but Neil couldn’t deal with his deep-seated personality flaws right then. His own issues took precedence; he couldn’t sit and watch Kevin drink and lose at cards, he had to survey the town, find all the escape routes and hiding places and get a look at the people in power.

Once he completed his initial circuit of the town, he headed to the Gem. Based on Matt’s description he guessed that the important players would be found there.

It was late afternoon and most of the local prospectors hadn’t returned from their claims, so the Gem was only sparsely populated. There were around ten patrons, five or six whores, and a bartender. Neil catalogued them all while trying to look like he wasn’t looking at any of them. He took a seat at the end of the bar and kept his head down.

“What’ll it be, honey?” asked the bartender, a slim man who likely had some Mexican in him.

“Water,” said Neil.

The bartender snorted in disdain, but poured him a glass of slightly suspect-looking water. “You new in town? You came to the right place. Name’s Nicky and I know everything.”

“Neil,” he replied. “I know nothin’.”

Nicky’s answering grin was almost predatory. “Want some pussy? All our girls are clean; checked by Doc Wymack and everything.”

“No.”

“You want somethin’ rougher? Wait until my break and I can take you out back.”

“Cocksucker,” growled a nearby man. Neil had characterized him as big and mean; he was gratified to see he was correct.

“You askin’?” said Nicky. “You don’t have the credit to afford me.”

“Fuck off,” said Big And Mean, turning red in rage. “You keep that cocksucking bullshit away from me.” He huffed and started to turn away. “Oughta be illegal.”

“Ain’t no law in Deadwood,” said a new voice. It belonged to the blond man at the far end of the bar.

“Ain’t your business, Minyard,” said Big And Mean.

This must be the blacksmith Matt had mentioned. He didn’t look like much, five foot even at most, but his suspenders helped display the fact that he had the arms of a man who pounded metal for a living. Neil could tell the man was feared, based on the nervous glances that skated over him and the way that everyone in the bar was suddenly minding their own affairs as soon as he started to speak.

“Just sayin’,” said Minyard, knocking the ash off his cigarette. “No law means he can suck cock if the fancy strikes him.”

“Andrew…” said Nicky, a fearful note in his tone.

Big And Mean puffed up and stalked toward Minyard. Neil reclassed him as big, mean, and stupid.

“No law means no one’ll object if I burn the faggot alive, either.”

“I may have to lodge a complaint.”

“And what’ll you do about it?” taunted Big And Mean And Stupid.

Minyard flicked his eyes over the man, looking bored. Then, quick as a rattlesnake he struck, extinguishing his cigarette on the man’s cheek. As he howled in pain, Minyard slashed out with a knife that he must have had hidden in one of his black armbands.

Big And Mean And Stupid fell to the floor, gurgling on the blood pouring out of his gasping throat. Neil watched him die dispassionately. The other patrons pretended not to notice the altercation; one of the whores ran from the room, presumably for her mistress.

“Andrew,” said Nicky, sounding censuring now.

Minyard flipped him a coin. “For the mess,” he said, tucking the knife back into his armband and turning back to his drink.

He had lit another cigarette by the time a tall, blonde, glamourous woman swept down the stairs from the upstairs office.

“Minyard, are you fucking murderin’ people in my place again, you goddamn cocksucker?” she demanded.

“It’s Renee’s place, Reynolds,” said Andrew.

“Same fucking difference. God, you’re an insufferable cunt,” Reynolds said.

Minyard nodded to the coin. “I paid for your trouble.”

Reynolds shook her head and rounded the bar, lifting her skirts to ensure the dead man’s blood wouldn’t stain them. Her eyes narrowed on Neil at the end of the bar. “What are you drinking?” she asked.

“Water.”

She raised a delicate eyebrow. “You want some pussy? Play some faro?”

Neil shook his head.

“Then buy some fucking alcohol or get the hell out of my bar,” she commanded. Turning to Nicky, she continued muttering, “Goddamn fuckers: killing people, not spending any money.” She gave Nicky a piercing glare. “Stop servin’ your bastard cousin if he kills anyone else, you hear me? In the meantime, go fetch the Chinaman and feed the idiot on the floor to his pigs.”

Nicky nodded and left. Neil motioned for a whiskey, not wanting to argue with Reynolds assuming it was an exercise in futility.

Reynolds slammed his glass down in front of him. “And take off your fucking hat. This is a goddamn classy establishment.”

Neil knocked the hat off the back of his head, letting the cord hang it around his neck. When he looked up, he found Minyard’s eyes on him.

“Here to prospect?” Minyard asked.

“No.”

Minyard waited but Neil didn’t expand, sipping his drink slowly and refraining from grimacing at the taste. The smoky flavour reminded him of grievous injuries, gritting his teeth and biting on leather as he was stitched back together.

“Who are you?” Minyard evidently had grown tired of waiting.

“I’m no one.”

“Why are you here?”

“No reason.”

Minyard shook his head. “You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t ya?”

“No, sir,” said Neil, trying to sound innocent. “I’ve never made trouble in my life.”

“I don’t trust you farther than I can throw this building,” said Minyard, draining the rest of his drink and standing. “But I sure do enjoy the way you lie.” He adjusted his hat on his head. “Got my eye on you, Quickdraw.” Which meant that either Minyard recognized him or that gossip travelled even faster than Neil had been anticipating.

Minyard nodded to Reynolds and strolled out the front door, seemingly without a care.

“Ain’t a good thing to have his attention,” said Reynolds, watching him go.

“Figures,” said Neil. “It’s the kinda fuckin’ luck I’ve got.”

He had a sneaking suspicion that his and Kevin’s idea of laying low in Deadwood to escape from their problems might not be quite as straightforward as they’d initially hoped.

[mizu-writes-kumo]

Things are kinda depressing. Could you please write more of your lion king 2 au or that alternate dark shance au were shance is like hagger and zarkon. Please I'd really appreciate it.

I am sorry things have been depressing anon.  And I am sorry it took me so long to fill this prompt, but I hope you and everyone enjoys it. I really actually like writing it and I can’t wait to see what ya’ll thing.

You can read it here on AO3: Chapter 3: Seein’ Double Vision

----

Shiro was in a throne room.

He didn’t exactly know how he got there.

Well, no, that was a lie.  He knew how he got there.

They were trying to find the Paladins, who disappeared in the middle of space.  Only to find a ripped hole to another reality in their last recorded location.  One the Atlas could very much go through, so they could find them and give the Paladins aid.  Because apparently they had gone to an alternate reality before and narrowly escaped.  Shiro wasn’t going to leave it to chance they would do the same again.

So they had gone through, only to arrive in a swarm of warships that look similar to Atlas...perhaps more sleeker though.  And a huge bulking mothership-looking version of the IGF Atlas trapping them in a tractor beam.  They were hailed by...well humans...and given an audience with the leader.

Which had lead Shiro, and a small security detail, because something was very very off and it was the only way Commander Iverson would agree to Shiro leaving the Atlas, to the main ship.  And, well...the giant throne room Shiro was forced to enter by himself.

That was how he got there.

“Captain Takashi Shirogane of the IGF Atlas, sire.”  The alternate, fitter, rougher-looking, version of Iverson introduced Shiro with a deep bow toward the throne seat in the room.

Shiro, himself, took to bowing.  

He had learned a long time ago in strange situations with alien species it was just best to mimic what Allura, Coran, or the alien race did.  It lowered the chances of accidentally offending someone, even if it could all relatively be smoothed out.  So he figured it was best to just copy the alternate Iverson, that way he wouldn’t offend the royalty that still held power in this reality’s human society.

“Hmm…”  A new voice hummed.

The sound made Shiro peek his head up towards the throne room’s seat.  Where just before the seat stood a figure Shiro hadn’t gotten much of a good look at yet.  

He had been too busy making sure his security detail didn’t try to start something as the doors closed behind them, before glancing around the rather sparsely decorated room.  He didn’t recognize the crest on the flags that hung along the walls, even though it seemed vaguely familiar.

But he could see they were dressed in a black, gray, and golden uniform that was fashioned with an armor.  It looked similar to standard Garrison uniforms...yet completely different with the hard armored plating that covered everything vital. From what Shiro peaked, it looked like a combination for Altean Paladin armor, a knight's armor, and tactical armor were all missed together.

“Just a Captain?”  The voice of the person that hummed sounded.

Shiro’s blood ran cold at the sound.

Because that was his voice.

His head snapped up quickly, pulling out the bow to look at, an alternate version of himself.  He still had the two toned hair Shiro did from after his capture with the Galra.  Shaved in the undercut still Shiro use to have as well.  Only he had no scar across his face.  His hands were held loosely behind his back, as he looked down at Shiro and the alternate Iverson from a top his raised throne area.  A chilling grin grew on his lips at the reaction, and his glowing purple eyes narrowed a bit.

And there chill down Shiro’s spine.

The look reminded him of Zarakon.

“That will be all, Commander Iverson.”  The alternate version of Shiro state flatly.  Not once moving his gaze from Shiro.  “Leave us.”  Iverson hesitated in the corner of Shiro’s vision.  “Now, Commander.” was the Alternate Shiro’s sharp command.

Shiro found himself staring in disbelief at the version of himself before him, as Iverson quickly seemed to scramble away.  In a hurriedly, panicked manner, like he already delayed too long and didn’t wish to angry his leader any more.  Not that Shiro blamed him, there was something about this version of him that was putting Shiro off as well. He heard the door open and close with a smooth whoosh before the other him hummed again.

“I must admit, you are not what I expected when I first heard you, an alternative version of me, were here.”  The alternate version of himself stated as he moved towards Shiro a bit.  In a slow manner that felt like he was an animal stalking his prey.  

Shiro felt himself tense as the other neared.  But he hid it under the guise of straightening up with an air of authority.  It doesn’t quite measure up to the level the other was giving off.  Nor does it seem to be well hidden given the way the other’s grin skewed in a knowing way.  But Shiro doesn't really care. Shiro just glared back however.

“I don’t think I’m what most expect.”  He returned.

The other him hummed in acknowledgement, as he started a slow circle around Shiro.  “You have the scars to prove it, it looks like”  The other said with a small click of his tongue.  “They are the scars of a good champion fighter, in my experience.”  He continued as he circled behind Shiro.  “Though the white hair is a surprise I didn’t completely expect.  Graying early are we?” He chuckled out in a way that felt dangerous, before Shiro suddenly felt him flick at his prosthetic hand.  “The prosthetic is Altean, correct?”  

Shiro pulled his hand away with a sharp glare as the other him circle in front of you. 

“Altean did always seem to prefer creating prosthetics with negative space.”  The other Shiro continued when he was given no reply.  “The design is too bulky to be Altean.  So that must be Human.  Though I haven’t seen anything like that since...well, Dr. Samuel Holt was still around.”  He added as he started to walk back towards the throne.  “But I know an Altean touch when I see one.  An incomplete, unnecessary glowing bright arm is one of them.”

“It has it’s pros and cons.”  Shiro returned levely, but he more than lets his thankfulness poor through his words.  “I am very thankful for Princess Allura’s contribution to it.”

The other him turned to look back at him for a moment.  Clearly not expecting such a reply from Shiro.  His glowing purple eyes narrowed into a sharp glare, before he turned back towards the throne.  Shiro watched as the other him made his way to a small table with some simple glass and metal wear on it.

He watched as the other him lifted what look like a pitcher, and carefully pour a red colored liquid into one of the metal cups.  Mindfully filling up to a certain point, before he pulled back and moved to another.  He paused with the pitcher over the second cup, and turned back to look at Shiro.

“Would you like a drink?”  The other asked, with a sort of shine in his already glowing eyes.

“No thank you.”  Shiro said firmly from his spot.  He waited for a moment as the other to put the pitcher back down on the table, with a small ‘suit yourself’ shrug.  “I would like to talk about your fleet releasing my ship, King--”

“Emperor Shirogane.”  The other him corrected darkly before he took a drink from his cup.

Shiro flinched at the word.

He really did not like this one bit.

Things were really starting to remind him of Zarakon and the Galra Empire now.  It was too eerily similar to just a chance happening.  And it is leaving a very uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

But he stayed strong.

“Emperor Shirogane,”  Shiro said levely with a small swallow.  “Please have your fleet release my ship from it’s hold.”

“Why should I do that?”  The emperor asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Because, we mean your fleet and you no harm.  We simply wish to find a small number of crew members that accidently slipped through.”  Shiro said levelly in a firm manner.  His voice not wavering as the emperor looked at him sharply.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you actually stumbled across them and took them aboard.  But I assure they mean no harm to you.  If you release them and their vessels to me, we will return back to reality peacefully and without issue.”

Shiro is quite certain the other Paladin’s where there.

With how right out the gate the other ships where there.  They and the lions had to be aboard one of the ships.  If Shiro couldn’t get them release, everyone back on the Altas was figuring out where they for a jail break.

The alternative version of himself looked at him carefully from behind his cup.  Before he walked over to his throne.  Sitting down cooly like he was actually considering what Shiro was saying.  

It gives Shiro some hope.

That this version of himself isn’t like Zarakon. 

That despite the eerie similarities, it wasn’t that way. The other him was good and kind, and not some power hungry tyrant everyone feared.

“I will do no such thing.”  The emperor said after a moment of that.

“Why is that?” Shiro asked in a firm but polite manner.

Hoping it was something like Keith attacked someone, or something minor like that.  Where it was just a misunderstanding that Shiro could talk them out of.  Even though his gut sinks in a very bad away.

“Your lost crew members came in the lions of Voltron.”  Emperor Shirogane said as he lounged back in the chair and glanced into his cup.  “I’m not about to hand over the most powerful weapon in the universe to...an alternate version of me.  Not when I finally have Black Lion again.  Plus, their Paladins were a very interesting bunch.  I hadn’t seen most of them in over ten thousand years.  It was a rather fun little reunion.”  He added with a chilling grin as he looked back to Shiro.

Shiro growled at the words, quenching his fist as he tried to keep a level head.

The other still needed time to locate where the Paladins and Lions were being kept.  Once Coran radioed Shiro the location, he would screw all pleasantries with this version of himself.

It would be a hail mary move for sure.  But Voltron and the Atlas had been through worse and came out on top.

“And then of course there was the added bonus of Paladin in the blue armor.”  Emperor Shirogane continued with a hum as he stood up again from the seat.  Shiro felt his blood ran cold.  “He was so very different from the Lance I know.  So much so, I gave him to my warlock, Imasu, to examine and experiment on some.”  The grin on the emperor’s face widened.  "Though, to be fair, Imasu would have taken him any way, me giving him permission or not."

Shiro launched his prosthetic at the emperor.

It caught the other square in the jaw before he could move to dodge.  

And it took him by surprise too.  Causing the other to stagger a bit with the impact of the blow.  Before he sharply turned to glare at Shiro darkly at the gesture.  Watching as Shiro’s prosthetic came back to Shiro’s side.  Sliding into a fighting stance as Shiro readed to charge on the attack.  

Waiting be damned.

If Emperor Shirogane’s warlock was anything like Haggar.  

Well Shiro wasn’t going to stand for any of the Paladin’s to be their new experiment.

“One of the Pros of the prosthetic.”  Shiro returned smartly with a wicked grin as the emperor straightened up from the blow. 

He took on something of a fighting stance as well. Gleaming a bit at the challenge a fight with Shiro was likely present for him.  A glow of something flashed into his hand, before it shifted into a sword.

“Let’s see how much a pro it is.” The emperor smirked out.

Suddenly a pain tore through Shiro from behind.  

The familiar feeling of dark quientense magic he grow far to use to feeling.  Both from Haggar and the other druids.  It felt slightly different, but the was like do to the fact that it wasn't the same person doing it.

Shiro dropped to his knees with a pained shout.

But he managed to turn and look behind him.  To see a figure dressed in a fine blue and gold cloak like clothes.  With ornate jewels and metal jewelry coming out from under the hood he was wearing.  Though Shiro doesn’t miss the glowing blue eyes pierced through the shadows of their face.

Shiro assumed that was the warlock, Imasu.

But before Shiro could move to attack them, they shocked him again.

Sending Shiro down to the floor in pain with a loud shout.  And there was something of a shout that sounded playfully annoyed in his voice.  Followed by the accented return of someone else.  But it is muffled in his ears by the crackle of magic.

Numbing his limbs in the process.

He could feel himself fade away into unconsciousness from the blast.  

Shiro could only watch as the figure and the emperor made their way towards him.  Just helplessly stare up at them from where he lay limply on the ground.

“He has white hair.”  The cloaked figure observed, tilting their head as he looked down at Shiro.

“Yes, just like you.”  Emperor Shirogane returned with a chuckle.  Shiro watched as he moved his hand to push the hood of the figures cloak back some.  Not enough to fully reveal the person under it, as he angled their head, and leaned in to peck them on the cheek.  “Just like you, my dear sweet, Lance.”

Shiro slipped into darkness.

----

AN:Dun dun dun!  Left it on something of a cliff hanger.

I know I ventured away from how I pictured Shiro and Emperor Shirogane meeting. I did try to keep it the same, but the idea of Emperor Shirogane just stepping through a portal, or rocketing out of a rift just didn't feel right. So there was no immediate face off between the two Shiros. There was about to be, but I like idea of the Evil!Lance making himself known and blasting Shiro down. Mostly because there plans just don't have the time.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.

[crystellinestar-blog]

A Chosen Promise Chapter 8 (Read on Ao3) Rating: E (eventually) Summary: To Princess Allura of Altea, keeping the people of her planet safe from the Galran empire is her number one priority. Even if the only way to do so is by giving her own hand in marriage to the Galran prince.

full fic under the cut

"Underground resistance group?" Allura repeated, glancing from Lotor to the man standing in front of her, the one he had referred to as Shiro.

"I guess underground is kind of a silly way to put it," Shiro chuckled. He had a kind smile, and Allura felt she could trust him.

"No, no, I wasn't questioning what you were, I was simply very surprised," she said.

"I suppose it would be surprising," Lotor nodded. "I wanted to explain but I wasn't certain I would be able to properly articulate it in the way I wanted. I figured it best to show you. Also it is best not to discuss these things where loyal Galra ears could be lurking."

"I completely understand, and while I am shocked, I can't deny my happiness..."

"Indeed," Lotor nodded. "My parents’ reign has gone on long enough, everyone here is certainly in agreement about that."

"How about I show you around?" Shiro smiled, and Allura immediately nodded. "I'm Shiro by the way, I was rude and didn't introduce myself." He began to walk away from the main hanger, heading towards the central elevator.

"Yes, I would love that!" she said, hooking her arm through Lotor's. "It's very nice to meet you Shiro. I am Allura, Princess of Altea."

"I am very familiar with you. Keith and I have been telling Lotor to bring you the past few times he's come. We also watched your fight," he grinned. "Very impressive."

"Ah, thank you," she smiled, blushing. "Lotor was fantastic as well." She glanced up at her betrothed, internally giggling at the dark purple flush which painted his cheeks.

"Anyway," Lotor cleared his throat. "We were hoping to use the cloaked communication device you have," Lotor said, gently placing his large hand over hers. "I want Allura to have the chance to speak with her father if possible. We don't have too much time, the jamming device I used should last for another varga or so."

"Of course, we can make that happen," Shiro said, leading them to the main door.

Allura's heart was about to burst with happiness. She would finally get the chance to speak to her father, and Lotor was hoping to overthrow his parents! If she and Lotor ruled together... perhaps they could work towards making the universe a safer, more peaceful place.

The three stepped into the elevator and began to head up towards the main floor. Her eyes scanned Shiro, and she noted the prosthetic limb. She wondered what could've possible happened, but averted her gaze, not wanting him to think she was staring. He also had a scar across the bridge of his nose, and she could only assume Shiro was some kind of warrior. Though she was unclear of what race he was. He certainly wasn't Galran and he wasn't any other race Allura had ever witnessed before.

"Most people here do not take kindly to new Galra," Lotor explained. "It took them awhile for them to trust me, but I must admit, I am very glad they do."

Shiro chuckled. "I'd say you've more than proven yourself."

Allura silently wondered what Lotor could've gone through to prove himself, more fighting? Tests? The Galran Prince had been through far more than she ever imagined.

"It's true," Shiro continued, "many of the people here have been wronged by the Galra in one way or another." He rest his hand against his metal limb. "It's how I got this," he said. "The Blade was founded by Galran folk, but it has greatly expanded to other races and planets. People aren't fond of the Emperor and Empress, so you can imagine our shock when their son was brought here."

"But after much explanation and trials, I finally was accepted to their side."

"I think we were maybe a bit too harsh," Shiro chuckled, stepping out of the elevator door.

"Shiro!" A shorter creature, similar looking to Shiro dashed up to them. His hair was a dark black and curled against his neck. "Ah... Lotor," he muttered.

"Keith! Is something wrong?" Concern immediately flickered across Shiro's eyes, his hands wrapping around the other boy's shoulders. His purple hues glanced towards Lotor, and Allura could tell, whoever this boy was, he didn't think highly of her fiancé.

"We've lost contact with the-" The boy named Keith froze. "Wait... who is this?" He narrowed his eyes, not wanting to give away any private information when someone new was around.

"Ah I apologize, Keith, this is my fiancée, Princess Allura of Altea," Lotor said. "Allura this is Keith. His mother Krolia is one of the main leaders of this faction."

"Hello Keith," she smiled, bowing her head. "Please don't let me stop you from speaking to Shiro," she said.

"Fiancée..." he mumbled, glancing at her up and down.

"Keith," Shiro began, diverting his attention. "Who did you lose contact with?"

"It's the team by Olkarion."

"Olkarion? But Olkarion has been unoccupied for months!" Shiro growled. "Moving the base there was supposed to be easy!"

"I know. We don't know what happened but there's some sort of interference and..." he trailed off, his gaze turning towards the floor.

"Krolia," Shiro whispered, and slid his hands down Keith's arms. "She'll be okay, Keith... I promise."

"Yeah..." he muttered.

"Olkarion..." Lotor said, tapping his chin. "Neither of my parents have mentioned that planet in deca-phoebs," he said. "It isn't a planet on their radar, or if it was it certainly hasn't been for a long while."

"It might be some sort of natural interference-"

"We don't know that. How can we know Zarkon and Haggar tell their son everything? Or anything?" Keith snapped, glaring.

"Keith..." Shiro's voice was hushed, filled with a gentle warning. It was obvious Shiro and Keith had very differing opinions about Lotor. "Let's go to the communication center," Shiro said, lacing his fingers between Keith's as they headed towards the base.

"I apologize," Lotor said, wrapping his hand around her fingers. "Normally things are not so hectic. It appears we've arrived at a rather inconvenient time," he chuckled.

"Indeed, I do hope everyone will be okay," she said, following behind the other two. They stopped inside of a large room filled with a massive amount of static filled screens.

"Trying to bring everything back online!" A voice called from the front of the room. Their short orange bob cut bounced as they dashed from the station.

"Pidge, I think I got something!" A dark-skinned, broad-framed boy, pulled up a new screen. "Here we go!"

"-llo?! Hello! Command, do you copy?" A woman's voice was heard as the picture came into view. Two purple marks scarred her cheeks, her yellow eyes kind. She was part Galra, which meant so was Keith, despite not looking it at all. Unless maybe they weren't blood related? Questions rolled through Allura's mind, but she knew it wasn't her place to ask them.

"Krolia!" Pidge cheered and flopped back down into their seat. "Thank goodness."

"Yeah, I knew we'd get it," the broad-framed boy laughed, standing in front of his station proudly.

"Oh shut it, Hunk! You were the most freaked out of all of us!"

"Not as much as you, Lance!" Hunk retorted.

"Yeah right! I wasn't the one making panicked noises-"

"Can you both shut up?" Keith growled, stepping forward to the screen. "Mom, are you okay?"

"We're doing a-okay. There was interference with our com-system when we were scouting the forest, but closer to the city there's no connection issues. Sorry for the scare," she explained. "The atmosphere is good here, the people are kind. There are plenty of hidden, tucked away locations we could set up in, better than that damned ship," she laughed. "I think even Prince Lotor would agree," she smirked, turning towards him.

"I am very glad to hear it. Having a new location after the last disaster will be good for rebuilding our resources," Lotor nodded. "I am pleased to see you are safe as well. I assume Ezor is behaving herself."

"She is, Zethrid is doing a fantastic job keeping her in check," Krolia chuckled.

"I assumed," he snorted.

"Is that Princess Allura? You finally brought her and I missed it!" Krolia sighed.

"Ah, hello! It's very nice to meet you, ma'am," she bowed her head.

"No need to be so formal. I'm sure we'll have the chance to meet properly soon," she said with a gentle smile. "Anyway, we'll report back once we're more settled here. Krolia out."

The screen went blank and there was a collective sigh across the room.

"See," Shiro muttered, kissing the side of Keith's head. "I told you she'd be alright."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, but Allura saw the way his hand squeezed Shiro's.

"Well, now that we've settled that..." Shiro sighed, turning back towards Lotor and Allura. "Everyone, Lotor finally brought his fiancée, Princess Allura of Altea!"

"Wait, really?!" The boy named Lance shot up from his seat and dashed over. "Hi, I'm Lance! We saw you on T.V, the way you kicked Lotor's ass was pretty much the best thing ever!" He leaned close to her, smirking.

"T.V?" she asked, confused by the term. "The broadcast you mean?"

"Yes, it was quite impressive," Lotor frowned, pushing a finger against Lance's chest to move him away from Allura. Lance immediately frowned, but stepped back anyway.

"Hiya! I'm Pidge and this is Hunk! We're all defensive pilots for the Blade, but Hunk and I do a lot of technical stuff too," Pidge explained proudly.

"Nice to meet all of you," she said. "This is all rather unexpected... but it seems you have quite the lively bunch here."

"Yes, everyone is quite animated," Lotor chuckled.

"When we heard Lotor would be getting engaged, we weren't sure what to expect," Shiro explained. "But we were thrilled when we realized you were the Princess of Altea. Getting Altea on our side would be incredible!"

"I can guarantee you they would be. My father has never supported Zarkon and most likely never will. He wasn't pleased by the marriage either," Allura spoke honestly, "but he knew we didn't have the firepower to take on Zarkon and I couldn't... I couldn't allow..." she trailed off, her hand clenching Lotor's. "I'm happy to help in anyway I can."

"We're very grateful," Shiro explained. "All of us are from Earth, we were attacked by the Galra during a space mission and captured. Keith and his mother were able to rescue us, and we immediately joined the Blade with them."

Allura felt there was more to the story, but again, she didn't wish to push when she had met these people just now.

"Going through with the wedding will be very helpful, as frustrating as all the Galra rituals are," he said. "I thank you for being patient with me. Knowing you and Altea could potentially be behind us means all the difference," Lotor explained.

"We're currently gathering as many forces as we can. We are aware this isn't going to be an easy fight, but if we can put you and Lotor on the throne, we'll be heading in a good direction," Shiro explained.

"Of course. I cannot speak for my father, but I can only assume..." she nodded.

"Ah! Right! Pidge, can you bring up a call with Altea, see if they'll accept our signal. Allura was hoping to speak to her father."

"Roger!" Pidge said, dashed back to their seat. "It shouldn't be too hard, I'll make sure to include the Princess' name encrypted in my code and... boom! Hopefully they pick it up. We won't have much time when the call happens since we don't wanna get traced."

Allura clutched her free hand against her chest. Seeing her father again was something she never expected, and now with the Blade on their side, it felt as if anything were possible. Maybe they could overthrow the Empire! She had no idea how capable they were, but the dreamer in her wanted to believe. She couldn't imagine Lotor would invest time in something he didn't believe in.

"Hello? This is Altea. We've received a transmission from your ship in regards to our Princess. Do you copy?"

"Hello Altea! We do!" Pidge cheered happily. "We have your Princess!"

A picture shakily came into view, a guard showing up on the screen. "We're not sure how that is possible as she chose to-... Princess!" The man gasped, bowing his head.

"Please, get my father! I don't have much time and I need to talk to him!" she urged.

"R-Right away!" The man dashed off, taking a few ticks to find the King.

His face appeared in front of the screen and Allura gasped, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "Father," she said, stepping forward. Her hand slipped from Lotor's as she reached out to brush her fingers against the holographic screen. It was foolish, she knew, but her body moved against her will.

"Allura! You're safe! We saw the fight broadcast and I-..." he paused, looking at the other people in the room. "Where... are you?"

"I'm on a small ship with Lotor, part of the Blade of Marmora... a resistance working to overthrow the Empire," she said.

"Lotor is... part of it?" he asked.

"Yes! I don't have much time to explain, but they want us to help them. If Lotor and I take the throne we could... we could actually start to build peace... together!" she smiled.

"Of course... I would do anything to assist my daughter. But... are you sure you can trust him?" He spoke as if Lotor was not directly in the room.

But still she turned around and looked at him, smiling brightly. "I do," she said. "I trust him with my life. He's been nothing but kind and caring to me...We might be able to speak longer in the future, but I wanted you to know I'm alive and well, and I miss you terribly."

"I miss you too... Whatever you need my daughter, I will do my best to provide," he said.

"Thank you... I love you."

"I love you too, stay safe."

The screen clicked off. Slowly, she turned back around, walking towards Lotor and taking his hand. "Thank you..." she whispered.

"Of course," he said, brushing his lips against her forehead. "I am sorry it couldn't be longer."

"It's alright. Thank you, all of you!" she smiled, glancing at the kind people she had met.

It was so strange to think all this time everyone was coming together to fight against the wrongs of the Emperor and Empress. Allura would assist them and Lotor in any way she could.

And maybe, just maybe, she would get to see her father and Altea again; something she never dreamed possible.

[calligraphist-artemisia]

A Kidgemas Story (Eleventh Day)

Summary:  12 mini-fics based on different Disney movies, all revolving around Keith/Pidge. Each day gets a different movie.

Also posted on AO3 and fanfiction.net

Previous - Masterpost

This one got a little long on me, but I don’t think anyone will really mind that.

Eleventh Day of Kidgemas

::Poor Unfortunate Soul::

The loss of the Green Paladin had hit the team and the coalition hard, but no one took it worse than one young member of the Blade of Marmora. Even in the weeks after the others had given up hope of ever finding her, he stubbornly pressed on, convinced that she was out there somewhere, still alive.

“I won't give up on her.”

Shiro rested a hand on Keith's shoulder. “None of us want to believe she's gone either, but it's been nearly a year and we haven't found proof that she's still alive. It's time to let her go.”

“That's what everyone said about you too. It's why I can't give up,” Keith said, turning his attention back to packing his rucksack. “Her family deserves to know the truth, just like I did.”

“Her family is why I'm telling you to call this off. Let them mourn, Keith. Let us mourn. We can't do that if you keep this up!” Shiro told him.

Keith zipped up his bag and slung it over one shoulder. “You won't have to, because I'm going to find her and bring her home.” He turned around to look his friend, his brother, in the eyes. “Whether you believe I can or not.”

Keith didn't stick around to hear Shiro's response. He headed down to the Castle's hangar to stand in front of the Green Lion. He stared up at the great beast, gathering his resolve, and then placed a hand on her massive paw.

“Lets go find Pidge.”

The Green Lion bent down and opened her mouth wide, letting him inside.

It took them weeks to find a trail. It was only when they hit the outer reaches of space, that the Green Lion began to move on her own. Keith could feel her anticipation as he gripped the controls, doing his best to help her on her way.

They touched down on a blue-gray planet ringed by ice and asteroids, and the Green Lion pointed him in the direction of the open mouth to a cave before settling back on her haunches and going still. Armed with only his blade, Keith entered the cave.

He soon found that it was more than just a simple cave. It was a whole network of tunnels, which led deeper and deeper underground. Bio-luminescent fungi grew along the walls of the main tunnel and went with his gut instinct to follow it, hoping it would lead him where he needed to be. He couldn't imagine why she would be in such a bleak place, especially when it was so far from where she had disappeared – from where everyone said she had died in an explosion.

Keith clenched his hands, trying not to think back to that time, but it was too late. His mind was already there.

The war was over.

There was no reason to keep fighting, but there were Galra who still resisted and they needed to find out who they were, and where they were hiding. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. From all reports, the ship was abandoned and was empty of cargo and crew, but the system was still intact. The plan was for her to go in with a handful of rebels to watch her back, so she could get the information they needed to end things for good.

And then everything went wrong.

The Galra had set a trap, specifically for her, knowing she wouldn't be able to resist such tempting bait.

A virus had been planted in the servers and the moment she began her hack, it activated.

Keith could still hear her panicked screams.

He would never forget his failure to get to her in time.

He wouldn't fail her again.

They had recovered the bodies of the rebels who went with her and gave each of them a proper burial, but they never found her. There wasn't a single sign that she had been there. No piece of armor left behind. No scrap of cloth.

Nothing.

And from nothing, was born hope.

A flickering flame, steadily growing stronger, until it blazed as bright as an inferno. There was no force in the universe that could stop it.

Keith paused as he stepped into an open cavern filled with humming machines he couldn't begin to name. He cautiously looked around before moving in, keeping an eye out for the slightest sign of movement.

And then he saw her.

She was floating in a glass tube that was filled with a purple liquid which tinted her entire body in the same shade. There was a tube covering her mouth and nose, no doubt supplying oxygen.

“Pidge,” he gasped, rushing towards her prison. He pressed one hand against the glass, hardly able to believe that she was really there, right in front of him. He'd spent so long dreaming of finding her, that he'd never planned on what he would do when he finally did.

“I was wondering when you would arrive,” a voice croaked out.

Keith whirled around, yanking his blade free to hold it out in front of himself as he did so. He stood protectively in front of Pidge, looking around for the source of the voice. It didn't take long to spot who had spoken.

There was an old woman with white hair, cloaked in black, who slowly emerged from the shadows. Her glowing, yellow eyes were fixed on him. “There is no need to worry, young one. Your friend is safe. More importantly, she is alive. You should be grateful.”

“Grateful for what? You're holding her prisoner!” Keith snarled.

“I am not the one keeping her here,” said the old woman. “But I can see you will not believe me. You wish to ask her yourself?” She reached out with one gnarled hand and pressed a button, which initiated the pod to begin draining.

As the last dregs of purple liquid drained out the bottom, the doors opened and Pidge fell forward. Keith moved just in time to catch her in his arms and gently lower her to the floor.

“Pidge! Pidge, can you hear me?” he asked, his voice rising in fright. He pushed her wet hair  away from her face and brushed against a pointed ear as he did so. He drew his hand back and took a second look at her. He'd assumed at first that it was just the liquid which made her skin look purple, but she was free of her prison and the color remained.

Keith glared at the old woman, who kept her distance on the other side of the room. “What did you do to her?!”

“I saved her. She knew the consequences and she was willing to pay them.”

He tightened his grip on her. “What did you do to Pidge?”

“...Keith?” Pidge's voice was weak, but it was the most beautiful thing Keith had heard in months. And when she opened her eyes to stare at him with open confusion, he couldn't even bring himself to care that her eyes were more gold than the brilliant brown he remembered.

“It's okay, Pidge. I'm going to take you home. Everything's okay now,” he promised.

Pidge's brows furrowed. “You're not supposed to be here. You weren't supposed to find me.”

“What are you talking about?” Keith asked. “Why not? I've been looking everywhere for you! It's been – it's been a year, Pidge. Everyone thinks you're dead! Your family thinks you're dead! And you're first words to me are: 'You're not supposed to be here'!? Why the hell not, Pidge? Why am I not supposed to be here?”

“Because I'm a monster!” Her words lacked any volume, but that didn't make them any less deafening to Keith.

All of his rage deflated. “You're not a monster.”

Pidge turned her head away. “Look at me. What else would I be?”

Keith cupped her cheek, gently turning her head back. “You are a Paladin of Voltron and one of the most brilliant people I know. You're stronger than this. I know you are. Come back with me and I'll spend as long as it takes to prove to you that you are not a monster.”

The old woman cleared her throat, reminding them both that she was still there.

“Do you have a problem with that?” Keith snapped.

“Well, there is still the issue of payment to settle. I am not asking for much. It is just a token – a trifle, really,” she said. “What I require is a sample of blood. Preferably one from each of you. It would greatly benefit my work here, you see.”

“I don't understand. Why would that help you?” Keith asked, plainly confused.

The old woman chuckled as she began to bustle about and gather her equipment. “It is quite simple. I study hybrids. Often they are the combination of the strongest traits of each of their parents – it is quite fascinating. Through my research, I found the way to save the life of your friend.” She walked towards them, heedless of the way Keith was glaring at her the whole time. “Earthlings are an unusual species. Very adaptable. More so than any other I have studied. The process is one that many others have been unable to survive, and yet here she is. Perfection.”

Pidge shied away from the old woman's gaze.

“And I can see that you are a true hybrid, born of Galra and Earthling,” she said, removing a syringe from her case. “If you would-”

Keith held out his arm before she could finish her sentence. “If it means I can leave with Pidge, then take what you need.” He looked away as he felt the pinch of a needle against his skin and focused on his friend instead, taking in the changes she had gone through. Her hair was the same, albeit longer than he'd ever seen, and her skin was a pale lavender in color. Her pointed ears were hidden beneath her hair, with just the tips trying to peek through.

She was hardly the monster she believed herself to be.

In short time, the old woman finished with her work and bid the pair goodbye. She bustled away without looking back, muttering to herself.

Keith tried to help Pidge stand so they could leave, but quickly realized she'd lost too much strength during her recovery in the pod. Instead, he swept her up into his arms and carried her back through the tunnels.

The Green Lion roared in triumph at their return and soon they were on their way home. And though he didn't have to, Keith held her in his arms the entire way.

[incorrectshinraquotes]

Fanfic: Tattoo

Summary: Elena wakes up one morning and finds a strange tattoo on her arm. Soulmate AU, kinda.

Main Characters: Elena, Rufus

Ships: Elena/Rufus

Also read on: Fanfiction.net   AO3

That morning was typical. I got up at 6 a.m. like I always did, made myself a cup of coffee, and got in the shower. As I was showering, I noticed my arm had a tattoo of flower designs on it. They started at my right wrist and wove all the way up to my elbow. They looked like ink drawings, like when someone gets so bored and the only surface they have to draw on is their arm. It was a very elegant pattern, but I was confused as to how the tattoo got there. I hadn't been drinking or anything the night before. I was home all evening. And the markings didn't hurt, they were just… there.

I tried scrubbing the tattoo off my arm, but it wouldn't fade. Eventually, I decided to just ignore it and get ready for work; I would be late if I spent any more time trying to get the ink off.

I stepped out of the shower and dried off. I brushed my hair, put some pants on, and as I was pulling my white button-up shirt on, I noticed new markings appear on my arm.

Meeting with Tseng 10 a.m, discuss Elena's recent performance issues.

What?

I stared at my arm for a good five minutes, evaluating the words. Why were they there and what were they supposed to mean? It was almost as if someone were writing reminders on their arm and the note were transferring to my arm. But if that were the case, how did that person know both Tseng and myself? Why were they planning on speaking with Tseng about my performance issues. Sure, I've made a few mistakes on missions recently, but I was nervous and distracted! I've been a Turk for only a few months and I've been trying very hard to prove myself. Sure, my weaknesses are inexcusable, but I don't feel like my mistakes should cost me my job.

The only person I can think of that would have a meeting like that with Tseng is Rufus Shinra, but he doesn't seem like the type of person to write notes on his arm. Or doodle flower patterns… The whole situation just didn't add up.

I shook all my thoughts away from my head. I would solve this whole tattoo mystery later. I was running late for work.

When I got to the office, I headed straight for the break room, determined to get my hands on some more coffee. The entire commute to work was spent theorizing about the strange markings on my arm. Naturally, I came to so many conclusions that I might as well have none. Luckily for me, my Turk uniform covered up my arm, so all the doodles on my arm wouldn't look unprofessional in front of my coworkers.

I entered the break room, noticing how my three fellow Turks were all gathered there as well.

"Good morning everyone," I said in my most cheerful voice. Nothing was on my mind. Nothing at all.

Reno looked over at me, confusion on his face. "How the hell are you so chipper in the mornings?"

I shrugged and nudged him out of the way of the coffee machine. Filling up a paper cup with the drink, plus some cream, I was content.

I could feel Reno's eyes on me the entire time I was making my coffee. I chose to ignore it, seeing as how Reno always had a habit of staring at people he was trying to figure out. I had taken a sip of my coffee and set the cup down, about to ask our commander if there were any missions today, when Reno grabbed my arm and pulled the sleeve back, studying the flower designs that were still prominently there in blue ink and the word in a contrasting black. He chuckled to himself and released my arm. "Get bored on your drive here?"

I pulled my arm protectively against my chest and glared at him.

"No," I said defensively, "They just showed up this morning."

That last part I said in more of a concerned whisper.

Reno chuckled again and took a sip of his coffee, shaking his head.

"What do you know?" I accused. He wasn't telling me something.

Reno ignored me and watched as our commander headed towards the door.

"Going somewhere, Chief?"

"I have a meeting with Rufus," Tseng said calmly, "I'll be back before too long. Make yourselfes busy in the meantime."

I checked my PHS, noticing that the time was 9:45. So that reminder on my arm was written by Rufus. His handwriting was a lot more… average than I imagined it to be. Simple printed letters, very unlike the elegant cursive I imagined he wrote in. But why were Rufus's reminders on my arm?

"You think they're going to talk about you, like it says on your arm?" Reno asked from over my shoulder. I jumped slightly, forgetting that anyone else was in the room.

I looked at Reno in a manner that I hoped said "tell me what you know, or else."

"Ok, look," Reno started, holding his hands up defensively, "I didn't wanna say anything because its probably not true, but I've heard of people who, when they meet their soulmate, whatever their soulmate writes on their skin, it shows up on the other person's skin."

"Say what now?" He sounded totally crazy!

"Look, I'm not saying its true. I've just heard rumors of it happening."

"So you're saying Rufus Shinra is my should mate? And that he draws on his arm when he gets bored?"

"Not gonna lie, I didn't know that last part. Only way to find out is to look at his arm and see if it's the same."

"What if I wrote on my skin? Would it show up on his?"

Reno shrugged, "Don't think so. I think it's a one way thing."

I sighed. I really didn't want to confront Rufus, especially not about something so… trivial? Childish? It sounded ridiculous is what it sounded like. Rufus would probably laugh at me, show me that nothing was written on his perfect skin, and fire me because of the meeting he had with Tseng. Nothing good could come out of this confrontation.

I waited an hour after Tseng got back from his meeting to walk myself up to Rufus's office. The elevator ride seemed to take forever, even though it was only about ten floors.

I stopped by the secretary's office and asked her to let Rufus know I was there. I wouldn't tell her the reasoning, but she didn't question it. She recognized me as a Turk and knew not to ask too many questions, a fact I greatly appreciated.

As soon as she told me I could go up, I walked with purpose up the stairs and to the metal, air-locked doors that would lead to Rufus's office. They opened the second I reached them.

As I strode into the office, I was taken aback. I had never actually been there. It was plain elegant. Black and white metals for the desk and a bar in on corner. It must have taken a lot of work to change the office from President Shinra's gaudy style to this.

I heard Rufus clear his throat and I realized I had been standing in the middle of the room, looking around, transfixed in my own little world. I stepped forward and, per Rufus's request, I sat down in one of the black leather chairs in front of his desk.

"What brings you here, Elena?"

I was utterly stumped at the question. How did I explain the weird tattoos on my arm? I stared at him for a moment, probably looking like a deer in headlights.

"Well?"

I shook my head a regained my compostre. "W-well…" I managed to stammer out. This was going to be a lot more difficult that I thought it would be.

"Ok, well, you see, I was talking with Reno and he said that I should talk with you because a really weird thing happened to me this morning. I was in the shower—"

"Elena, I really don't need to know much about your personal life. I'm believe any advice from Reno should be wisely ignored."

"No, you don't get it, look at this!" Without hesitation, I pulled up the sleeve of my jacket and showed Rufus the markings on my arm. Rufus furrowed his brow and studied my arm, obviously perplexed.

"Elena, I don't—"

I interrupted him, "Look, I know this is stuff you've been writing on your arm because Tseng said he had a meeting with you and it was at the exact time that this note says that a meeting with Tseng was going to take place and Reno said it was some kind of weird soulmate thing and I don't know if I completely believe that but I can't ignore the markings on my arm, like they're there, and I just—"

"Elena," Rufus looked at me with a look that clearly said I needed to stop talking. "I admit that this is very strange, but I highly doubt this connects us in any…" he was choosing his words carefully, "romantic way."

"Maybe not, but I just thought it was something I should point out."

Rufus looked thoughtful, studying the drawings on my arm. When he finally looked at me, he smirked. "Well, I appreciate that."

"Yeah…" The conversation got awkward because I had nothing else to say, so I did what I always do in awkward situations: I said the first thing that came to mind, "Why were you and Tseng talking about me?"

I could have phrased that more elegantly, but Rufus just chuckled. "I promise, it wasn't as bad as the reminder on my arm makes it sound."

I nod. That's an acceptable answer I guess. I have a feeling I won't get a more detailed answer from him.

And again, the conversation grows awkward and I blurt out the next thing on my mind: "Why do you draw flowers on your arm?"

I can see a tinge of pink on Rufus's cheeks. I'm sure that was something he thought no one would ever find out about. Now he was the one who looked like a deer in headlights. One point to Elena for catching President Rufus Shinra off-guard.

Rufus cleared his throat and regained his composure, "I just always find myself drawing them. I like the simplicity of the patterns."

"They're really pretty." I say, still not thinking about what's coming out of my mouth.

I can tell Rufus doesn't know what to say. I give myself another point for that.

"Let's just keep this between us, shall we?" He finally says, still obviously a little embarrassed. I nod in agreement, despite the fact that Reno already knows.

I got home that night, much later than I had intended. I decided to stay late at work to get some extra papers filed and I was ready to pass out the second I walked through my door.

I noticed as I was changing my shirt that the ink on my arm had faded considerably. Rufus must have washed it off earlier.

After eating a quick dinner and watching a few epicodes of a TV show I liked, I headed to my bedroom and climbed under the covers on my bed. I looked at my arm again, still baffled by how strange that whole situation was. I noticed that a fresh set of words were written on my wrist:

Goodnight, Elena.

I smiled to myself and turned off the light on my nightstand. I know Rufus said there was no connection between us because of this, but maybe he was wrong about that. Maybe he could end up being my soulmate.

[claystripemovieblog]

Punching Up: The Last Jedi

Let me make one thing clear right off the bat: The Last Jedi is a great Star Wars movie. Folks are certainly permitted their own opinions on that, but anyone saying it’s a bad movie on the level of the prequels or “the worst Star Wars movie ever” is really quite silly.

However.

Part of the reason I love TLJ so much is that Rian Johnson really swings for the fences. He had big ambitions about what he wanted from a Star Wars movie, and he bloody well went for them, seemingly without much in the way of review by committee, at least not on the scale we’re accustomed to seeing from big studio blockbusters. This was great in terms of allowing the film to make bold decisions, but I believer it also contributed to how uneven the script turned out to be.

See, I love The Last Jedi because I can observe its ambitions (daring character choices, themes of failure and humility, feminist and anti-capitalist politics) and embrace its triumphs (beautiful cinematography, brilliant performances, meaningful stakes, a truly compelling A-plot with Rey, Luke, and Kylo). The pros outweigh the cons, and there are more pros in TLJ than in any Star Wars project since The Clone Wars and any Star Wars film since the last with “Jedi” in the title. That said, the sheer size of the movie’s reach (and runtime) left room for more obvious faults than any so far in the Disney era.

The movie’s pacing is all off. The plot meanders. Conflicts and relationships are muddled and sometimes confusing. The tone shifts around from fun romp to deathly serious, sometimes in the middle of scenes. The script needed at least one more pass. It needed a punch up.

So, in what might be the only installment of this series I do, I’ll be taking a look at the movie we got and, with the benefit of hindsight and fresh eyes, relate three major script notes that I would’ve passed along to Rian before shooting began had I been asked for some reason. To the best of my ability, these suggestions for changes do not lengthen the runtime or raise costs. Most importantly, they keep all of Rian’s ideas for settings, characters, and themes intact. They are:

1. Reduce, relocate, and reframe the Canto Bight sequence.

2. Make explicit Holdo’s suspicion of a spy on the Raddus.

3. Thematically connect the A and B plots by connecting Rose to the Force.

A lot of these feel pretty obvious and have probably been suggested by others before me, but I’m just gonna just assume that something I thought of is kinda original and would have worked out. Besides, the movie is just fine as it is, and Rian and everyone involved probably have perfectly good reasons why they didn’t go about things this way. But I really think I stumbled onto some really good Star Wars-y ideas building off these three points, and I had a ton of fun fleshing out how they’d work. Join me, will you?

1. Canto Bight

If one were to only look at reviews released in the days before The Last Jedi was released and its discourse got bogged down by dudes nitpicking minor details to justify misplaced nostalgia or obvious bigotry, one would get the sense that there was only one major issue with Episode XIII: Canto Bight. And make no mistake: the casino planet’s placement in the film is one of its most glaring flaws, though not an unforgivable one. The introduction of a fetch quest that leaves no major impact on the plot would be hard enough to justify as anything other than padding in a two hour movie; in a two and a half hour film, it’s presence just becomes puzzling.

There is an argument to be made for cutting Canto Bight from the film entirely. I’m sure the studio would have been more than happy to save a couple million dollars on makeup and visual effects. But there’s also an argument to be made that employing talented people to make cool creature and costume designs is the best reason to make these movies. And there’s also my argument: that there’s a much better place to put Canto Bight than the middle of the movie.

The Claystripe Cut of The Last Jedi would open on the casino world, with Poe, BB-8, and a recently revived Finn on the planet looking for DJ, whose role as a neutral slicer whose only loyalty can be bought is retooled slightly so that he is already being paid a great deal by the Resistance to work as an informant. Poe fills in Rose’s role of pointing out the evil at the heart of the beautiful city. The best parts of the original Canto Bight sequence; the funny BB-8 gags, the escape with the fathiers, and, most importantly, the set-up for the beautifully resonant ending with Broom Kid. As they escape on his stolen ship, DJ reveals his information: the First Order is going to attack the Resistance base! 

Keeping Canto Bight preserves all Johnson’s commentary on decadent capitalism, environmentalism, and war profiteering, but placing it at the beginning and cutting it down to a ten-minute action prologue solves a whole host of problems. 

First, and most pressing, it saves the second act of the film. The Last Jedi grinds to a halt when Finn and Rose fly off across the galaxy in the middle of a heated chase in the middle of deep space. The fact that this kind of mobility is apparently still available to our beleaguered protagonists saps the tension from the sequence at the heart of the movie by circumventing its central conceit- that our heroes are trapped and running out of time- and opening up too many questions and narrative demands. Viewers are kind of just left to answer for themselves why there was only one craft with hyperspace capabilities on the Resistances’s flagship, how the protagonists got a hold of it, and why they ought to care if the Raddus is destroyed if all the characters we’re invested in could have just flown off safely at any time and come back and forth as they pleased. Keeping the B-plot set in and around the Raddus and the Supremacy keeps things simple, the stakes high, and the plot moving.

Second, having Canto Bight at the start of the film introduces DJ in a much more natural and easy way. Instead of treating him like a MacGuffin and spending twenty minutes in the middle of the film to get a hold of him, DJ can just be a character in the movie. His role and screentime wouldn’t have to actually be expanded much at all, but his involvement in helping to save the Resistance and his presence in the film from the start would make his eventual subversion of the Han Solo “Greedy Jerk With a Heart of Gold” betrayal sting just a little more.

Third, this sequence would partially fix a problem that the end of the last movie forced Johnson into: namely, that it had to pick up right after The Force Awakens left off, meaning that the main characters of this new trilogy barely know each other. The lengthy gaps between the previous Episodes left room for audiences to buy that the protagonists became close friends and had plenty of other adventures with each other besides the ones we’ve seen. In Empire, this is important for driving home the stakes when the heroes are separated after they’ve apparently been together for months, if not years. When the heroes in The Last Jedi are separated, you don’t feel that, not only because no time has passed since we last saw them, but because they were barely together to start with.

Rey and Finn apparently have feelings for each other that are expressed in a single hug and a few tender looks at the very end, but they only knew each other for a few days in The Force Awakens and have only been apart for the same amount of time. The problem is worse with Finn and Poe, who, despite having great chemistry (one of my discarded notes was “MAKE IT CANON”, but, again, trying not to majorly change the movie here) have only interacted with each other for a few hours. They barely double that time in this movie, because Finn spends most of it with Rose. While the timeline in regards to Rey would be a little screwy if you stopped to think about it for too long, depicting Finn and Poe interacting on an adventure and being established friends would do a great deal to build audience connection.

Finally, placing Canto Bight at the middle starts the movie off with characters in a strange and interesting world instead of starting with Poe making “Your Mama” jokes at Hux- a fairly humorous that would be much easier to swallow if they were not the center of the first scene of the movie.

2. Holdo and Poe

This is probably the easiest of these fixes to make, practically speaking, requiring only two or three additional lines of dialogue to fix a problem that a lot of people have with The Last Jedi.

First, I’ll get it out of the way: this change is not to remove Holdo or her conflict with Poe from the movie. Laura Dern is a goddess. If I could fight for her to have been in the movies more, I absolutely would have. And the point of her subplot with Poe was pretty clear: Poe’s got a real disrespect for authority and opinions of others, particularly, it seems, from this very feminine admiral, and he needs to learn humility and self-sacrifice to become an effective leader. 

Now, that said, there are problems with how this story is told. Though I’ve read many hot-takes online saying that people who didn’t like this plot are misogynist doofuses that don’t listen to women, pretty much every man and woman I know felt like her role in the story was limited to just creating extra conflict until her awesome act of self-sacrifice. The only reasoning she provides for not trusting Poe is that she doesn’t like him, and while that is all the rationale one needs in reality to obey their CO, for the purpose of storytelling it feels lacking. How do we make the point of the conflict more clear from the very beginning? And can we add anything to it to make her decision to not trust him make more sense?

A lot of people have already argued that Holdo doesn’t reveal her plan to slip away to Crait because she is worried about a spy on-board responsible for the First Order’s hyperspace tracking, but that’s left as subtext at best. Why not make it explicit text? As is, the movie has the characters figure out how lightspeed tracking works seemingly out of some educated guesses; explicitly considering other options (and even leaving ambiguous what method the First Order used) would have been a compelling direction to take the story. Holdo telling Poe to his face that she won’t tell him anything because she doesn’t trust him to keep the information private would clarify the reasoning for her decision while maintaining the subplot’s purpose of developing Poe out of his toxic masculinity; even if it was a fair point, he would still certainly resent her for questioning his loyalty. It would make even more sense if we stick with the ramifications of the first alteration and have a shady DJ lurking around the Raddus the whole time. This minor addition to the dynamic also would make Poe’s leap to calling Holdo a traitor and his decision to mutiny make more sense now that the possibility had been introduced and discussed. 

A slight tweak to the dialogue alone simultaneously makes both characters more sympathetic and closes up some potential plot holes. And it costs zero dollars for additional visual effects.

3. Rose

In the first two notes, you’ll notice that the only practical alterations these changes would make to the shooting schedule would be having to get Benicio del Toro into a few scenes on the Raddus and replacing Kelly Marie Tran with Oscar Isaac in an abbreviated version of her biggest sequence. Obviously, Rose has gotten the short end of the stick thus far, and I want to rectify that with the third note by giving her a new role that fits her character better into the film’s themes. It’s tempting to not add any scenes to the movie because of its existing length, but I honestly believe that the problems with Last Jedi lie more in its pacing than content. I ultimately think adding just two or three scenes focused on Rose would not just make up for removing her from Canto Bight, but give her a bigger role in the Star Wars mythos.

I like Rose. She’s a fun audience surrogate, and Tran gives an earnest performance that I’m sure a lot of kids are going to really admire. But Rose also lies at the heart of the one part of The Last Jedi that I think is truly bad- not a nitpick (“Why doesn’t every commander just ram empty ships at lightspeed!?”), a nostalgic complaint (“Luke would never just give up!”), a minor quibble (“We don’t know Snoke’s backstory!”), or a personal grievance (”My Rey theory was so much better!”), but a genuine inconsistency with the plot, characterization, and themes that don’t make a lick of sense.

I am, of course, referring to Rose stopping Finn from sacrificing himself at the end, whispering that they won’t win the war by destroying things they hate, but saving what they love. A nice sentiment, and one that fits well with Star Wars, but one that does not mesh at all with what she did: buy Finn a few moments of extra life at the cost of allowing the First Order to kill both of them and all of the Resistance. Frankly, it doesn’t mesh at all with the Rose who was honoring the sacrifice of her sister by keeping cowards from fleeing the Raddus, and it’s just an amoral and stupid thing to do unless she somehow knew that a young Jedi-in-training the ghost of Luke Skywalker was going to show up and give them a way to escape.

Which is why, in this change, she does know. Or at least, she’s got a good feeling.

My idea really requires the addition of only one scene: Rose saying a tearful and emotional goodbye to her sister before she goes to attack the Dreadnought, seemingly knowing that she’s not going to return based off of a deep feeling (some might say “a bad feeling about this”). Because this sequence has been pushed back towards the end of the first act by Canto Bight’s re-positioning, this scene could be positioned in close proximity to Luke’s speech to Rey about the nature of the Force and how it belongs to everybody, making clear that this gut feeling is rooted in some sensitivity to the Force in regards to the lives of people Rose cares about. One extra optional scene on the Supremacy where Rose’s gut feeling kicks in right as they get caught, and we have enough set-up to justify Rose realizing as Finn rushes toward the battering ram cannon that she is not afraid of them being destroyed, trusting her instincts, and saving Finn from a needless sacrifice.

Beyond preserving the message and justifying her choice, this change fixes one other structural problem in The Last Jedi. While the theme of “learning from failure” is omnipresent, there’s relatively little else directly connecting Luke and Rey’s story to that of Rey’s friends or the rest of the universe. Everything the main characters learn and decide about having to restart the Jedi Order with a recognition that the Force actually belongs to everyone would have greater impact if the film actually showed someone who is aware of the Force without having the strength of a Skywalker still using that connection for good. Someone with a scrappy working class background who made all the difference for one of our main heroes. In hindsight, it’s kinda amazing that Rose written as the character she is and not used for that role.

So, what do you think? Am I crazy? Should I be hired as Rian’s creative consultant for the new trilogy? Should I make this a running series (ooooh, I’ve got stuff to say about Three Billboards, let me tell you...) Could you read through this wall of text? Let me know!

[sapphicscholar]

hey so i have a stupid funny prompt that popped into my head, could you write sanvers watching taxi brooklyn together, cue alex not seeing the uncanny resemblance between her and cat, maggie continually telling her, and maggie criticizing everyone lol

Here you go! It’s also posted on AO3 if anyone would prefer to read there (or if other folks have watched Taxi Brooklyn and want to commiserate there in the comments). Fair warning for spoilers for the show and pure crack ahead.

It had all started with Maggie coming home from work excitedly declaring that she had found a new show for them to watch. “Babe! I found your TV twin!” she had insisted, holding out her phone to a skeptical Alex, who had refused to admit any resemblance. “When you see her in action, you’ll see it,” Maggie maintained.

Which is how they found themselves curled up on their couch one rainy Saturday morning, intent on binging several episodes. During the first episode, Maggie insisted, time and again, that the resemblance was truly uncanny. Refusing to budge on her position, Alex shook her head. “Absolutely not! Look at how short her hair is!”

“Babe,” Maggie whined, “you’d look like her with short hair.”

“I don’t wear that much plaid.”

“But how great would it be if you did? Also, maybe you should give that open-flannel over sexy ribbed tank top thing a shot…just saying, it’d be hot.”

“It’s hot on her. On me…no, I’d look funny.”

“That’s so not true. Also, I’m totally shipping your character with the ME. I think they’d make an excellent couple.”

“You’ll ship any two pretty women who talk to each other,” Alex retorted, feeling more than a little proud of herself for having remembered the definition of shipping after learning all about fandom from Maggie. “Plus, she’s not my character!”

Maggie just sighed loudly and rolled her eyes; she’d get Alex to see it eventually. As she focused more on the plot, though, Maggie grew increasingly frustrated with their depictions of police work. “You can’t just commandeer a taxi!” Then, a few minutes later: “You don’t just go with your gut! God, Alex, your character is a terrible detective!”

“She’s not me!” Alex shot back.

By the time they got to the third episode and Annabella was introduced, Maggie cackled, “Oh my god! Cat even has her own Vicky Donahue!”

“What do you mean? They’re just friends, Maggie.”

“Yeah…just like you and I are gal pals that share a bed and casually fuck but just like BFFs do, right?”

“Not the same.”

“They’re talking about practicing kissing, for god’s sake!” Maggie yelled, nearly upending the popcorn in her excitement to make her point.

Alex paused, rewinding to hear that scene again. “No!” she countered. “They were practicing kissing the same neighbor boy! That’s totally different.”

“You know it’s just one stop short of turning to each other and cutting out the middle man. Literally.”

“Speaking from experience?” Alex asked, arching an eyebrow as she paused the show and turned to regard Maggie more closely.

“What? No…”

“That’s a big yes.”

“It’s a no…just, well, a nuanced no? There are a lot of straight girls in college who really want to know what it’s like to kiss a girl and all.”

“And you were only too happy to satisfy their curiosity?”

“I satisfied something.” Maggie preened as Alex scowled. “C’mon, you love me.”

“You’re okay.”

“It’ll do. Now hit play! I need to find out what happens.”

By the sixth episode, both Maggie and Alex had grown quite vocal in their commentary. It helped that they had begun drinking after lunch—just beer, but enough to loosen their tongues.

“You can’t just take your friend to interview a serial killer! No captain would allow that!” Maggie yelled at the screen, tossing a handful of popcorn, even though she knew she’d be the one to vacuum it up later.

“It’s a show,” Alex whispered, pressing kisses to Maggie’s temple and stroking a hand through her hair.

And to her credit, Maggie did let that particular point go in favor of complaining as soon as she first suspected that the new serial killer might be a woman. “Statistically that is so unlikely. And are they really going to make the killer a queer woman? That’s so rude. I mean, yeah, I’d be in love with Cat too.” In response to Alex’s glare, she added, “Because she looks so much like you, duh. But we’re not all villains! When is television going to do right by us?”

“I thought the biggest problem was all of the shows that kill us off.” Alex tilted her head to the side, trying to remember the list of dead lesbian characters Maggie had once rattled off to her—Dana, Tara, Lexa, probably more names ending with ‘a’s too.

“Well, that’s its own separate issue. But also TV shows somehow think it’s gonna be a big plot twist to have some crazy jealous, possessive lesbian who goes crazy and murders her ex or some girl she’s in love with even though they’ve barely met or something. It’s rude. I hate it.”

“Do you hate it more than the bury your gays trope, though?”

Considering it for a moment, Maggie shook her head. “No. If they’d get a little more innovative with it, I wouldn’t mind the gay villains. Very campy. Lots of history there. But stop having us do the same damn thing over and over again. We literally fill the halls of English Departments and MFA programs and art schools! We’re more creative than they give us credit for,” she huffed.

Once Maggie was vindicated in her suspicions about the show, they took a break to get themselves another round of beers and make out for a while to “make up for the lack of overt queerness on the show,” Maggie had insisted, though as they let the seventh episode play, she went back to insisting that Cat was quite clearly a lesbian.

Alex laughed it off, until the show cut to a scene of Cat making out with Rhys and looking terribly uncomfortable as she pulled away, finding that she just couldn’t do it. “Well…that is a bit familiar,” she chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

“Danvers, she is literally you – those are your mannerisms!”

Alex shook her head at Maggie and looked back at the screen just in time to see Cat transition seamlessly from aggressively making out with Rhys to pinning him on his stomach. “What the fuck?” Alex laughed.

“Oh my god…was she trying to peg him?” Maggie cackled. “If this isn’t proof that Cat is as gay as you are, I don’t know what is.”

“I think she was trying to arrest him?”

“That’s not fun. Unless it’s role play,” Maggie added with a wink.

“But they wouldn’t really imply that she was trying to, you know…would they?”

“It’s based on a French film,” Maggie shrugged. “Plus, I bet Gregg was into it.”

“Ew, he’s so gross.”

“True. But also you and your doppelganger are also both so gay.”

“We don’t look alike,” Alex huffed. “Seriously, she’s got more freckles than I do. And her hair is lighter. And shorter. Also, I feel like we’re built differently.”

“Freckles can be covered with makeup. Hair can be cut and dyed different colors. And as the person who is perhaps most intimately familiar with your body and your build, I’m telling you, you’re totally twins. Also, you act similarly.”

“You were just calling her a bad cop!”

“Okay, not like that. I mean, she’s not following procedures, but I’m talking about your temperaments. You’re both a little…angry?”

“You’re not helping your case.”

“I meant to say passionate!”

—

As the credits for the twelfth episode rolled, Alex clicked play to go on to the next episode, only to find that an entirely new show began. Grumbling, she clicked back to the main menu to get back to their show, only to find that episode 12 was apparently the last episode of the season. “Mags!” she yelled to Maggie, who had gotten up to find some dessert. There was nothing like staying on the couch all day to tire them out.

“What?” Maggie yelled back, making her way into the living room balancing a box of cookies and a carton of vegan ice cream.

“Where can we stream season two?”

“There isn’t a season two.”

“Excuse me?”

“It got cancelled.”

“So you’re telling me that we’re never going to know what happens? Will Gregg get arrested? Will Cat get arrested? Is Leo’s roommate okay? Is his family okay? Is Cat’s mom alive? Was she on the boat? Is Annabella going to jail? Oh my god, there are so many fucking questions! Why would you let us watch a show that got cancelled?”

“You said you didn’t even like the show that much,” Maggie tried by way of a defense, though she had to admit, she’d expected a more satisfying ending too.

“Just because it’s not my favorite doesn’t mean I don’t want to know how it ends!”

Maggie’s face suddenly lit up and she nearly threw the desserts in her excitement as she began gesticulating wildly—one of the surest signs that she had crossed the line from tipsy to drunk. “Oh my gosh! Wait! You already look like Cat, then we can get J’onn to shapeshift into Leo and find people who look enough like the other characters—no! Wait! J’onn can play them all! Except Cat, because you already look like her. And we’ll create our own finale to answer all the questions!”

Alex burst out laughing only to find that Maggie had dropped off the desserts and already had a pen and notepad in hand. “Okay, first question,” Maggie began. “How long into this finale do we have to wait for you to come out?”

[ranger-of-estel]

A Legend Returns: Chap 9

Leonard's plan to catch Maestro is set in motion

The forces of the Wellspring have other ideas

Read it on AO3

              The next morning at breakfast Jax lets them know they are able to take off. Leonard walks the whole team through his plan, addressing concerns and questions as he goes.

               “But what if he doesn’t take the bait?” Nate asks, frowning.

               Mick chuckles and Len just smirks, “Leave that part to me.”

               Sara is still frowning at him, but makes no vocal objections. Once the meal is over he and Mick make their way to the still functional bounty ship. Leonard leaning against a wall, watching as Mick flips switches and motions across the dash with practiced ease. “You know,” he drawls, gaining his friends attention. “this doesn’t seem quite so unpleasant without the handcuffs,”

               Mick offers an amused look, “Could say that about a lot of things.” Len just nods, and after a moment Mick shakes his head. “Never expected to be back on a ship like this.”

               Len steps closer, allowing his eyes to wander over the unfamiliar control panel. “More annoying teammates this time.” Mick barks a laugh at that, then flipping one last switch he steps back and motions to the dash. Leonard steps forward, looking down at the blank screen before him. “My name is Leonard Snart, and I’m looking to make a deal.”

               Leonard returns to the Waverider, making his way to the main deck when he hears voices in the all ahead. “Professor, are you sure this is wise?” Nate’s voice gives him pause.

               “Is what wise?” Stein replies.

               “Trusting Snart,” Len can hear the frown in the younger man’s voice. “I mean, given his history, what assurance do we have that he won’t actually turn us over?”

               “Mister Haywood,” The older man sighs, “I understand your concerns, but despite our many differences I can assure you of two things.” Leonard takes several silent steps closer to the edge of the hall. “Mister Snart is no longer the mere thief you know from Central city. And regardless of his opinion of the team in general, he will not betray the Captain’s trust.”

               Leo is surprised at both the words, and the fleeting warmth they bring. Of all the people who could defend him, he’d never expected it from the professor who’d shown disdain since the first day on board. He supposes that’s proof to how much they’ve all changed since the rooftop. An almost smile tugs at his lips, turning to take a secondary path to the where Sara awaits.

               When he reaches the main deck most of the team is already present. Sara looks over at him, head tilted slightly in question. “All set?”

               He nods, “Raymond is on his way to the jumpship now. Mick is just waiting for us to take off.” He makes his way to his own seat, pulling the harness down and securing it.

               “Then let’s finish this.” She states, taking off the moment everyone is locked in. They come to a stop just outside the landing bay.

               Debry still clutters the atmosphere, Gideon’s voice filling the room. “You will need to go in manually from here.” Sara nods, grabbing controls as Leonard releases his harness and goes to get the Coldgun and amulet.

               When he reaches the cargo bay he runs through the plan in his mind once more, leaning into a cargo crate while waiting for the doors to open. He sees blonde hair in his peripherals, turning to see Sara approaching slowly. She stops a couple feet away, watching him with a sadness, a fear in her eyes. “We’re coming in…” her voice is uncharacteristically quiet. “You’re sure this will work?”

               “Why?” He looks at her, their fearless Captain, looking at him almost like she had at the Oculus. “Don’t you trust me Assassin?” he teases.

               “Of course I trust you. It’s just-“ she huffs; and with anyone else he would mock the vulnerability being shown, “I just go you back.” She shakes her head. “I can’t lose you again.”

               “Hey,” he takes several steps toward her, allowing his fingers to rest against her wrist. “I’m not going to die here Birdie. You’ve got my back, besides.”  He smirks, “I owe you dinner.” Before she can respond he closes the distance between them, lips meeting hers in a short but searing kiss. Just as she begins to press back he pulls away, offering one last smirk “See you soon,” then turning and sauntering out the now open doors.

               The feel of her lips lingers against his as he walks toward the wellspring. The feel of her little gasp, brush of fingers against his wrist. He focuses on the way she looks curled against him, or nursing her coffee with a half awake gaze. From there his mind shifts to the team; to Ray’s blinding optomisim and Mick teaching tricks to Axel, Stein’s defense of him. He things of Lisa, all bright smiles and mischief, waiting for his return.

He died to protect them all once, now they remind him why he must live.

               As he approaches the rubble that was once the Oculus he feels a twisting in his gut, and the fog that has slowly settled in his mind gets thicker. He can’t remember the last time he felt like this before a job. He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts and pushing it away, focusing on the figure waiting ahead.

               Maestro is younger than he expected; short dark hair and piercing brown eyes watching his approach. But then, he supposes Time Masters aren’t often what they appear. The man looks at him, a slight tilt of his head in recognition. “Mr. Snart, I wasn’t sure you’d really show.” He’s smiling, but it’s sharp and unwelcoming.

               Len scoffs, “Then you obviously didn’t do your research,” he settles himself across from the figure, arms coming to rest over his chest, “I never back out on a deal.”

               “So it would seem,” Maestro shifts, “You brought it with you I assume?”

               Leonard reaches into his pocket, pausing as a wave of nausea washes over him. “Of course.” He removes the amulet, tossing it to the other figure.

               The man flips it in his hand, inspecting the device. “I underestimated you, and for that I must apologize.” He pockets the item, “But then, men like you were never meant to settle as heroes, were you?”

               He smirks, “No, can’t say I’ve ever been much of a hero.” He hears explosions in the distance, meaning Mick and Ray have succeeded in placing charges on the other ships. “But,” he draws Maestro’s attention from where he’s now looking to the side. He pulls the coldgun from its holster, fighting to get it level as the world spins before him.

               “He is a Legend,” Sara’s voice seems distant, and he sees Maestro drop just as his own world blackens around the edges. He hears her shout his name, but can’t find his voice before the whole world goes dark.

               Leonard wakes with a groan, reaching up to cover his eyes from the brightly lit room. “Hey,” Sara’s voice is gentle, and after a moment of letting his eyes adjust he can see her seated at his side.

               “Hey,” he grumbles in return, letting his arm drop back to his side.

               “You know, we really need to stop meeting like this.” He can’t help the short laugh, or the smile that mirrors the one on her lips.

               He shifts to sitting in a more upright position, pleased she doesn’t protest. “What happened?”

               “You passed out,” she replies.

               “Thanks,” his voice drips sarcasm as he gives her an irritated look, “I remember that part.”

               She’s still smiling at him, then motions to the ceiling. “Gideon says it was the timestream.” She frowns, “Some kind of side effect after the Oculus explosion; you and the timestream now repel one another like the same poles of two magnets placed together.”

               “And the closer I got to ground zero, the worse the effects.” He adds.

               She nods, “Exactly.” There’s a flash of irritation, “So why didn’t you call it off when they started?”

               He shrugs, “I figured it was nerves, unease at being back at the Vanishing Point.”

               “You’re an idiot,” she glares, “And you owe me a really nice dinner.”

               He chuckles, looking down at her. “I think I can manage that.” He reaches out letting his fingers trace her jaw before pushing hair behind her ear. “Thanks for having my back.”

               She reaches up to cover his hand with hers, “Anytime,”

               The tension is so thick Len is pretty sure it could be cut with one of her knives. He’s considering leaning in when Raymond bursts into the room. “Sara! There’s a problem in – Oh!” he cuts off, “Am I interrupting?”

               Leonard sighs, letting his hand drop before turning to glare at the other man. Sara just chuckles, patting Len’s leg before turning her attention to Ray. “Nothing that can’t be done later,” The younger man’s face heats slightly, and Len feels a smirk tugging at his lips when Sara flashes him a mischievous grin. “Now what’s the issue?”

               As the pair walk out of the room Len settles back into the chair. “Gideon, how long until we reach Central City?”

               “We should be landing near S.T.A.R. Labs within the hour.” The A.I. replies.

               “Guess I better get moving then,” He smiles to himself, “After all, wouldn’t want to keep the Captain waiting once we’re settled.”

               “Would you like my help in procuring reservations?” the ship asks.

               “No, I’ve got that covered.” He’s quiet a moment, then adds. “But I could use a hand with wardrobe.” He detaches the wrist monitor, carefully getting to his feet. “Can you make a box to deliver it in?”

               “Sure thing, what did you have in mind?” she replies, and he swears she’s grinning.

Chapter 8 (x)

Chapter 10 (x)

[a-kabby-k-fanfictions]

The life we deserved

AO3

Tumblr

Summary : (2/?)

“I…I know that it sounds crazy, but, I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but I don’t belong to this world, I’m not this woman on the pictures. Even if we look the same, I know that’s not me,”

When Season 1 Abby wakes up in a world where she lives on earth and worst of all, where she’s engaged to Marcus Kane…

During all the way to the hospital, Abby remained quiet, staring with wide eyes at the world which was passing before her eyes outside the window of the car. Everything was intact, not a single mark of a nuclear explosion. Even more, thousand of people seemed to live their life as if nothing had happened. All of this was insane. She couldn’t have forgotten an entire life and invented another one. A delirium due to a mental illness couldn’t be so precise. She could still perfectly see every corner of her quarters: from baby Clarke’s scribbles on the wall of the bathroom, to the cracked mirror, she had broken the night after Jake’s execution in her bedroom. She had clear memories from her childhood to her last days on the Ark.

The more the time passed, the more she was curling up on her seat under Kane’s worried gaze. He continued to ask her if she was okay and each time she offered him a little nod. To be honest, she wasn’t fine at all but not because of a brain stroke. She wasn’t fine because she was scared to death. Scared of the thousand noises she had never heard in all her life, scared of the intensity of the colors before her eyes, scared of an entire world she didn’t know at all and she thought had disappeared for good.

Suddenly, Kane stopped the car and told her they had arrived. Without a word, they started to walk toward the main entrance of the hospital and she felt Kane’s hand land on her lower back. As a reflex, she shifted slightly away from his touch and wrapped her arms protectively around her torso. She felt him stand still for a second before putting his hand in his pocket. Her rejection was clearly hurting him, but she couldn’t help, she wasn’t the woman he thought she was and the Kane she knew had no right to touch her like that.  

The hall was full of patients, waiting for their turn, but Kane didn’t stop at the reception. He immediately headed for a nurse who was questioning an old woman.  

"Is Doctor Jackson working today?" he asked her without a greeting.

"Yes, but he’s busy. He’s with a patient," the girl explained without looking up at him.

"Go get him, it’s an emergency," Kane ordered her abruptly.

The nurse let out a sigh and turned her head toward him.

"Yeah Sir, I’m sure that it is, but as you probably know, you’re in the emergency room. Go to the reception to be registered and we’ll send you someone as soon as possible," she told him, rolling her eyes, visibly exasperated.

"Hey, wait !" Kane objected, grabbing her arm as she started to walk away.

The nurse removed violently her arm from his grip and glared at him.

"Please don’t touch me, Sir. Don’t make me call for the security," she warned, trying to keep a neutral face despite the anger in her eyes.

"Sorry, just go tell him I’m here with Doctor Griffin please," he asked her for, this time in a more pleading tone.

"Doctor Abigail Griffin?" the girl inquired, shifting a little to look behind him.

"Hi," Abby greeted her with an embarrassed smile and a little shake of her hand.

The girl seemed to recognize her because her frown faded away as she nodded. 

"Okay, wait a minute," she told them before walking away toward swinging doors.

"Thanks," Kane mumbled before letting out a deep sigh as he turned toward Abby.

He lifted his arm and his hand wandered a second in the air, like if he was about to reach for her face, but at the last moment he stopped and rubbed his nape instead. Abby pressed her lips together as she stared at him, wondering how the Kane she knew could have become this physical person, especially with her. Maybe because he’s not the Kane I know, she told herself, but it wouldn’t have sense. I might be in an alternative universe, she thought, but it was insane, that kind of stuff happened in science-fiction movies, it didn’t exist in real life.

"Abby," a familiar voice exclaimed and she saw Jackson scampered toward them, the nurse next to him. "What’s going on? Are you okay?" he asked, reaching for her shoulder.

"Oh god Jackson," she breathed out, jumping into his arms without a second thought.

He was safe and sound too, and he’ll be able to give her an explanation about all of this. She felt so relieved that tears filled her eyes again.

"She’s not. Can we go to a quieter place?" Kane answered on her behalf.

"Sure, follow me," Jackson said, leading Abby toward a medical room with his arm around her shoulders.

"So, what’s going on?" he asked her as he invited her to sit on the examination table.

Abby swallowed and shook her head lightly, staring into space. She didn’t know how to explain what she was living.  

"I—I don’t know—I—I just woke up this morning with no memories of how we got up here," she answered, looking up at him, a little bit lost.

Jackson frown and give a brief sidelong look to Kane.

"And by here you mean...?" he asked, letting his question unresolved.

"I mean on earth Jackson," Abby specified, a little annoyed by the stupidity of his question. "The last thing I remember is that I was packing medical supplies and that Diana had taken over the exodus ship," she kept going, certain of what she was telling.

Jackson took a deep breath, as if he was bracing himself. He seemed to think for a second and then put his hand on her knee.

"Abby...," he breathed out, visibly embarrassed.

"She had a headache last night," Kane took the floor abruptly. "She’s-- she’s like that since she woke up, she’s rambling incoherently about space, about an Exodus ship, about--" Kane explained, but he didn’t have time to finish his sentence.

"I’m not !" Abby exclaimed vehemently, cutting him off.

"Hey, Abby. Shh, just stay calm, okay?," Jackson tried to cool her down by taking one of her hands in both of his. "Can you--What’s your name?" he asked her before pressing shamefully his lips together as if he was embarrassed to treat her like a patient.

"Jackson," Abby sighed, rolling her eyes.

He didn’t believe her, not more than Kane and it made her feelings navigate between sadness and anger.

"Please," he insisted with a shy smile, squeezing her hand lightly.

"Fine," she capitulated. "My name is Abigail Griffin, I was born in 2109 on the Ark. My father was Aloïs Walters, he was a Doctor and my mother was Iris Walters, born Stewart, and she was a nurse. I’m a Doctor and I lived on Alpha Station with my husband Jake Griffin and my daughter Clarke," she reported, fighting against the exasperation which was growing inside her.

Jackson’s face crumbled a little and Kane shifted slightly with embarrassment.

"That’s enough, I don't have a memory issue," she lost her patience, jumping off the examination table.

"Abby," Jackson stopped her, catching her arm. "Do you know-- Do you remember that Jake is...," he started to ask and she immediately understood where he was getting at.

"Dead! Of course, I know that Jackson, I--," she finished for him, reaching for Jake’s ring around her neck, but-- "Where is it?" she gasped, lowering her head to look at where the ring used to be.

All she saw was her own right hand, trying to find something which wasn’t there anymore. Even worse, the ring around her finger wasn’t her wedding ring. It wasn’t made of metal like hers had been, but it was made of silver and it was set with a little colorless diamond on the top.

"That’s not mine, where--" she said, lifting her hand before her and staring with horror at a ring she didn’t recognize.

"Clarke has them. You gave them to her when--," Kane hurried to reassure her, but he stopped himself and bit his lower lip.

"When what?" Abby snapped, glaring at him.

Kane opened his mouth, but not sound came out. He remained quiet for several seconds and swallowed hard. He blinked slowly and then draw back his attention on Jackson.

"Do you think it could be a stroke?" he asked him with concern, changing the subject.

"Answer me, Kane," Abby erupted, her fingers clenching hard around the edge of the examination table.

"When we got together," he snapped brutally, his voice louder than necessary.

He seemed stunned by his own tone and he immediately closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. A heavy silence fell on the room and no one spoke for a dozen of very long seconds. Jackson was looking at his feet while Abby tried to deal with the meaning of the revelation. They were together...How could this have happened? How could she have fallen in love with Marcus Kane? Even in an alternative universe, that wouldn’t be possible  

"Sorry I—I just need a minute," Kane finally apologized, before hurrying to leave the room.

"Don’t move, I’ll be right back," Jackson told Abby, following Kane outside.

Jackson pulled the door behind him, but it didn't close entirely. Abby couldn’t see the two men, but she could hear them speak.

"I’m sorry...It’s just--" she heard Kane apologize once more before stopping speaking as his voice seemed to break a little.

"Hey, don’t worry, I’ll be running some test, we’ll find out what’s wrong with her," Jackson reassured him.

"Yes, do that please," Kane agreed with a thankful tone in his voice.

"It seems that she doesn’t have lost her memories, they're just...distorted...," Jackson pointed out in a lower voice.

"She has lost some," Kane objected. "She didn’t remember...us. She’s acting like when—when I--," he started to explain, but the end of his sentence died in a deep sigh.

"When you tried to convict her of first-degree premeditated murder?" Jackson suggested and Abby noticed a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Maybe he’s not so different from the Kane of the Ark, after all, Abby thought as she pricked up her ears, waiting for Kane’s answer.

"Well, I was going to say when I was an ass, but yes, that too," Kane acknowledged in an embarrassed tone.

"With all due respect Mr. District Attorney, you’re still an ass" Jackson jabbed him. "Sometimes," he added a split second later in a lighter tone.

For the first time since she woke up, Abby couldn’t hold back a slight smile.

"Well, thank you, Doctor Jackson," Kane said with a chuckle.

"I’m gonna see if we can do an MRI and a CT scan right now, can you stay with her?" Jackson declared more seriously.

"Of course," Kane told him.

Abby heard Jackson’s footsteps walking away. She swayed uncomfortably on the table, expecting to have to face Kane once again, but the latter didn’t enter the room.

"It’s me. I-- Don’t worry, but we’re in the hospital, nothing serious, your mother is fine, we just need to do some test before getting home. I’ll keep you inform. By the way, could you make sure that Octavia gets home before eight? She didn’t answer my text and she has a test tomorrow. Thank you. See you soon." she heard him talk on the phone instead.

It took him one more minute before entering the room and Abby suspected that he was trying to collect himself.

"I called Clarke," he told her as he walked in. "It was her voice mail, but I told her where we were and that she doesn’t have to worry," he added as he leaned against the opposite wall and crossed his arms over his torso.

"Thank you," Abby thanked him with a brief nod.

They remained quiet for a while, both avoiding to look at each other. Strangely, it was the first thing that felt familiar. Trying to ignore each other was what they always did when they found themselves alone in the meeting room before a council meeting and she was more comfortable with his heavy muteness than with his new tendency to take care of her.  

"I reserved the MCI and the TC scan, we can go now," Jackson informed them as he came back about five minutes later.

"Yes, go on. I’ll wait in the waiting room," Kane declared, putting his phone back in his pocket.

Jackson nodded and put a hand on Abby’s shoulder.

"Let’s go, Abby," he said, guiding her toward the door.

   Abby felt like the exams had taken an eternity. Her brain had been watched from all sides and a dozen of tubes had been filled with her blood. Jackson had examined her carefully and he hadn’t found any external anomaly. Her heart rate was normal, just like her breathing. Her blood pressure was good and she wasn’t running a fever. She was now back in the examination room waiting for the medical results. Kane was there too, looking quietly out the window.

"So, I have good news," Jackson declared as he entered the room. "Your brain is fine, there is no sign of stroke," he reassured her with a smile.

"Thank god," Kane exhaled, rubbing his face.

Abby didn’t react, she just nodded slightly. She knew it wasn’t a stroke, she was sure of it and she was still waiting for an explanation.  

"So, you didn’t find anything?" Kane inquired, still feeling worried if the slight shaking of his voice was anything to go by.

"No, nothing for now. I’m still waiting on the results of the blood work, but those will still take at least two days I’m afraid," Jackson answered him, pressing his lips together in embarrassment.

"Two days?" Kane exclaimed. "You’re kidding me, Jackson! She lost her memory we can’t afford--" he took offence.

"That’s enough Kane," Abby cut in harshly without looking at him.

Kane closed his mouth and let out a deep sigh.

"Please tell me that you’re at least gonna keep her for observation?” He exclaimed a second later.

"I’m not staying here," Abby objected firmly, glaring at him.

"I can’t anyway. There is no medical reason to keep you here, but I’m gonna give you medical leave," Jackson told her, looking up at Kane from the corner of his eyes. "If you can’t take care of her, ask Callie to come, I’m sure she would take days off," he added this time to him with a hint of defiance in his voice.

"I’m perfectly able to take care of the woman I love," Kane snarled, giving him a dirty look.

"I’m sure you are," Jackson said with a pinched smile.

On the Ark, even before Kane had tried to float her, Abby knew that Jackson wasn’t a big fan of him. He never was so provocative toward him, but still, he always made some unkind comment each time he had to deal with him. He had even told her once that he didn’t like the way Kane behaved with her. He thought he was mean, arrogant and that he couldn’t be trusted. So it wasn’t a surprised to find out that Jackson disproved a relationship between them.

"So, I am free to go now?" Abby finally asked to put an end to the tension which was growing in the room.

"Yes, but if anything happens just call me, okay?" he asked her for.

She swore to do it at least a dozen of times before they finally reached the car and get inside.

The trip back was quiet, for which she was grateful because she couldn’t stand the flash the pain on Kane’s face each time she opened her mouth to speak. Under different circumstances she wouldn’t have given a damn about it but, at this moment, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He clearly wasn’t the man she knew on the Ark. He was another version of himself, more loving, more human.  It still seemed crazy, but she was starting to accept that she might be in another universe, maybe like one of those she had learned about on the Ark, by a scientist named Einstein. Maybe she had fallen into a black hole after the launch of the Exodus ship or maybe she was just losing her mind like Jackson and Kane seemed to think.

When they finally arrived at home, Kane told her to take some rest in the bedroom and he offered her to bring her some food later. Even if she wasn’t tired at all, Abby accepted and went to the bedroom where she had woken up a few hours earlier. She needed some time alone to think, to find an explanation and some logic in all this mess. She took off her coat and threw it on the bed. She was still wearing her pajamas, she realized as she glimpsed her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her gaze lingered on the immaculate fabric. In all her life, she had always worn second-hand clothes. When they weren’t stained, they were weary or even worse. It didn’t feel right, these clothes, this house, this world. She didn’t belong there, she never had. She hadn’t lost her memory, the Ark was real, so was her life in space.

She kept staring at her own reflection and her eyes finally fell on the engagement ring around her finger. She couldn’t help but wince. Without a second thought, she took it off and put it on the dresser next to her.

No!

It didn’t matter what time line or universe she was in, she could never marry Marcus Kane. It was simply not possible. She hated him for what happened with Jake and Clarke and nothing could ever change that.

As she turned around, she saw a second door near the window. Walking towards it, she opened it, revealing a stunning and luxurious bathroom with a bathtub and a shower. Two white bathrobes were hanging up to the wall, next to two sinks installed on wooden furniture. This looked like the bathroom of her dreams. Slowly, she walked in and let the faint smell of the bathing products invade her senses. In all her life she had never smelled anything that good, it was almost intoxicating.

Carefully, she slid the door of the shower open and lifted the lever in front of her. Immediately, a stream of hot water hit her face and she couldn’t help but jump a little as a gasp escaped her lips. She hurried to turn it off and glanced over her shoulder. She waited several second, wondering if her little cry would have alerted Kane, but everything remained quiet.  

She looked back at the lever and hesitated. For now, she was stuck in this world, with nothing to do but wait for a solution. Taking the first hot shower in her life didn’t sound that bad after all. She debated with herself for a little longer before finally locking the door. Once that was done, Abby hurried to undress and got in the shower. She turned on the water and exhaled a satisfied breath as droplets started to run along her naked body. On the Ark, due to the water restrictions, having a wash was, at best, allowed only a day a month with a bucket of cold water. This was a comfort they couldn’t afford and Abby couldn’t help but feel guilty as she looked the drinkable water disappearing in the U-bend. Her sense of guilt was finally too strong and she hurried to clean up herself even if she would have loved to stay there for hours.

As she stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a robe, Abby saw a tray with food sitting on top of the dresser. There were two sandwiches, a glass of water and a green apple waiting for her. Tentatively, she bent a little to smell it. She had never eaten anything else than food the form of a bar. She took a piece of the sandwich and gave it a try. At first, she winced, unable to decide if she liked it or not. It wasn’t bad, but it was certainly new, new and strange. She was about to try it again when the door of the bedroom burst open and and a blond hurricane stormed in.

"Mum, are you okay?" Clarke asked her as she cupped her face in her both hand and stared at her.

"Yes, honey, I’m fine, I--" Abby assured her with a little smile at the corner of her lips.

"Kane says you lost your memory," the girl said with a strangled voice as she hugged her mother and hold her tight against her.

Abby closed her eyes and winced as she wrapped her arms around her daughter’s shoulders.

"I—It’s complicated..., but we’ll figure this out. Don’t worry sweetheart. I’m gonna be okay," she murmured tenderly in Clarke’s ear.

If the world all around her didn’t feel right for Abby, Clarke did. This girl was her daughter. She was the baby she had carried protectively almost nine months in her belly. Her voice, her smell, her touches, it was her, really her.

"I love you," Abby breathed out, tightening her embrace around her daughter’s body as her eyes started to sting a little.

"I love you too," Clarke told her back in a muted sob.

I’m going on vacation until 06/25, I haven’t gone back to my family since Christmas so I don’t know if I’d have time to post a new chapter next week. I’ll do my best !

[tagnoob]

HICS JOIN THAT FLEET – HAVE TITANS TACKLED – WE ARE DREADBOMBING – GO GO GO

~~~ This was a broadcast from the_mittani to all at 2017-08-20 22:45:34.680221 EVE ~~~

A flurry of pings showed up Sunday afternoon, of which the one quoted above is merely a representation of what I was seeing.  It looked like something interesting was going on and I happened to be sitting down at my computer at almost exactly the correct moment.

It isn’t as though there haven’t been any ops to go on.  There have been plenty, and I have been out on some of them.  But none of them seemed to pass the threshold of interesting, or at least interesting enough to write about.  Do I need to write a post about another run into Tribute to reinforce another tower?  We did dash across New Eden via a pair of Thera wormholes in order to catch some capital ships down in Wicked Creek, but the fact that we got there too late takes some of the edge/interest out of the tale.  Without a fight the story becomes more about travel, indecipherable Scots accents, and the occasional person being dumb on coms.

Anyway, I digress.  Coms were not an issue for this fleet op.  Getting in and getting to the destination was laid out pretty simply.  I was a couple of minutes behind the curve, so when I got online and in coms Asher was telling people to undock and warp to a titan to be bridged.  At the far end of the bridge, targets were already being called.  I just had to get there.

I was a bit worried about that.  I wasn’t in Hakonen, I was in Jita.  That put me a jump clone and a couple of session changes behind the fleet.  EVE Online protects itself, in its way, but not letting players do some things with a delay.  After jump cloning the session timer keeps you from doing a number of things, like swapping ships or joining a fleet for 10 seconds or so.  It feels like forever when you are in a hurry, but I bit my lower lip and hummed as I watched the tiny white timer circle in the upper left hand corner finish its revolution so I could get in fleet.  They I got into a Typhoon and undocked.  I considered joining up in a Guardian again, but I was late, Asher was saying that more DPS was better, and some days just shooting things is all you want to do anyway.

As I was entering warp to get to the titan, Asher said on coms that people who were not in GSF, and who thus could not just wander through the POS shields to get to the titan, should warp to a planet, then warp to the target to avoid getting stuck.  So I hit the POS shield and bounced off as I watched others stream past be, unobstructed by the defense barrier.  It is at times like this that I wonder why I just don’t join KarmaFleet and enjoy the benefits of not being that guy stuck outside the bubble.

I was able to warp off to the planet indicated, then warped back to the titan at 10km, so as not to bump it.  I landed and pulsed my propulsion module once to speed up the time it took to close the gap between me and the titan, whose bridge was already up and sending people on their way.  I was almost there.

Need to be within 2,500m

And then the moment I was within range the bridge expired and disappeared.

Fortunately the plan was to just keep bridging people as they showed up, so in a few seconds the titan, a Leviathan, was again aglow with bridging goodness.  I right clicked on it to select the destination to jump through to, and couldn’t find it for a second.  I am so used to null sec designations for systems, being in all caps and sporting a hyphen, that an actual name name just blends into the list.  I looked, didn’t see it, right clicked again, just in case I had done so too early for the name to draw, didn’t see it again, right clicked a third time and really looked, found it, and selected the destination.

As the titan bridged me through my next thought was, “Nalvula? Isn’t that literally next door to Hakonen?”

Yes, Nalvula is connected to Hakonen via a gate.  But sometimes it is better to bridge people in even that short of a distance.  Doing so landed us directly in the middle of the fight and avoided any sort of gate camp that might have been setup along the direct and obvious route.

Nalvula was a busy place when I landed.

A pile of titans and other capitals on grid

Hostile titans were on grid as advertised, though I am not sure I would go so far as to declare them “tackled.”  That word implies we hold some sort of advantage and that we need to rush in and start shooting quickly lest the tackled titans escape.  There were more than a few about as the system filled with people.

Local under 1,000 when I arrived

Furthermore, they seemed to be multiplying.  Being within easy jump range of their super capital staging, PL/NC’s response to a titan being tackled was to log on more titans and pile on so they could use their big shiny toys to shoot things.

The glare of more ships jumping in

When I got into the system and on grid with the fight, I locked up the first target.  We were going after hostile force auxiliaries.  The Typhoons were putting their missiles on the one broadcast, being instructed to find and put their energy neutralizer on another with a name that starts with the same letter as you own name (“W” for Wilhelm in my case), and launching drones to try and pick off hostile fighters that were roving the battlefield.

Time dilation was about in full effect, not at 10% most of the time, but in the low teens as the battle went on.  That is a fine distinction, 12% isn’t much faster than 10%, but when it hit 10%, the minimum speed, and the system is still stressed, odd things start to happen.  So 12% can be immeasurably better than 10%, since 10% can have added problems.

Slowly I got targets locked, starting sending missiles and drones down range, and found a hostile Apostle whose pilot’s name started with a “V,” the closest letter I saw, and started motoring into range so I could put the energy neutralizer on him to drain his capacitor.  Meanwhile, the ball of capital ships was lit by explosions and doomsday effects.

Explosions in the midst of the ball

The first Apostle we targeted went down, but a secondary target had already been broadcast, so we were on to that.  I had managed to get within range of my neutralizer target only to realize he wasn’t a hostile but one of our cooperating, but not blue, allies, so I started sorting the list by name again to see who else I could go after.

The second target went down and we locked up and started in on a third.  My drones were wiped out by somebody’s smart bombs, so I launched the remaining ones in my drone bay and sent them after some fighters further afield, away from the thick of the smart bombs.  Ships were exploding almost constantly on the field, with doomsdays lancing out to strike the dreadnoughts that had jumped in with us.  As somebody noted on coms, they aren’t called “suicide dreads” without reason.

At some point along the way a command destroyer activated its area effect microjump drive nearby, booshing some of us 100km away from the fight.  Given the range the Typhoon missiles have, this didn’t stop any of us from blazing away with them.  However, it put a damper on any thoughts of getting my energy neutralizer on a target.  It also likely ensured I survived the battle, as I was now annoyingly far off for fighters to bother with.

As the third target went down for us, we stared on a fourth.  But then the FC at the moment… Asher was not on grid with us… had us change to target Grath Telkin, the volitile CEO of Sniggardly, one of the main corporations in Pandemic Legion.  He would be what one might call a “prestige target.”  Everybody likes to shoot CEOs, FCs, and anybody mildly space famous.

And Grath seemed to be going down well enough when there was a hiccup and my client started behaving badly, then quit on me.

Client chooses this moment to die on me…

You can see that Grath was into deep structure by that point.  He was going down for sure, but if I wasn’t online there was a good chance I wouldn’t be on the kill mail.  What good is a prestige kill mail if you don’t get on it?

I shut the window and clicked the button on the launcher to get Wilhelm back online with one of those firm clicks you use to let the computer you mean business.  Surprisingly the computer seemed to take notice of my emphasis for once and I was back in the game quickly.  Meanwhile, tidi did me a favor.

In a normal, non-tidi battle, if you disconnect the game warps you off to a “safe” spot and leaves you there.  When you log back in it then warps you back to where you were previously, which can be awkward if your fleet has moved on, and slow if you’re in tidi.  But with tidi in full effect, the game never got around to warping me off, so I was back on and in my spot.  I got back into fleet, targeted Grath, and had missiles down range in time to hit him to ensure I was on the kill mail.

Later I noticed that not only was I counted on the kill mail, but that I got in the final blow, which made it my kill mail, such that that matters.

The luck of the final blow

If you’re going to be on a prestige kill mail, then getting the final blow in is about all you can ask for I suppose.  However, I did not notice that I had gotten that kill mail, or another one, for a while.

We were still shooting targets as they were broadcast and the hostiles were still jumping more and more capitals into the system as our dreadnoughts were scourged from the field.  Afterwards Asher noted that for a dread bomb to work, you need enough dreads to kill the target, plut 3-4 more for every force auxiliary the enemy fields, and the enemy was pouring Apostles onto the field.  That was why we were shooting and neuting them, but it wasn’t enough.

There was a titan far from the enemy pack at one point, and we turned out attentions towards it, hoping that it might get tackled since it was too far off for help from the Apostles.  However he dropped off of targeting as he entered warp, signalling and end to that effort.  And then the command to “take fleet warp” came over comes.  With the enemy still dumping capitals on us, our own dreadnought force almost spend, and our Typhoons being chewed up by fighters, it was time to extract.  We had done about as much damage as we were going to do.  I let my Typhoon align towards the Hakonen gate, tried unsuccessfully to recall my drones, and took a few last screen shots as I warped away from the fight.

Local closing in on 1,300 as I warped off

It was about then that I noticed that I had gotten the kill mails, so I had to zoom in on my ship to find the kill marks, the other benefit you for getting in the final blow.  When you’re in main fleet with a couple hundred people, getting the final blow is a rarity.  These were the first two marks I received on a Typhoon.

Two more orange dots on a hull with many orange dots

On the long warp to the gate I thought the battle went pretty well… for me.  Not a lot of dithering or travel before hand, just shooting stuff for a while when we got there, another vista of capitals and super capitals to survey, a short trip home, and a couple of kill mails.  What more could I ask from a fleet op?

For the coalition however, the battle report was pretty grim.

Battle Report Header

There wasn’t an objective to win, save for “blow up ships,” which leaves us with the ISK war.  That did not go our way at all.  Even removing our two temporary allies from our loss column only drops the total by 10%.  Still, a victory for Jita I suppose as both sides resupply from the nearby trade hub.

And a victory for those wanting some screen shots.

A pile of titans and other capitals on grid

The glare of more ships jumping in

Explosions and doomsday effects brewing

The view after I got booshed away from the fight

Explosions in the midst of the ball

Doomsday effect in the ball of caps

Dreads being hit or explodion

Aligning out past that stray titan

Saying goodbye to the fight

In warp for the gate

Covering the gate as we all form up to jump through

  Foray into Nalvula HICS JOIN THAT FLEET - HAVE TITANS TACKLED - WE ARE DREADBOMBING - GO GO GO…