#lower decks is so good in begging y’all to watch it

[enginespark]

Sequel to this post https://www.tumblr.com/enginespark/739735140519084032/gf-made-me-watch-lower-decks-only-took-me-a-week

[gubler-me-up]

Lost in Translation

Request(s): Hey :) Can i make a Spencer request? Something like that episode in Mexico, with a bilingual reader please <3 Like a trip and he realizes that the reader can speak Spanish, he's kinda mesmerized and she helps the team to get more information about the unsub

hey beautiful :) could u write something (literally anything) where the reader speaks another language or like they have an australian accent or smthg and they have to like translate for the team and spencer just thinks it’s the hottest thing in the world and then the reader gets real worked up and starts yelling in the other language and spencer is just like skdkdmend,,,,u don’t have to if u don’t wanna but like i love u sm ur amazing 

A/N: Thanks for the first request @cryingforwill​ and shout out to the anon who sent the second request! Can y’all believe this is my last fic of 2020? Being posted early? New year, new me (maybe)! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and supporting my work for the last four months of 2020 you literally ROCK 🗣 btw I am by no means bilingual (maybe a lil French but that’s it) so all the Spanish being spoken in this fic is straight from Google Translate so pls forgive me if it doesn’t translate properly and if you’re like me and don’t know Spanish pls have Google Translate on deck while reading

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!reader

Category: Fluff

Content warning: Swearing, semi-nudity, mentions of violence 

Word count: 2k

————-

It was rare that the team travelled abroad for a case but when an unsub was on the run to Mexico they had no choice to follow their tracks. The team landed in Mexico within a day of finding out the unsub had fled. They didn’t waste time scoping out places the unsub could possibly be according to eyewitness reports.

Unfortunately for Spencer he got stuck with surveilling at the beach with Morgan in the hot sun. They made sure to dress for the part by wearing swim trunks and sunglasses. Well, that’s what Morgan was wearing. Spencer opted to wear a white t-shirt,  brown khaki pants and a pair of black converse.

Morgan had begged him to change into something else so he wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Spencer insisted that if he just stayed on the outskirts of the beach he would look like a tourist sightseeing. The explanation earned him an eye roll and look of disappointment from Morgan.

No matter the amount of disappointment Morgan felt, the surveillance plan went as planned. Morgan went on the beach to blend in with locals and tourists so he could ask people if they had seen the unsub as well as scoping the area for him. Spencer stayed just at the border of the beach surveilling the area. Whenever someone would pass by he would ask them if they had seen the unsub.

From a handful of people ignoring him to them just giving him a weird look, he felt as if he actually did look a bit weird in his attire. He sighed and decided it might be best if he did some surveillance from the car with his pair of binoculars. Before he could turn around to leave, a volleyball hit his feet.

He looked down and picked it up. He had no idea why he picked it up considering he didn’t know who to give it to. Even if he did he wouldn’t embarrass himself trying to hit it back to the person it belonged to. Volleyball was apart of his long list of sports he wasn’t good at.

“Hey, sorry, that’s mine.”

He looked in the direction of where the voice was yelling. He raised his eyebrows in surprise as he saw a gorgeous woman running towards him. He tried to be respectful and not stare for too long considering she was wearing a bikini. He didn’t want her to think he was a creep or even worse, the unsub.

She smiled as she made her way right in front of him. She held out her hands for him to give her back the ball. He looked down at her hands and then at his. He silently went “oh” as he realized he still had the ball in his hand.

“Sorry,” he said as he handed her the ball.

She looked him up and down with a questionable look. She looked back at his face. Spencer for sure thought she was going to treat him like the rest and pretend he just wasn’t there. To his surprise she smiled at him.

“¿Eres de eta zona?” She asked.

He shook his head. “No, no lo soy.”

She giggled. “Por la forma en que mataste tu sentencia, puedo decir que eres de los Estados Unidos.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Supongo que eras de la zona.”

She nodded her head. She reached into her bikini top. He watched carefully to see what she was about to pull out. He then realized there’s no way she could be hiding a weapon in her bikini top so he strayed his eyes away from her breast.

She saw how flustered he had become and laughed at how his pale face turned red. She pulled out her I.D. card to show him who she was. He looked at her surprised when he read her identification.

“My name’s Y/N Y/L/N. I’m originally from America myself but I opted to work for the Policía Federal after serving my time as a special agent at the FBI California headquarters. I’m here to be of assistance to you and your team, agent,” she said.

“How did you know I was-”

“My team was informed by your unit chief, Aaron Hotchner, that an unsub had crossed over to our borders, so we know everyone on your team. Also, no one dresses like that unless they’re undercover.”

Spencer looked down at his attire. He guessed Morgan had a valid point of him sticking out. She laughed and grabbed his hand to escort him onto the beach. He hesitantly held back.

“I hate sand in my shoes,” he complained.

“Well, you should have worn sandals. Aren’t you the genius of the group? Dr. Spencer Reid? How come you didn’t think of that?” She questioned as she yanked him onto the beach.

Spencer trailed behind her unwillingly. He could already feel the sand seeping into his shoes already. He would have been more upset but he was entering the beach for some reason Y/N hadn’t explained to him yet. Since she was on their side, there wasn’t a direct reason not to trust her.

“I wasn’t going to go onto the beach. My partner, Derek Morgan, is surveilling the beach,” he explained.

“The beach is the best part to surveil though. Seems to me you got the short end of the stick,” she said.

“It’s the stick I chose and I’m fine with it,” he said.

She giggled. “Tonto, tonto chico.”

“Uh, gracias?”

She led him over to an area where there was a blue beach towel set up with a cloth bag on it. She let his hand go and kneeled on the towel. He looked at her strangely as he watched her ruffling through her bag. She pulled out a bottle of sunscreen.

“Can you apply sunscreen to my back please?” She asked.

“I-I don’t know if-”

“Do you want to blend in or not, khaki pants?”

He looked down at his pants before looking back at her. She reached the bottle out to him and he didn’t feel as if he had a better option so he took it from her. She smiled as she scooted down to make some room for him to kneel behind her.

He went behind her and kneeled. He opened it up and squeezed a good amount on his hands. He rubbed his hands together before he started applying it to her lower back. He had to admit her skin was the softest thing he had ever touched.

“Crees que puedes seguirme si hablo español durante esta conversación?” She asked

“Intentaré,” he said.

“Excelente. Tengo un hueso personal que elegir con su sospechoso,” she said.

“Que hizo…Wait, what are you doing?” He asked.

Y/N reached one hand to the back of her bikini top and untied it. She held the front of it with her free hand so her breasts wouldn’t spill out, flustering Spencer anymore than he already was. She looked back at him with a smile as she saw him turn red again.

“You need to get the whole of my back,” she said.

“Uh…I guess?” He said.

“You sound unsure. Wait until you have to do the front,” she said.

“I what?” He choked.

“I’m kidding. We’ll save that possibility for another time,” she said with a wink before turning her head.

Spencer’s mouth was gaped open but he couldn’t find the words to say back to her. He honestly didn’t know what would be the appropriate way to respond to her. If Morgan was there he probably would have been even more disappointed by the way he was acting around Y/N.

“Your unsub, Eric Brown, almost killed my partner,” she said.

“I heard,” Spencer softly said.

“Ese hijo de puta nos sorprendió. Le disparó a mi compañero en el cuello y si no estuviera allí para evitar que se desangrara, habría estado muerto,” she said, gradually becoming louder in her tone.

“Lamento que tu y tu pareja hayan sido víctimas de él,” he said.

“¿Ser víctima de él? Si vuelvo a ver a ese hijo de puta voy a hacer que me caiga víctima,” she yelled.

He let her have her little moment because he knew how upsetting being in that type of situation could be. Even though he was upset for her, he couldn’t help think her yelling was tantalizing. It didn’t help he was enjoying rubbing her back with sunscreen and feeling her soft skin over and over again.

“Estamos aquí para ayudar en todo lo que podamos. Queremos hacer justicia a su pareja y a las otras víctimas de Brown,” Spencer said.

She turned around to look at him with a smile. He smiled back at her as he took his hands off of her. She looked down at the string that dangled at her side and then looked back at him. He didn’t need her to say anything and grabbed both strings on both sides of her to tie it around her back.

“Eres muy dulce, Spencer. Le devolveré el favor diciéndole esto: escuché de un informante hoy que Brown intentará esconderse en un carro de cargamento de drogas que se dirige a Cuba,” she said.

“Really?” He asked in shock.

“Sí. The shipment leaves in six hours, but the dock isn’t too far from here. If my hunch is right, he isn’t staying too far from the dock,” she said.

“Reid.”

They both looked up to see Morgan walking their way. Spencer immediately got up and dusted the sand off his pants. Y/N also got up and picked up all of her belongings off of the ground.

“Morgan, I-uh…I know what this might seem like but I was-um.”

“Hi, my name’s Y/N Y/L/N. I’m with the Policía Federal. I was informing agent Reid about Brown’s possible whereabouts,” she said.

“Yeah, apparently, he’s going to get on a drug shipment to Cuba in six hours,” Spencer whispered.

“He’s most likely hiding out somewhere north of Cancun,” she said.

“Great. Thanks for the information. Are your units scouting the area out?” Morgan asked.

She nodded. “Yes, but we’re not trying to penetrate the area directly. We have no idea what kind of people Brown has paired up with and he’s already attacked one of our own before, so we’re treading lightly.”

“Fair. I guess we’ll meet in six hours to catch him,” Morgan said as he reached out his hand.

Y/N grabbed it and shook it. “We definitely will, agent.”

As she let go of his hand, she looked over at Spencer. She smiled and reached out her hand. She noticed his hesitation to grab it, so she did him the favour and latched into his hand. She pulled him in and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

“Gracias por aplicarme protector solar en la espalda. Tal vez después de atrapar a este hijo de puta, podamos ser más íntimos,” she said into his ear.

She pulled away from him and saw that confused yet intrigued look on his face again. She laughed before waving them both goodbye. They both watched as she walked off from their sight into the overcrowded beach.

Morgan flopped his arm around Spencer’s shoulders. Spencer looked at Morgan to see a grin spanning from ear to ear. He sighed as he already knew what Morgan was going to say.

“So you spent the time you were supposed to be surveilling rubbing on a hottie’s back?” Morgan asked

“How about we don’t talk about it?” Spencer said as he shrugged off Morgan’s arm and started to walk away.

“You can’t keep your secret move from me,” Morgan said as he walked behind him.

“What secret move?” Spencer asked.

“The “standing there out of place but yet attract all the ladies to me” move,” Morgan said.

Spencer smirked. “I would teach you if I knew why it happened.”

Morgan chuckled. “You know what, I think I’m more content with you finally not knowing an answer for something than I am with you getting a potential date.”

—–

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @shadyladyperfection, @slutforthegubes, @pinkdiamond1016, @spencerreidsthings, @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto, @slutforsr @bxtchboy69, @fallinallinmendes @haihappen5 @mgg-theprettiestboy @siltuz-png @ptrs-prkrs @tclaerh @agentadhd @alexmarie29 @closetedreidstan @mac99martin @blxckhearthood @jesspavlik0vsky @katexrichardson @keniaasf @reidbuck @corishirogane3 @thegoddamncrazycatlady @keniaasf @pastelbabygirl19 @shadybagelsludgecolor @bootycrackraisinjuice @vintagebeauty1496 @bluerose512​ @laneybobeczko-g​ @averyhotchner​ @littlewierdalien @cynbx @mggsprettygirl​ @jessalyn-jpeg​

[discotreque]

Disco 3.08: The Sanctuary

This week IRL was a real mixed bag for me: a lot of messy and barely-manageable anxiety about my health, my day job, and uhhhh *gestures outside*—but also I’ve recently fallen in love (from a responsible social distance)—so it’s been equal parts re-writing professional emails to edit the panic attack out of my tone and gazing dreamily at Discord notifications with cartoon hearts in my eyes. It feels like my life is going to hell in the cutest, coziest handbasket—which is to say that Michael Burnham could not possibly feel like a more relatable character to me right now.

I continue to have issues with the writing at a strange medium-level—somewhere between micro, where the dialogue and characters are really good, and macro, where I’m digging the pace of the overall season, it almost feels like something went wrong in the assembly process, and the script ended up a little bit less than the sum of its perfectly good parts. Again.

But that’s such vague criticism as to be nearly meaningless, and it’s hardly the most interesting level to spend time on anyway. If I zoom out, the parallel season arcs of “getting used to the future” and “the mystery of the Burn” are hanging together wayyyyy better than the Red Angel saga did last year.

And if I zoom in? This episode was funny as shit, wtf.

The discourse re: Tilly these past couple of weeks has been bullshit, and I have a whole angry thing to say about it—but honestly, if you can’t appreciate Doug Jones and Mary Wiseman as a comedic duo, I’m not really mad: mostly I pity the lack of joy in your heart.

Everyone on this show is so funny. Doug’s prissy little delivery absolutely slaughters me (“Execute!...?”), Mary will make a face sometimes that has me screaming laughter into my hands, and I’ve gone on before—and will again—about Sonequa Martin-Green’s egregiously underrated comedy chops.

They were obviously casting for folks w/ jokes in the new season too: David Ajada is no slouch in the dry-delivery or the goofy-face department; his energy and chemistry with Sonequa are as suited to comedy as they are to romance (i.e. extremely 🥵). Anthony Rapp and Wilson Cruz we knew about, but Blu del Barrio—a certified tiny baby!!!—holds their own and lands every smartass whiz-kid one-liner just on the right side of “too precious to stand.” (I almost always at least chuckle, and never roll my eyes, and for a “teen genius” character that’s literally as good as it gets.) And living legend Michelle Yeoh is clearly having the time of her life, omfg.

Disco’s not funny-funny like Lower Decks, but they do funny-on-purpose better than any live-action Trek except maybe DS9. They have such a deep comedic bench they don’t even need Tig Notaro—they have her on just to flex, I presume.

(I don’t know if I’m predicting, per se, that Strange New Worlds—with Rebecca Romjin’s deadpan, Anson Mount’s twinkly eyes, and Ethan Peck’s twinkly-eyed deadpan—is going to have a tone somewhere between Disco S3 and LwD—but I mean... it kinda has to, right? And you know they kept the number for Rainn Wilson’s agent.)

***

At the start of this episode, I was “sure, why the fuck not” about First Officer Tilly; by the end, I was completely on board. And to everyone who’s still wringing their hands about “the real military” this (always from people who have no idea how actual militaries work, lol) and “Lt. Nilsson” that (she... already has a job on the ship? And no character traits besides “stoic” and “furrows brow”? Oh, I get it—she’s skinny and blonde)—y’all are kind of embarrassing me.

“Rank” and “position” (and “seniority” and “day-to-day duties”...) aren’t the same thing, in Star Trek or any IRL military. Yes, the permanent first officers of normal-duty Starfleet ships we’ve seen have usually been command-division officers with the rank of Commander—but not always. Star Trek: Discovery-A, if you will, is a unique show about a unique ship in a unique situation: “B-b-but that’s not how they do it on Star Trek!!!” isn’t a legitimate criticism, not of this—it’s the mournful cry of an entitled pissbaby who isn’t having their hand held all the way to the fireworks factory.

Here’s what an argument supported by the text of the first 37 episodes of Star Trek: Discovery actually looks like: Sylvia Tilly is nervous and lacks self-confidence, but once she gets over herself—which she can do pretty much instantly in a crisis, even when hilariously intoxicated—she is competent as hell. In lower-stakes situations, without intense pressure to focus her attention, she sometimes gets sidetracked by her own insecurities; at her best, she channels that anxious energy into ambition, drive, and being scrupulously organized.

The only person Tilly doesn’t always get along with is Stamets, and even Stamets’s husband thinks he’s an asshole. Since Season 1, we’ve seen her easily socializing with the rest of the crew, who seem to universally adore her. And she’s also happy to leave her social comfort zone at a moment’s notice: she aligned herself with Ash Tyler (miss you, Shazad!) when no one else would, and she instantly befriended Po even when Po was in Weird Feral Alien Princess mode and Tilly had salad in her hair. She doesn’t like confrontation, but she’s brave enough to initiate it anyway if she needs to, and she’s compassionate with other people’s feelings while still setting firm boundaries. (Her graceful dodge of Rhys’s tipsy kiss at the party in 1.07 lives rent-free in my head to this day.)

No, Tilly didn’t finish the Command Training Program—but she started it, which is almost certainly more command training than any of the lieutenants whose names we know, all of whom are Ops or Science personnel with, presumably, specialized non-command training of their own. The same could be assumed for any unseen ranking officers on this science ship with an entirely volunteer skeleton crew.

And seriously, about Nilsson: she’s my #3 background bae after Octopus Head and the lady on Pike’s Enterprise with the spiky red face, but her job is Spore Drive Ops, not personnel. If she’s running after Saru with a holo-clipboard, who’s going to look serious and push holo-buttons when there’s a Black Alert? *drops holo-mic* Drumhead!

***

The stuff on Kwejian, though. Ooof. Ol’ Two-Takes Frakes directed this one, and between the kinetic energy he always adds to the camera and the scintillating performances he evokes, things stayed moving so briskly I almost didn’t notice Book’s entire “homeworld” was a rental house outside Vancouver, a couple acres of adjacent woods, and like six or seven people.

It’s a hot mess in retrospect, but in the moment it gave us the intensity of Book and Kyheem trying to hurt each other’s feelings by poking at 15-year-old wounds, which as a sibling with complicated sibling relationships I found both funny and devastating—not to mention Frakes directing “shaky bridge” explosion falls at an obvious intensity of “10” on an outdoor location shoot. It falls apart at the slightest scrutiny, but I can’t lie, on first viewing I was totally along for the ride.

***

I’m dying to see where this Georgiou thing goes. It doesn’t feel like a stretch to assume she got Cronenberg’d a couple weeks ago, probably to get her under the thumb of this century’s Section 31, and that her arc is going to take Michelle Yeoh off this show in a way that sets up the S31 show. But also, I don’t care so much whether I’m right, I just want to watch Michelle Yeoh—and Sonequa Martin-Green, and also David Cronenberg tbh, and bring back Shazad Latif while you’re at it—get wherever they’re going.

It’s also a fun and interesting direction to take the comically-evil comic relief character and show that her performative moustache-twirling is partly habit and partly a transparent emotional defence against very real fear and vulnerability. We’re all products of our circumstances, and a radical enough change in circumstances can afford almost anyone at least the opportunity to change. I can’t say Emperor Georgiou would have been my first choice of protagonist for that storyline, but it’s not like Michelle Yeoh’s not going to fuckin’ crush it.

***

Miscellany:

So the Burn had an origin point, and now that point is broadcasting a signal that’s somehow both a haunting melody that everyone seems to know—but no one can remember learning—and a Federation distress signal. What the fuck, y’all. I have full-body goosebumps just typing that.

Saru workshopping his own captainly catchphrase with the aid of Tilly’s extreme sincerity and organizational skills is probably the funniest thing that’s ever happened on this show—followed closely by the uncomfortably lingering reaction shots when he’s trying them out on the bridge 😂 (And omg please give Rhys and Bryce the dumbass buddy-comedy C-plots they deserve next season, I beg you.)

I would do a little “prop watch” entry on those Kwejianian(?) bolt-throwing rifles, but I’d have to stop drooling over them first. “Curvy polished hardwood” seems to be New Trek shorthand for “extra sleek and futuristic” (cf. the bridge of the USS Titan in the LwD finale), and I have to say: I am fully into it.

Restating my prediction that we will not see Detmer and Owosekun get together this season, because we will find out that they’ve been together for ages. Everyone knew—Pike even knew!—it just never came up in front of the audience before. That would be one of the cutest ways to do it imho, and one of the funniest too, especially as a meta-joke about how much character development didn’t happen in the first two seasons. (That said, if we get to see their first kiss, I will be screaming with incoherent joy for days, so this is a real win-win for me.)

Speaking of cute: IRL spouses Mary Wiseman and Noah Averbach-Katz, both Julliard-trained actors (it’s where they met!), can’t quite hide their chemistry in the scenes between Tilly and Ryn. I loved seeing Tilly be a hardass when Ryn was rude to the captain, but that sparkle in her eyes didn’t quite match the context <3

And speaking of people who are VERY OBVIOUSLY IN LOVE: that last scene with Book and Michael, and his nervous little “yeah, I said it” eyebrow lift, and her irrepressible giggle as she’s walking away... it was almost too much. Especially right after the queer-family scenes with Stamets and Culber and Adira. My poor heart is going through a lot lately, and I guess I’m just glad Season 3’s emotional intensity is melting it with soft sweet scenes like that instead of kicking it down repeated flights of stairs like Season 1.

***

Next week: everyone stops caring about the Burn and starts trying to solve an even more important mystery—why is this (holographic) dude wearing an early-2360s uniform with an early-2370s combadge?

[delaneytveit]

Satellites Part 8

Any of y’all ready for some badass lance mfing sharpshooter??? Quick tw//graphic violence 

Enjoy!

(Part 7) (Satellites Master post) (Part 9)

There was no party when he made it back. No celebration, no hugs. God he missed hugs.

The first time he noticed something was wrong was when he got within range of hailing the castle. Coran or Allura should have been instantly alerted about his pod entering their area. But his calls received none in response.

The second thing he noticed was during his approach to the castle, not once was a shot fired at him. Not once did he fear the castle might accidentally shoot him down. He entered the hangar with no problem, and that put him even more on edge.

Something was most certainly wrong.

He exited the main hangar without issue, making his way down the long winding hallways of the castle. Not a sound of the others reaching his ears.

It had been a while since he had last been in the castle, yet as he walked farther and farther, it became as familiar as if he had just walked this same path yesterday.

It was almost as if he could hear the laughter from the lounge room, hear the bickering in the control room. But as he approached each room, all he found were the memories rather than the team he had fought so hard to find.

Where were they?

Why would they leave the castle so defenseless?

They wouldn’t.

Lance walked into the control room, pistol ready, and made his way to the main control panel.

Every Lion was still in their hangar, as apparent by the readings from the castle, which meant that they were here. But something had happened.

If only he could get the castle security cameras up and running. Apparently he needed a password, and though he most definitely was no hacker. So he resigned himself to having to find them the old fashion way.

Gun cocked and ready, Lance stalked through the castle towards the training room and kitchen. He quickly checked to see how many bullets he had left, 4.

This was going to be interesting.

He was ready for the first Galra, not a second’s hesitation before the body hit the ground. He quietly stepped over him and decided to head down the hallway the now dead Galra had come from.

There were two more on his way to the kitchen. Speaking about something Lance had no interest in hearing. He needed to find the team. Lance leveled his gun with ease and two more shots hit their mark. Two more bullets were spent before their victims had even the slightest clue.

He turned the corner to the hallway to the kitchen and stopped, immediately hiding behind the corner.

Straining his ears to hear whatever the Galra in front of the room was saying, he cocked and recocked his gun. One bullet left. Better make it count.

He could hear Keith cursing, Shiro and Hunk’s heavy breathing.

Three, only three were here. He had to find the others.

He chanced a quick glance around the corner, eyes falling past the Galra soldier and landing on the group of paladins he stood over. Fear and determination in their eyes. But all of them had been knocked down, splatters of blood covered their armor. Lance guessed any one of them had a number of injuries.

Maybe all of them.

There were three other galra surrounding the paladins. None looking his way, but rather at the ground where the paladins sat.

No, where Keith and Hunk sat. Shiro was the one that was hurt.

Lance almost wondered why Keith hadn’t gone complete apeshit yet. Shiro was his brother, and anyone who would give Shiro the slightest paper cut could count on being decked mercilessly by the younger.

He soon found the reason why, not only was the red paladin cradling his right arm, but his bayard and knife sat on opposite ends of the hallway. Honestly, what was the point in having two weapons if you were just going to lose them?

Keith opened his mouth, probably to say some stupid threat that everyone knew he wouldn’t be able to follow through, and Lance took the opportunity.

No one noticed the sound of the gunshot until the bullet had connected with its target. The Galra in front of Keith landed face first on the floor.

Lance took the few seconds the disorientation had caused to the group to holster his gun.

He looked around the hall and caught sight of a pipe leading up the wall, he desperately hoped it wouldn’t lead to anything important as he wretched it from the wall with way too much ease and stalked towards the group.

“Lance?” He didn’t let himself register the way Keith’s voice spoke his name. Rather he channeled all of his focus into taking these damn Galra down.

Two ran towards him while the third stood guard, pushing Keith down when he tried to get up.

“Time to put all of those baseball practices to good use.” Lance thought, raising the makeshift weapon.

The first hit made a sickening crushing sound, the Galra immediately falling to the ground. Lance took the momentum the pipe had gained and slammed it down, the metal going straight through his enemy’s skull.

He wretched it out of the body and turned his attack on the now stunned second soldier, talking his knees out first. Once, then twice, then thrice Lance brought the pipe to the soldier’s head, each one shattering the victim’s skull more and more.

He took two more hits just to be sure, grabbing the gun that they had dropped and leveled it to the third and last Galra.

“Who sent you?” he asked, anger dripping from his words.

The Galra, though staring with wide eyes, said nothing.

Now that just wouldn’t do. Lance pointed the gun down a little and pulled the trigger, the shot connecting with his enemy’s chin.

“I said” Lance stalked forward, seeing red as he got closer, “who. sent. you.”

“I-I-I..”

Lance pointed his gun to the other leg, finger on the trigger.

“Haggar, Haggar did, I swear! It was the Witch!”

Lance almost smiled. So she caught word of his escape, trying to bring her pet home huh? Now why would she want to do that?

He lowered the gun a moment, inhaling a deep breath of the circulated recycled air that he had grown so accustomed to.

Lance watched as the soldier relaxed a little, believing he was finally out of danger. The moment was gone in an instant when Lance raised the gun once more, he heard the gasp from Hunk but refused to let his brain acknowledge it.

“Please, I’ll answer anything, I’ll-”

Lance didn’t give him the time to finish, the shot colliding with the begging Galra’s forehead.

“So much for victory or death.” Lance turned to the three paladins, apparently at one point Shiro had awoken and was leaning against Keith.

“L-Lance?”

+

They were able to get Shiro in a pod quick enough. Keith and Hunk had only minor injuries, ones Lance easily bandaged up.

“Any idea where the rest of them are?” Lance asked, wrapping one of Keith’s hands.

Hunk shook his head, “you’re guess is as good as mine.”

Lance huffed, this was going to be a long night? Day? Whatever.

He finished his work and stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Alright, let's go find them.” was all he said as he grabbed the rifle he had stolen from the Galra and made his way out of the healing room. Hunk and Keith right behind him.

“So, what’s the plan?” Keith asked hurriedly, trying to keep up with Lance’s steps.

The question caused Lance to halt in his tracks, looking down to his friend, “Uhh how about, kill the bad guys and don’t get shot?”

He heard Hunk scoff at that, “Was that your plan when you came and rescued us?”

“As a matter of fact, hermano,” Lance cocked his eyebrow at the yellow paladin, “It was, and I don’t hear anyone complaining about it.”

He was so surprised when Hunk wrapped his arms around him, that he almost launched the poor guy. It took a second for his brain to recognize the act. A hug, his brain supplied, and he instantly returned it, hugging his best friend.

When it seemed that Hunk wasn’t going to let Lance go, the boy laughed, bringing his hands up to tapp Hunk’s arms. “I love you too man, but we got to go help Pidge and everyone.” he whispered.

Hunk begrudgingly let go of his friend, who turned to Keith, arms open wide.

“You want one too before we go kick some ass.” Honestly, Lance only expected the little scoff Keith did, the enthusiastic hug was new.

He didn’t comment on the wet spot that now graced his shoulder, or how tightly Keith clung to him, he just held the boy as close as he possibly could, “I missed you too.” he whispered into the black hair that sat below his chin.

When Keith pulled back, he punched Lance, though lightly, in his arm.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You got bigger.” Keith pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “And for leaving, but mostly for getting bigger.”

Lance laughed at that. Mussing Keith hair, which earned him a swat on the wrist.

“Maybe you should eat more huh?” he joked.

“At least I’m not built like a fucking tortilla chip.” Keith bit back, though any harshness was absent in his voice, replaced with something that Lance could only think of as fondness.

Lance started walking ahead, turning his head back to look at his friends. “Well this tortilla chip just saved your guys’ ass so who’s the real winner here? Now let’s get moving, and go find our friends.”

[j-whirl44]

Fix What’s Broken

Rusty Quill Gaming.

Zolf & Sasha kinda getting closure.

Spoilers for the post ancient rome sidequest and onward.

I made myself so...sad writing this I bestow it onto y’all now.

Read it on AO3: (x)

The room is small and Zolf’s legs hurt. It’s his turn to sleep inside the cell. It’s been three days now and all the booze from Carter’s stash is gone. He’s never really been hungover before, but he wonders halfheartedly if he’ll feel any effects in the morning. At least that’d work as a distraction from the reality at hand.

It’s hard for him to look directly at Hamid. The guilt rises up in his throat whenever he tries, and his attempts at squashing it down are only replaced by rage. Rage at Hamid. Rage at himself.

He doesn’t necessarily regret leaving the group behind in Prague. He knows it was the only way to keep some sort of peace within the group. His growing distrust in Poseidon was too much to bear, plus Bertie’s constant agitation and the fallout of Mr. Ceiling. He wasn’t in any shape to lead them. The four of them were all so different from one another it was laughable. At the time he didn’t think they needed an old sad man like him around, too consumed with confusion and self-pity to do anything. He convinced himself they’d be fine.

He convinced himself Sasha would be fine without his healing.

He didn’t have any sort of idea where to go from Prague. He just went up to the ticket counter and got on the first train out. He ended up in Italy, in a small seaside town fittingly enough. He tried his best to reconnect with Poseidon but it was hard and nothing was working. He checked the papers for news of The Rangers every day. The report of the opera concerned him and Zolf almost booked a train back.

Almost.

Now eighteen months have passed and he regrets being too frozen with fear and doubt to go back to them. When he got word of Einstein bringing them back from Rome he almost didn’t want to believe it, and when he only saw Hamid his heart squeezed.

Sasha was gone. He had a hard time thinking it wasn’t his fault. Hamid is adamant she’s only missing, but Zolf’s seen enough pain and loss in the fallout of this new war to know better. He shifts on the cell floor as he tries to sleep.

Suddenly, he’s back on a boat. It’s the same boat he was on whenever he and Poseidon tried to have it out, but this feels different.

For one, the water’s calm. It appears to be midday but the sun is covered just enough by the clouds for it to stay cool on the open sea. Zolf’s at the helm, steering the ship along. He feels someone behind him.

“Uh-hey there,” a voice says.

Zolf whips around. Then he sees her. Sasha.

He blinks, then looks out to sea, then looks back at her. She’s a lot worse for wear than he remembers.

“Sa-sasha? What are you-I don’t,” Zolf tries to say. He didn’t know what to think. She looked so real in front of him, he knew this was a dream but at the same time he really hoped it wasn’t.

He takes a step closer to her and reaches out his hand to grasp her arm. It didn’t feel real. He lowers his hand.

Sasha gives him a sad smile as she moves to sit down on the deck beside him.

“How you been, Zolf?” she asks.

He doesn’t know what to reply so he just continues to stare at her, dumbfounded, “Sasha where-where are you? Hamid he-he came back but you weren’t with him he-he said-”

“Hey alright, hey it’s okay calm down,” Sasha says. Zolf took a deep breath. “We went to Rome, traveled through planes of existence and stuff uh, Grizzop and I-Grizzop he’s uh, a goblin we met in Prague you’d like him, we uh got-got separated traveling back. I, uh, we...” she tries to continue but stops.

Zolf doesn’t feel like he’s breathing. He watches her explain bits and pieces he’s already heard from Hamid. He’s not steering the ship anymore because he thinks it doesn’t well matter right now. Partly because this is a dream; mostly because Sasha is in front of him and he has so many things to say to her.

“Where are you?” he asks, “Hamid and I, we can come get you we can-” he stops when he sees Sasha smile and shake her head. She reaches out to him again, and again it doesn’t feel real.

“I’m gone, Zolf. There’s nothing you or Hamid can do it’s-it’s just the way it is,” she says.

Zolf shakes his head. He wants to cry but isn’t sure he can, “No. No Sasha look I’m sorry. For everything. I-I know I left when things weren’t good. For-for you, for everyone, I’m just sorry I did that. I just couldn’t be-”

“I know, mate. Look, you couldn’t be with Bertie and you had stuff to work out with your god or whatever.”

“I know but I shouldn’t have left you , Sasha I’m sorry. You needed me and I-” Zolf stops. He can’t finish the sentence. A lump feels like it forms in his throat and he can’t swallow it down.

“Hey I got better. Met a dragon which was, uh, pretty...pretty cool, he helped heal me,” she says. Zolf laughs a little at that. He wishes he could’ve been there. He also thinks if anyone was worthy enough to render the help of a dragon to save her life, it’d be Sasha. He finally sits down next to her. He wants to reach out but he doesn’t. He hates that this isn’t real.

“So-uh-you want to just sit here then and be quiet? Because that’s fine with me. I got time,” she says and Zolf actually does laugh at that.

They do sit in silence for a bit. The faint smell of sea water tickles Zolf’s nose as he tries to take in what’s happening. He begs anyone who’s listening to not wake him from this.

“I really am sorry,” he whispers.

“I know you are, but hey, don’t take it out on Hamid. He-he tries. You know that,” she says.

Zolf lets out a sigh, “Yeah...yeah I do. I just, uh, still got some things to work out I guess.”

Sasha reaches out and touches him again, giving his hand a slight squeeze. It feels just a bit more real in that moment.

He wakes up. He wipes the tears off his face. He sees Azu give him a look from the other end of the small cell. He realizes he’s the last one to wake.

He walks towards Hamid and gives him a hug, the halfling is surprised, but he accepts it.

Zolf thinks of Sasha and smiles a bit.

[nhlabornews]

Justice and Injustice in The Big City -- Part One

 (NB: This article was based on interviews with attorneys, court employees, police officers, defendants, and personal observations by this reporter in actual courtrooms.)

You probably watch “Law & Order.” Most people do. There you get to see the justice system chugging along like a sausage factory. The police think someone has committed a crime. A detective digs through the facts, interviews witnesses, and examines all of the evidence before going to a prosecutor to seek an indictment. The accused is brought before a judge in person to be charged in a wood-paneled courtroom, a defense attorney protests their innocence, the prosecutor must show what they have to indict, and if the judge thinks it’s more likely than not that a crime has been committed the defendant is charged, and a reasonable bail is usually set. The bail is paid, and the defendant is able to return to their life and assist in their defense. Their attorney has the resources to investigate the alleged crime, find exculpatory evidence, and go to trial. A trial eventually happens, all of the facts are put before a judge and jury, and if they are innocent, they will walk away full of puppies and rainbows – because the system worked. You turn off the tv basking in the glow of the American Justice System. All is right – or white – with the world, and you’ll sleep soundly knowing that the rule of law works for everyone.

That is a terrible lie. You’ve been suckered. That’s not what happens. It’s a fantasy. Let’s use the example of my hometown – Philadelphia.

So, the police hear that you’ve committed a crime. Maybe someone called in a tip. Maybe your neighbor was mad at you and wanted to get even. Maybe your girlfriend is mad at you. Maybe the police were simply bored and needed to look good to their commanding officer. They don’t investigate it. Based solely on a statement against you they go to the Charging Unit of the District Attorney’s Office and ask for a arrest warrant. They usually always get one. It’s a rubber stamp.

Handcuffs and a car (houstondwiPhotos mp FLIKR CC)

You’re arrested. You get put into a van and taken to a police station. You are scared. Nobody tells you what’s happening. Your things are taken from you. You’re photographed and fingerprints are taken. You may get an invasive body search. You’re led to a cell. If you’re lucky you get a few cheese sandwiches (one slice of processed cheese and two slices of bread) and water. You’ll have to ask (beg) for toilet paper. The cell will be filthy, the sink and toilet a horror show, and you’ll sleep on a hard metal bench with no pillow or blanket. There are cockroaches. There are rats. If it’s night time, the lights will remain on and it will be impossible to sleep. One person told me of police who enjoyed keeping a radio blasting gospel music all night at the cells because “Y’all need Jesus in your life.” Jesus is nowhere to be found. If you called The Hague you’d have a good case for a crimes against humanity charge.

Exhausted, you will suddenly be taken to a room with a monitor. You’ll be arraigned via closed-circuit television. No wood-paneled courtroom. No attorney by your side. In fact, you haven’t spoken to an attorney yet. You can’t utter a word during this arraignment. You begin to pray. You might cry. If you’re lucky you’ll get bail.

I hope you thought to bring change. If you did, you get one phone call to get someone to pay your bail. Do you remember their phone number? It may be late, and no one will answer. Too bad. It sucks to be you. If you get someone who can pay your bail, they have to travel to the bail payment window in a far away building to do so. Then you wait for the system to grind along before you’re released. The police won’t call anyone for you. Your partner is probably freaking out and has no idea where you are.

Huzzah! You got someone to pay your bail and you’re released! You get your things back. Never mind the money that’s missing from your wallet and the fancy watch that’s not on your property sheet, you’re free to go.

How will you get home? You’re in a strange neighborhood late at night. How will you explain it to your boss if your missed work? How will you afford an attorney? You probably can’t, so you’re assigned a public defender.

You get home. You are shaking. “How did this happen to me? I didn’t do it!” you’re asking yourself. You look at the paperwork and see that you’re expected to go to the Public Defender’s Office to discuss your case. You and your wife argue. Your children cry. The whole neighborhood knows by now that you’ve been arrested. They stare.

You lose another day from work to go speak to the public defender (do you still have a job?). You wait for your name to be called. You have about ten minutes to tell the harried public defender your tale of woe. They ask questions as if they assume you’re guilty. You can’t believe this is happening to you.

They suggest a deal right off the bat. They don’t have the time or resources to investigate every crime, and just want to clear their desk for more serious cases. They’ll urge in very strong terms to take a deal. In fact, 63% of cases in one year in Philadelphia ended in defendants taking plea deals. If every case went to trial, the system would collapse, and the system knows it. Forget your right to a trial and to confront witnesses against you. Take the deal, they urge.

But you didn’t do it! The public defender will not-so-patiently explain that innocence is not a defense. The deck is stacked against you. Take the deal.

You refuse, because you don’t want to be a convicted criminal. You’ll never find a good job or place to live with a criminal record.

Exasperated, the public defender prepares for a trial. During your first hearing weeks later (more lost work), the District Attorney calls their witness against you. They aren’t there. The case is continued for another month or so.

During the second hearing, the witness still doesn’t appear. It’s continued again. If you some much as look at anyone in the courtroom you are yelled at. You’ve been arrested – you must have done something.

Finally, at the third hearing, the witness shows up. But the ADA needs to collect more evidence. Another date is set. More missed work. More stress. More relationships under enormous pressure. Have you been evicted yet? At this point they’ve offered a deal more than once – they may even have lowered the charges to sweeten the pot. Your public defender begins to pressure you to take it. You still refuse – but you’re tempted because you just want it to end. All you have to do is sign this paper and it will all be over. You’ll probably argue that you didn’t do it.

It. Doesn’t. Matter. Your public defender gets angry but tells the ADA and the court you want a trial.

Courtroom Karen Neoh – Flikr CC

Fast forward a few months. The date is finally here, you’re going to trial! For the sake of brevity, let’s assume that you’re going with a bench trial – where a judge and not a jury decides your fate – because your public defender knows that this particular judge is fair. Many aren’t. Many have no criminal trial experience before running for judge (yes, ours are elected). You’re in luck because this judge was a criminal defense attorney and actually knows the law. Fingers crossed!

But wait. Your subpoena said you had to be there at 9:00 am. Where is everyone? If you were late you’d be in contempt of court, your bail could be revoked, and you’d in a lot of trouble. So you, your lawyer, the ADA, the police witnesses, the state’s witnesses, and a gaggle of court employees sit and wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally at 11:00 am the judge finally wanders in. They chat up the clerks. Two hours you’ve waited. An no one dares say a word of complaint to the judge. I asked dozens of attorneys to talk about this on the record. They were all afraid to – for fear of never being able to try a case and win again. But I did find one criminal defense attorney, Zac Shaffer, to explain the dire impact on these delays on defendants and the police:

“Consistent start times help defendants, witnesses and police officers. Defendants and witnesses may have a job to run back to. Many of these people are living paycheck to paycheck. An entire day off of work might mean a missed rent check or a utility turned off. Shaffer continued, “I have personally seen alibi witnesses with a  9:00AM subpoena leave court before testifying because they cannot miss a whole day of work and their case wasn’t even statused, let alone     started, until 11:00AM when the judge takes the bench. Oftentimes last out officers are in court after finishing a shift that started at midnight just to find out they are not needed for court at 10:30AM or 11:00AM. An earlier start time lets them leave to rest up for the next shift. Their job requires split second decision making where being rested can mean the difference between life and death.”

After waiting for hours, you have your trial. If you’re lucky, your public defender has prepped for the case. They may have spent an entire hour on it. Did I mention that because of the rotation system that this is your third/fourth/fifth public defender, and that they probably forgot what you even look like? Before the trial they’ll pressure you again to take the damned deal. You argue. This is the person who’s supposed to zealously defend you and they’re mad at you for making their life harder.

The trial goes on. It’s obvious that the police have been coached. I’ve seen this with my own eyes, as ADA’s hand the case file to them before the trial to “refresh their recollection.” They even have a tiny special room for this purpose. Their testimony sounds like a script – because it is. Shocker: the police are trained to lie. They do it every day.

After everyone’s testified and been cross-examined, and evidence presented, the state rests. It’s in the hands of the judge. You start praying.

Court Gavel (wp paarz – FLIKR CC)

You’re stunned. You heard “Not Guilty on All Counts.” You’re free to go. You shake hands with your lawyer and wander out into the sunlight. You might cry in the hallway on the way there.

You’re free!

No apology. No help getting home. No one will even acknowledge you. Your reputation is destroyed and there’s no one you can sue. No place to get your good name back.

You go home. A month later your bail check finally arrives. For one last insult, the court keeps 1/3 of your bail monies for “processing.”

You file the papers to expunge your record. If you’re lucky, the DA’s Office won’t fight it. This process takes months. Meanwhile, your record is still there for every employer to see – and good luck getting a job.

Your life destroyed and you have nowhere to turn for help.

Ok. You’re probably white and wondering how this applies to you. You think anyone who’s been arrested probably did something, and deserves to go to jail. You’ve never committed a crime. Or so you say.

Have you ever added up your checking account wrong and bounced a check? Have you ever forgotten to pay a parking ticket? Have you ever argued with your wife? Have you left home without your wallet and don’t have identification when you blow through a red light? Has someone ever stolen your identity? Can you prove you were home at 9:24 pm three months ago when your neighbor claims you stole their snowblower after the argument you just had over their dog?

Then congratulations! You’re going to jail!

Start carrying quarters. You’re going to need them.

(Part Two of this series, publishes on Feb 27th at 4pm, will be about the office that’s trying to put you away: the prosecutor. You won’t believe it until you read it.)

          Justice and Injustice in The Big City — Part One was originally published on NH LABOR NEWS