#saw the word jettison and my mind immediately was like

[adhdheather]

i know its been a while since i brought it up on here but God i miss ducktales 2017

[thotful-writing]

Descending into Darkness (1)

Summary:  Kylo Ren's fury is known across the galaxy, his ruthlessness is unmatched, and unchecked for far too long. The Finalizer may not survive another outburst if his rage isn't sated. Kylo makes a request of his officers, find him a nobody, a distraction he can use at his will. An exchange of credits leads to your purchase, securing your place at Kylo's feet to satisfy his every whim. Will you make it out alive or will you be pulled down into the dark depths of depravity with him?

Warnings: Force choking, degradation, blowjob, NSFW

On AO3

Words: 6.7k

A/N: Smut? Porn? Shameless and explicit. Slow start in this first chapter, but things definitely pick up. Thank you to @supremeleadershitlord for being my most amazing beta reader. 

Also, thanks for reading in advance! :)

Knotted fingers sat heavily in your lap, anxiety unfurling in the pit of your stomach as you remained silent. A gift. Obedient. Docile. The variance of words flitted through your mind, the words they’d used when they first approached the shop. Of course, Kil Zota, your most recent owner, was only too happy to nudge you towards the First Order officers when he heard the price they were willing to pay. In the years you’d been with him, you knew he would’ve sold you for much less, but he was quick to sing your praises and showcase your skills in obeying orders. He had been looking for a reason to downsize, always said there were too many mouths to feed even though he barely fed any of you.

Kil shoved you to the forefront the second he saw them approaching with their fine pressed uniforms and not a hair out of place. He gave them the whole over the top spiel, your skillset with fixing equipment and tech, how he’d barely heard you speak two words the entire time he had you, which they ate up, but they didn’t seem fully interested in your usefulness as much as your background. Perfect. The officers said with grins that made your skin crawl. The rest was nothing more than a blur of exchanging credits and objects, which included you and the rags you called clothing.

There was no point in fighting, not outright anyways. You’d been on Tatooine for years, too many to count, but enough to know you wanted out. You begged for the chance, the opening that let you slip away. You would’ve preferred an opening with less restraints, but you couldn’t be choosy. As far as owners, being purchased by the First Order didn’t seem like the absolute worst thing, although you still didn’t know what exactly they wanted with you.

“Think this is really going to help?” One of the officers asked as he took his seat in the front of the transporter.

“We’ve already had to repair six control panels on the bridge this week, not to mention the elevator. And the Commander made this specific request, I won’t be the one to question him.” The other officer glanced back at you.

“But this seems… extensive, just to stave off his rage? She’s-” He kept his voice low, but not low enough for you not to hear.

“He said find a nobody, she’s as nobody as they come. He destroys this one and no one’s going to come asking questions.”

They simultaneously talked as though you were and weren’t there, both arguing their point while they still headed in the direction of your destination. It wasn’t that you weren’t afraid, scared for what came next, but you had no way of avoiding it and it made no difference whether you cried or screamed to be taken back. You shifted in your restraints, feeling the heaviness of the cuffs weighing on your wrists. You wondered if they were to be a permanent fixture.

The transporter came to a slow as it docked with your destination, anxiety in full bloom now as it filled your stomach. The ramp of the transporter lowered slowly, adding to the build up to reveal your destination. As soon as the ramp lowered the rest of the way, you took a step forward, taking it all in. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen. A vastness that was greater than what your imagination conjured up when junkers spoke of discarded Federation ships from the old days. Hurried boots marched across the sleek floor, moving in unison as uniformed officers and stormtroopers made their way past you.

Life buzzed across the hangar, people hurrying to their next position while you waited on a breath for yours. You knew there were humans beneath the bulbous helmets, but they seemed so mechanical with their movements. In fact, all of them did. Every uniform that passed by you seemed devoid of any emotion or difference that would indicate they were more than an empty shell.

“Keep moving.” One of the officers nudged you forward down the ramp.

Sleek corridors matched the hard, sleek floors, decked in black and silver, contrasted only by the blinking red lights that peppered the panels. The chill in the air bit and nipped at your warm skin, a vast difference from the heated breeze on Tatooine. You took in your surroundings, however monochrome and unforgiving they seemed to be as you were pushed onward.

“Wait here.” The officer said as he paused outside of a large, framed door.

The officer finished entering a code on a small, numbered pad on the wall, causing the doors to open with a whir. They were hurrying you inside and shoving you forward through the room and without a word you complied.

“She does speak, right? Or at least understand English?” One of the men asked.

“You,” the other snapped his fingers, bringing your attention back to them, “say something.”

You hesitated, it wasn’t often that you were asked to speak, “um… yes, I can speak, actually-”

“Good. Now, when the Commander comes-“

The doors behind them slid open before he could give you an order.

A wall of muscle and thick, onyx clothing stood just inside the doorway, his presence demanding immediate attention. He had to be at least two feet taller than you and he looked as though he could break you in half. Without an introduction, you knew him by appearance alone. Dark, obsidian hair fell around his face, simultaneously disheveled and well kept, easily framing his intense gaze that revealed nothing but the fury rising within him. He glanced at the two officers and then to you, his gaze moving cautiously up and down while you stood completely frozen. He hadn’t said a word, but you were already intimidated by him, your heart beating in your throat.

“Comman-“

In the split second they opened their mouths to speak, he had them both flung against the opposite wall, gasping for air and fighting to be free of his hold. You stepped back suddenly, jolted by his complete disregard for what they had to say.

“You were to leave her here.” He centered in on you, keeping the men on the edge of consciousness without touching them.

You’d heard stories of his powers with the Force, wielding it with ease and bending grown men to his will with the twitch of his fingers. Seeing the demonstration up close was far more terrifying than you thought it would be. He released them instantly, letting them fall to the floor as they choked and fought to fill their lungs. He stepped towards you, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“Commander, we thought-“ The officer was cut off immediately with  another twitch of his fingers.

“We wanted to make sure she remained, sir!” The other cried out before he met the same constricted fate.

The Commander released the other officer, “if either of you step foot in my quarters again, you’ll be jettisoned from the ship. Leave.”

They muttered apologies and tripped over one another as they left, both of them coughing and trembling. The door opened and closed quickly, leaving you to sit in the heavy silence between you and the Commander. He flicked his fingers again, this time releasing your wrists from the burdensome cuffs, letting them fall with a thud to the floor.

He remained silent and barely acknowledged your presence as he stalked by to head into another room. The anxiety had moved from your stomach to fully disburse throughout your entire body, which only added to the way you trembled from the cold that had enveloped you. You dared not move from your spot, fearing you’d suffer the same harsh fate as the officers.

His quarters were simple, in similar fashion as the corridors, monochrome but darker. Everything was shiny, clean, not a trace of sand or dirt, in complete contrast to what the last several years of your life had been.

A few moments passed and he returned, bulky, encompassing clothing removed, leaving him in only a t-shirt and pants that stretched to fit his massive, solid legs.

He paced around you with heavy steps, “Tatooine. Servant or scavenger?”

“Both, I suppose. I belonged to a junk trader.” You couldn’t rid yourself of the unease, feeling like you were being stalked like prey.

He stopped in front of you, “do you know who I am?”

You swallowed hard, knowing exactly who he was. There wasn’t a person in the entire galaxy that didn’t know him based off his frightening presence. Everything you’d heard about him was true but didn’t prepare you for the intensity that you felt the second he stepped into the room, how he sucked the air from your lungs with a glare.

“Commander of the First Order. Kylo Ren.”

“Not completely useless then.” His jaw tensed as he regarded you, taking you in.

His stare was unnerving, and it made you miss being invisible on Tatooine, ignored and disregarded easily. Being the center of attention was odd but being the center of his attention was daunting.

Kylo stepped around you to the seemingly untouched couch behind you, “let’s see what they’ve brought me.”

You followed his movements and turned to face him, knotting your fingers together in front of you. He sat back on the couch and outstretched his arms along the back of it, legs spread wide as he seemed to be waiting for you.

You were confused, “um, what do-“

“Was I mistaken before or-?” He snapped harshly, “get on your knees and do what you were brought here to do.”

You took a timid step towards him and lowered yourself to your knees. You dropped your gaze from his, wanting to avoid the intensity of his eyes that seemed to have an endless fury behind them. He let out another exasperated sigh and began unbuttoning his pants.

“A waste of credits.” He said as he pushed his pants down enough for his cock to spring free.

Your heart nearly leapt into your throat at the sight of him, long, thick, already hard in the palm of his hand. He leaned forward and grabbed the back of your head, pulling you forward.

“Get to it.”

Being bought and sold across planets had given you a unique experience, visiting different places, meeting new people, but it left you lacking in some areas. The opportunity for sex had presented itself, but your life had been centered around survival, not pleasure. You chewed your lip as you looked at his length, veins running up the underside of his cock, wrapping around. You knew what he wanted, what was expected of you, but you didn’t even know where to start. With your tongue? Hand? Maybe your whole mouth at once? You decided to just go for it. You leaned forward but before your tongue could make contact with the tip of his cock, he shoved you back.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He said with a harsh scoff, “you have no idea what you’re even doing, do you?”

He stuffed his cock back into his pants and buttoned them, “Imbeciles. What am I supposed to do with you? I gave them specific fucking instructions.” He stood up and stepped around you.

You remained in the floor, feeling like you’d already disappointed him within the few seconds of meeting him. Your eagerness wasn’t to please him, but to keep your life long enough to possibly live it without restraint.

You scrambled to your feet, “wait, I can be useful. I can do other things for you, I can be your servant, clean, cook, repair damage you’ve-“ You stopped before you said more.

“I see the officers have been chatting about me.” He turned back.

You felt like you continued to shove your foot in your mouth the longer you were there, “no- I mean, they mentioned the control panels. And the elevator.”

“Prove your worth and I’ll consider letting you stay.” He said.

You sighed in relief, hoping you could keep yourself from making anymore major mistakes. He seemed to have a short fuse and you really didn’t want to push him to his limit.

Kylo set your ground rules, which included the advice that you be seen and not heard. Your responsibilities were to keep everything in his quarters clean and spotless, which seemed easy enough. He expected you to mend his tattered and torn clothing and repair any damage he caused from here on out. It wasn’t a perfect situation and he seemed almost disgusted with your presence, but you were grateful for his mercy.

He stopped abruptly and turned, “mercy? Is that what you think?”

“Um… no, sir, I just-“ You took a timid step back from him.

He stepped closer, staring at you until your back hit the wall behind you, “I am not merciful.”

He was mere inches from you, raising his hand slightly, a pressure wrapped around your throat without his touch. His jaw tensed as the tightness around your throat grew, the pressure cutting into your airways and forcing you to swallow the bubble of air that was caught in your throat.

Your lungs spasmed, begging for relief as you grabbed at your throat, trying to claw your way to a breath, “p-please… sir-“

When he finally released you, you fell to the ground, knees hitting hard on the polished floor, gasping and choking as air filled your lungs once more. Your eyes watered as you glanced up to see him fixed on you. You started to question how long you’d survive if he could hear your thoughts.

“You belong to me now, right? My property?” He asked.

“Y-Yes, sir.” You coughed as you rubbed your throat, confused.

He grabbed your arm harshly and yanked you up to your feet, “then it’s time I inspect my property. Thoroughly. Strip.”

Your eyes shot up at him, “w-what?”

“I won’t repeat myself. Do as you’re told.” He took a step back from you.

You grabbed the hem of your shirt hesitantly, pausing for a brief moment before lifting it up over your head. You were reluctant to drop it, wanting to cover yourself with it still, but he snatched it from you and threw it aside. The cold air bit at your skin, sending goosebumps across your chest and making your nipples harden.

This wasn’t merciful, it was cruel. He was cruel.

Keeping your eyes fixed on his, you moved on to your pants, fumbling with the button. You simultaneously wanted to draw this out and keep some of your dignity, and to get it over with. It felt humiliating being in front of him this way, his focus completely on you.

“What dignity?” He scoffed.

It was disarming knowing he could root around in your thoughts freely without you knowing. It seemed like a breach of your privacy, not even your thoughts were yours anymore.

“I own you and your thoughts. Finish.” He crossed his arms as he waited.

When you pushed your pants down and stepped out of them his eyes moved hungrily up and down your body, slowly, deliberately as if he was silently criticizing every inch.

“I am.” He said, making you even more self-conscious.

Your entire body shuddered, shivering while he took you in. He brought his hand up and skimmed his fingers along the side of your breast before brushing his thumb over your hardened nipple. A sharp inhale of breath passed your lips as he touched you, the warmth from his fingers working to ease the cold that had set in. His other hand mimicked the first, soft and warm against your skin, which sent a heat pooling between your thighs.

“Not a complete disappointment. I would’ve enjoyed breaking this little body of yours.” He dropped his hands from you with a sigh.

There was a part of you that leaned forward, hoping to earn another brush of his fingers, a slight touch in some way. You shook your head, pushing out the thought of wanting a lingering touch from him, it was ridiculous. There were a plethora of reasons you should want to recoil from him and refuse his touch, but here you were, silently hoping for more. Confusing.

In the days following your arrival you fell into a routine quickly. He stayed away for most of the time, making you wonder if it was because of you or if this was his norm. Either way you preferred it to the opposite. Kylo’s absence was more than enjoyable for you. Your mornings consisted of cleaning and completing whatever chore he set out for you that day, but the afternoons were for you. It was a small glimpse of your freedom, doing as you pleased without command.

He left you with limited access to the various devices at his disposal. The holoscreen for entertainment, codes for the food replicator, and a data pad for research purposes. You requested clothing as well, but he only returned with three options, a short grey dress with pockets, a short grey dress without pockets, and a black one that looked more like a tank top than a dress, but he insisted it was a dress. You half wondered if he was just fucking with you, but you decided not to question him on it.

You decided on the dress with pockets, the grey fabric mimicking that of the First Order uniforms you’d seen, just without the rank or embroidery around the hems. It wasn’t the most unflattering thing you’d worn and it was definitely better than the sand stained rags you came in with.

The data pad he’d left for you held the vast amount of knowledge about the First Order and anything else you would ever want to know. He mainly provided it so you could research First Order tech and electrical repairs, but you took advantage of it. You spent hours scrolling through it, searching the database, learning whatever you could about your new placement. You settled into your role easily with minimal presence on his radar.

The longer you were there the more bits and pieces of him you picked up along the way. He was particular, specific in the way he liked things.

His cold stare and awkward silence made you question every move you made, even the smallest things.

“Redo it. This time actually put effort into it.” He pulled the sheets off his bed and left the room.

Bastard. You thought to yourself.

Suddenly your throat started to constrict, closing in and making you struggle for a breath. You glanced back to see him walking down the hall, his fingers curved slightly by his side.

Another lesson learned, keep insults to yourself without actually thinking them. Which was harder than it sounded.

His moods were based purely on how others reacted to him. He had the body and strength of a full adult, but the emotional tolerance of a child. Of course, not something you’d ever point out to him, not if you wanted to keep living.

It was becoming a habit of gauging his moods based off how he entered the room. If he was silent, he was content. If stormed in with a frustrated sigh, he was annoyed. But if he threw his heavy mask at the wall just as he stepped through the door, then he was furious and it was in your best interest to avoid him.

You flinched when you heard the main door open, signaling his return. You waited on bated breath, listening for the telltale sign of his mood, but it didn’t come, not in the way you’d heard before anyways. You realized you were still seated in his room as you’d taken a break to read through more of the Finalizer’s schematics. You could hear him muttering something but couldn’t make it out as you placed the data pad down and moved towards the door. You hesitated to come out of the room, not wanting to endure any of his anger, but you couldn’t remain there either.

With hesitant steps you tiptoed out of the room, careful not to make too much noise. You kept your gaze set ahead as you passed by the living room, hoping he was somewhere else entirely. A sound pulled you from your path, another person’s voice mixed with his, a woman. You peaked around the corner and froze. His eyes locked with yours as he sat back on the couch, in similar position from your first meeting with him, but he wasn’t alone. A woman was seated next to him, a Sergeant from the rank pinned to her uniform. She was beginning to unbutton her coat when she noticed you. Her eyes flitted to you and then back to him, her mouth opening slightly to question your presence.

“Continue. Just ignore her.” He said, still keeping his gaze on you.

She finished undressing and slid into the floor between his long legs, running her hands up his thighs before unbuttoning his pants. Her hair was dark, almost the same as his, pulled back in a long braid that draped down the curve of her spine. You could have stopped at any time, walked away and went on about your work, but your feet weren’t moving. Mainly because you weren’t telling them to.

She pulled his cock free and leaned forward, flicking her tongue over the tip. A low groan escaped his lips, awakening something within you, something that made you want to earn that sound from him yourself. A smirk ghosted his lips as he looked at you, making you blush immediately at the realization that he’d heard you. You hurried out of the room and back to yours, trying to make your mind blank again as you did.

Sand. Dry sand. Sand. Sand.

You repeated to yourself as you returned to your room, imagining the sand dunes on Tatooine, pushing all thoughts of him and the Sergeant from your mind.

You closed the door behind you and crawled onto your cot, heart pounding in your throat. It took everything you had to silence your thoughts, trying desperately to hold focus on something else, anything else. You squeezed your thighs together, needing some relief from an ache that had settled along with the flush in your cheeks. For a split second you thought about making yourself come to ease the need, but you quickly shoved the thought out, knowing he could probably hear you and was most likely laughing to himself about it.

Every now and then you’d pick up more sounds from them, a barked order from him, telling her what to do and at what pace to do it, or a loud moan or yelp from her. It was frustrating and enticing. You buried your head under your pillow, trying to ignore it until they finished, which was easier said than done. You were in a constant battle of controlling your own thoughts and trying to ignore them.

Time ticked by and it felt like they’d been going at it for hours. At some point you fell asleep, exhausted from the day and the events that had transpired, but your mind continued to race. Your dreams were chaotic, fleeting from one thing to the next, leaving you tossing and turning in your sleep.

Beg for your master, Pet. Kylo stood before you, hands clasped behind his back as you stared up at him, pink cheeks and drool dripping down your chin.

The sound of your door opening abruptly pulled you from your sleep instantly. You sat up, barely registering where you were for a second as you took a moment to regain full consciousness. You squinted your eyes, blinded by the light from the hallway until you adjusted. The silhouette of Kylo came into focus, pants barely hanging off his perfect hips, dips and dimples in the right places, leaving you distracted.

“Master? Pet? Even in your sleep you’re insufferably loud. Stop.” He pulled you from your preoccupied thoughts.

You swallowed hard, and looked up at him, realizing it wasn’t only your thoughts he could hone in on, “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll try to um… dream quieter.”

“Do or don’t sleep.” He closed your door and left.

You sighed and laid back down, utterly confused by your dream and why your mind seemed to be completely enamored by someone who appeared to despise your existence. Not to mention the way your body was responding to him, intensely attracted to him, an ache between your thighs followed by soaked panties that left you feeling helpless, especially with him around.

You knew Kylo was dangerous, a black hole that would swallow you up if you got too close, but you were curious and not smart enough to keep your distance. During the time where he was gone, you let your thoughts run wild, untamed, knowing he couldn’t hear you all the time. Or assuming he couldn’t and hoping he wouldn’t bring it up later.

Your fantasies always returned to your dream; on your knees, staring up at him, and calling him Master. She called him that, the Sergeant, but he didn’t call her his pet, nor any other term besides the normal derogatory slut and whore. She didn’t seem to mind it and from what it sounded like, she actually enjoyed his harshness. A twinge of jealousy began to settle within you, hoping he wouldn’t bring her back again. You began to wonder if you’d ever enjoy being called those names, imagining him saying it to you while he touched you in the most perfect ways. But it wasn’t like he would, he wanted nothing to do with you since you were so inexperienced.

The loud thud of his helmet signaled his return once more, making you jolt and hurry to finish your work for the day. You scurried out of the bathroom after replacing the linens, keeping your gaze to the floor to avoid eye contact and giving away any lingering thoughts.

“Stop.” He snapped at you as you walked by him.

You halted in place, refusing to look back, “sir?”

“Look at me.” He demanded with a snap of his fingers.

You turned around slowly and lifted your gaze to meet his, chewing on your lip nervously. He disarmed you with his glowering gaze fixed directly on you, which you assumed was his aim. He had to know how he affected you.

“Five nights. For five nights I’ve had to listen to your lust filled dreams and the whining whimpers that poured from that mouth. For five nights I’ve gone without decent sleep.” He tensed his jaw as he stared down at you.

“I’m sorry, sir. I-I really don’t mean to- I can sleep during the day when you’re not here if that would help?”

“What would help is if you weren’t so unbelievably pathetic.” His tone was short, and you could feel the anger radiating off of him.

You noticed the darkness around his eyes, knowing he wasn’t lying about the sleeplessness. Which would also explain the even worse mood he’d been in over the last few days. You immediately stopped thinking when he narrowed his eyes at you. Your mind had always been your escape and now it wasn’t safe.

“Sorry.” You said meagerly.

“You want me to fuck you.” He said simply.

Blood immediately rushed to your cheeks, “sir, I- No, I-It’s just a dream.“ You shook your head, stumbling over words to try and deny it while your mind screamed ‘yes’.

“All you have to do is ask.” He crossed his arms, biceps bulging more from beneath his t-shirt, doing nothing to quell the heat rising within you.

“Ask?” You shifted in place, suddenly feeling more overwhelmed than you had before.

Kylo moved around behind you, his large hand curling around your throat as he pulled you back against his broad chest, muscles rippling and tensing against your back. It was the first time he’d actually touched you since he ‘inspected’ you, more than shoving you away or yanking you around by your arm. Your breath hitched in your throat the second he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Just ask, but know that I won’t be gentle with you, pet.” His fingers flexed at the base of your throat.

It felt like your mind had shut down for a moment, stuttering and running through all possibilities as you considered his offer. He was pressed against you, giving you the key to what your dreams had been fixated on, what your mind hadn’t been able to forget.

“Ask.” He said a little more roughly, squeezing your throat with his large hand.

His breath was hot against your ear, each syllable only adding to the warmth that seeped between your thighs and made you desperate to push back against him.

“Sir, I-“ You had no idea how to even ask for it.

“You’ll beg me soon enough, when you’re truly desperate. When your thighs are trembling for my touch and your cunt aches for my cock, more than it does now. You’ll ask me to show you how good it can feel. You’ll ask me to use you.” He whispered into your ear, releasing you suddenly and stepping away.

His touch was dizzying, pulling you in and simultaneously shoving you away. He made you crave him, addicted without so much as the brush of a fingertip. Your mind whirled with questions, why he kept you, why continue to taunt and tease you only to mock you for it later. It was all frustrating.

Before you could convince yourself it was a bad idea, the word came out with a harsh sigh, "why?"

The muscles in his back tensed just before he turned around, "why what?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, chastising yourself already, "why um... why do you keep playing with me?"

"I'm merely entertaining myself at your pathetic expense. I thought I was clear about that?"

"It's not fair. If you're going to kill me then do it, if you're going to fuck me then do it. I can't keep waiting for one or the other." Where this sudden confidence came from, you had no idea, but if these were your last seconds of life then you were going to take full advantage of them.

"You act as though those are my only options." He raised his hand, encircling your throat with the Force once more.

"I could kill you, easily, but I've spent credits on you and I'd like to get my money's worth." He stalked closer.

You remained still, fighting the urge to grab at your throat or beg for air until you were certain you were about to pass out. You refused to give him that satisfaction.

"And I could fuck you, I could use your little body until it gave out, bruised and marked, filled with cum. But what would be the fun in giving you exactly what your little cunt craves, hm?" With the slight twitch of his fingers he lifted your chin, bringing your gaze up to meet his while the Force tightened around your throat.

"No, no, I think I'll continue toying with you for however long I want. And when you get down on your knees and beg so pitifully for me to end it, I'll toy with you some more." His tone was thick with condescension.

"P-Please..." you choked, the word escaping out of desperation.

His hand grazed your cheek, "but to see those lips wrapped around my cock, tears staining these cheeks. That's an enticing image."

Your face began to turn red, the lack of oxygen making your head swim and your lungs spasmed for a breath. He released you suddenly and your body fell limp against the wall as you gasped for air. Kylo held no concern for you as he returned to his room, ignoring your disheveled state and any harsh words that floated through your mind. Which you were grateful for.

That night you stayed awake. You sat up on your cot and refused to go to sleep. You kept your thoughts on anything and everything you could, hoping he’d sleep better that night and you’d return to being off of his radar. As much as you dreamt about him and craved his touch, you were frightened, scared of the things he would do, the things he would show you. He hadn’t even done anything to you yet and you were already falling into some sense of depravity with him, sinking further each day.

The following week you were blissfully entranced in your duties. Kylo had left you alone for the most part, giving you some reprise from his torture. You were finishing up with changing his sheets when he stormed in, tossing his helmet against the wall you’d just pulled the dent out of the day before. You hurried to finish straightening the blankets and make yourself scarce. You listened for another voice but heard nothing this time. On bad days he required the help of another person, someone he could use to release his anger into, what your role was supposed to be. You tiptoed out of the room on light feet and peered around to see him seething, chest rising and falling quickly as he sat on the couch.

“Sir? Are you alright?” You stepped out from behind the doorway, your feet and mouth moving on their own.

“Out.” He said with a huff of breath.

You continued until you were standing before him, “is there anything I can do to help?”

“The thing I need right now is a little out of your scope. Leave. Now.” He all but shouted, stern eyes glaring at you.

It would have been smart to leave, retreat to your room and let him calm down on his own eventually, but intelligence seemed to abandon you in that moment. You dropped to your knees in front of him and slotted yourself between his legs, just as the mysterious Sergeant had before. Which made you question where she was and why he hadn’t brought her back with him.

“What are you doing?” He stared down at you.

"Use me.” Your voice was small.

"Go. You don't know what you're asking." He disregarded you, but you weren't giving up.

"You said you needed-"

"I know what I said. What I didn't say is that I want some sniveling little virgin begging for something she knows nothing about." He snapped.

"If you'd just tell me what to do, I could-"

"You think I want to hold your hand through sucking my cock? Or fuck you gently because it's your first time having a cock in your pussy? No. What I need is for you to shut up and leave.”

"Regardless of what you think, I'm not going to break. I've endured more than you know, or care to know for that matter." You shot back, your own anger now rising.

"A few backhands to the face and now you're an expert on getting fucked?" He said, revealing that he had already dug into your memories.

"I can handle whatever you throw at me. Maybe you're just scared, worried you'll-"

His large hand gripped your jaw roughly, "is this what you want? I've heard your little whimpers in the night, mewling for your Master to touch you. You keep begging for this and pushing me, are you sure you’re ready for what comes next?"

His fingers dug painfully into your face, his chestnut eyes burning with rage and fury.

"You want to be used? Fine." He released your face and snatched your arm, yanking you up to your feet in front of him.

“You think you know what I need, go ahead. Show me what you know.” He sat back on the couch.

With fingertips grazing the tops of your thighs, you lifted the hem of your dress and pulled it over your head before letting it fall to the ground at your feet. Fear had long since disappeared, only leaving pure adrenaline and anxiety to fight in the pit of your stomach as you dropped to your knees between his legs.

He made no move to assist you or guide you, waiting seemingly patiently on your timid movements, but you knew it was only a matter of time before he lost that patience. Trembling hands slid up his thighs, reaching for the zipper on his pants and then the button. Your fingers felt like jelly, moving on their own because your brain had glitched out as you took on this task.

Just as you wrapped your hand around his cock and pulled it out, he leaned forward and grabbed you by the back of your hair as he stood up.

“Come, pet.” He growled as he jerked you along towards the wall just beside the couch.

He shoved you back against the wall, keeping you forced down on your knees while you looked up at him.

“Mouth open.” He ordered as his hand stroked along his length.

You opened your mouth, trying to gauge just how much to open to fit him, but you quickly realized you had no choice in the matter as he pushed you back against the wall and shoved his cock into your mouth. You gagged instantly but he remained still in your mouth.

“Breathe through your nose.” He sighed with his fist entangled in your hair.

You tried to move back to get a little relief, but the wall stopped you from moving too far. You shifted on your knees and leaned forward.

“Teeth.” He inhaled sharply.

You opened your mouth more and adjusted to him, trying to keep your teeth out of the equation. He barely gave you a split second before he pulled your head closer, forcing his cock further into your mouth. He placed one hand on the wall above you as he braced himself and moved your head the way he wanted with his hand fisted in your hair.

Your tongue slid along the underside of his cock as he moved it in and out of your mouth. You glanced up at him, noticing the way his hair fell around his face, strands swaying slightly with each movement. You felt your own need building as he used your mouth and the second the broken groan left his lips, you were soaked. Kylo’s head fell back as he forced your mouth down around him more, the patch of

black hair tickling your nose. Your eyes watered as his cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag, but he didn’t stop. You placed your palms on his thighs, desperately needing to take a full breath as he held your head in place. He finally loosened his grip and let you pull back for a moment, sucking in a deep breath as a string of drool dripped from your mouth.

Kylo looked down at you, “relax your jaw or you’ll strain it.”

You nodded and opened your mouth, waiting for him to use you more. He pushed your head back against the wall and stepped closer before sliding his cock back into your mouth. His hand tightened around your hair as he shoved his cock to the back of your throat suddenly, leaving you gagging again. This time he fucked your mouth a little rougher, using it as just a hole to stuff his cock into, but you didn’t mind it.

His hips snapped harshly against you, driving his cock to the back of your throat with force. Your eyes were watering and tears streamed down your cheeks from his persistence with the tip of his cock hitting your gag reflex. You didn’t know if it was possible for him to bruise your throat, but you were certain that’s what he was aiming for. Short, breathy grunts escaped his lips, building the heat that had pooled between your thighs. Each passing minute that he used you, you felt yourself leaning over the edge further, trying not to leap into the black hole but it was so enticing.

[goatsandgangsters]

do you have any writing tips pls 🥺🥺

Ohhh big question! I’m flattered that you want my writing thoughts, anon!

So. Are we talking about tips on getting through writer’s block/sitting down and actually writing? The mechanics of writing itself, the individual sentences and word choices? Developing a plot? Characters or dialogue? Drafting and revising? If there’s a specific part of the process that’s angsting you, let me know, I’m happy to say more on that. For now I’ll try and touch on as much as broadly as I can.

Writing is a process, a craft, a practice. A joy and a trial. The act of hitting some keys with your fingers but also making something out of nothing. Which is to say—it comes with practice, it can be frustrating, it can be rewarding, and however you’re feeling about writing, you’re not the only one.

Inspiration/actually sitting down to write:

I find that writing is like exercise. Yes, in the sense that it takes practice to build up those muscles, but MORE IMPORTANTLY writing, like exercise, makes me groan and go “but that’s haaaaard I don’t wanna doooooo it, what if I just siiiit here insteaaaad.” And then I grudgingly get started. And I start to get into the rhythm. And then “oh goddammit. This DOES feel good.” I’ve still never experienced a runner’s high, but I have experienced “no I don’t wanna write. well I guess I’ll write. oh hey I’m writing. oH HEY!! I’M WRITING!!!” Sometimes you just need to push yourself through to start.

That said, sometimes you don’t need to push yourself to start. Sometimes it’s better to let something sit. It’s okay to pivot to another project if you’ve stalled out on one. I saw a post once that called this “crop rotation” and I think that’s true. Sometimes the challenge is getting started, but even when you can’t get started, the time away can be valuable, because it allows you to return with fresh ideas and fresh ideas.

I love using Fighter’s Block for when I can’t get started. It curbs my perfectionist tendency to write the same first sentence over and over again by forcing me to write consistently and quickly without refreshing tumblr between every sentence. Once I’ve got a paragraph, I’ve got enough of a rhythm going to keep writing on my own. You can use it for longer stretches of time, but I find a couple rounds of 200 word count goals is enough to get me through the inertia of getting started.

Read a lot:

Reading makes you a better writer. You will absorb aspects of the craft in the process—sentence structure, rhythm, plot beats.

Then think about what you read. Think about what works. Think about what doesn’t. Notice sentences that you love—not by meaning but by sound. Think about how the story is told, how the plot elements come together, how the themes operate, how the narrative is structured. Did the flashbacks works or were they superfluous? Did you love the metaphors and descriptive language, or did it feel vague and unhelpful? What parts grabbed you, what parts didn’t?

Being able to identify what does and doesn’t work in someone else’s writing will help you apply it to your own. It will also help you craft your own voice and style.

Use writing tips as a challenge, not a rule:

We’ve all seen those “writing rules” like don’t use adverbs, don’t say feels or thinks, don’t say said. Never listen to writing “rules”; instead, see them as a writing “challenge.” You don’t need to jettison every single adverb or permanently strike certain words from your writing. Sometimes, an adverb is the best word. And sometimes it isn’t.

These tips are useful, but not as hard-and-fast rules that must be obeyed every time under every circumstance. Instead, use them as tools to challenge you to think about your writing in new ways, to see if there’s a better way to say something (and maybe there is and maybe there isn’t), and to bring a freshness to the process.

I actually do really like to challenge myself to minimize feels and thinks. “He feels sick to his stomach” will pretty much always be less powerful than “His stomach lurches.” But sometimes feels and thinks work better, either because I need quick exposition or because it specifically emphasizes a thought or a feeling as perception. Again, it’s not about rules. It’s about challenging your habits to breathe new life into your writing. 

Revising tools:

if you’re a tactile person and you own a printer (which I am but I don’t), I like to print out a draft and sit on the floor with a pen and a highlighter and highlight anything that sounds clunky or that doesn’t quite fit. Then I massage those specific sentences, looking for other ways to say them, and narrow in on those parts rather than trying to edit everything overall.

The hemingway app method (as long as you know you’re allowed to disagree with it) can be good to catch certain things. Sometimes I use it and think “yeah that sentences IS too long and awkward, I should rephrase it” and sometimes I think “nah, that sentence is long but it’s controlled and it works.” Sometimes it’s useful in pointing out that I used the word just way too many times; sometimes I’ll keep my adverbs thanks.

Retyping the entire thing in another word document is another revising trick. So is reading the entire think out loud to yourself (your actual ear will catch awkward rhythms or typos that your inner voice glossed over).

(Note: I don’t do all of these all the time. I revise with whichever method I happen to be feeling at the moment)

Character interactions:

Overly expository character interactions are probably my #1 writing pet peeve. People don’t say what they mean. They don’t calmly and carefully and eloquently articulate exactly what they feel. If your characters are conversing in well-practiced monologues where they’re able to objectively analyze and express their exact feelings, it’s not believable. It’s also not fun for the reader, because Explanations of Emotions are being used as a stand-in for actual emotions.

Example: You don’t have a breakdown because you’re stressed about losing your job and you had a fight with your sister and you’re also the protagonist who has to save the entire world. You have a breakdown because you can’t find your fucking pen. It was here a moment ago, you know it was, you put it THERE because that’s where you PUT things but now it’s gone and the pen is gone and you can’t even find the fucking pen so how are you going to save the world and everything is going to SHIT because you can’t FIND your goddamn pEN.

Your character is probably not even an expert on their own feelings, let alone able to objectively explain them to someone else. There are things we can’t make ourselves say out loud. We deflect. We put all the big feelings into small things. We squeeze someone’s hand and say come on, let’s make dinner because you can’t say everything is going to be okay I promise you and I love you so much and one day you’ll see that it’ll all work out.

What are your characters saying with their body? What are they saying with what’s left unsaid? And when are they saying something Else that’s really about Them? (“You did what you had to do,” character A assures character B, because character A’s own guilt weighs on them. They’ll never say this out loud. They don’t even need to specifically think “just like my own guilt, which weighs on me.” We know it by what they say, about other people and about other things, because these are the times when you’re really talking about yourself)

Also, the size of the emotion displayed does not translate into the size of the emotional impact on the reader. A big sweeping declaration of I love you shouldn’t be used as a stand-in for real chemistry or a moment of love that is specific to those characters. An absolute sobbing breakdown isn’t inherently more tragic for its size. You don’t need torture porn to evoke angst. Emotions are a lot more subtle than that. Using a caricature of emotion in the extreme often cheapens the emotion for the reader, rather than enhancing it. 

Other assorted tips:

Write notes! Sit up at 3 AM and write down a snippet of dialogue in a note on your phone! Jot down the plot idea for later! Note the phrase you heard someone say that sounds like it would be a good title.

If you can’t figure out how to end your story or your section or your chapter, it might be because it’s already over and the story has finished telling itself. If the beginning doesn’t feel right, if it feels slow and clunky, it might be because your starting place is too early. If the character interaction feels wrong or the scene isn’t going right or you can’t make that line of dialogue work, the problem is probably about 5 or 10 lines up where you took a wrong turn.

An em dash—like the one I used here—separates out a part of the sentence that couldn’t be a sentence on its own. Semicolons join two independent sentences together; this is an example.

The dialogue tag is part of the sentence. Correct: “I love dogs,” he said. or “I love dogs.” Incorrect: “I love dogs.” he said. or “I love dogs,” He said.

That’s everything that comes to mind immediately. If there’s another part of the process that you want me to focus on, let me know! I’m happy to go more in-depth on specifics! 

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Six

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN:  Welcome, welcome! This whole chapter is like. Fluff, with a sprinkle of healing. Prime indulgence hours. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale @absurdthirst @cryptkeepersoul @fleetwoodmactshirt @88dragon06 @roxypeanut

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Ezra displayed your battered helmet alongside his own on the mantelpiece above the faux fireplace, the two domes leaned into one another as if engaged in private conversation. 

Most evenings found both of you in the main room of his modest apartment, him pacing back and forth as he recounted various portions of his 'semi-fictitious' memoir that were giving him trouble, while you drew and offered input where you hoped it might be beneficial. 

"My editor, Kevva bless him, dares to insinuate that I am too ponderously wordy for the average book market." Ezra bemoaned one evening, dramatically collapsing into a sprawl of limbs on the couch alongside you. "'Get to the point, Ezra!' As if it is that simple, to just trim the fat off the prize cut of loin without regard for the flavor it provides!" He spat indignantly. 

"You are very…" you searched through all the fanciful words you had picked up from him, finally settling on, "verbose. Almost to a fault. Sometimes I wonder if you're deliberately taking three times as long to say something."

"If I am to be prolific with my speech, I would rather be saying somethin' that people are interested in listenin' to." Ezra retorted, sounding somewhat betrayed over you taking his editor's side. "I've endured countless lectures from individuals with some form of power over me and none of them possessed a modicum of eloquence. Their words were weapons of the bluntest sort: hackneyed and ramshackle and detestable." His voice dipped lower, gravelly and reverent. "I would rather a singular articulate quote to a thousand plain, lifeless, uninventive platitudes. Words are all I've ever had for most of my existence, gentle soul. They are a precious commodity gleaned not from the treacherous climes of some deadly moon, but from the stolen tomes and salvaged papers of civilization long past." 

He rubbed his temples, obviously exasperated. You, on the other hand, were a bit flushed. His rants were always a joy to witness, whether you wanted to admit it or not. There was something about Ezra getting riled up that you found mesmerizing.

"I apologize, gentle soul. You are not here to be my sounding board, and I shall not treat you as such." He said finally, dragging his hands down his face. "I will not subject you to my bouts of tempestuous querulousness."

"Hey, you can talk to me all you want! I just wish I could contribute usefully to your musing, that's all. I'm not nearly as well-spoken, I'd hate to use a word wrong." You replied, grimacing. "Like querulous...querulousness." 

"It means I am peeved. Cantankerous."

"You?" You gasped in mock-surprise. 

He groaned, "I did not realize how astute you were." You spotted the corner of his mouth twitching upwards and you knew you had him, nudging your elbow into his side until he surrendered and gave you a lazy grin. 

"Ezra, what does 'mercado' mean?"

He jerked upright out of his slump at that, looking confused. "Where did you hear that word?" 

"From...you?" You replied uncertainly. "It was while we were still...um, in the tent, I had just finished with your arm and you were looking through my sketchbook." His blank stare prompted you to continue, "you saw a picture I drew of the west dock and you-"

"Oh!" Ezra gasped, his eyes brightening with comprehension. He bounded off the couch, vanishing into his room. You sat there, wholly bewildered, until he reemerged struggling into his coat. He seized your hands, tugging you upright and then kissing your forehead. "You precious, beautiful woman!" He praised. "I am so glad you reminded me of our blood pact, sworn over the battered salvage of my arm on that accursed moon."

"Uh." Precious. Beautiful. "Blood...pact?"

"Hurry up, hurry up, put on your coat!" Ezra demanded. You imagined you could see his blond streak fairly bristling with excitement. "We must go."

"Go?"

"To the mercado!" Again with that gratuitous, flamboyant roll of the 'r'. You were beginning to suspect that he was enjoying himself. 

"What, now?" You asked, allowing yourself to be essentially spun into your long coat. "But it's dark out-"

"All the more reason to rush! If we aren't expedient, they may be closed when we get there!" He grabbed your hand once again. "Kevva waits for no man, gentle soul!"

...

You had never run the length of the Pug's west dock without some incredibly valid, logical reason. So the fact that you were currently running because you were being giddily dragged along by a large man who was far too invested in deep fried food spoke volumes toward the sheer amount of the things that had changed in your life.

"Wait, wait-" You finally had to stop him, your side aching from your haphazard sprint. Ezra halted, appearing confused as you wheezed for air. You clung to his hand a bit tighter than you meant to.

"What's wrong?" He asked worriedly. 

"C-Can't-" you gasped. "Hurts. Gimme' a second."

"I--oh. Oh! Gentle soul, why didn't you voice your discomfort earlier?!" He erupted in a panic. "Sit down, sit, I'll-"

"No no, I'm okay. It's just a stitch." You tried to calm him, but he was having none of it.

"I must insist that you sit down, immediately." He implored, sounding distraught. "If I have caused you harm, if your wound-"

"Hey, I'm okay." You interrupted him firmly. "I'm just a little less...in-shape, you know? Tender still." 

"I feel like a tyrant, I offer my most sincere reparations." 

"Ezra, oh my gods. You're so dramatic." You half-laughed, your breath catching when he kissed your knuckles in contrition. "We can keep going, I just can't run across the entire dock."

"If you are certain, gentle soul?" Ezra asked, gesturing back the way you came and arching his brows. "We can always jettison this fanciful excursion, should you require a reprieve."

You shook your head, tugging on his hand. "Nope, we're already down here. Keep one foot moving. If we get there and they're closed, then I'll need a reprieve. To mourn my loss." 

"Too true!" He agreed, mindfully shortening his strides. "It's not far now. Once we arrive, promise me you'll rest?"

"If you feed me, absolutely." You joked.

"I would love nothin' more than the opportunity to dote upon you, gentle soul."

You laughed for real this time, assuming he was playing along with your jibe. When he didn't join in, you tucked your chin down into the collar of your jacket in embarrassment. "Ezra, you...you take care of me all the time." You pointed out, feeling shy of all things.

"You are my partner." He answered simply. 

Partner. "I...Damon, h-he-" You began to speak, but then choked off at the last second. 

Ezra stopped dead and you closed your eyes, scolding yourself for starting something you knew you wouldn't finish. "Martyr's malfeasance." The brown-haired man cursed softly.

"I'm...I'm sorry," you hurried to apologize. "I don't know why I...just forget I said anything, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the fun." 

"Every time I hear about him, he strikes me more and more as a man that I should have taken my sweet time disposin' of." Ezra snarled in that furiously cheery tone, his words stoking the tiny fire that you sheltered in your stomach. 

Your grip on his hand tightened after a moment. "He didn't deserve the effort."

"Do not apologize for the shortcomings of others, gentle soul. I reiterate that I am here to listen if you need me. Though I warn you, I may not be able to keep from interruptin'." Ezra's eyes had gone dark with thought, his expression distressingly grim. "I am, at the end of the day, a loquacious fool." He perked up after a moment, pausing in front of a brightly-lit open air market. "Ah, and here we are! It appears that luck is with us, gentle soul, they do not close for another hour. Shall we fulfill our pact?"

The rest of your evening out was spent (intentionally or not, though you had your suspicions) effectively chasing off the shadow that recalling Damon had cast over you. Despite your protests, Ezra did end up feeding you half an order's worth of the delectable little sopaipillas, one by one.

...

When the rainy season hit, storms whipped through Puggart Bench and its wards with all the delicacy of a green prospector getting their hands on their first pull. It wasn't so much of an issue during the day; the sound of Ezra diligently expounding to himself usually muffled the howling winds or pouring rain. Late at night however, you couldn't help but imagine that the rumble of thunder was the pod striking the atmosphere, or that the rattling of the rain on the windowpanes was thrower fire. Your dreams turned frantic and riddled with nightmares. You even tried keeping your bedroom light on at one point to combat it, but it just amplified the shadows and gave your mind more fuel for its inventive fire.

You struggled in solitude for a good few nights, until one evening when you finally couldn't endure any longer. Surely he wouldn't mind, you would be quiet.

You slipped from your bed, bringing your pillow along as you padded down the hall to his room. Just as you reached for the keypad, the door slid open.

Ezra stood in front of you, a thin blanket and one of his pillows underneath his arm. He stared down at you. You stared up at him, your own pillow clutched tightly to your chest. "I..." he coughed awkwardly. "Er, the howling gale outside has...my nerves a bit...frayed. I merely-"

"Oh thank gods, I'm so glad it wasn't just me." You felt like you would burst with relief. "I was coming to ask if I could sleep in your room."

"What a novel coincidence! I was about to throw myself upon your mercies as well." Ezra winced at the thunder that boomed overhead after he spoke. "An expedient compromise is in order, gentle soul. We will adjourn to my quarters for this particular endeavor."

He stepped aside with a little bow and you entered the room, going to curl up on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Gentle soul, I think you've done enough proverbial listenin' at the teacher's feet to last a lifetime. Make yourself comfortable." He urged, spreading his blanket back out on the bed. "If we must weather this storm in conjunction, I would prefer you were nearer rather than farther."

You opened your mouth to protest and the wind whipped the rain against the windows with a hollow rattle, sounding for all the world like a thrower shot at range. Your fists clenched on your thighs. 

Damon isn't here. It's just Ezra. It's only Ezra.

Ezra turned to face you after meticulously smoothing out the wrinkles in his blanket, his forced smile and hollow eyes reminding you that you weren't the only one haunted by ghosts of your past. He extended a hand and you grabbed hold, letting him pull you up off the floor.

You fell into him, burying your face in his chest for a selfish moment. "Thank you." You whispered, uncertain if he even heard you over the rumble of thunder.

Ezra pressed his lips to your hairline and then ushered you underneath the blankets. He was achingly chaste, as though he thought you might bolt if he showed any sort of blatant affection. Truly, you might have if it had been any other person. His tentative touch rested on your wrist for a moment before he laced his fingers together with yours.

"Your proximity is a balm to my troubled thoughts, gentle soul." He murmured. "You turn my mind to poetic wanderings; dalliances in sun-dappled clearings, rain that does not make me fear for my life." Ezra sighed, the noise barely audible. "All too often I am back there in my dreams; suffering mutiny, I am left to decompose until a gentle soul comes and pulls me up out of the weeds."

"I have nightmares about Damon." You confessed softly. 

The grip he had on your fingers tightened ever so slightly. "I said I would not ask, and I will not tarnish that promise. I am here, gentle soul." His eyes searched your own, forehead furrowed with concern. "I have never trusted someone as I trust you. I have never...you fought alongside me, you placed your life in my hands, despite-" He paused, swallowing thickly. "You have earned all the time you might ever need. If it is mine to give, it is already yours."

His words, unwavering and slow, were what pushed you over the edge. In a voice that trembled and eventually broke, you finally told him everything. You held nothing in reserve, the terrible stories of all those nights in the pod tumbling out of you one after the other. You were so tired of carrying everything in silence, and talking about it...it was as though it made it all real. Tangible. Something that you could finally release.

Ezra was surprisingly still through the whole endeavor, the normally-animated man obviously reining himself in. The only indication of his own mental state was the way he occasionally rubbed his thumb over your knuckles as you spoke about particularly trying instances. 

"So this is the explanation." He said hoarsely once you lapsed into silence once more. "This is the trauma that you bear upon your precious, gentle soul. I...You've held it so tightly for so long, even though it wounds you. What has changed?"

"I found you." You replied bluntly. It was nonsensically simple to say, but it was true. He inhaled sharply. "You could have killed me, but instead-"

"I couldn't have." Ezra denied, shaking his head. "I saw you and while I knew I could play the part of the villain, I couldn't have...I wouldn't do anythin' to you. If not simply because you didn't slaughter me where I stood, then when you told me you had that kit and you almost broke my jaw after I startled you." He worked his jaw for a moment, like he still felt the echo of your head slamming into it. "And that man, the Sader, tryin' to tempt me into tradin' you in like livestock…"

"Because of everything that happened to me before, I...I panicked. I shouldn't have. I should have trusted you."

Ezra shook his head. "You had every right. I apologize for makin' you feel as though I would have accepted that pittance. I should have discussed everythin' with you beforehand." Lightning flashed nearby and thunder boomed, making you flinch sharply. Ezra urged you closer, his ragged shirt pressing to your cheek as you hid your face in his chest. "Martyr's malfeasance, your tenderness carves the heart out of me." He whispered. "You make me wish I was a reputable individual."

You started to apologize and he waved it off, stroking the back of your head and lulling you to sleep.

Despite the comfort his proximity brought you, the nightmares still came. You woke up panicking, as you often did, struggling away from the grip of the man beside you. He grunted and reached out to switch on the bedside table lamp. Ezra. It was just Ezra. You scolded yourself for your reaction, beginning to apologize again. But he simply rolled over and pressed his forehead to yours, humming in his throat sleepily. 

Your fingers tangled in his shirt as you slowly relaxed against him and he mumbled, "In my dreams you come to me, as timid and inexorable as the dawn," brown eyes already half-lidded again. He sounded like he was reciting something, the words slurred with exhaustion, "In my sleepless hours you find me, tremulous and waning like the starlight." 

You closed your eyes, just listening to his voice and letting it soothe you back into a doze.

"For I am a lost man who wanders bright and dark, all for the fleeting glimpse of you…"

…

His right hand had some minor nerve damage, which was to be expected. The infection had crept deep. You noticed a distinct lack of buttons on a majority of his new clothing, zipper pulls apparently easier to operate left-handed. 

As the storms grew worse though, so too did his hand. It would occasionally seize up in bad weather, which unfortunately was all the time during the rainy season. Ezra was thoroughly miserable, though he attempted to hide it. The rapid progress on editing his memoir slowed to a grinding crawl as he pecked away one-handed, keeping his right secured in a brace for most of the time.

"Kevva damn it." He swore one grey morning, struggling fiercely with the tie around his neck. He was supposed to meet with his publisher and he always tried to dress the part.

"Hey," You yawned from the kitchen doorway, "you okay?" 

"Gentle soul I must beg your assistance, I will be late!" Ezra pleaded from the bathroom, his tone distressed. 

You left your mug on the counter, stifling another yawn as you slipped into the bathroom and batted his hands away from his neck. "Hold still." You mumbled, barely awake. His fingers dug into the sink on either side of you as you worked. When you glanced up you saw that his eyes were bright with unshed tears, his gaze fixed determinedly on his own reflection in the mirror. "It's okay to be upset, you know."

His jaw worked and he swallowed hard, obviously disagreeing but unable to vocalize it.

"I got it. All done." You soothed, patting the knot flat. "You won't be late. Be sure to check your fly." His eyes widened in panic and his hands flew to his zipper, making you burst out laughing. "Not now, Ezra! When you get there!" You grinned, playfully bumping your knuckles into his stomach just above his belt. 

Ezra's chuckle was a little watery, but you chose to ignore it to let him think he was saving face. "What would I do without you, gentle soul? Wander the streets half-dressed with my placket splayed, I imagine." He mused, pressing a fond kiss to your forehead. "Now, Kevva waits. I will return presently. I believe it would be prudent for you to begin amassin' your sketches. We seem to be in the final stages of pre-production."

"Isn't it exciting?" You asked brightly.

"I am nervous enough to void my stomach." Ezra admitted. He squeezed your hand tightly. "I wish you could come with me, gentle soul. You make me feel at ease."

"You should have woken me up earlier, then!" 

"You would have come with me?" He sounded surprised, running his hands through his unruly hair in an effort to smooth it down. "These meetings are so toilsome. At least if you were there, my publisher might spare me his tedious lectures." His blond streak sprang back up once his hands had passed, continuing its perennial goal of sticking out at a rakish angle.

You reached up to gently tug on the unruly little tuft of hair, smiling at him. "Suffering is no fun if you're doing it alone."

"Misery does indeed love its company." He sighed, his hand shifting up to cup your own on his temple. "These hands of yours, I..." he paused, grimacing in pain and flexing his own fingers. "Dammit, I…"

"I'll be here when you get back." You said simply. "Just like any other day."

Ezra's eyes were dark with thought as he stared down at you, the silence stretching almost uncomfortably long. "I...of course. Yes." He replied, his voice quiet. 

You weren't expecting the call from him several hours later. You were just tucking into your lunch when your headset began to chime and you scrambled across the kitchen to grab it. "Yes, oh esteemed roommate?" You greeted him in the usual manner, smiling even though he couldn't see you.

"Gentle soul, are you busy?" 

You stared longingly at your lunch. "I was about to eat. What's up?"

"He wants to see your sketches."

Your heart dropped. You weren't sure why, it wasn't as if you hadn't anticipated needing to have your own work checked over. Deep down you had hoped they would have more important things to consider, but it couldn't be helped. "What, now?"

Ezra's words were strangely clipped, so different from his usual flowery speech. "I'll be returnin' shortly, if you're amenable?"

"Absolutely, absolutely. I'll get...I'll gather everything up." You hurriedly put your plate back into the cooler. "Are you okay?" 

"He has been more abrasive than usual, but I anticipated as much." He sighed raggedly and you heard the sound of the starter. "I've been out of sorts since this mornin'." He confessed. "I am uncertain as to why. Perhaps it's simply the weight of my own mortality catchin' up to me."

Your hands stilled in the process of shoving all your hard copies together. "Ezra, did something happen?"

"Nothin' aside from my immaculate personage being stained with impotence in the most mundane task imaginable." Ezra griped.

"Don't scare me like that." You scolded him. "I understand you're upset, but please don't use words like mortality. Gets me nervous."

"Fear not, gentle soul. I'll plague you for a good few years yet." He teased. "I am simply mourning the loss of a certain autonomy. The rain will not last forever, but while it lingers I imagine my moods shall be as grim as a graveyard."

"You'll have to try harder than that, you...poetically dour thing, you." You retorted dryly, shoving your hard copies into your unused portfolio. His laughter was loud in your ear. You loved when he laughed like that, all bright and startled like you had surprised it out of him.

You loved a lot of things about him, if you were being honest.

…

His publisher was a man named Thomas Anglio. He was in his late fifties, purportedly had no sense of humor and wore suits that were immaculately tailored.

The man's lack of humor was probably due to the stress of his job, you reasoned charitably. Managing so many aspiring authors couldn't be an easy feat, especially when he also had to juggle a certain querulous someone. At least you knew Ezra was paying him generously.

The secretary waved Ezra on tiredly, already reaching for the next Serv tablet before he was even done signing the both of you in. 

You trailed along behind him as he strode into Mr. Anglio's office, the dark-haired man the picture of easy confidence. "I present my illustrious, illustrative companion." Ezra introduced you grandly as Mr. Anglio rose from behind his desk. "Gentle soul, this is Mister Thomas Anglio, a stalwart friend and a fiercely fashionable silver fox."

"You flatter me, Ezra." Thomas sighed, shaking your hand. "Please, take a seat and show me what you have prepared."

You obliged nervously, your hands trembling slightly as you undid your first bundle of sketches. "I believe what Ezra wanted was to have them sort of...scattered through the book at key points. Headers for each chapter, as well." You spread the pages out on the desk and Thomas leaned forward to examine them. 

"Ezra, you are not writing a children's book." He pointed out practically. "The subject matter of this...strangely-realistic fiction of yours is decidedly adult."

"I am wholly convinced that my tale will not be half as impactful without their sketches, Mr. Anglio." Ezra insisted firmly. 

Thomas groaned, rubbing his temples. "At least I know you're not doing this just to pad the final page count." He settled back in his chair, leafing through the piles of sketches. You had tried to separate them out by chapter, though due to Ezra's constant revisions you were certain some of them were out of place. "You understand we will not be using all of these, correct?" Anglio seemed relieved when you nodded hurriedly.

"I thought it would be better to have too many than too few." You explained quietly. 

"You have quite the knack for drawing." He mused, lingering on one stack in particular. "Your portraits of Ezra are remarkable."

You heard Ezra swallow loudly beside you.  "Portraits…?" The former prospector echoed tentatively.

Your brain ran back to you scrambling to collect all your sketches, shutting your eyes in silent panic as you realized you must have shuffled in the extra ones you hadn't meant to bring along.

"Yes, these appear to be for the portion of the story where our brave hero barters with a mercenary gang for safe passage off the moon. If I'm recalling correctly, of course." Mr. Anglio slid the pile of sketches to Ezra, who snatched them up immediately. 

You saw his brown eyes go wide and you quickly ducked your head, busying yourself with pretending to sort through the groups of sketches. This was what you got for being disorganized! There were only supposed to be one or two from that scene!

The rest of the meeting was spent whittling down the groups of sketches to two per chapter, or three if they were small enough. Thomas also politely requested that you retool a few things, "this woman's helmet looks dangerously close to that inquisitor's from the Second Illumination. The last thing any of us want is to be sued by a failed monarchy."

You would say that the meeting went well, but you were so busy dreading being alone with Ezra again that it was all a blur. You just knew that your copious amounts of sketches focused on him would be subject to thorough questioning. And well they should be, it was borderline obsessive.

The jut of his jaw, the strong profile of his aquiline nose, the streak of blond above his right temple...all lovingly captured time and again. With and without the helmet. 

You were certain you would be lucky to escape unscathed, waiting in fear for the proverbial pot to boil over. 

...

"All you needed to do was ask, gentle soul." Ezra finally drawled after watching you anxiously wring your hands for the majority of the ride back to Ward Twenty-Seven. "Had I known that you wished so fervently to render me artistically, I would have happily sat for hours that you might properly capture my magnanimous visage."

"Please, please don't be upset." You begged, your fists tight in your lap. "I'll move out, okay? I'll leave and...and you'll never have to see me again. I'll send you the revised story sketches over the Serv, I'll-" His hand reached for your leg over the center console and you almost jumped out of your skin. "Wait, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't-"

"Gentle soul, I am not aggrieved in the slightest." Ezra assured you quietly. "Breathe. You seem ready to go to pieces." He rubbed your thigh soothingly, back and forth. "Breathe."

"You...you're not angry with me?" You asked tentatively. And really, you ought to have established that from your time in the Green! 

Angered Ezra was a looming thundercloud, he was magma barely contained by fragile crust. His fury, though an absolute force of nature, dissipated as soon as it arrived, like the outbursts wearied him too much to perpetuate and maintain. Damon had seethed and resurrected his anger whenever the mood struck him, so it was odd to engage with someone who seemed to deem the emotion more trouble than it was worth. You knew that the man currently in the driver's seat was a hundred times more likely to launch into a woebegone soliloquy about how tenuous material possessions were if he spilled tea on his shirt. But old habits died hard; you couldn't seem to keep yourself from getting wound up.

"Far from it! You capture my countenance in a way that is decidedly more flatterin' than any mirror." Ezra tilted his head. "I am...envious of the man you have drawn." He admitted softly. "I wish that he and I were one and the same."

You weren't quite sure what to say. At least he wasn't angry. Or he said he wasn't. If anything, he sounded...sad. "What do you mean?" You asked, your brow furrowed as you recalled what he had said the night you shared his bed.

You make me wish I was a reputable individual.

Ezra shrugged, sighing, "Nothin' at all, gentle soul. The rain is just makin' me morose, I'm afraid. I'll be glad to be home again."

Home.

"Want me to make some tea when we get home?"

The soft smile he directed your way had no business settling in your stomach the way that it did. "Of course! You are somehow better at makin' it than I, a true conundrum considering how long I toiled away to achieve my technique." 

You almost didn't notice when his hand cautiously returned to your thigh. 

Almost.

Part Seven

[aion-rsa]

Josie and The Pussycats is the Spinoff Riverdale Deserves

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This RIVERDALE review contains spoilers.

Riverdale Season 5 Episode 15

“Our story is about three young women bursting with talent.”

When last we saw Josie McCoy (Ashleigh Murray), she was in New York City trying to make her dreams come true on the ill-fated (and gone-too-soon) Riverdale spin-off Katy Keene. Often when characters are spun-off and their subsequent shows fail, they vanish into the pop culture ether — The Ropers from Three’s Company being the textbook case of this phenomenon. But not so for Josie. This latest episode debuts a new iteration of the character, one who has achieved her dreams but still finds herself wanting more. It is a decidedly more mature take on the previously underwritten character, and one that allows Murray’s considerable acting and musical abilities to shine.

In short, it is the Josie that fans have always wanted to see.

But what good is the character without the backing of her Pussycats? Drummer Melody Valentine (Asha Bromfield) and multi-instrumentalist Valerie Brown (Hayley Law) have been estranged from Josie since she blew off the Pussycats for a solo career when they were in high school. Seven years later and the wounds are still raw, even though Melody has since become a renowned author with movie rights optioned by Tyler Perry, and Valerie is a talented artist and actress.

When Josie returns to Riverdale to take stock following the sudden death of her father, she finds herself coming to terms with her past. More than that though, she has found her voice in every sense of the word. She dismisses Mr. Lodge, the show’s big bad in a hilarious kiss off that sums up many viewers’ opinions on the often irksome character. Better still, the episode allows her to get meta to discuss how Riverdale often sidelined the Josie character in her previous iteration on the series. “I didn’t have much to say in old times,” she plaintively declares, commenting on the problem that Riverdale had with diversity in its early seasons. She then accurately dismisses Archie, Betty, Veronica and Jughead not as old friends but as acquaintances. It’s a bold and surprising scene that takes responsibility for past sins that the series committed, further illustrating that it is aware that it can do better and has been attempting to do so.

After a steamy reunion with old flame Sweet Pea (Jordan Connor), Josie begins the work of reaching out to Valerie and Melody. It is here that the episode goes from great to an all-timer. The chemistry that Murray, Bromfield and Law possess is lightning in a bottle. As old injustices are aired and attempts to repair wounded hearts and egos are undertaken, these actresses embody the old friends they portray fully. But this backdoor pilot, fortunately, has zero interest in having its women of color tear each other down. The characters candidly discuss their shared past, and begin to repair the rift that will — if The Pussycats goes to series — lead them to becoming the global superstars they are destined to be.

Josie, Melody and Valerie are icons. They know it, and the world will soon follow.

Inspired by her renewed friendship with her once and future bandmates, Josie decides to do a concert with the Pussycats that will raise money to help reincorporate the town of Riverdale. It is a performance that highlights each of the women’s musical strengths, even if Josie does steal the spotlight for an emotional rendition of Nina Simone’s “Stars.” Despite being cut short when Toni goes into labor, the concert is enough of a success for The Pussycats to agree to go on the road together — playing in towns where Josie’s late father wanted his ashes scattered. The women consider themselves to be equals now, thus the “Josie and” is jettisoned from the band name. This still being Riverdale, a friend of Josie’s dad appears moments before she leaves town to tell her that her father may have been murdered in New Orleans, and that voodoo might be involved.

With this incredible/ridiculous plot development thrown at us, the full image of what The Pussycats will be as a series comes into view: A mixture of Fame and 13 Ghosts of Scooby-Doo that celebrates these characters and their comic/cartoon legacy in an unexpected way. (As an Archie comics historian even I was taken off guard by the last-minute introduction of the potential show’s mystery angle, and my mind reels at the possibilities).

Hopefully sooner rather than later a series order for The Pussycats will be announced. There is so much potential here to tell exciting, fun, music-packed stories featuring strong women of color that it feels like a surefire hit. “The Return of the Pussycats” is not only the best episode of Riverdale this season, but a perfect pilot episode. There desperately needs to be lots more long tails and ears for hats in our future, for these are the Pussycats we’ve been waiting for.

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Riverdale Rundown

While nothing has been officially announced as of yet, it feels ridiculous for The CW to not do a full series of The Pussycats, yes? This logo appearing at the end of the episode instead of the usual Riverdale bumper bodes well for things to come. Fingers crossed…

My guess is that this episode didn’t have Alexandra and Josie cross paths due to their Katy Keene past, which had the characters begin as enemies who were slowly forming a friendship before that series was cancelled. By not having them interact, the writers didn’t have to figure out where their relationship currently is — making this a narrative thread that The Pussycats could potentially pull on down the line.

The character of Alan M. briefly appears as Melody’s love interest, which indeed he is in the comics and fondly remembered 2001 movie.

Speaking of the Josie and the Pussycats movie, that film’s ever-growing cult continues to delight me. Thanks to multiverses, there’s no reason why that version of these characters and the ones of The Pussycats can’t co-exist in the same pop culture landscape.

Let’s give a special shoutout to Robin Givens, who not only reprises her role as Sierra McCoy here but also did a terrific job directing this installment.

Melody narrates this episode a la Jughead, except that her writing is bright and full of hope, a sharp and intentional contrast to her brooding counterpoint.

If you didn’t cheer when Josie and the Pussycats took the stage to their cartoon theme song, you are dead inside.

“Entertainment Tomorrow” enters the Riverdale fake product lexicon in this episode (which also includes the returning chestnut “Vanity Flair”).

Toni gives birth to a boy, Anthony.

Expect to see more about the franchising of Pop’s in upcoming restaurants, and Tabitha’s speech about the importance of the Chok’lit Shoppe being a black-owned restaurant in a time when Riverdale had no other such establishments was one of the most powerful scenes this series has ever done.

It’s worth noting that a franchise for real-life Archie restaurants did exist in the early 1970s. However the idea never really took off, and pictures of the three diners that were opened have never surfaced online.

What the hell was up with the Old Navy product placement in this episode, which felt like it was ripped from the Josie and the Pussycats movie, minus the irony.

Kevin’s dancing during the Little Shop of Horrors musical number was, unsurprisingly, everything.

Melody’s book being named Summer Storm is a sly reference to actress Asha Bromfield having a newly released novel called Hurricane Summer that was released in May.

Josie uses the alias Ms. Newmar to check into hotels. Julie Newmar famously portrayed Catwoman on the Batman TV series, which not only plays into Josie’s feline motif, but also is yet another of the show’s near-constant DC Comics references of late.

Mr. Lodge being called a “little bitch” was so unbelievably pleasing to watch. Josie is just SO OVER Riverdale’s bullshit.

In a nice character moment, Cheryl immediately leaps into action to help deliver ex-lover Toni’s baby.

Dr. Curdle Jr. being a Josie and the Pussycats superfan is comedic brilliance (as is the fact that nobody trusts him enough to have him anywhere near Toni’s delivery.

The post Josie and The Pussycats is the Spinoff Riverdale Deserves appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[aewriting]

There was a post going around yesterday.  I reblogged it from @partsofthesamecosmicbeing . It talked about when a super-specific piece of dialogue just drops in your head, complete with, like, inflection and details and blocking and everything.  Well, that happened to me yesterday, and this morning I sat down and wrote this.

Warnings for relationship drama and difficulty communicating.

***

  “What’re you doing, Alex?”

Michael watches Alex pause, push back a little from the computer.  He doesn’t turn around.  “What I’ve been doing for the last six hours, Guerin. Watching fucking – “ he stops. Takes a deep breath.  “Going over some of the recovered video files from Caulfield.”

Torture tapes.  That’s the shorthand, Michael knows.  “Um, yeah.  I figured. But that’s, that’s not what I…” He exhales, deeply.  “Never mind.”

And that gets Alex to spin around in the chair, look at him. “What, Guerin?”

“It’s just… I saw you at the Pony last night.”

Alex raises an eyebrow.  “Huh,” he says, as if he’s vaguely amused. 

Enough time has passed, now, that Michael’s allowed back in.  Enough time since he and Maria mended fences, and enough time since he hadn’t started a fight, hadn’t fucked a townie on the actual premises. 

Apparently enough time had passed for Alex, too, because he was there, full force, last night. Tight jeans.  Mussed hair.  Leather jacket. 

And a young-looking, vapid-seeming guy. 

Alex is frowning now. “I didn’t see you.”

And Michael knows what he’s thinking.  How did he miss him?  Not in a good way, but in, like, a protective way. Maybe a, a PTSD way?

“I was there and gone, man.  Not there long at all.”

Alex relaxes a bit at that. “Okay.”

As soon as Michael had seen the guy’s hand on Alex’s ass… Alex allowing a guy’s hand on his ass in the middle of the Pony… well, that’s when Michael had left.  Fled to the truck. He’s trying.  He really is.  He promised Isobel. Liz. Maria.  He’s doing better.

“We done, or…?” Alex is looking at him expectantly.  Things between them are… fine.  Like, they are cordial. Polite.  They don’t hang out, outside of Project Shepherd stuff.  Michael is pretty sure that any chance he had of being a friend to Alex, a real friend, was jettisoned when he started dating Maria.

He still wants to try.

And he knows he shouldn’t be bringing up Alex’s new… boyfriend? Hookup?

But here they are.

 “I… I’ve never seen that guy at the Pony before.”

“Guess you’d know,” Alex fires back, then looks a bit sorry.  Michael looks down. “I…” Alex clears his throat. “He’s just passing through. Visiting a cousin at the base.” Alex shrugs.  “From Austin.”

“Mmm…” Michael murmurs.

Alex cocks his head.  “What?”

Michael shakes his head.  “Nothing, just…”  He’s aware that he shouldn’t push this.  Very aware. But he has to know. “That… that what you usually like?”

Alex is frowning. “What do you mean?”

Michael shrugs, tries to look like he doesn’t have a very personal stake in this.  “With guys.  Young like that?  Pretty? I dunno…”

And Alex’s eyebrow quirks up. “Oh my god,” he mutters to himself.  “That’s what this is.” He shakes his head.

“I, I shouldn’t have – “

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Alex says tightly.  “You know, I thought we were doing a good job, Guerin.  Keeping things business only.”

“Business only, yeah,” Michael repeats.

Alex is staring at Michael now, scrutinizing his face. “I can’t figure you out,” he murmurs, half to himself. “Like, what is this?  You don’t want me, but no one else can have me bullshit?” He shakes his head. 

Michael’s eyes narrow. “This guy have you, Alex?”

Alex leans back in the chair, work pretty well abandoned now.  “He put up a Grndr profile. And seeing as I’m one of, like, five out guys in a 100-mile radius of the base,  we matched. End of story.” Alex scoffs a little.  “Beggars can’t be choosers, Guerin.”

“Beggars?” Michael retorts, incredulous. “You serious right now?”

“Don’t.” Alex says, holding up a hand.  “Don’t even right now, Guerin.” He falters. “I… I’m making my peace with this.” He gestures to his leg. “It’s slow going.  And if you were Liz, Maria, even, I’d let you talk me down.  Tell me I’m still hot, tell me I’ll find someone, tell me that anyone really worth having won’t care.” He shakes his head.  “But don’t you do it, cause we both know better.”

Michael’s eyes are wide. “It was never about your leg – “

And Alex isn’t looking at him now – can’t look at him.  “You know, with you… I do believe that.  I believe it when you say it.  But that means it was about everything else. The rest of… of me, and I can’t…”

And Michael watches Alex just, like, shut himself down.  Blow out a steady breath.  School his features.  Go rigid through the shoulders and sit up straight. 

Look at him with a cool, blank face. 

“I think I’m done for tonight, Guerin.  Let me log off and I’ll be out of here.  You staying or should I lock up?”

Michael’s never been able to do that.  He, he wishes he could, sometimes.  Just go blank, not broadcast his hurt and pain right on his goddamn face, for all to see.

He wishes he could do it. He wishes Alex never did it.

“You said you wanted to be friends.”

Alex’s face scrunches up, and he bites his lip.  “That was before… god,” he mutters. “That was before you dated my goddamn best friend, Michael.” His jaw is clenched.  “We, we are colleagues right now. Okay?”

And Michael has been so good, and tried so hard, but –

“And what’s bar guy?”

Alex’s eyes widen and he looks at Michael, angry and disbelieving.  “Bar guy is a random fuck, Michael. I’m sure you know what that means, and why someone might seek that out, yeah?” Alex narrows his eyes.  “Not every time can be fucking cosmic, right?”

Michael recoils, and Alex sees it.  Looks immediately regretful.  “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“No, I…” Michael shakes his head.  “This has all probably been a long time coming.”

“Shit,” Alex mutters. “It, it has, but… wasn’t how I wanted this to go.”

“No, it… it’s fine. You’re living your life, man.  I shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have brought anything up in the first place.” Michael starts backing up, toward the exit.  “I’ll, uh, I’ll go…”

“Wait,” Alex says. Michael freezes. “Why…” he breathes. “Why do you care?”

Michael can’t hold back the broken little laugh that escapes him. “Fuck, Alex, you know why.”

Alex closes his eyes, briefly.  “I… we do this too much, Michael.  Dance around shit, don’t say the words.” He looks at Michael, now.  “You know how many times I’ve wondered if I’d just… said things a little differently, if it would have made a difference to you?  To us and how all this went down?” There’s pain on his face, right there in the open.  “Please, I’m… I’m asking you, Michael.  Why do you care?”

And this isn’t the time for it, or the place. Michael knows that. He knows. 

But…

But Alex is standing right here, right in front of him, open and vulnerable, as close to begging as he gets, begging for the truth.

And who is Michael to deny him that?

“I care because I love you, Alex.”

[alchemization]

“Stretch your legs, Silas.”

     Her words still echo in his mind; an open invitation to do what he so often wished he could on any other given day. Yet, it seems as though today was meant to be that day. From the princely comfort of his bed did he rise, scarcely clothed in loose fitting pants and an even more loose nightshirt. The fickle violet flames that denoted Akamoth’s coherency lit up with his awakening, and thus did the apothecary’s compatriot float from its pillow. A scarce whisper was let loose unto the air, breaking the silence that Silas otherwise found comfort in. He sighed, immediately in fact, for it was far too early to endure the moaning and groaning of his friend.

     “You have prepared your things, all of them in fact. It is strange, there is much you must carry... How do you plan to do it? Where will we... Ahhh.” Akamoth’s words ebbed away into his realization, that same breath returning once more to lend life to his words again. “You are going to go see her, aren’t you?” The companion questioned, though it seemed more hypothetical than anything else, Akamoth already knew the answer.

     A proper rub was given to Silas’ eyes by his own hands, removing any remnants of crust that still encroached upon his vision. With the creaking of the bed left in his wake, he rose and ventured over to the trio of hangers that kept his suit away from everything else in the room. Piece by spotless piece was it adorned, as he replied in earnest to Akamoth. “I am going to see many things, it is not just her. I will likely see the friend we just made last night there, or perhaps we shall make new ones. Why do you fixate upon her and her alone?”

     “Because you fixate upon her and her alone, you fool.” Akamoth gloatingly replied, drifting over to the nearby window to peer outside at all those that still patrolled the streets. It was a pitiful sight as they all scrambled to face a threat, one that they should’ve already knew was coming. So easily were Stormwind’s walls infiltrated by the undead, and still they did not close any of the gates leading to the city. It was mind boggling to Akamoth, that much was clear when he scoffed and ventured away before he could be seen.

     Silas did not deem Akamoth’s words worthy of a response, as the last piece of his ensemble was placed upon him; his overcoat. A myriad of pockets housed many an important piece that made up the entirety of the apothecary’s utility, he had no intentions to go anywhere without it. In the passing moments of silence that now harbored between them, he did at least mull over Akamoth’s words. He had, by no means, fixated upon her, but business was business, it was only natural that they’d run into one another if they both haunted the same grounds.

     Nevertheless, today was the day that he’d travel to Kestramere, to provide aid to those that would have need of him. Be it with potions or otherwise. And as he ventured outside, he realized he’d have to make multiple trips from his room to the horse that he had waiting for him outside. When at last all of his belongings were prepared, and the horse was assuredly not overburdened, he mounted the creature and set out against the warnings of numerous argent crusaders.

     Seconds turned to minute, and minutes turned to hours as he made his way through the forest of Elwynn, nary a single soul deeming it fit to question or approach him. Everyone was keeping to themselves now, prioritizing their own safety over any semblance of do-goodery. Even the bandits that often roamed around were quelled, holed up in their shacks of filth and deplorability as they wait for their moment to strike like fleas on a hound’s back.

     Trekking into the cursed forest of Duskwood, he wasn’t far away from the Grand Hamlet now known as Darkshire, and it was there that he’d be given a moment of rest surely. Unfortunately for him, such an option would not be something he’d be faced with. The undead that were already present here in the forest were only whipped into a maddened frenzy, in the wake of what had happened. Those that still sought to control the hordes that now roamed from their old haunts, they too were scattered throughout the land, biding their time, harvesting the fresh corpses of anyone that made the mistake of straying too far.

     The horse that Silas rode upon began to fret, huffing louder as it neared on the brink of a whinny. Something was upsetting the beast, thus his violet eyes scanned the nearby tree line for anything that might descend upon the unsuspecting lone traveler upon the road; him. When at first a single set of eyes were spotted staring back at him, complete with an unholy glow, he thought that it would be easily dispatched. The reality that dawned upon him came when the strips of sinew hung from their jagged, bloodied maws. A plethora of freshly turned ghouls were now present, teeming just over the small ridge. Up ahead, he spotted the remnants of a caravan, one that was likely meant to bring relief and supplies to those in Darkshire. It was a terrible fate, and it was now one that vexed him.

     “Both of you, be ready. We cannot afford to show ourselves yet, we are too close to the border and to the town. Someone will definitely come to help us if we stay, and there are too many to simply hold back as we wait for such.” Silas instructed.

     “So you’re going to run.” Akamoth astutely chastised, but remained concealed.

     “We’re going to make our way to Kestramere, either with or without this pack chasing us down. If we can get to Kestramere, we can deal with them as we see fit. Any witnesses can be handled accordingly, and if it is not until we see the gates and guardsmen themselves, then so be it. I will not become fodder for the hungering tide this day. I refuse.” Silas replied, his tone holding a semblance of urgency as he snapped his instructions towards Akamoth, and the other entity that still traveled with the two of them.

     Off of the beaten path did Silas go, his steed galloping through the trees as the horrible, hideous cries of the living dead chased after him. Their speed wasn’t something to underestimated, and their heckling gargles attracted the attention of others that sought their next meal. More and more of them had begun to chase after the horse itself, Silas was merely just an appetizer to the true course. Thus it was away from Darkshire, and any semblance of civilization that they were led.

     Trees blurred past him like reeds of grass to an arrow, steering his horse clear of any terrain too dangerous to go over. He could ear the roar of blood rushing through his ears as his heart pumped with adrenaline, and his breathing grew heavy. “Behind you!” Akamoth hissed, keeping Silas aware of any creature that got too close for their own good.

     Backwards did his right hand swing, his head turning just briefly to locate the ghoul that was hounding upon their heels, dirt kicking up into its face from the hooves of the horse that dug into the ground to gain traction. An incantation was spoken aloud, there was no time for secrecy here, nor in this moment. “Nyx vos-internum expul!” A jettison of black magic coalesced shot forth like a miasma at the ghoul, and did nothing outright, but a moment later is when its body violently convulsed. Ribs cracking and decaying organs bursting as it fell to the ground, the entirety of his form becoming twisted and malformed as a virulent curse ate away from the inside out.

     There was no time, they would catch up to him eventually, his horse could not run forever. They were close though, Kestramere would not be much farther and it was there that he could obtain the help that he needed. He just had to hold out a bit longer, but already had his horse begun to protest, head shaking in retaliation of the reins that sought to direct the steed. Each breath that the creature sputtered was heavy, heavier than it should’ve been, and it was then that he knew that the beast might not complete the journey.

    There it was though, Kestramere, and the guards out front that saw the rapidly approaching rider and the combined force of two packs of ghouls chasing after him, being led directly towards Kestramere. Curses were sputtered and some variation of an alarm was sounded, be it a bell or something else, the guards themselves were brought to bear, and downwards did their pikes prepare themselves to defend Kestramere after the stranger got inside.

    With the arrival of their weapons though, Silas’ horse skidded to a halt, or at least attempted to, and with its overworked condition, it was unable to keep itself upright any further and promptly tumbled to the ground. Thus it was into the dirt that the apothecary was cast, mud clinging to his side as he pushed himself up and out of the dirt. Horror struck his face as he looked down at the filth upon him, the sheer audacity that the earth itself had to stain his clothes; HIS CLOTHES. The amethyst gaze lifted to the guards, a piercing glow illuminating his eyes as his attention turned unto the mob of ghouls that were about to descend upon him.

                            “Vio-igni’axi expul eradi!”

     None truly know what happened then, as the two guards that were the lone witnesses refused to speak to anyone about what truly transpired. Though the report they gave to those that would have the authority to know would be told thus: “Whatever it did, whatever -he- did, it wasn’t natural. People shouldn’t be able to do that, they just shouldn’t. He said he was just an apothecary, and that he was here to help, but... But how can help us? Like he helped those ghouls? No... No! Please, I don’t want to be stationed at the gate anymore. Put me on the wall, put me on the latrine, I don’t care, please... Just... And then the words- those words he spoke after it happened. It has shaken my faith, my belief in what I’m doing.. He said - No, -they- said... The voices... There were three voices.”

                                        “Take me to Annalise.”                                          “Take me to Annalise.”                                           “Take me to Annalise.”

( Mentions: @annaliseharlowe​ )

[kronk-is-launchpad]

Here in the Garden (Chap. 1)

Summary:  Della Duck didn't think of the possible consequences of leaving her unhatched eggs. Nor did she think of the pain she'd cause to her 3 yr old daughter. Donald takes the triplets in a fit of emotions, but doesn't think to take his only niece. After being forced to give up searching for Della, Scrooge now devotes all his time & affection to his youngest niece. Elliot has grown up unaware that she has brothers, and now that very fact is holding her up by the thread.

MASTERLIST

[DuckTales 2017]

[DuckTales OC insert]

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

Elliot was at a meeting with Scrooge & the 'penny pinchers', bored out of her mind. Though surprisingly, she'd rather be no where else. Scrooge is the only person she could trust, and she didn't plan on that changing anytime soon.

   On the limo ride back Scrooge was telling Elliot about how annoying Glomgold was, and she responded with the usual "hm" And "huh". As the gate pulled into view, she could see a station wagon. LaunchPad lurched to a stop, sending Scrooge & Elliot out their seats. Scrooge got up, mad as ever.

"Why aren't we movin?!" He shouted.

Scrooge immediately moves over LaunchPad to honk the horn and get out the limo.

"Ay!!" He yelled angrily, "Jettison that jallopy from my driveway this instance you deadbeat!!"

A familiar duck exits the station wagon and walks towards Scrooge. They meet halfway, glaring at each other with sheathed anger.

"Donald Duck." Scrooge seethed.

"Uncle Scrooge." Donald responded.

Elliot's eyes widen, and she slowly gets out the limo.

"Dona?" Elliot called out quietly, tears starting to fill her eyes.

"Ellie?" Donald whispered, taking a step towards her.

Scrooge cuts Donald off, glaring at him with the fierceness of a beast.

"JETTISON THAT JALOPY FROM MY DRIVEWAY THIS INSTANT YA DEADBEAT!!" Scrooge growled loudly, annunciating each word with a poke of his cane.

The two duck spiraled off into a pointless argument as Elliot shifts her attention to the 3 kids in the car who were filled with excitements. They were clearly triplets, with different color-coded outfits to distinguish one from the other. The one duckling wore a red polo shirt with a baseball cap to match. The duckling to the right wore a green hoodie, and to the left was a duckling in a light blue long-sleeve with a darker blue t-shirt over it.

'Dona had kids?' she wondered, 'did he really forget about me?'

She gets shaken out her thoughts by Scrooge's yelling.

"YOU'RRREEEE WELCOME!!" he taunted loudly, but then realizing what had happened, "wait what?"

Donald huddles the triplets out of the station wagon, and over to Scrooge.

"Huey, Dewy, Louie," he introduced, "meet Scrooge McDuck."

The ducklings looked like they were about to burst from the intensity.

"Remember," Donald warned, "no tricks, no lies, no trouble."

"Yes Uncle Donald," the ducklings responded in-sync.

"I wasn't talking to you," Donald corrected, his eyes narrowing at Scrooge, who returned the favor.

After Donald drove away the 4 ducks start heading back to the car, sending Elliot into panic.

'What do I do?!' She thought nervously, 'I don't know these kids?!'

Then the limo door opened.

"EEEEEEEEEEEE!" Huey squealed, "it's you!"

"It's me?" Elliot questioned nervously.

"THE Elliot McDuck is my Aunt!" He screamed, "this is the greatest day of my life!"

 Huey jumped up & down outside the limo,  giddy with glee. The other 2 looked at the teen with curiosity & amazement. Scrooge ushers the triplets into the limo, and Huey immediately start bombarding the young duck with questions.

"How do you create such innovative designs for your prosthetics? What 3D printer do you use for the models? Do you build them here or at the McDuck bin? How much work do you get done in a day?"

Before Elliot could answer, Scrooge was already blocking the red clad duckling.

"Leave the lass alone," Scrooge grumbled.

"No Coo, it's quite alright," Elliot interrupted, "curiosity brings discoveries.

I think of what people need in a prosthetic, and strive to make it happen. I don't 3D print as of now, but I do have a small lab in McDuck Manor for making models though the prototypes & final products are made in the McDuck laboratory. I can get a sketch & model in a 9-5 work day, but I do take days off to cool down. I hope I've answered all your questions."

Huey looked at the teen in awe, writing down everything she said. The limo lurched to a stop, causing the triplets to fall out of their seats. The partition rolled down to reveal LaunchPad.

"You're all home now Mr.McDee," he announced, "have a great day Elli!"

"Much appreciated LaunchPad," Elliot thanked as she exited the vehicle.

 She bolts to the door, Mrs. Beakly opening it automatically as she disappeared inside. Scrooge followed, walking normally. Once Scrooge made it through, the door is slammed shut on the triplets for a few seconds, before quickly being opened by Mrs. Beakly.

- - - - - -

'I didn't know Donald had kids,' Elliot thought as she made her way through the house, 'Did he really forget about me so easily?'

 She reached the garage, a wave of emotions fell over her. Seeing the souvenirs brought an old feeling of naivety, but it also brought tears to her eyes. Seeing all that happened while she was stuck to a garden with no social interactions outside of a butler. While lost in thought, she didn't notice 4 ducklings sneak in. As she ponders an old painting she hears a loud gong. She whips her head to see Webby being chased by a headless horse.

"*gasp* Ms. McDuck?" Webby blurted, "what are you doin in here?"

Before Elliot could counter there was another gong. The girls turn to see a ghost pirate chasing the triplets. Elliot runs past them, grabbing the kids and hiding.

"What are you 4 doing here?!" She shouted, "this isn't a playground!"

"We were bored!" Dewey responds frantically, "how was I supposed to know there were ghost pirates!?"

"And if we hear one more gong, an unspeakable evil will be set loose!" She screams.

"Not if I can help it!" Elliot growled, getting up.

She runs out, grabbing a sword and jumping on top of boxes.

"Hey Dorky Jones!" She shouted, catching the pirate's attention, "Where'd you get that hat? Party City?"

 The ghost let out a screech as it flew toward the teen at lightning speed. Elliot quickly dodges, flipping over the undead attacker and landing gracefully behind him. The pirate grabbed a glowing sword, ready to fight. Before either could charge a heavily accented voice rang out.

"What in Dismal Downs is going on here?!"

The 4 young ducks sheepishly turn to the elder one, as Elliot smiled nervously.

"Why good noon Coo!" Elliot greeted hurriedly, "What brings you here to garage?"

"Garage!?"

Before Scrooge could tear into the 5 ducks, another screech ripped itself free from the beak of Elli's opponent. Elliot quickly parries the glowing sword that was speeding towards her. She deflected it up, but the sword quickly turned itself around and was back to speeding at her face full-force.

"Aw phooey," she muttered tirelessly as she parried the endless attacks from the sword, getting pushed away from the group more and more.

"Could *pant* really use-woah! SOME HELP!" The teen shouted as the swipes got faster.

"The sword won't stop till it hits its target!" Webby shouted from the side lines as Scrooge is facing the ghost pirate and its new partner, the headless man horse.

'What do I do? What do I do?' Elliot thought frantically as she was growing tired from the persistent saber.

She could feel a lightbulb go off in her head.

'Ah-hA, That's it!'

After a final deflect she drops her sword, her stare calculated and confident as the sword was speeding back at her.

"Ms. McDuck what are you doing?!" Huey screeched out in terror as he covers his younger brothers eyes.

"Trust me!" The teen called out, her gaze still on the sword.

Just as the blade was about to impale her she quickly side stepped, ripping her sleeve and drawing a small amount of blood. The sword stopped glowing, dropping immediately. Elliot returns to the others to find the headless horse and ghost pirate gone.

"Now what are you all doing in the ga-rage?!" The Scotsman shouted, slamming his cane to the ground.

"So it IS a garage!" Huey exclaimed.

"B-but what about all this treasure?" Webby asked desperately, "The garden hose of destiny, Montezuma's stack of old magazines?"

It takes the energetic duck a moment to realize her words, and she slumped her shoulders in defeat.

"Unbelievable..." Scrooge growled, "I invite you into my home-"

"You locked us in a room!" Louie countered angrily.

"You did whAt?" Elliot cried out in disbelief.

" I gave them marbles!" Scrooge shouted back."

"All we wanted to do was spend time with you." Huey explained.

"Well now you have," Scrooge grumbled, "and look at the mess it's got me."

"I guess family's nothing but trouble," Dewey muttered aloud, "right Scrooge?"

Elliot watched as Scrooge's face contorted into an anger she never saw often. She took a step towards her angered parental.

"Everybody out." He growled.

"Coo let's just calm down for a min-"

"OUT!" He screeched, hitting the gong with his cane.

Everyone gawked at the action, some covering their beaks in shock.

"Oh what are you gaping at?"Scrooge asked, "the curse is only activated if you ring the gong three times, and-and you already hit it two times didn't you?"

Then the statue started to crack.

The stone crumbled away to reveal a slithery golden dragon. It broke through the roof, letting out a mighty roar.

"Pixiu, the Gold-Hunting Dragon," Webby muttered out.

"Gold hunting? Sounds great!" Louie commented.

"Not when you're Duckburg's single largest owner of gold!" Huey exclaimed.

"Aah! Me money bin!" Scrooge screeched in horror as he grabbed the dragon's tail, "Elliot! Take them inside!"

Elliot watched in awe as her legal guardian gets yanked into the sky. After minutes of shock pass, Webby starts to walk out of the garage with a mission.

"Where are you going?" Dewey called out.

"I'm gonna go eat a hamburger." Webby stated confidently.

"We're in!" Shouted the triplet

"Anything for Coo." Elliot said, joining the quartet.

"Cool!" Webby squealed, "and to be clear, I'm gonna go catch the dragon. The hamburger was a metaphor from before."

"Yeah, yeah, no, we get it. We get it." Dewy responded, "But how are we gonna get up there?"

Launchpad pops in out of nowhere, scaring the living daylights out the teen.

"I'm a pilot," He informed, an excited smile on his face.

"Well what are we wait for? To the Sunchaser!" Elliot shouted as they all ran to the large plane.

They quickly board the aircraft, Elliot buckling up the kids. She barely sits down when launchpad lurched the Sunchaser into the sky. Elliot struggles to look over her shoulder.

"You guys doing alright?" She calls out.

She here's a shaky chorus of "yeah!"s, along with one "We're gonna die!".

"Yeah they're fine," Elliot muttered reassuringly to herself.

Once the plane steadied enough Elliot hopped out of her seat and over to the kids, unbuckling them.

"Ok listen up team," Elliot commanded, "we need to form a chain to grab Scrooge. I'll be second in line while three of you support me. Who's grabbing him?"

"Step aside comrades," Dewey instructed, stepping out from the group, "I was born for this."

They all get in a line, linking arms with each other. The plane is becoming more unstable as they approach the flailing Scotsman.

"Launchpad now!" Elliot ordered, tightening her grip on Dewey's hand.

Launchpad opens the hatch, the air almost vacuuming Dewey out if not the duck-made chain. Dewey reaches out just as Scrooge looses grip on the golden dragon, grabbing the old duck's arm.

"Now heave!" the teen shouted over the thrashing winds.

The 5 ducks pull with all their might, dragging the Scotsman into the plane.

"I thought I told you to go to your-" Scrooge was cut off by Dewey.

"No time. We gotta work fast." He turns to the pink duck, "Webby, how do we stop it?

"It's mystical, so we need a mystical device," Webby stated, "like an oblivion mirror, or a medusa gauntlet, or-"

"Like this?" Louie suggested, pulling the gauntlet out of his pocket.

Everyone stares at the youngest duck, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"What? I was gonna give it back," He assured horribly, "Now, how do we get him down there?"

"Garden hose of destiny!" Huey chanted, pulling the makeshift rope out of thin air, "Launchpad, we need to swing him out. Nosedive towards the bin and get ready to pull up!"

"Yes, sir, random kid I just met!" Launchpad responded enthusiastically as the kids tied Scrooge to the makeshift rope.

"Any questions?" Dewey asked.

"Since when is Launchpad a pilot?" Scrooge questions as the hatch opens up again.

Elliot puts her hand on the Scotsman's should.

"Have a nice trip Coo," she said jokingly before pushing him out of the plane, "see you next fall!"

Launchpad nosedives towards the money bin, pulling up at the last moment and swinging Scrooge towards the mythical beast. Scrooge grips onto the tail with his gauntlet clad hand, reveling in his victory.

"You guys, our family is awesome!" Dewey cheered as they all held on to the garden hose of destiny.

The golden dragon upon realizing its predicament, started to thrash about, catapulting Scrooge high into the air. The ducks (minus Elliot) watched in horror as the Scotsman was free falling in the air.

"Ah for old times sake," Elliot mumbled before leaping out of the plane in a swan dive.

She caught up with Scrooge, who she gave a mischievous smirk to.

"See you in the gold," she shouted smugly, "old man!"

She accelerates past an offended Scrooge and dives gracefully into the money bin, the latter following suit. She comes up up for air, laying back onto the cold hard cash as faint cheering can be heard in the background. The cheering doesn't last for long as she then hears a loud crash. She lurches out of the bin along with Scrooge to help the kids.

—————————

"In the short time I've known you," Scrooge stared angrily, "you've wrecked my home and my money bin, unleashed several ancient evils, and almost got me killed, twice!"

"Four times if you count...each..monster...as an...individual..time," Huey corrects nervously.

Scrooge stomps in front of the 4 kids, Elliot gasping lightly as he does. Then in a turn of events he let's out a boisterous laugh.

"That was incredible! When you pulled me into the airplane and said 'No time!' And who would have thought of a Medusa Gauntlet?! Brilliant! Oh, and then you swung me out and pulled up just in time and..." Scrooge gets up, "You kids are nothing but trouble! Curse me kilts, have I missed trouble! I suppose I'll have to keep an eye on you to teach you how to get into trouble properly."

Scrooge pulls out his golden flip phone as the kids look excitedly at him.

"You mean?" Dewey questioned hopefully.

"Beakley! Clear my schedule!" Scrooge commanded into the flip phone, "I'm taking the wee ones on a field trip."

He hangs up the phone, turning to the other ducks.

"Now," He says devilishly, "let's go find the lost city of Atlantis!"

The Ducks cheered out a great big yeah.

"And no one tell your uncle Donald!" Scrooge adds.

The Ducks cheer even louder.

"Wait who is that?" Launchpad asks.

[hanalwayssolo]

What We Owe To Each Other: Ch. 3 - Night

A/N: Here’s the angsty part of a fic literally no one asked for!!!

Morning | Noon | Night | Midnight | Nightmare | Dawn

[Link on AO3]

Sam did not want to admit it out loud, but he was starting to believe that he was truly and utterly lost.

He pulled out his phone and checked his current location. He was sure about the direction he had taken; he had passed the right landmarks, made no unnecessary turns from the main road. His destination was off the beaten path but thankfully, it had stopped raining and the fog had partly cleared that he managed to easily spot his way. He had been certain that he was in the right address. This had to be the right place.

What was bothering him now was that the house that loomed behind the massive iron-wrought gates was the exact opposite of a fucking cottage.

Sam pulled over next to a silver Sedan (another rental, he could tell by that same tacky sticker plastered on its windshield) hooded over by the blood-red foliage of maple trees on what appeared to be the lot’s designated parking space. In the discomfort of the Chevy’s front seat, he began to assess all his available options. He could check out the house, ask its occupants for proper directions. Or he could turn his way back around. He could find a decent lodging to spend the night somewhere in Westmore, or any nearby town perhaps, and craft another excuse to tell his brother as to why he didn’t make it.

Or, well, he could disregard his pride and simply call Nathan for help.

This is stupid. I’m being stupid.

Sam sighed. He fished his phone out again, scrolled through his list of contacts, hovered over Nathan’s name for a little too long. He has not even called him yet, but he can already hear his brother’s clever and punk-ass reaction.

Fine. Fuck this.

He took another deep breath. Just as he was about to press that Call button, a knock on his window startled him out of his wits.

“Holy Mother of God!” Sam hissed, accidentally slamming a hand over the car horn that it shrieked like a shameless cry for help. He turned, and by the window was a familiar face curiously watching him with an almost amused expression.

It was Elena.

“I’m so sorry,” she said as soon as he got out of the car. She was in a cozy-looking parka, sweatpants and running shoes, her cheeks a shade rosier from the cold. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket. It was freezing as fuck. “What’re you doing out here?”

“I was out for a walk. Then I saw that there’s another car parked next to ours. Figured it would be you.”

“Oh.”

“And you were in there for a really long time, so. Yeah.”

“Well, I thought I was…” Sam trailed off. He looked at the house behind Elena, then back at her. “I’m in the right place, am I?”

“Yup.” Elena was smiling. “Trust me, that was our reaction when we first got here, too. Seriously, Sullivan needs to work on his definition of a cottage.”

Sam stared at her. “Christ, Victor owns this place?”

Elena nodded in response. “C’mon,” she said cheerily, nodding her head towards the gate, “Let’s get inside. I’ll let Sullivan explain everything to you and maybe get him to take you on his personal tour.”

Sam grabbed his duffel from the trunk and let Elena lead the way.  

The sun slowly plummeted over the horizon, simmering gold through the trees, scorching the sky like a third-degree burn. There was no noise except for the crunch of their shoes on the carpet of gravel and dried leaves, the whistle of the wind, the chorus of birdsong from somewhere up the canopies. The air was sharp and chilly. Not far away, the Mansard roof and the whitewashed façade of Sully’s estate began to reveal itself behind the veil of autumn foliage like an enigmatic bride.

“By the way,” Sam began as they climbed the front steps, “I heard from Nathan. Congratulations. Good job for making me an uncle.”

Elena laughed. “You’re welcome. Glad to be of service, I guess.”

“Now I hope you don’t mind if I teach your kid a thing or two about picking locks and—”

“Oh don’t even think about that.”

“Alright. I’ll simply bore them to death.”

“Now that’s impossible. Trouble makes you the least boring person I know.”

“Whoa, now I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment.”

“It is a compliment.” She turned to face him, smiled at him knowingly. “But y’know, I suppose I should thank you, too.”

“Really?” Sam quirked a curious brow. “For what?”

“Nate told me about your sage advice.”

“Oh. That.” Sam shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it sagely,” he said, “but more like a push in the right direction.”

“Of course. But I appreciate it, really. Anyway,” she said as she casually opened the mahogany doors before them, “After you.”

Elena ushered Sam inside the house. Walking into the foyer, he found himself taking a sharp inhale and stuttering to a halt: gilt mirrors and chandeliers, potted palms and porcelain vases, plaster-medallioned ceiling and ivory floors polished to saintly perfection. Down to the wide archway to his immediate right was a gallery exquisitely curated with the finest marble sculptures and Impressionist paintings (there were a couple from Monet and Cézanne and Renoir which he recognized almost immediately, like spotting a familiar face in a crowd of strangers, and he hated how he still knew this because this was Darcy’s thing and fuck he did not need to be reminded of her at this time of day), a couple of photographs and portraits lining the walls, and ancient pieces that would probably cost more than his life. Somewhere, the jazz music he had heard earlier from the phone echoed like a sickly sweet invitation. Even the room smelled nice and elegant: of roast beef, of roses, of cigars and big money. Also, it was comfortably warm.

Startled and half-dazed, not quite sure what he was seeing or where he was even, as if he had been suddenly jettisoned to outer space, Sam turned to Elena and said: “This is… are you positively sure this is Victor’s house?”

Elena huffed an amused laugh. “I know it’s a lot to take in but yeah.” She shouldered off her parka and hung it over a coat rack. She helped Sam out of his jacket, too. “Nate and Sully’s in the kitchen—”

“I’ll be goddamned—look who decided to show up.”

A rich and sonorous voice that Sam knew so well rang out and sauntered into the hall.

“Victor.” Sam offered a small nod as the one and only man of the house—nay, mansion—gave him a strong, parental hug which he returned rather sheepishly. Though he found it strange to be shown such an affectionate gesture, it was even stranger for him to see Victor outside his usual colourful Havana shirts; in his gray long-sleeved turtleneck and dark trousers, he almost seemed so foreign. Warm and snug, sure—but still painfully foreign. Despite that, he still carried that same slick and silvery charm as if he never aged a day.

“Well now.” Victor stepped back, clapping both hands on Sam’s broad shoulders. “I honestly thought you wouldn’t show up.”

“What can I say? I live to disappoint.” Sam shrugged. “But anyway,” he said, “be honest with me: who did you murder to afford this place, huh? We had all the time in Lisbon and you didn’t tell me about this!”

“I’m glad to let you know that I didn’t get my hands bloody to get this place. This belonged to my family for generations.” Victor extracted a pack from the back pocket of his jeans and lit a cigar. “This—“ he was gesturing a hand in the air, the curl of smoke rising between his fingers— “had been in tatters a couple of years back. Had to make sure this entire place was in its pristine condition before I had anyone come over and see it.”

“And that’s only half of the story,” Elena added. She crossed her arms and looked at Victor critically. “Wait until you hear about how he acquired a certain Rembrandt piece.”

Sam waved away Elena’s words with an incredulous hand. “Wait a fucking second.” He stared at Victor. “Did I hear that right? You have a goddamn Rembrandt? What the—”

“Elena? Sully? You guys left me in the kitchen and you all know how I’m accident-prone—oh, about time you got here!”

Sam turned and was welcomed by Nathan with a firm slap on his back as soon as he walked in. He was wearing a dark cashmere sweater, ripped jeans, and one of those aprons with an obscenely suggestive text that said May I suggest this sausage written in a terrible font face.

“Why hello there, little brother,” Sam said a shade too mockingly. “Don’t you look dashing.”

Nathan scowled. “Okay, before you even judge me,” he began to tell Sam defensively, “I have to say that this—” he gestured a hand over his apron— “belongs to Sully.”

“Not that I needed clarification, but okay,” Sam said smugly. They all laughed.

“Look, kid,” said Victor, turning to Nathan, “why don’t you take your brother to his room? Elena and I will take care of things down here.”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Nathan peeled off the apron and handed it to Victor. “Can’t bear the thought of being the jackass to accidentally burn your mansion.”

Victor shook his head. “That’s why I’m effectively relieving you of kitchen duty. Now scoot.”

Sam followed Nathan down the hall, up a sweeping staircase, and then another hall with mahogany doors leading to more rooms. More photographs and more gilt-framed portraits hung on the walls. Everywhere smelled sweet and musty and oppressively opulent.

“Here we are,” said Nathan as he opened the last door at the end of the corridor.

Obviously, the room was nothing less lavish than what Sam had seen thus far from the entire house. Stepping inside, it was as if he had slipped into a different time period, some Gothic universe that distinctly reeked of that 19th-century grandeur: fancy carpets on hardwood floors, paneled walls of deep green, gray velvet curtains draped over large windows. A pair of armchairs and a lumpy sofa upholstered in rose-patterned fabric were primly arranged opposite a marble fireplace. Figurines and books occupied any available surface. In the middle of the room, an ornately carved four-poster bed covered in fluffy linens seduced Sam with the lure of much-needed sleep.

“Jesus,” he said, dropping his bag next to a rosewood desk. “This house is fucking nuts.”

Nathan laughed. “I know,” he said. “This is like one of those rooms in Hampton Court Palace. Remember—“

“Yeah, yeah—first heist with Cutter, I know.” And with Darcy, too. Sam winced an empty smile. “Don’t need to remind me,” he muttered almost to himself. “So—“ he paced across the room, looking around earnestly, decidedly eager to change the subject— “how did the talk go with the wife?”

“Oh.” Nathan sat at the edge of the bed. “It was okay. Got to sort things out. And…” He trailed off. “Well, you were right,” he said quietly.

Sam stopped and narrowed his eyes at Nathan, a snarky smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Come again? I didn’t quite catch that.”

Nathan snorted a derisive laugh. “You just want me to say it again, don’t you?”

“I really need you to say it again ‘cause I didn’t hear it the first time.”

“Well, I won’t.”

“Really? So that’s how it is?”

“Fine, fine. I said you were right.”

Sam beamed a triumphant smiled. “Why, thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

They did not say anything for a while. Then, Nathan got up and walked to the door. “Anyway,” he said, awkwardly clearing his throat, “I know you’re tired, so I’ll leave and give you time for a decent shut-eye. Dinner’s at eight, by the way.”

“Yeah, sure. Got it.”

Left to his own devices, Sam began to look around the room with a studied carefulness, examining every trinket and decor he could find like a detective dusting for fingerprints. He soon lost interest. He rarely got bored with things like these, but perhaps it was the exhaustion. Perhaps it was an exhaustion of an alien stranded in a different time, trying to phone home.

But there was no home. He never had one. And somehow, as he laid down on the bed in resignation, staring at the ceiling, he felt like he was not supposed to be here at all.

___

Sam is back in his prison cell in Panama.

He is supposed to be used to this by now—as one does, he guessed, if one had spent more than a decade incarcerated for a crime he did not commit—except the rush of terror that cuts him is a freshly sharpened blade. The trauma resurrects itself anew. It does not settle to be a memory so it replays itself like this:

Two men seize him by the arms, dragging him out and throwing him into the darkness. He is welcomed by a sharp embrace of a metal pipe, of many pairs of fists, and his knees, oh his knees are traitorous allies that buckles and trembles onto the cold, shit-stained floor. His bullet wounds have not fully recovered yet but the guards are his doctors believing that he will find his healing in the violence. This is his medicine. They watch him swallow and gag and retch. Get used to it, they say. This will make a better man out of you, says another. This is what your freedom looks like now, someone else spits out. The men restore his body with bruises. Paints him purple and pink and bloody. Split lip and swollen eyes. What is his body but a dishrag pulp of flesh? Pain is as sweet as morphine, a name that his body has memorized like an old lover’s kiss. So he takes and takes and takes. He does not scream. He does not beg them to stop. But he cries. His sobs echo without a sound. He lets his own voice choke him until they kill him for good.

___

Sam had meant to only sleep for a few hours, but he woke up sweating and with a heaving start to find the room bathed in silvery moonlight that made everything seem so startling and disarmingly unreal. Groggily, he looked around and the first one he saw was a woman sitting by the side of his bed.

And he was gripping her wrist like he was squeezing the life out of her.

It took him seconds to realize that it was Elena.

He let go of her, suddenly aflame with embarrassment.

“Shit, I—“ he stammered, running a hand over his hair, fumbling to turn on the bedside lamp— “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t—“

“Hey, it’s alright,” Elena said. She was looking at him with a pained and worried expression on her face that made his embarrassment even worse. “Bad dream?” she asked.

“Sort of.”

“For how long have you been going through this?”

Sam did not answer. He did not know what he should tell her. He could only avoid her gaze like a fretful child, and a part of him hated it.

Before the silence could stretch on for more uncomfortable minutes, Elena got up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” she said regretfully. “Anyway, Nate was supposed to be the one to wake you up, but Sully sent him for a quick errand but um, I’m here to let you know that dinner’s ready.”

Sam nodded weakly. “Right. Uh, Elena?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t tell Nathan about this.”

Elena stared at him with obvious admonishment, as if she was she was holding back the judgment she was trying to pass. “Okay, I won’t,” she said finally. “Because I trust that you’ll be the one to tell him about it.”

Sam said nothing. He watched Elena close the door behind her.

[thelastlansing]

Like Breath, On a Mirror

You would think that if you came into the world, kicking and screaming, you would leave the exact same way. For Kara Lansing, there was no scream, no fight. Just acceptance.

Only silence met her ears as green eyes dimmed.

As her body sank to the ground, Kara’s eyes drifted to the bracelet on her wrist, the one that she knew would alert one very important person in her life that something had happened.

That something had stopped.

That she was gone.

She’d promised she’d return, that she’d come back to her brother and sister, to her girl, to Morgan, to her friends. That seemed simple and easy to promise a month ago. Now? She wasn’t so sure.

Her breath came out in sharp, ragged gasps as she ran through the snowy field. They were chasing her, chasing the Paladins. Hunters were everywhere and they wanted blood, had already killed so many. Someone had been mole in her own unit, a killer emerging at the worst time. Like lambs to the slaughter they were brought to the point of contact where they were meant to ambush the Hunters but instead what they received were bullets.

Kara had to watch as Levi and Emily were killed in gruesome fashion; a neck snapped and a bullet to the eye. Her legs carried her before she remembered she could fly. However as she felt a stray bullet graze her forearm, the magic she used to lift herself off the ground left her body. She could only watch in horror as the ground approached far too quick to cushion the fall.

Bones crunched and a scream tore from her throat as she landed, watching with anguish as more and more of her team lay broken on the ground. One of them, Jackie, was crawling towards a nearby grove of trees as she left a trail of blood behind her. With one loud crack, Kara saw Jackie’s body still, blood pooling out of her throat. It was then that the teammate that had betrayed them wandered up to her with a gun in hand.

“Looks like you’re the last one alive, Lansing. The Last Lansing, kinda like the sound of that. Don’t you?” He grinned widely, waving the gun back and forth slowly in front of her.

Blood sprayed on his face as Kara spat on him.

“Fuck you, Andrew. Why did you do this, huh? You get paid? You’re going to die. I’m going to kill you with my bare hands I swear to Go--” Her words were immediately cut off as he raised his hand, twisting his finger in a all too familiar motion. So this was what it was like--The air being slowly torn from her lungs. “I--Ple...Please.”

“You killed my brother. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was a Hunter. He never told the family, he hated us for not having magic and so he decided to do something about it. He was there, in the attack at Roanoke. You killed him. You did what I’m doing to you. You took the breath from his lungs. And you murdered him where he stood. When I found out, well, I knew I had to make you all pay. Magic is an abomination that we were never meant to have. But I know why I have it now, I know what I can do with it. I can use it for good.” His face twisted into a sick grin, leaning in closer to Kara as he spun his finger tighter and tighter, his other hand bringing the gun up to her gut. “I can use it to kill scum like you.”

BANG.

He pressed his mouth to her ear, his finger still twisting as Kara choked out gasps. “I wanted to go after your family, to hurt you the way you hurt me. But your parents are dead. And your sister? That bitch is going to have to live in a world without her big sister. And maybe then she’ll feel a fraction of how I feel.”

Kara coughed, blood dripping down her chin as she looked down at the gut wound. Andrew stopped twisting his finger, the smirk never leaving his face. “What are you--What are you going to do?” Another cough, more blood. “Are you going to be the hero of this story? Do you think you’re going to get away with this?” Andrew took the gun and wiped it off with a handkerchief he pulled from the inside of his jacket, soon tossing it aside. “Oh Kara. I already have.” And with that, he walked off into the night before jettisoning into the air and flying from view.

A cough broke the chilled night air, Kara sinking to her knees in the snow. The nearest farm was only 5 or so acres away but she knew she wouldn’t make it in time. It was then that the slow realization of what was really happening began to sink into her bones. She was dying. It was funny, she expected her life to flash before her eyes. For her to think of Cristina or Lauren. Of her parents. Of Nic. Of freaking Morgan. But all that she saw in front of her were four figures, standing over her body in the snow.

“You could have waited, you asshole. Didn’t have to join me. After all, I was a pretty big piece of shit and you... You were actually good.” Hayden scoffed, arms crossed over her chest. Harper looked sad, eyes brimming with tears. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”Kara rubbed her eyes, head foggy as she tried to determine if this was real or not. If the blood loss had caused her to hallucinate. Either way, she was glad she wasn’t alone as her final moments approached.

“Hey kiddo.” Vivian looked down at her with an empathetic expression, a hand on the fourth figure’s shoulder. “This next bit is really going to hurt. But then it gets better, okay? I promise it gets better. And it all just fades away... Then you’’ll be with us.”

It was then that the fourth figure bent down, kneeling in front of her to mirror Kara’s position. A hand raised and caressed her face causing Kara to melt into the touch, a whimper biting the back of her throat. “Oh Kara. You’ve had to wrestle with your demons for so long and now you finally get to leave them behind. It’s okay, sweetie. You can let go. You can rest.” Kara nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks as Tess wiped them away. “We’ll be waiting.”

The air witch watched as they all faded into the night air, leaving her alone once more. Blood stained the snow, her breaths shallow. She couldn’t feel the pain anymore, couldn’t feel the cold. The night was still, save for a soft crunching that could be heard off in the distance. Slowly she let her body collapse on her side, eyes drifting to her forearm where the bullet had hit. The bracelet was cracked, a green flashing that showed her heartbeat began to fade in and out. Her eyelids felt so heavy and her mind drifted to that of her sister. To Cristina. To her brother. To Morgan.

Marry me.

The family I chose.

You’re forgetting, Kara. You’re forgetting everyone and everything around you.

I don’t know how to live, Lauren. I don’t know how to live when all I’ve felt since I was eighteen was wanting to die for who I am. For the monster our parents were afraid I was going to become.

This isn’t my home anymore. I don’t think it ever really was.

I just wanted to be one of the good guys. I just wanted to be good.

And as different memories faded in and out of her mind, Kara felt her breathing slow. The crunching that she heard was louder for a moment but then she just couldn’t hear anything anymore. Not the sound of her heartbeat, not her breathing, not anything at all. Eyes slid closed, the world not stopping for her or anyone else. Time didn’t stop for her or anyone else when someone’s heart stopped beating.

No matter if something had happened.

Lauren would know the second Kara’s heart stopped, wherever she was, she would know that something was wrong. Despite being on the other side of the world, she’d be able to feel it, be able to see it.

No matter if something had stopped.

Kara and her team would be MIA for three months before Andrew finally showed up back at headquarters, battered and bruised. He’d explain what had happened, how they’d been ambushed by Hunters. How he was the only one that had made it out alive. How Kara and the rest of the team were dead. How they’d captured and tortured him and he barely managed to escape. Two witches left to tell Lauren and Cristina the news with heavy hearts, not ready to break it to them that she wasn’t missing anymore. That she wasn’t coming back...

No matter if someone was gone.

[esonetwork]

Timestamp #223: The Doctor's Wife

New Post has been published on https://esonetwork.com/timestamp-223-the-doctors-wife/

Timestamp #223: The Doctor's Wife

Doctor Who: The Doctor’s Wife (1 episode, s06e04, 2011)

“Where’s my thief!?”

A woman named Idris is led to a platform by “Auntie”, “Uncle”, and “Nephew”, the last of which is an Ood who drains her mind in preparation for a Time Lord’s arrival.

On the TARDIS, the Doctor, Amy, and Rory are surprised by a knock on the door. Even though they are in deep space, the shave-and-a-haircut routine reveals an emergency hypercube message for the Doctor, presumably sent by another Time Lord named the Corsair. They follow the signal contained within, dumping excess TARDIS rooms for fuel, and break through to another universe.

Almost immediately, the TARDIS goes dark. The matrix – the heart and soul of the TARDIS – has vanished. While the Doctor puzzles over where it would go, Idris awakens with an exhale of golden regeneration energy.

The travelers exit the TARDIS into a junkyard. Luckily, there’s plenty of rift energy so refueling should be easy. On the other hand, the Doctor is accosted by Idris, who presents as an insane woman calling the Time Lord her “thief”. After taking care of Idris, the Doctor turns his attention to the green-eyed Ood. After fixing the Ood’s sphere, it broadcasts a series of interwoven distress messages from various Time Lords. As Auntie and Uncle take Idris back to the House, the Doctor expresses his intrigue at the possible presence of his own people.

In the House, the asteroid is revealed to be sentient. The asteroid tells the Doctor that many TARDISes and Time Lords have come and gone, but there are no others now. The travelers explore a bit. Amy points out that the Doctor is seeking forgiveness from his people. The Doctor sends the companions back to the TARDIS in search of his sonic screwdriver. Once they arrive, the doors lock as a green mist swirls about the phone box. Meanwhile, the Doctor had his sonic the entire time. Cheeky devil.

The Doctor discovers a collection of Time Lord distress signal cubes. He realizes that Auntie and Uncle have been mended over time by the asteroid with parts of the various Time Lords, including the ouroboros-tattooed arm of the Corsair.

Knowing that Idris foretold the Doctor’s discovery, he confronts her. There he finds out that she holds the matrix. She is the personification of the TARDIS. The Doctor releases her and together they determine that House feeds on TARDISes, which it can only do if it removes the matrices first. The Doctor tries to retrieve Amy and Rory from the TARDIS, but the phone box dematerializes with the chiming of the Cloister Bell and heads back to N-Space. Unfortunately for the companions, the House has hijacked the TARDIS.

In the junkyard, Uncle and Auntie collapse as they lose their source of life. Idris herself only has a short time to live but encourages the Doctor to explore the TARDIS junkyard for a way home. When the Doctor asks what he should call her, Idris tells him (much to his chagrin) that he named her “Sexy”.

House asks why he shouldn’t just kill the humans. Rory stalls for time by suggesting that they could provide entertainment. House agrees, prompting them to run for their lives through the corridors in a series of nightmare scenarios.

As the Doctor assembles a TARDIS from spare parts, he and Idris argue. The discussion ranges from how police box doors open outward (“Pull to Open”, which actually refers to the phone compartment), how the TARDIS always takes the Doctor where he needs to go, the Time Lord’s fascination with “strays”, and how the TARDIS wanted to travel so she stole the Doctor to take her on an adventure.

With a kiss to the time rotor, the patchwork TARDIS console room dematerializes and gives chase. Idris sends “the pretty one” a set of telepathic directions to one of her old console rooms. Rory leads Amy to the archived desktop of the Ninth and Tenth Doctor’s console room. There they lower the TARDIS’s shields but are pursued by Nephew. Just in time, the patchwork console materializes in the archived console room and vaporizes the Ood, marking another one that the Doctor failed to save.

After introductions are made, Idris collapses and House muses about ways to kill the Doctor and his companions. The Doctor gives House instructions on how to get the TARDIS back to N-Space, but when House starts deleting rooms for the journey, it inadvertently invokes a failsafe that protects living things from being deleted with the rooms. As the travelers materialize in the real console room, House suggests that they should fear him since he’s killed Time Lords before and won’t hesitate to do it again.

The Doctor replies that House should fear him. He’s killed all of them.

The Doctor stalls for time as he points out the concept of trapping the matrix in a human body. The goal was to get the matrix as far as possible from the console room, but House has brought the matrix home. With her last breath, Idris releases the matrix. It swirls about and reintegrates with the TARDIS, overriding and consuming House.

As a last gift, the TARDIS speaks through Idris. She remembers the word that she’s been searching for – “alive” – and tells him the one thing she’s never been able to say: “Hello, Doctor. It’s so very very nice to meet you.” In a bright flash of light, Idris disappears, offering her final words of “I love you” to her companion.

Some time later, the Doctor installs a firewall around the matrix. Rory tells him that Idris’s final words to him were, “The only water in the forest is the river,” which she believed that they needed to know for the future. Amy and Rory ask for a new bedroom – preferably one with a double bed instead of bunk beds – since theirs was deleted. He tells them how to get there, then spends some time with the TARDIS console. He asks the ship where she wants to go, even if it’s the Eye of Orion for a little rest and relaxation.

The levers flip on their own accord. The TARDIS sets a course. Adventure awaits.

What a beautiful ride.

When I first saw this episode back in 2011, I was confused by it. The fast pace coupled with rapid-fire references lost me. This time around, however, I relished the experience. The story is well-written and plays off of each of the main characters so nicely, from the Doctor’s desire to be forgiven for his actions in the Last Great Time War to Amy and Rory’s love. The latter of which was actually sold quite well here despite my skepticism of it last season.

The core of this story is the Doctor’s relationship to the TARDIS, which is played beautifully by giving a voice to a consciousness that exists simultaneously across all time and space. The relationship is pretty much that of a married couple, and the TARDIS’s finally expressed love for her companion is one born of their mutual adventures. I love that the TARDIS has archived past console rooms – which presumably means that a blank room is simply formatted with the “desktop” file from previous iterations – and that the TARDIS already knows what rooms are coming up next.

Amusingly, Neil Gaiman has requested that the archive scene feature a classic-era console room, but the budget wasn’t available for that. So, the production team left the coral console room standing for this story. This episode was supposed to air during Series Five but was pushed to this point in time so there was quite a long production lead for it.

The Doctor’s TARDIS also is pretty explicit about the nature of other time capsules. The Time Lords have previously treated them as nothing more than machines or vehicles, but Idris refers to her dead siblings as sisters. That matches well with nautical traditions of referring to all ships as female, but also gives us insight into the culture of the TARDISes overall.

This story featured the Doctor piloting a TARDIS other than his own for the first time on screen – at this point in time, Shada had not yet been completed – and that patchwork ship was the creation of 12-year-old Susannah Leah for a Blue Peter contest, complete with safety straps on the console (hello, Timelash!). The Doctor previously traveled with only the TARDIS console in Inferno. This story was also the first one since Horror of Fang Rock to kill every character except the Doctor and the companions.

Neil Gaiman reached way back for some of the elements here. We first (and last) saw the hypercube in The War Games, last saw the TARDIS’s telepathic circuits used to mess with the companions in The Edge of Destruction, and found the Doctor rebuilding the TARDIS in both The Claws of Axos and The Horns of Nimon. Lest we forget the concept of jettisoning rooms on the TARDIS, which we’ve seen on at least three occasions (Logopolis, Castrovalva, and Paradise Towers), or the idea of tricking the villain into fixing the TARDIS (ala Frontios).

It’s obvious that he’s a fan of the show and has done his homework.

He also deliberately provided the first confirmation in the franchise mythology that Time Lords can change gender during regeneration. I covered many of the reasons why this was a brilliant and easily defensible concept when Jodie Whittaker was announced as the Thirteenth Doctor, and I still stand by it. Gaiman’s choice of the ouroboros – the snake eating its own tail, a symbol for eternity – for the Corsair’s personal emblem was a great representation of both Time Lord culture and the nature of Doctor Who.

This story is just amazing as a franchise game-changer and ode to the show’s history. To call it fantastic is an understatement, but it’s the highest choice I have.

Rating: 5/5 – “Fantastic!”

UP NEXT – Doctor Who: The Rebel Flesh and Doctor Who: The Almost People

The Timestamps Project is an adventure through the televised universe of Doctor Who, story by story, from the beginning of the franchise. For more reviews like this one, please visit the project’s page at Creative Criticality.

[anima-contritum]

The Rush of Blood - part 1

A/N: heyo! so this is my first sort of major writing post on here and I didn’t completely edit all of it, so I’m hoping for the best I guess (I probs could’ve written more). I also wrote this for a friend of mine so make sure to check her out because she’s absolutely fantastic @scrabblesense (: enjoy!

Word Count: 1,925

Notes: This is a poly!hamilsquad x reader fanfic featuring the good ol’ gang au. disclaimer: the au doesn’t completely belong to me however all the ideas are truthfully mine. This is most likely going to be a series so buckle up and enjoy the ride.

T/W: mentions of past kidnap and torture, past abuse, violence, angst, and mentions on death. (if i missed necessary to note, let me know and I’ll add it)

Parts: 1 2

The atmosphere was riddled with a tension so thick you could choke on it. It seemed to blanket everything in the dark room with a sense of red hot outrage accompanied by undertones of blazing determination. Expressions were cold and devoid of emotions, the white-knuckled fists at each gang member’s side being the only telltale sign of disagreement. The silence that fell immediately after Angelica proposed her plan almost had a physical weight to it as it made your head pound and shoulders tense with each passing second. You would give anything to leave the suffocating room in that moment as anxiety bloomed in your chest.

Everyone told you before that your analytical skills were what made you the best at what you do, but right now you wished you could turn your brain off as the previous words bounced around in your skull. Thorough observations seemed to be all you were good for; You could remember license plates with just a glance, write out the police’s rotation schedules and usual stake-out spots, plan an escape route in a minute flat, determine someone’s motives and possible outcomes, even read a person’s expression and body language. Looking around at everyone in the small group, it was easy to pick out those opposed to the plan and who were supportive. As you took in each detail, your mind split things up piece by piece.

The way Alexander held his head high with his swirling brown eyes aflame with restrained wrath was like a bright neon sign that flashed in all caps ‘I THINK THE FUCK NOT.’ It was a threatening look to say the least.

Next to you John had a certain defiant set to his jaw that set as a pair for his defensive stance, his feet shuffling ever so slightly to be in front of both Alex and you. Knowing John, he’d either be the one throwing punches or holding back his boyfriends - and quite possibly his girlfriend - from doing something stupid.

Looking at Lafayette adjacent to Alexander, the french man looked more worried and panicky than anything else with his fingers fidgeting at his sides and his lips pursed in a tight line. His furrowed eyebrows created creases in his forehead and if you didn’t know him like you do, you would expect the man to start pacing across the battered wooden floor.

Hercules was a different story. Placed on the other side of you, his arms were crossed over his chest making his biceps more defined while his gaze was set at a deadly glare that sent shivers down your spine. In this moment, that wasn’t the Herc who knits you winter scarfs and wraps you in hugs this was Hercules Mulligan, the man who could easily snap a guy’s neck with little effort.

On the other side of the room with Angelica and her sisters, Maria stood lazily to the side. She was always the more reserved girl as she remained selectively mute but you still noted the sure set to her casual stance. Despite her hair falling over the eye patch on the left side of her face you could still see the agreement in her eye.

Eliza and Peggy stood at either side of Angelica with confident tilts of their lips and spark in their eyes. Of course, with all of your boyfriend’s burning eyes on the three sisters plus Maria you didn’t blame the wary shift in their eyes.

To the untrained eye, Angelica adorned a neutral expression but you saw the smugness on her lips and quirk to her perfectly shaped brows, the amusement dancing behind her dark eyes. She knew the plan would go through no matter what the other’s said. Excluding the risky premise, it was well thought out and ultimately beneficial to the group.

You - wedged between Hercules and John - stood stock still while your insides went crazy. Underlying anxiety twisted into your stomach like barbed wire while your conscious looked for a way out, an escape route. But the more your eyes scanned around every corner of the room, the faces of your boyfriends and the other girls, it was never clearer that this was something you couldn’t opt out of. No matter what your boyfriends said in protest to the plan, you knew it wouldn’t be reasonable to jettison the proposal.

“No,” Alexander was the first to speak, smashing the tense quiet like glass. His voice was laced with anger, his fists shaking at his sides as he went to step forward. If John hadn’t put out his arm to stop the utterly furious man, you bet Alex would’ve attempted to get in Angelica’s face - even if he’s several inches shorter than her. “If you think for one fucking second I’d let (Y/N) go out and risk her life for something as stupid as robbing a gas station, you are very mistaken.”

Angelica merely snorted a laugh with a small shake of her head, knocking a few curls loose from her tight bun. “Hamilton, you know as well as the rest of us just how necessary this operation is. If it hasn’t occurred to you yet, we’re in debt,” her amused tone turned cold and vile in a matter of seconds as her gaze flicked over Alex distastefully. “And if memory serves me right, it’s your fucking fault.”

You watched Alexander’s anger bubble up inside him as his lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. “What else was I supposed to fucking do when I was tortured and then held at gunpoint until I gave up the money?” A pang of heartbreak reverberated in your chest at the remembrance of what happened two months ago. You knew it still gave Alex nightmares, how he cried out in his sleep or the way he overworked himself. The damn fucking Redcoats kidnapped your boy and left him broken and scarred in a ditch to die after robbing your group of every last cent they owned. Now you’d be lucky to get a meal a day or a good sleep. Your boyfriends can only do so much to warm you during the frigid Autumn nights.

“Look, all I’m suggesting is (Y/N) monitor the place for a bit and when the gas station is about to close she goes in armed. She’ll be wearing a ski mask, a black hoodie, the whole damn ten yards. She’ll be able to anticipate worst case scenario and get out fast. She doesn’t have to kill anyone but Hercules and John will be around the back of the building as reinforcements if things go topside and you and Lafayette will be in the getaway car. Easy in, easy out.” Angelica restated the plan from earlier.

Hearing it again made bile rise in your throat, your heart racing and beating in your ribcage like a sledge-hammer. Your mouth felt dry and your hands shook as it seems the weight of the world sat heavily on your shoulders. Any words you planned to say died before they were even formed.

“And where will you be in all this?” John spat out. His face was red with fury making his freckles stand out. Looking over at him, he still had his arm stretched out across Alexander’s chest to restrain him.

As if waiting for the question to be asked, Peggy smiled smugly and gestured between her sisters and Maria. “We will be hijacking both the traffic and gas station security cameras.”

“Someone needs to hold down the fort in addition to being the main communication center. Peggy managed to boost the signal on our walkie-talkies. We have a good 5 miles or so until the connection gets fuzzy.” Eliza added with a fond smile for her little sister.

Despite the nerve racking situation, you couldn’t help but be impressed. Peggy had always been good with anything that could be considered electronic. If only she could fix the water heater…

Next to you, Hercules uncrossed his arms and turned his glare to Angelica. “I’m not letting her go in alone. If we’re doing this, I’m going in with her.” The low edge to his words made everyone able to hear it cast their eyes down excluding Angelica. Everyone knew, even outside your gang, just how dangerous Herc can be. Although only your group knew how his hard exterior was a mask to how kind his heart truly was, that tone in his voice always made them shy away. Growing up in an abusive household, Hercules learned it was better to put on a threatening act than to put up with other people’s shit. Even now after all these years, he only shows his soft side with you and his boys.

Hercules’ statement seemed to shock Lafayette out of his worrying as he stepped forward with confident radiating off of his stance. “I agree with mon cher. If we are to go through with this, I will be accompanying mon amour.”

“If I agree to that then I’m risking three members of this group being caught and arrested. I devised this plan so if things go wrong, only one of us gets locked up. Having you and Hercules go in with (Y/N) is completely unnecessary and naive when she can do the job better than any of us.” Angelica retorted.

You hated the way everyone talked about you like you weren’t there. It made the barbed wire in your guts wrap around your heart and cut deep.

In an instant, both Alexander and John lunged. If Hercules and Laf weren’t able to grab the two boys, they wouldn’t have hesitated to start a full blown fight. It wouldn’t be the first time Alexander fought Angelica. It made you jump in fear, your eyes widening as John struggled in Herc’s grip. Laurens was all but spitting poisoned words at Angelica with a daunting growl in his tone. “(Y/N) is not fucking dispensable you fucking bitch! What the fuck happens if the cops show up and she can’t get out in time? I’ll tell you what fucking happens. They either shoot and kill her because she has a fucking gun or they arrest her for life for multiple shitty charges. What happens if the cashier has a gun? What happens if a customer decides to play hero and attack the robber? What happens-”

“ENOUGH!”

Your voice came up above John’s and any other possible argument Angelica had on her mind as silence encased the room. Tears had started streaking down your cheeks no matter how hard you tried to stop it. They leave wet tracks as they go unwiped making your cheeks shine in the dim light of the room. All eyes turned to you, Lafayette letting go of Alexander as the once raging bull turned sombre seeing your tears. Everything threatened to put you in a choke hold and drown your words like before, but this time you had to push through this. You had to push through the nauseating nervousness in your stomach and the way it felt like your heart jumped into your throat.

You just had to push through it like you always have.

Turning to give Angelica your full attention, your voice came out shaky but certain. “I’ll do it… I don’t need Herc or Laf with me, I just need the supplies you listed before. It’ll be a quick in and out, no cops, no killing. If things go wrong, I-...” A watery laugh broke through your lips before you could stop it. “Then I’ll go down swingin’.”

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

Multiverse is a Curse Word (8)

I’m pretty sure there’s going to be one more chapter after this. What a ride!

Addi, the Dimension Jumper AU, and the Drifting Dimensions AU belongs to @hntrgurl13. The Adrift AU belongs to @the-subpar-ghost, and the Addiford ship to @scipunk63. Kudos to these dudes and their cool-ass brains.

@deadpool-demon-diva and @thejesterlyfictionista, TAKE IT.

AO3  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11

Chapter 8: A Resistance of Butt-Faces

Adeline shook her head. Well, that was the best last-minute gift idea I’ve ever seen someone think of, she thought. Ford was so lucky she had an unreasonable amount of technology.

She decided to go see the results, the idea of watching Mabel’s face light up like Christmas enough of an incentive to get her out of bed. As she reached the girl’s room, however, both she and her uncle barged out excitedly and crashed into her. Barely pausing for long enough to give her a kiss, Ford’s words trailed behind him as they rushed past: “Backsoongonetotestgunout!”

Mabel gave her an equally quick, but bone-crushing, hug, and said, “Thanksomuchloveyou!” and then they were gone.

I guess it went well.

The door of the room that had just been so exuberantly vacated swung a little in the breeze. Addi glanced inside briefly, and then did a double take.

There was a locator lying on the floor. That was strange. Mabel or Ford must have accidentally pocketed one of hers . . . except that she had checked the sell-bag, and everything had been accounted for.

The locator wasn’t hers, and it had been in Mabel’s room. That was concerning. She had given Julian a locator when she met him, recognising that she might need his help in the future. So, it must be his then . . . but he wouldn’t leave something like this lying around in an infrequently-used guest room.

Locators were rare. Extremely rare. They came as a set with portal beacons. Portal beacons had only been invented in one dimension, where she had fixed up a fairly broken down one that no one else had needed. Otherwise, they were not given away lightly. She knew of hardly anyone who had visited that dimension . . . apart from the resisters she had been temporarily stranded there with.

She squatted down to pick up the piece. As she rose, she turned it over to examine the curved edge. Her stomach dropped as she saw the frequency number of the beacon it was tuned to: not hers. Not good.

Addi remembered being stuck on a planet overridden by technology with a friend. She remembered patching up a broken portal beacon, and laughing as her friend somehow acquired a fully functional one. Years later, she had told her friend about Stanford Pines, a genius who could do anything if he put his mind to it. Her friend had been intrigued, and had commented on how much of a valuable asset he would be. She remembered Ford being holed up in a briefing room with her friend for almost an entire day, where, hypothetically, a tracking device could have been planted on him at any time.

The device slipped through Addi’s fingers, making a crack on collision with the wooden surface and bringing her back to the present.

There was an active locator lying on the floor. That was alarming. It belonged Wesley. That was . . . great. Just great.

She sprinted towards her sword.

⃝

The rockslide was the most pleasant-looking disaster area Mabel had ever seen. It was towards the base of the volcano, where the ground just began to slope upwards, and all the sharp edges of broken boulders were softened by the leafy plants slowly but surely overwhelming them. As Mabel and Ford approached, the rocks started small – coming up to her uncle’s knees in height – and slowly increased until it was as if they were wandering through a canyon, and the wide sweeping fields around Julian’s house, as well as the volcano itself, were blocked from view by the monoliths.

“Mabel, I am sorry.” Ford said suddenly. She looked up at him, and they paused on top of a wide platform. “I should have been there for you last night.”

Mabel laughed, trying to brush off his seriousness. “Grunkle Ford, you worry too much. It wasn’t that bad, I was just a bit homesick this morning,”

Whoops. Well that did nothing. She could see his guilt resurfacing like a whale, it was so obvious.

“Okay mister, you need to hug it out.” she said decisively, opening her arms and advancing threateningly. “Stop feeling bad, and sad, and mad at yourself! And other things rhyming with ‘ad’!” She hugged him aggressively. “You have romance to deal with now, which is a good thing, so don’t go ignoring Addi for dumb, unnecessary reasons like me maybe having the occasional nightmare. You’re not dumb, Grunkle Ford! Don’t push away something good!”

“Well I don’t want to ignore you either, Mabel.” he replied in a muffled voice, his face buried in her hair. “A relationship is no excuse to place less importance on you. You come first. Always.”

Those words warmed Mabel from her heart all the way to her fingertips, firmly driving back any dark, lonely thoughts lightly prodding at her. “Thanks . . . but, like, don’t let the last few days fool you. I can handle myself, mostly. You don’t have to worry all the time. If I need you, I’ll come get you,” she reassured him.

“Promise?”

“Promise,”

Their moment was interrupted by the sound of a portal opening nearby.

“What the-” frowned Ford. A blue glow permeated the space behind a giant, jagged pillar ahead of them.

“I wonder if anyone came through,” said Mabel. She rounded the corner and moved towards it, Ford following more warily. “Huh, I guess not.” The portal flashed out of existence, leaving no one behind. “Well anyway, is here a good spot – AAAH!”

A person suddenly sprang from a crack in the rocks, stretching like an elastic band and squeezing out of the impossibly tight space. Other stealthily disguised figures revealed themselves all around them, some shifting colours like chameleons, some shifting shapes like, oh no, the shapeshifter back home, one even straight up flickering out of invisibility. It would have been awesome, if there hadn’t been weapons pointing at them from all directions.

Ford pulled her roughly back against his chest, drawing his own gun and spinning around. They were completely surrounded.

One enemy spoke into a transmitter, saying something she couldn’t understand. Ford could though, and Mabel heard him draw in a quick breath at the garbled response. After that there was a tense silence.

It was getting a bit awkward now, to be honest.

“Do you want something?” Ford snapped angrily.

“We’re waiting,” someone responded. She was purple, with antennae, and had multifaceted red eyes.

“For what?”

“To regroup.” Anticipating Ford’s next interrogation, she continued. “We don’t have orders to hurt you, Stanford Pines. As long as you don’t try to escape, you’re not a prisoner.”

“This reasoning is very questionable,” Mabel muttered.

The alien looked at her blearily, then addressed Ford again. “Honestly, I’d rather be in bed, I got about two hours sleep, but you know resistances. Workers on-call, and all that. And the boss didn’t say anything about a kid, so I’ll let her go if you want. We don’t need her. Anyway, you’re coming back with us, and welcome to your new job, I guess,”

Mabel’s mouth dropped open. Are you kidding?! she thought. No WAY are we going back to that place! And what the heck, hasn’t anyone figured it out yet? She narrowed her eyes. I am NEVER letting anyone take my grunkle away from me. With those words echoing around her head and building to a crescendo, a hard lump of a resolution formed in Mabel’s stomach, and an idea of her own particular brand came into being.

“Your resistance is filled with butt-faces!” she blurted out fiercely, dimly thinking that the words didn’t do her feelings justice.

“Sure, whatever, kid,”

A wicked grin appeared on Mabel’s face. Oh, these jerks were so gonna pay.

“In two seconds you’re gonna wish you hadn’t underestimated me,” she promised.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. GRAPPLING HOOK!” she whipped the gun out from under her coat and aimed it at the top of the rock face behind the conversationalist. She hoped Ford’s arm was locked around her tight enough.

With her usual pin-point accuracy (that had never failed her no matter what Dipper said, don’t listen to him), she pulled the trigger, and the disc that had formed on the end of the gun when her uncle had originally cocked it made a clunking sound as it flew towards her mark, biting into the stone. The only problem was, no cord was attached to it.

Great. She’d just jettisoned a useless grappling hook and her only weapon.

“Um,” she said into the surprised quietness. She pulled the trigger again, just to make absolutely sure their situation was as dire as it seemed. The surprised quietness became even more surprised when an immense attractive force nearly ripped the gun out of her hands as it shot to its other half. Fortunately, she had an iron grip, and so did Ford.

Her uncle torqued around just as their feet left the ground, which probably saved Mabel from breaking her elbows and knees as they collided with the top of the pillar. As it was, all that happened was Ford getting winded.

“Haha! Yes!” crowed Mabel as they hauled themselves over the top and rolled over just as the resisters below came to their senses and starting firing. No shots were able hit them from this angle.

Ford sucked in a breath and clapped her on the back. “Nicely done,” he coughed, getting to his feet, “but do you think you could do it with a little more control next time?”

“Psssh, whatchoo you talking about? I did that perfectly,”

“Nothing is perfect, you can always do better,” Ford said immediately, then backtracked. “I mean, good, yes, but let’s see if we can get even more perfect. In fact, let’s do it now. We need to get back to Julian’s,”

“Why?” asked Mabel.

“They’re going after Addi,”

Mabel cocked the gun.

⃝

Thankfully, all the guests had left. This meant there was nothing stopping Julian from, say, backflipping off the bar and taking down two resisters at once with a glass bottle in each hand, or Clive from slamming into one who had been about to enter his son’s room so hard that he flew halfway across the pavilion holy shit. They had not gone soft in their retirement.

Addi thought that at this rate the fight would be over in under a minute. She really had expected more from Wesley – not that she was complaining.

Then Stanford and Mabel swung in on a grappling hook, bringing seven more assassins with them.

Adeline grabbed Ford’s sleeve and dragged both her companions behind an overturned table as a barrage of laser fire hit the metal on the other side.

“Wesley’s been tracking you!” she said to him.

“I figured!”

“I don’t think he likes you knowing his secrets!” said Mabel.

“Understatement,” snarled a soldier as she adjusted the intensity of her weapon and melted a hole straight through the table.

Addi sprang up and over it, Big Bertha swinging strongly to intercept the assailant. The gun disappeared incredibly quick and a baton came up to meet her, the resulting clash almost jarring Addi’s arm. She looked past the locked blades into her opponent’s face.

“Netessa!”

“Hi,” grunted the red-eyed woman. Adeline forced her back a step and broke the lock.

“I thought you left a long time ago,”

Netessa shrugged. “I came back,”

“Oh, well that answers all my questions.” Addi said, rolling her eyes and attempting a grin. “Come on, what have you been up to?” She noticed that the rest of the taskforce was in a shoot-out with Julian and Clive, and off to the side Ford was attempting to get Mabel to stay behind the bar.

“Do you really care? Anyway, I’m about to kill you. Why would I tell you?”

“So we could rekindle our friendship and you could help me instead?” Addi suggested hopefully.

As an answer, Netessa closed in impossibly fast and punched her.

⃝

Ford shot a man in the chest, grabbed his baton, and shoved him through a door.

“Take this and stay here,” he ordered Mabel, giving her the weapon.

“But-” she tried to argue.

“I said stay!” he turned to help Clive.

Heart in her mouth, she flinched as Julian was propelled into the front of the bar counter so hard it shook. He dodged several laser blasts before Clive tackled the shooter. Mabel heard Julian groan, then his hand appeared around the corner and he pulled himself to where he could see her.

“Mabel honey, could you please press that button? Yes that one right there, thank you,”

A sensation like a wave of static electricity passed over Mabel, the unfamiliarity fuelling the fear and uncertainty already coursing through her. Julian heaved himself up to his feet and went to rejoin the firefight . . . or what was now just a fight, actually. All the lasers had stopped working.

“Don’t worry honey, everyone’s going to be fine.” Julian smiled. Then he turned around. “ALRIGHT! TWO MINUTES WITHOUT GUNS! LET’S DO THIS!” he yelled, and decked an assassin. Now that Mabel could actually look at what was going on without being in danger of injury, she saw that there were only four of the original seven left. She kept her eyes on her friends and family. Addi was furiously battling sword-on-baton with the purple woman, and Clive and Ford were facing off barehanded against the other three. Julian wielded a broken glass bottle. Mabel wasn’t sure how long that would last against heavy-duty metal sticks, but okay.

She watched anxiously, wanting to help, but not knowing how to. Some of her dread was extinguished as Addi started calling out to her attacker between clashes. As always, when she was confident, she was fun. Best of all, it seemed to be getting on the other’s nerves.

⃝

“No really, what have you been doing?”

Ford planted a kick into an assassin’s midsection.

“Ugh, would you give it a rest already? We were never really friends!”

He dodged a swipe from a baton.

“I still want to know!”

He slid under another swing on his knees, coming up behind the person and grabbing their arm.

“I’m into sculpture now, are you happy?”

The arm was twisted but the alien did not have bones that broke like a human’s would have, and Ford lost his grip.

“Happier. How are the kids? WHOA!”

He kicked the person’s legs out before they could turn around.

“In high school – oof!”

Hoping that they had a windpipe, he pulled them into a headlock and crushed down on their throat.

“Doing okay?”

Julian was unconscious on the ground nearby, bleeding from a head wound, but it looked as though he had brought a shapeshifter down beforehand, so that was a win. Clive was being throttled against a wall. Ford would go there next.

“They hate it,”

The assassin’s struggles ceased. He dropped them and sprinted for Clive, pulling the next enemy around to face him and catching him off-guard with a swift right-hook. An uppercut took him out completely. Clive collapsed on the floor, retching.

“Fair enou-AUGH!”

Ford whipped around to the last fighting pair, and saw Addi stumbling from a blow to the head. She fell to her knees and the purple soldier knocked the sword out of her hand. She stomped on the hilt and a spark of electricity showed him that the portable E-field had just been broken. Then, the staticky feeling to the air vanished. Two minutes had passed.

Addi did not seem able to get up.

The assassin turned and looked him directly in the eyes.

“Weapons are up,” she said softly, drawing her gun, aiming at him, and flicking to stun setting, “and I win.”

Ford reached for his own gun, but the holster was empty. It had clattered out of his hand long ago. Shitshitshit, she’s going to kill Addi once you’re out, think of something, think of something NOW-

With a sickening plunging sound, the blade of a sword came through the left side of her chest. That species did not have any blood to lose, but it must have hurt regardless. She screamed and reached behind her to remove it, throwing it off to the side and glaring down at Adeline, whose reserves of strength were severely depleted after that throw.

The soldier hissed and shot her in a burst of light. Ford’s heart stopped, but the way she fell silently was obviously displeasing to the assassin.

“Goddamn stun setting,” she said murderously, flicking it off and re-aiming. In her pain she had forgotten him.

Ford slammed into her and drove her to the ground. They were both grappling for the gun, the only available weapon. Despite suffering severe bodily trauma, she was still among the best fighters Ford had ever encountered. Her red eyes burned hatefully into his as they trapped each other in a lock. An endurance test then. He poured all his strength into attempting to overpower her, favouring her injured side. She yelled through her teeth . . . then twisted, slid out of his grip, and flung an elbow into his solar plexus to wind him and knock him flat. She put the gun to his head, and did not seem to care that it was no longer on stun setting. In the split second before she fired, Ford thought –

- he saw something move behind her.

A blur of black metal, a clang, a shudder that went through the assassin’s entire body, and she slumped over. Ford looked up into his niece’s wide grin.

“HA! Yeah! Take that you – you mean lady who Addi still likes for some reason!” Mabel dropped the baton she was holding and offered a hand to help him up.

“Well done!” he said, taking in deep breaths and pushing his multitude of aches and pains to the back of his mind.

“Is Addi okay?” Mabel asked worriedly as they knelt down beside her.

“She should be fine, she’s just stunned,” Ford reassured her, checking her breathing and pulse. Addi jerked up, grabbed his wrist, and was about to headbutt him when he said, “Whoa, Adeline, it’s me, you’re safe!”

“It’s all over, Addi,” Mabel said comfortingly.

Addi untensed and allowed them to hug her, still looking disorientated. “Ouch.” she said as she lifted a hand to her head. “Netessa was never into ‘going easy’,”

Ford gently removed the hand and examined where she had been hit.

“That was really quick, by the way,” Mabel observed. “I thought it would be like half an hour before you were up,”

“The more you get stunned, the more you start to resist.” she said nonchalantly. “It’s like my secret weapon now.”

“Cool,” grinned Mabel.

Ford winced. That had been one nasty blow. He held up a hand. “How many fingers do you see?”

“If you were anyone else, I’d think six was wrong.” Addi said warmly. Then she frowned. “I don’t think they should be blurry, though.”

“Most likely a concussion. We’ll find somewhere to rest,”

“Not here.” Addi said urgently. “We need to leave. Wesley’s still going to be looking for us. I charged the portal beacon yesterday, so we should stay ahead of him for now.”

A groan behind them. They looked to see Clive lifting Julian onto a miraculously undamaged couch.

“Clive, I’m so sorry,” began Addi, also trying to get to her feet. She wobbled precariously, and latched onto Ford.

“Addi, we know you wouldn’t have come if you thought you were being followed,” said Clive weakly, “so don’t beat yourself up about it.” Then with a bloody-toothed grin, he added, “If you need any help, let us know. We’d be happy to pay Wesley back.”

⃝

Ford knelt on the floor with Addi and helped her ready the portal beacon for reception.

“Okay guys,” They looked around at Mabel. She held out a faintly glowing something in each hand. “I have made these with love, friendship, and string!” she handed them over. “You will not use them for science experiments,” she glared at Ford, “or for technology,” she glared at Addi, “you will love them, you will treasure them, and they will act as lucky charms. Most importantly, they are impossible to separate from each other. I know this because I made them, so they have to do what I want.” she finished brightly.

“I don’t think that’s how lucky charms wor-” began Addi.

“Hush! Yes it is,”

Ford looked down at the item. Many small endo-ergon quartz crystals had been threaded through a ragged and dirty piece of string. Mabel had tied both ends of her own around her wrist.

She had managed to make the friendship bracelets.

“I don’t wanna lose you guys,” a very small voice said, so softly he was not sure Mabel had meant to say it aloud at all.

Addi carefully reached over and tied the ends for him. He did the same for her. Then he looked up in time to see some imperceptible lines of concern disappear from his niece’s face, lines which he had not even noticed were there until they were gone.

He turned slightly so he could take in both her face and Addi’s, who was staring at the bracelet with a small smile. How the hell did I get so lucky? he thought, pulling them both close. Mabel refused to let go for a while, and Addi kissed both their foreheads. The stars on their hands shone.

[purpleshellsforyou]

Baba

Daddy Jefferson

Part 4 of 7

Original writer (@yrs-forevr) version here!

TW: None

Time: Hamiltime

Word Count: 1593

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4- you're here!| 5 | 6 | E

Thomas Jefferson x Reader

“He’s old enough to go! And don’t you want to see what I do for work?”

“He’s not even a year old yet! He isn’t going to understand anything!

“He’s going to grow up in politics either way, why not make it early?” Jefferson replied in a playfully snarky tone.

“I don’t want him to disrupt the meeting. The rare times that Asher is typically asleep line up with the meeting, and I don’t want him to wake up in a fit and ruin your meeting.”

“I haven’t met everyone that’s going to be there, but I know that most of the men there have children anyway. They know what having a baby is like. Besides, Washington loves kids and I don’t want to leave you here alone while I’m in New York.”

“Won’t the meeting be closed to cabinet members anyway?”

“I’ll make sure that you get clearance. I think I may have an ‘outside expert’ sit in on this financial plan.”

Upon seeing the disbelief on her face, he added “Relax. It will be fine for you and Asher.”

“Thomas Jefferson, always hesitant with the President

Reticent—there isn’t a plan he doesn’t jettison

Madison, you’re mad as a hatter, son, take your medicine

Damn, you’re in worse shape than the national debt is in”

Things were not going fine. Bringing a 7-month-old to a cabinet meeting was not a good idea. Asher had been sound asleep, despite the noise, in his mother’s arms. That was until the name “Thomas Jefferson” left Hamilton’s mouth.

“Turn around, bend over, I’ll show you

Where my shoe fits!”

The last outburst was all it took for him to start wailing. Trying her damndest not to interrupt anything more than she already had, Y/N tried to quickly leave the room with Asher so that she could try to calm him down and figure out what he needed. Hamilton, being a father himself, fortunately wasn’t too phased by the crying baby. He gave Y/N a glance before turning to Washington in time to hear the president ordering him to ‘take a walk’.

Jefferson’s concentration, on the other hand, was completely broken. His political facade of confidence fell in an instant, the mask coming off and his attention immediately turned to Asher and Y/N.  

He quickly brushed off Washington’s words, hurrying out into the hall after Y/N. Hamilton’s voice chased after Jefferson, a taunting:

“You wouldn’t know a good debt plan if it flew in front of your face. I saw you walk in the room. I doubt you could see the freedom that I fought to gain from the bed you made with a married woman.”

James had followed Thomas across the room, and he tried to hide his smile as Alexander approached an energized Jefferson, the two of them taunting back a jarring

“Don’t you dare drag my personal life into this again, or you’re gonna regret it. I have never touched that woman. She’s a better parent than I’m sure you ever have been.

“Besides, you don’t have the votes to pass your plan. Congressional approval is such a wonderful hurdle that you’re too short to jump. Keep on yelling obscenities and see where that gets you.”

Before James could back up his statement, Thomas was walking out of the room. His coat flying fiercely behind him, he rushed to find the mother and baby to try and help. They weren’t difficult to find, all it took was for him to follow the sound of crying. Asher had quieted down significantly, no doubt a result of his mother lightly bouncing him and talking to him softly.

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s okay. Still fussy, but better. I’m so sorry that he woke up in the meeting. Is the president upset? I should go and apologize. I told you that bringing Asher and I was a bad idea.”

“Washington? He’s upset, but it’s not at you. The whole situation wasn’t what he was hoping for.”

“I’ll go get my things so we can leave. May you please take Asher? I don’t want him to get even more upset from going back in the meeting room.”

“Absolutely. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure I can get him to quiet down.”

Y/N rolled her eyes in a way that indicated she believed otherwise. Asher was sniffling and pulling on his blanket as she handed him carefully to Thomas before quickly going to gather her personal items and Asher’s things she has with her. James soon found his friend in the hall, still baffled at the sudden exit he had taken. When he saw him cradling a baby in his arms, his confusion only grew.

“Thomas, why did you practically run away? We can’t let Hamilton win. Not that he could, but he can't leave thinking that he has. What are you doing with a baby? Oh, no. Is this from another one of your French ‘flings’?”

Jefferson shot him a look, completely disregarding his other questions.

“This is Asher. He’s not mine.”

“What? Whose child are you holding? Bring them back to their family! What the hell did you do in France?”

Thomas couldn't help but laugh at his friend’s worries. Despite James’s less than stellar health, the man could run his mouth if he wanted to. Jefferson hadn’t even thought about indiscretions in months... All of his focus had been on getting the minimal amount of work done so that he could spend time with Y/N and Ash. Before he could explain all that had happened, the boy in question broke his train of thought. His little lungs had stopped heaving and let out a surprisingly happy “Da!”

It felt like everything stopped. James, who hadn’t even heard the whole story, was the one to pull Jefferson a bit closer back to the reality of the situation.

“Thomas, if he’s not yours, then he definitely shouldn’t be calling you that.”

“I didn’t teach him that... There isn’t anyone else that could have besides Y/N.”

“Christ, Thomas, how many people did I miss you meeting?”

“She’s his mother.”

“Then why would she-”

“She’s Y/N Abraham. Hunter’s wife.”

Madison’s face set in recognition, then into horror and pain. He let out a breathy ‘oh’, looking now more sadly at the infant in his friend’s arms. He was visibly healthy, and judging by the scene he had made in the meeting room, he had a strong set of lungs.

Washington rounded the corner, presumably returning from talking to Alexander considering that he was rubbing his temples and walking harshly. He always looked tired and a bit frustrated after speaking with his so-called ‘right-hand man’. His eyes lightened when he saw a baby cradled in the Secretary of State’s grasp.

“Who’s this little soldier? Would he happen to be the one that called out Alexander today?”

James chuckled warmly, seeming to be the only one that fully appreciated the general’s sense of humor.

“He catches on quickly to the difference between right and wrong.” Thomas replied smoothly.

“May I hold him?” Washington asked without a second thought, looking at Asher rather than Jefferson.

He was hesitant. It wasn’t his child, but Y/N surely wouldn’t mind and his protective feeling over the boy was too strong for Jefferson to feel comfortable with. Before he could speak, Y/N had rounded the corner once again, baby bag in hand, and replied for him.

“Of course you may, President Washington. I am so sorry for his outburst earlier.”

He smiled at the young lady greeting him, putting two and two together and figuring out she must be the mother.

“Not a problem at all, ma’am. The meeting was finishing up anyway and everyone understands that this little guy has a mind of his own. There is no fault, but thank you for your apology regardless.” He turned his attention to Thomas. “I hope that this is your grounds for not coming up to New York sooner, Mr. Jefferson. I can’t imagine that there would be any better reason. I’m sorry that I haven't sent anything, I was unaware that you had a child or a wife.”

Y/N cut in without hesitation to answer for Thomas. “Oh! No, that isn’t the case. I’m afraid that we are guilty of holding him in Monticello, but we are not married. Asher is my son. Mr. Jefferson is merely a friend that is helping my son and I after my husband passed away at the end of the war.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, miss. I don’t know what I'd do without my Martha.”

Thomas pretended that he didn’t feel a sharp sting in his heart at the word ‘friend’. He tried to regulate his heartbeat to little avail, ignoring the little voice in his head that said “Stop. You shouldn’t be feeling that. She’s your guest and good friend. Leave it at that before you make her uncomfortable.”

Asher seemed to be enjoying the president’s arms quite a bit. He was beaming up at the general with green eyes and a gurgling smile. The older man smiled back. He liked most children but Asher especially grabbed at his heartstrings. He understood that it was difficult to raise a child alone, but it seemed that Thomas had that covered. He bumped Ash around a bit, happy with himself once he got a small excited squeal from him. He was even more surprised when the infant joyfully exclaimed:

“Baba!”

Y/N looked on in happy shock while Jefferson kept the fact that it was not, in fact, Asher’s first word to himself.

[andaneum]

No Longer Alone: A Reylo Fanfic Chapter 5 FB

3 years earlier…

           A persistent flashing light woke Rey from her sleep, blinding in the darkness of the hut. Fortunately, the large, warm body she’d been resting on didn’t also respond to the bright light as she picked herself up and lifted her sleeve to see what was happening.

           The binary beacon that Leia had given her to find her way home was pulsing red, meaning that she’d sent out her own personal distress code and her friends were in danger. It was the code that was only used when things were so desperate, there seemed to be almost no hope.

           Rey’s first instinct was just to jump in a ship and fly back to the Supremacy, hoping that the Resistance hadn’t travelled so far that she’d no longer be able to sense them in the area. But she forced herself to stop and rethink.

          It had taken them so many hours to reach Ahch-To before. Even if she left immediately, it was unlikely she’d reach her friends in time to help. And besides, she had other commitments now. She turned her head to look down at Ben’s face.

          He was so peaceful in sleep, with all the anger and turmoil vanishing as though they’d never been there at all. If he woke here to find her gone, he’d see it as a betrayal of her promises. He wouldn’t accept her explanations, his world was too black and white to accept her own variations of grey.

           She left the hut, the cold wind of the planet hitting her hard and focusing her thoughts, and moved towards their ship. The lights lifted automatically as she entered, reacting to her presence. She removed the bracelet and attached it to the main console. With a few commands to the ship, it began transmitting Leia’s distress signal across the galaxy.

           Hopefully, with the ships modern technology and upgrades, it would be able to reach far enough for her. Hopefully, Chewie would hear their message.

-----------------------------------------------

           It only took a day from their arrival for Rey to begin feeling the flickering of Ben’s consciousness from the other side of the bond. It was faint, his thoughts hadn’t quite returned to him yet, but she knew it wouldn’t take long for him to be fully conscious again. Clearly, they had underestimated him and how long it would take to break out of Luke’s hold.

           As childish and undeserved as it was, she felt annoyed with him for cutting her time with her master so short. They may not have always seen eye to eye, and it was true that she still blamed him many things, but Luke had spent the last twenty-four hours slowly guiding her through the basics of blocking her mind from others.

          ‘Imagine a wall in your mind, let it surround your thoughts.’ He instructed her.

          ‘She gave him a disbelieving look, ‘Is that it? Just a wall?’

          Luke rolled his eyes at his young pupil in that annoying way he did whenever he thought she was being purposely obtuse.

          ‘No. It’s only the beginning, the first line of your defences. Within your walls you must create a maze, hiding your most precious secrets deep inside it. Those memories with less importance become obstacles, used to trick and divert anyone who would want to delve deeper.’

          It was still very early, but at least she now felt that she had the tools to build something with. In time, she was sure she would be able to keep Ben out completely, if she ever needed to.

           And so together, they began the task of getting him onto the ship, gently bundling him up in blankets then levitating him up the ramp, paying special care not to jostle his still healing injuries.

           ‘Rey.’ She heard Ben slowly groan out her name as they moved him, his voice sounding pained as he did so. It wouldn’t be long before he woke up.

           She settled him on the ship’s lone bunk, concerned that he still looked to be in pain despite not moving, before she headed back outside and turned to face her Jedi master, ‘We need to go. But, thank you.’

           ‘It’s the least I could do for you both.’ His eyes were fond as he looked over the ship that now held his nephew. ‘You were right about him. There’s still a light there that I’d given up on ever seeing again. Let’s hope that now you have him on this path, he can stay there.’

           Luke would never understand the depth of her desire to make that happen, not for her own sake, but for the countless lives that could be lost if Ben chose the dark side again. Kylo Ren was someone she would not allow to return to the galaxy.

           ‘And what about you?’ She asked.

           Luke shrugged his shoulders tightly, ‘Ah, you know me. I’ll always be here.’

           ‘You won’t go back to the Resistance? Leia could still do with your help rebuilding.’

           Rey still remembered how excited Leia had seemed at the idea of getting her brother back. It broke her heart a little to know that she hadn’t been able to persuade him of his importance to the Resistance. He was a legend, and his legacy had inflamed the hopes of so many across the galaxy.

          ‘I still have much to atone for, my place is here. You’re so young, but one day you’ll understand.’ Her instincts told her that he was hiding something, that he wasn’t only talking about his mistakes with Ben, but it wasn’t her place to pry further. She could only leave him with these words.

          ‘Then, may the force be with you, Master Skywalker.’

          ‘And with you.’ He responded with a smile. It had been too long since he’d last heard those words, and he let the meaning of them wash over him as he watched her walking away. There was light once more in the galaxy, and his only hope was that the balance wouldn’t shift once more if they learned of what he and his sister had done to ensure this.

          She boarded the ship and prepared it for take-off, harder to do without a co-pilot beside her. They lifted away, and she saw her master holding up his mechanical hand to her in farewell.

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          ‘No!’ Ben jerked upright in his bunk, flinching from the pain of his cracked ribs before tossing his head around wildly, looking for some unseen threat. It took him a moment to regain his bearings. She looked over her shoulder at him, and once he saw her there he relaxed a little, scrubbing his hand roughly down his face.

          ‘I’m here. How are you feeling?’ She asked.

          His voice was still rough from sleep and disuse, ‘Like hell. What happened?’

          ‘That depends on what you last remember…’ She replied sheepishly. She could feel his mind try to enter her own, but the tightening of what little defences she had alerted him to what he was doing. He withdrew. Snoke had always instructed him to never place a rein on his powers and it was a behaviour he’d have to force himself to unlearn.

          ‘We were in the throne room, and there was… an explosion maybe? After that there’s nothing.’ He took a proper look at his surroundings, ‘I’ve missed something, this isn’t the Supremacy. How did we get here?’

          Good, he didn’t remember anything about their escape or sojourn on Ahch-To.

          ‘It’s Snoke’s escape pod, well, ship I suppose. He didn’t really do things by halves did he?’ Ben looked unimpressed by her comment as she became distracted by the modern electronics and tech surrounding them. He supposed it had been some time since she’d seen mechanics like these, if she ever had.

          She slowly came back to herself, remembering that she wasn’t alone, ‘Sorry. I got you into the ship and we got away. Luckily for us, the First Order were too busy with the Resistance and their fleet being destroyed to notice Snoke’s ship jettisoning away. I think they might have had one or two questions if they’d seen us. I patched you up as best I could, but you’ve been out for a couple of days now.’

          He looked confused for a second, ‘What do you mean, their ships were destroyed?’

          ‘That’s the thing, I don’t know. They looked as though they’d been torn apart, most of them were just completely split in two. And there was this strange white trail going right through the middle, that must have been what caused everything. But the Resistance don’t have that kind of weaponry, so how…?’ Her voice trailed off.

          He thought it over in his mind, ‘They must have jumped their main craft to lightspeed, right through the centre of the fleet. It’s the only explanation for the white trail and the destruction of that many ships at once. Their main ship was the only one they had that would have been big enough to do that kind of damage.’

          ‘It wasn’t Leia was it?’ He could practically taste her fear.

          For a moment, it seemed as though he wouldn’t tell her. He didn’t want to tell her. It was humiliating that even after all these years he still couldn’t shake the bond between himself and his mother. But he at least owed the girl this, especially as it seemed she’d saved his life in the throne room.

          ‘It wasn’t, I can still feel her. She’s alive, somewhere.’

          ‘Is she safe?’ She continued.

          ‘I neither know, nor wish to know.’ He was ending the conversation there, his mother still a touchy subject for him. His priority now was making sure she hadn’t done something foolish of while he’d been unconscious, ‘Where are we heading?’

          ‘I don’t know, I was hoping that you might have some ideas.’

          ‘So, we’ve spent the last few days just floating around in space? What were you planning on doing if I hadn’t woken up?’ His face was a mix of shock and frustration. She’d just been flying around, hoping that they wouldn’t be picked up by anyone?

          ‘Don’t give me that look.’ She said angrily, ‘I’ve spent most of my life on Jakku, what makes you think I know anything about the galaxy? I had no idea which planets would be safe for us, considering that we’re fugitives flying a stolen First Order ship.’

          Her words sounded sincere enough, but in truth, she hadn’t even looked at a map. In the few hours since leaving Ahch-To, her sole aim had been to get away from the planet, hoping that by the time Ben woke up he wouldn’t be able to recognise the sector they were in from Luke’s unfinished map.

          He got up gingerly from the bunk, releasing a hiss as a sharp pain gripped his side. He lifted his shirt to see a large purple bruise mottling his skin. His ribs had been injured, at least severely bruised judging from the pain he was in. Rey got up to support and help him over to the co-pilot’s seat, where he pressed a few buttons, and a galactic map appeared in front of them.

          Luckily, as Snoke’s apprentice, he’d always had a contingency plan formed in case he’d needed to run from the order. He’d seen it as an inevitably, rather than a precaution. He studied the map, working out the best route for them to take. ‘It looks like we’re here, in the Unknown Regions.’ He pointed to the far left of the map, ‘I suggest that we head to Coruscant.’

          ‘Coruscant?’ She said incredulously, ‘You really think we’ll be safe there?  There are billions of people there, if any of them recognise us, we’re dead!’

          ‘Actually, there’s over a trillion,’ He said absently, ‘Look, whatever the Resistance managed to destroy with their stunt doesn’t matter. The First Order has ships stationed all over the galaxy to track us with and if we’ve been sitting here for two days, then they’ve likely taken the chance to regroup. That means they’ll have already sent search parties out to find us. If Hux is in charge now then regardless of where he thinks my loyalties lie, he’ll be trying to kill me. With so many people there, Coruscant is the perfect place for two fugitives to blend in.’

          She couldn’t argue with his logic, though the idea of being surrounded by so many people still worried her.

          ‘Trust me. I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way, I swear.’ He was looking at her straight in the eye, and whatever she was about to say died in her mouth.

          ‘Okay.’

          ‘First we need to get a new ship. If anyone from the First Order finds us in this, they’ll take us in straight away.’ He searched the map for somewhere they could safely trade a stolen ship but being so far away from the Mid and Inner Rims, their choices were limited.

          ‘There are two planets we could go to. One’s called Csilla, but it’s not ideal.’ He pointed to a planet above their current position. ‘It’s a bit out of the way, and the people there aren’t particularly trusting of outsiders, but that’s not my biggest worry.’ She waited for him to continue, ‘They’re smart and cunning. It’s not unlikely that if they see us in this ship, they’ll recognise it immediately and alert the First Order.’

          ‘Then that planet’s out.’ She said firmly, ‘I didn’t drag you out of a burning ship and spend two days patching you up just for us to be captured straight away. What’s the other option?’

          He was silent for a moment, ‘You’re not going to like it.’

          She raised an eyebrow at him.

          ‘It’s Jakku.’ All the breath left her in a rush. She’d never thought she’d go back there once she’d left, especially not so soon. She’d left so much of herself behind there, so much of her past.

          He turned back to the map, determination set upon his face. He’d sensed her distress through the bond, even though she had hidden it from her face. ‘I’m setting course for Csilla.’

          But she’d grown so much since she’d left, she knew she was strong enough for this. ‘No, no. We go wherever’s safest. That’s Jakku. The scavengers there won’t care where this ship came from, only how much they can get for the parts. And the First Order has no hold there.’

          ‘Yes, it’s perfect, except that you clearly can’t hold it together. Even the mention of that damn wasteland and you become useless. We’re going to Csilla.’

          She slapped his hands away from the controls. ‘I’m fine.’ She said through gritted teeth, ‘And we’re going to Jakku.’

          He once again reached to input the coordinates for Csilla, but his hand froze before he could touch the control panel. She was using her powers to stop him. His hand began shaking with the effort of trying to break her hold on him, but he couldn’t. Her raw strength was incredible.

          Eventually he gave up, jerking his hand back to his body. He wasn’t used to being at the mercy of the force, it had only ever been Snoke who’d held such power over him. He could see the smug grin she was trying to fight, and it infuriated him. He stood up slowly, still mindful of his injuries.

          ‘Fine. Do what the hell you want, but I won’t be helping you when something happens.’ He leaned in close to her face, his voice menacing and low when he spoke, but she wouldn’t be cowed by him. She knew he couldn’t hurt her. ‘And don’t you EVER do that to me again.’ He stormed away from the cockpit.

          But she couldn’t help herself, ‘Maybe if you stopped being such an arse, then I wouldn’t have to!’ She shouted over her shoulder to him, quickly regretting it as she realised how childish she was acting. She sighed, just another conversation between them that had devolved into threats and insults. How were they going to do this?

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          It took them several hours to reach Jakku, with Ben quickly returning to his bunk. But Rey was grateful for the silence, needing a break from his unpredictable moods. She could hear him tossing and turning from her seat, seemingly in the throes of yet another nightmare, but she was unwilling to go to him. She was sure he wouldn’t appreciate knowing that she’d seen him like this.

          She landed their ship on the outskirts of one of Niima Outpost’s multiple junk trader lots and began moving noisily around the cabin. But, it wasn’t until she lowered the noisy hydraulic ramp though that he woke up and began to prepare himself for the planet’s surface.

          With no change of clothes and only being able to remove their outermost layers due to burning, they were both woefully underprepared for the heat after the cold of space. It hit them like a wall and sweat immediately began beading on their foreheads as they left the ship.

          It was only a matter of seconds before they spotted a trader walking slowly towards them. He was human, and Rey recognised him immediately as one of Plutt’s associates, often using the parts she’d scavenged to patch up his ships.

          She’d been considering leaving Ben to get them a new ship to run an errand, not sure if he would be okay with the haggling that naturally came to trading on backwater planets such as these. But on seeing the trader, she’d made up her mind.

          ‘Can you take care of this?’ She asked.

          He looked confused, ‘Where are you going?’

          ‘We’re going to be here for a few hours and I have someone I want to see. I left her without saying goodbye.’ She could see his reluctance, ‘I won’t be far.’ She added.

          ‘Don’t take too long.’ Even though it was completely irrational, he didn’t want her wandering around alone, not now she had him with her. But she could protect herself well enough and he could hardly deny her this one thing before she left with him.

          She turned, and not far in the distance, she spotted an old woman attending to the few plants she’d been able to grow in front of her home. Syndal was the only healer in the small settlement and had always watched over Rey from afar.

          She was also known at the Outpost for being somewhat of a mystery. She had visions sometimes, premonitions. Before, Rey had just believed her to be crazy, but now that she had more knowledge of the force, she was certain that Syndal was a force sensitive too.

          She was also the closest thing to a mother that Rey could remember having.

          She approached her slowly, and the old woman looked up, eyes narrowed against the glaring sun, before returning to her plants when she saw who it was ‘You’ve been gone for a while. Everyone thought you’d been eaten by the birds.’

          Rey laughed, ‘Did you?’

          ‘No. I knew better.’ Syndal said solemnly, and the laughs died in Rey’s throat as she took in her words. At least someone on Jakku had believed in her enough to think she wasn’t dead.

          ‘So, where did you go?’ the old woman continued.

          Rey was unsure exactly how much of her story it was safe to share. Syndal may have been the only person she’d been close to on Jakku, but that didn’t mean she trusted her.

          ‘I just… left.’

          The woman once again looked up at the young girl before her, her eyes scrutinising and making Rey feel as though her secrets were being laid bare. The seconds felt like hours before Syndal sniffed and continued talking. ‘No one just leaves this place, girl. But if you’re keeping things close to your chest then that’s up to you. Anyway, if you finally managed to get away, I’m wondering more why you’ve come back?’

          ‘We need a new ship. Ours is… well, let’s just say there’s some people who might be wanting it back.’ Not exactly a lie, but not the full truth either. Better to let the old woman think they’d just stolen the ship from someone than tell her everything that had happened since she’d left Jakku.

          ‘We?’ Her tone didn’t even sound surprised, more curious than anything else.

          ‘Yeah, just me and a…’ How could she finish that sentence? She could barely wrap her own mind around the truth, let alone try to explain it to someone else. It had been a very confusing few weeks. ‘He’s a friend.’

          She hummed knowingly. Not much got past the old woman.

          Syndal squinted into the distance, using her gnarled hand to shield her eyes from the harsh midday sun, ‘Handsome friend you got there. In this situation, I’d normally ask the girl if she was leaving here willingly, but you can take of yourself. Besides, if you’ve got someone coming after you over that ship then it can’t hurt to have an extra pair of hands on board.’

          Rey smiled gratefully, happy that the old woman cared enough to think of asking yet respected her enough not to ask. But she hadn’t come here to discuss her current situation.

          ‘Syndal…’

          ‘I know, I know.’ The old woman waved her off, before she stood upright, stretching out her back with several loud cracks and moved inside. When she returned a few moments later, she was carrying a small brown sack.

          ‘I couldn’t get everything, but what was left behind after the scavengers went through it is in here.’

          Rey took the bag from her and peered into it. What was left of her home, fifteen years of her life on the planet all condensed into a sack. There was barely anything in it, and what was there were only the things with no monetary value.

          ‘Thank you, truly.’ She said, and the old woman nodded in return.

          ‘Did you…?’ Something in the back of her head began to bristle. She sensed him before she saw whatever it was that had sparked his ire. Without a thought, she turned and started running as fast as she could to where Ben was stood, the trader cowering on the ground in front of him. The sand sucked her feet down with every step, making it all the harder to get to him before he did something stupid.

          She skidded to a stop in front of him, holding her hands out in front of his face. She looked to his clenched fists, grateful that she’d insisted he leave his lightsaber behind to avoid drawing attention.

          ‘STOP! Whatever it is you’re doing, Ben, just stop!’ She shouted breathlessly.

          ‘Get out of the way.’ He growled. He started to move past her, but his footsteps were faltering. She was using her powers on him again. This time though, he had his anger and the pain from his injuries to fuel his own, and he broke out of her hold easily.

          ‘I told you to never do that again!’ He shouted at her.

          ‘You need to stop. This is ridiculous, every time I turn around you’re…’ He’d begun to move past her again, determined to get to the man behind her. She reached out, grabbing his uncovered hand, and everything stopped.

          It was as though she’d been sucked into his mind, seeing everything from his perspective. Their thoughts overlapped, and she could barely tell anymore where he ended, and she began. The trader was no longer cowering on the floor, but rather stood proudly in front of her. He was rambling, extolling the virtues of a ship that, as any trained eye could easily tell, seemed to be missing several key components. It was garbage, and both she and Ben knew it.

          Ben’s head twisted round, bored by the man who obviously didn’t know when to stop talking.

          What was he doing? Oh, she thought. He was keeping an eye on her. He didn’t trust the people here and he was humouring the trader because his lot was perfectly positioned to continue watching her.

          ‘So, you’re taking the scavenger with you?’ The trader had finally noticed his customer’s disinterest, choosing to change the subject to common ground since he knew that Rey was with him. Ben turned back to him, his face neutral.

          ‘What do you mean?’

          ‘Just that she’s a good choice. Girls round here will do anything for a few portions. And that one, she’s feisty. I tried her myself, a few years ago. Got what I needed from her, but she’s not my usual type. She might work for you though, you look like you might enjoy the challenge!’ He began laughing, but Ben didn’t join in.

          His fun soon ended, his hands moving to grasp his throat. He was clawing at it furiously, his air supply completely cut off by Ben’s mental grip on him. He was lifted from his feet, slowly rising to be level with his captor, before being dropped unceremoniously to the sands. Something had caught Ben’s attention. It was her, running to him.

          And, just as suddenly as it had come, her view of the past ended. She was sucked back into her own mind, her own body, doubled over and gulping down huge lungfuls of air.

          But Ben had recovered more quickly than her, and he was already storming away. He’d seen something, just as she had, and it scared her to think what it could have been. She went to reach out again but stopped herself. She didn’t want another vision to occur if she touched him.

          She gathered her strength, still unsteady from her ordeal, and chased him down again. It was a small blessing that, even with his powers fuelling him, he was slower than usual.

          ‘What did you see?’ He ignored her.

          ‘Ben, so help me. I will jump in the ship and leave without you if you don’t fucking stop!’

          That caught his attention, but it made her feel immediately guilty. Using the threat of abandoning him was never something she’d wanted to do, not since she’d felt in the throne room just how deep his insecurities ran.

          He stopped, breathing deeply as he tried to control his actions, and she moved to stand in front of him. ‘What did you see?’ She said, much more calmly this time.

          His eyes screwed closed, as though he couldn’t stop replaying the images in his head, but despising himself for doing so, ‘It was… I saw… some creature. He had his hands all over you. He wanted you.’ She knew without him saying the name exactly who he was referring to. It was Plutt.

          She wanted to tell him that nothing had happened, that as soon as Plutt had tried to start something with her, she hadn't hesitated to beat him senseless, that she'd only returned to working for him because she'd had no choice and he'd needed her. But she was certain Ben had already seen that in the vision, and yet he was still seething. How could she get him to calm down? 

          ‘Ben…’

          ‘He can’t have you, you’re mine.’ His eyes flashed open, and the possession in both them and his voice frightened her.

          She tried to put her own feelings aside, wanting her mind to be clear as she finally expressed her thoughts, ‘We can’t do this. Every time I turn around you’re doing… something! Even when you’re calm, and you seem happy, I’m worried that something will happen to upset you, and you… you just change so suddenly, Ben. I can’t spend the rest of my life always watching you to make sure you’re not trying to kill someone. We’re just going around in circles.’

          The fight left him a little at that. He went to speak, but she stopped him.

          ‘You won’t argue with me on this. I know what he did, I was there, remember?’ She said with a small, forced smile. ‘But you don’t see me running to find him, as much as I may want to.’

          She took a step closer, finally feeling brave enough to grasp at his still clenched fist. ‘You told me in the throne room that I needed to let my past go. And I have. When we leave here today, that’ll be it. I won’t be coming back again. Everything I’m taking with me is in this bag.’ She raised the small sack she was still holding onto, ‘A few trinkets that the scavengers didn’t even think were worthy of stealing. All the bad memories I have of this place will be buried. But you need to do the same. Can you let it go?’

          His reply was instant, he knew that she could ask him nearly anything and he would agree to it, ‘I can try.’

          She shook her head at him, ‘No, that’s not good enough. I need you to swear to me that you will. You’re not a child anymore, and I won’t be your babysitter for the rest of my life.’

          ‘I swear. For you.’

          It frightened her, how much she believed his vow. Everything about their situation frightened her, though she’d never admit it aloud. The depths of his emotions were astounding, especially given that they’d only been on speaking terms for a few weeks now. He’d needed someone to place all his feelings of loneliness and abandonment on, hoping that they could fix him, and now they had this force bond between them, she had become his emotional crutch.

          But looking back on their times together, even before they’d run away, she couldn’t help but think that she was encouraging him, and maybe even doing the same thing.

          ‘From now on, when you feel yourself losing control, you come find me. No matter when it is, or where I am. I won’t let innocent people die because you can’t control yourself.’

          He nodded slowly, knowing that he was being chided but not caring how much she was treating him like a child. ‘And what do we do about him?’

          She looked down at the trader in disgust. He hadn’t moved from the ground, and Rey wondered if that was through fear or Ben’s own powers forcing him to stay still. ‘Nothing. We leave him, there are plenty of other traders around here prepared to give us a ship. He’s nothing to us.’

          Ben nodded slowly in understanding, then suddenly crumpled in half. Now that his anger had subsided, he was left with only the pain from his injuries, protesting strongly at his recent exertions. Rey threw his arm over her shoulder, pulling him up to standing with only a small groan for him.

          ‘You should go back to the ship.’

          ‘I’m fine.’ He said stoically.

          They began walking away, but there was something still bothering him, ‘Was he telling the truth? Did he…?’ He couldn’t even bring himself to say the words, trying to stop himself imagining a young Rey, willing to do anything to alleviate the pain and hunger that came from living in such harsh surroundings.

          ‘No, but would it matter if he was?’ She asked, curious as to how he’d reply.

          ‘No.’ He said, ‘I’m learning to let it go, remember?’

          Was that supposed to be an attempt at humour? The small smile she saw on his lips indicated that it was. It was dreadful, she thought. But the fact that he was making an effort was such a step for him, a show that he was willing to try. She was sure it had been a very long time since he’d last been able to smile, and she decided to play along with him.

          ‘I should think so. But you know that ship he was trying to sell you? It was terrible. I mean, really, it was awful! Even a child could have told you it was a piece of garbage.’

          ‘Well then, if you think you can do better scavenger, lead the way.’ And for the first time she felt as though he wasn’t using that word as an insult, that to him, it was just who she was.

Chapter 6

[sage-nebula]

What do you think will happen with shiro-replica once they find out he's a clone?

No, no, not “Shiro-replica”—Shireplica. It’s a portmanteau, a play on words by combining Shiro and replica at the point where they share a letter. ;) It rolls off the tongue much more easily, don’t you think?

Anyway, I don’t know. In truth, I still don’t know entirely how I feel about him. Or more specifically … 

I know that I’m upset with him for being such a bastard toward Keith. It’s entirely possible he’s not intending to be this way; he has all of Shiro’s memories, as far as we’re aware, so he must know that Keith is someone he is friends with, someone he has been as good as family with for a long time, and therefore I would like to think there’s some part of him that cares. But I think that with Shireplica, the problem is that he knows this, but doesn’t feel it. He’s not acting toward Keith the way the real Shiro would. The real Shiro would not agree that the team needs him, as if Keith’s leadership wasn’t good enough. (Which again, might not have been how the “yeah” was supposed to be read, but that’s how it came off.) The real Shiro would not railroad over Keith during mission briefings, or wouldn’t ignore Keith’s “sorry” and step back—wouldn’t be so dismissive of Keith’s ideas. The real Shiro would not shout and yell at him during missions, once again refusing to listen or even consider that he might know what he’s doing. And though Shireplica apologized at the end of 3x06, it felt far less like a genuine apology, and far more of an attempt to smooth things over, especially with the way he apologized:

“Sorry I had to step in back there.”

Shireplica wasn’t acknowledging that he did something wrong. Rather, he was more or less justifying what he did by saying that he had to do it, i.e., Keith made him do it. Never mind that Keith is the only reason why that mission was a success, because he was able to think on his feet quickly enough to maneuver Voltron out of the way so that Acxa’s blast would hit the cargo ship instead (which in fairness Shireplica does acknowledge, but only after his non-apology falls flat). No, Shireplica instead justifies what he did by saying he had to do it, and then goes on to try and lay some backhanded praise on Keith by saying he’ll “get there someday” and that he’s proud of him, which again, feels a lot like empty praise meant to do nothing more than smooth things over and get Keith to be less depressed (in other words, he doesn’t mean it, he’s just saying what he thinks he has to in order to get the emotional response out of Keith that he wants). That scene has bothered me immensely ever since I first saw it, and now that I’ve analyzed it again, I know why: It’s because everything Shireplica said in that scene was a textbook apology from an emotional abuser. The non-apology (because no, saying you’re sorry that you had to do something hurtful to someone is not an apology), the backhanded praise which is only dialed and buttered up once the initial non-apology and backhanded compliments don’t work … emotional abusers do those things in order to keep their victims under control, in order to make them seem less depressed when in the company of others, or to mitigate chances of them trying to leave or fight back. It was low-key, but Shireplica was being emotionally abusive to Keith throughout 2x06, and you know what?

That’s NOT Shiro. Shiro—the REAL Shiro would NEVER do that to anyone, much less Keith.

So Shireplica has been a bastard to Keith, and I’m absolutely upset with him for that, especially since it seems like that behavior is going to carry over into S4:

That’s a scene from the preview wherein Keith is trying to convince Shireplica that something (we don’t know what) could be linked to Lotor, who “hasn’t been scene in months”, and therefore this could be their one chance to track them down. Look at Shireplica. His brow is furrowed, his mouth is set in a hard frown, he’s not even looking at Keith to acknowledge him. He’s not receptive or open to Keith’s ideas at all. In fact, he looks irritated that Keith is daring to even speak up, much less argue against whatever Shireplica has planned, even though it’s clear from Keith’s tone and facial expression that he’s not arguing in another way, it’s just that this is important to him and he’s trying to make his view heard.

So we can tell, at least from that preview, that this behavior is going to carry over into S4—that they’re going to continue to clash, because Keith is trying to lead the team as he has been, and Shireplica is not only not about to have that, but is (subconsciously or otherwise) using emotional abuse tactics against Keith to knock him down. And the worst part of all of this is that it works; because when Shireplica gives his non-apology and backhanded praise in 3x06, Keith does not defend himself in the least bit. Instead, he just takes it: 

I’m using the screencap so that you can see his facial expression. He’s not being defiant or mutinous; in fact, if he was, he would have said “I had it under control”, rather than “I thought I had it under control.” And this continues, too; after Shireplica scolds him about knowing when to pick his battles and that “sometimes you have to make hard choices” (excuse me, Shireplica, but who was the one who argued for that hard choice back in 1x11? Because it sure as hell wasn’t Shiro, that was Keith, don’t talk down to him when he’s been displaying the ability to make hard choices since season one), Keith says, “I’m no good at this.” Of course, that’s when Shireplica says that he is, and he’ll get there someday, and all of that—but it’s too little, too late, and (as I said) felt a whole lot like he was just saying what he felt he had to in order to get the emotional response from Keith that he wanted. 

So I feel like we’re going to be in for hard times ahead, because Shireplica has been low-key emotionally abusive to Keith (which, I reiterate, the real Shiro never was and never would be), and Keith isn’t defending himself from this, he just takes it. (And I mean, he did try to argue against Shireplica’s decisions at times, but when he did the rest of the team took Shireplica’s side and overruled him, which—I get why they trusted Shireplica, I’m not faulting them for that, but it didn’t help this situation one bit.) I know for a fact this is going to sour my opinion toward Shireplica even more than it already has. It’s going to make me want to jettison him from the airlock even more than I already do.

But that said …

Clones and replicas are basically a staple of science-fiction (and even fantasy, to a degree, if they’re created from magic). The usage of and lore around them varies from story to story, whether they’re being used positively or negatively. That said, my mind always jumps to two stories in particular when I think about replicas and clones, and those stories are Doctor Who and Tales of the Abyss.

In specific:

Clones and replicas are everywhere in Doctor Who, but the one that I always think of immediately—and the one I feel is perhaps most applicable in this instance—is the Meta-Crisis Doctor, otherwise known as TenToo. At the end of season four, in order to prevent his regeneration, the Tenth Doctor pours his excess regeneration energy into his spare hand, which ends up becoming a clone of himself that the fandom collectively calls TenToo. (This, er, makes sense in context, trust me.) TenToo is basically the Tenth Doctor in every way. He looks like him, thinks like him, feels like him, has all the same memories as him … but he only has one heart. He’s human. He will live, age, and die as a human. He ends up staying in the parallel universe with Rose so that they can grow their own TARDIS and live out the rest of their very human lives together, but even though he is biologically human now, he still is the Doctor. He’s a clone, yes … and he’s an individual, yes, but he still is the Doctor, isn’t he? Same thoughts, same memories, same feelings … he is the Doctor, even if he’s a clone. It’s why the fandom calls him TenToo (i.e. “Ten also” or “also Ten”). He isn’t lesser, nor is he evil or anything like that. He’s just a photocopy of the Doctor, with a few tweaks.

Then there’s Tales of the Abyss. In Tales of the Abyss, replicas can be made of anything, from pencils to entire continents, but the important part of this discussion is that replicas can be made of people (however unethical it is). In Tales of the Abyss, replicas are biologically identical to the originals at the time of replication, right down to their fonon frequency (which is sort of like a molecular frequency in that universe—again, it makes sense in context). However, when it comes to their thoughts, feelings, and personalities, replicas are blank slates when created. Jade, the person who created the technology, says that “replicas come into the world like babies” who don’t even know how to speak or walk. That said, replicas can be programmed; it is possible for the person who created them to implant memories, personalities, or orders onto them when they are created. If that isn’t done, however, replicas can be raised like normal people, and if they’re raised in different circumstances from their originals, they can wholly become their own person. (As seen with the characters Luke and Asch.)

In both of these stories, replicas are viewed sympathetically (perhaps not always by the people in the stories, given how terribly replicas are treated in Tales of the Abyss, but at least by the audience). They’re people. They’re their own people. TenToo is the closest to his original, given the circumstances, but he still is treated as the Doctor and as a person in his own right. In Tales of the Abyss this difference is even more pronounced, despite how the replicas can be programmed, because we see replicas that have grown up to be different from their originals (or, in the case of all the Ion replicas, even different from each other). Treating the replicas as if they’re trash or easily discarded is viewed horribly even within the context of the narrative, because it simply isn’t true. Replicas or not, they’re still people and deserve to be treated as such.

So to that end, even though he’s being a bastard right now (and seems to be continuing that into S4 judging by the preview), it’s hard for me to say that I really do want Shireplica jettisoned into space, especially since I’m not entirely sure what Voltron is going for right now. I feel like they’re leaning more toward a Tales of the Abyss situation than they are a Doctor Who situation, if only because it would make sense for them to go the “Shiro’s memories were implanted” route rather than the “he just already had them from the cloning process” route because of the fact that Shireplica doesn’t seem to have any of Shiro’s compassion. (And he really doesn’t. Even when it comes to the rebels, he spared them not because he felt sorry for their circumstances, but because he needed their help. Shiro is extremely compassionate; Shireplica is anything but.) In Tales of the Abyss replicas can certainly have compassion in their nature, but again, when they’re first created they are blank slates who can be programmed. That may well be the case with Shireplica, who was programmed with Shiro’s memories, but none of the emotions to go with them. No real compassion or empathy, just … knowledge of how to act and what to do in order to infiltrate the team. For that reason, it feels like more of a Tales of the Abyss situation than a Doctor Who one.

But even if that’s the case, again: The replicas in Tales of the Abyss are still people, and can be their own people, separate from their originals. It doesn’t seem as if Shireplica realizes that is a possibility right now, because he doesn’t even recognize that he is a replica … but perhaps he could. Perhaps he could learn to be his own person, perhaps he could learn to have the compassion that he at present lacks. He still does seem to be a person, an individual, and he especially is if they’re going this route with replication. If that’s the case, and he can form his own identity separate from Shiro’s and live a life as a good person … then he should have that chance. And I think that, upon realizing that he is still a person even if he is a replica of Shiro, the team would want to give him that chance. I can’t see them wanting to jettison him out of the airlock and leave him to die knowing that he is a person. Remember what Keith said in 2x09:

“We’re Paladins of Voltron. We can’t leave someone to die, even if they are Galra.”

Even if—or rather, even though Shireplica is a replica of Shiro who has, to be honest, treated Keith terribly so far, I can’t see Keith wanting to leave him to die / killing him. That would be out of character. And seeing as how Keith is presently leader of this team, I think the rest of the team would, well … follow his lead. 

So I’m not entirely sure what will happen to him. I think that, once all is revealed, there’s a good chance he’ll want to leave of his own volition. There’s a chance that he’ll gain his compassion and actual love for the team just in time to perform a heroic sacrifice to save them. There’s a chance the Galra will kill him, or that he’ll be taken back and labeled a failed experiment. I’m not entirely sure, but I can say that I want him to stop being such a bastard to Keith, and also that he’s still a person even if he is a replica, and as a result he does need to be treated as such, no matter how much of a bastard he is. (Though that said, if Shiro wanted to punch Shireplica in the face with his metal arm for the way Shireplica has acted so far, by all means, please do so. Shireplica has certainly earned it.)