#the check engine light still comes on sometimes but at least its not so horrific

[vespertinecat]

Sometimes, the mechanic claims they fixed it. You stare at the light and insist they didn't for thirty minutes. They tell you a different auto shop will call you because theirs doesn't have the tools to get under the hood of your car and look at it.

You wait. You get the appointment. You schedule another with the mechanic.

It's been four weeks. The mechanic agrees something's wrong and wants to do the same fix as last time. You read up on a different fix for your car that will last longer. Your mechanic scoffs at you, for you are not a mechanic. You've only had this car for a short time. If you do something like that, it'll only last five years! But you know better. It will last twenty. The check engine light has been flashing for ten.

You get a new mechanic. He looks at the reports from the second auto shop.

"This car looks like it has seventy years of damage. What happened?"

having an undiagnosed illness is like the check engine light being on all the time in your car, but when you take it to the mechanic, they announce happily that all the tests came back fine! and you just stare at the check engine light with dread.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Halo

A/N Today the Metric Universe has a guest artist: Depeche Mode!  This story takes place soon after Help! I’m Alive, which is going to require some creative liberties on my part.  Depeche Mode did play London Stadium to a sold-out crowd (one of eight bands to ever do so), but in June 2017, not September.  

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page. 

The song by Depeche Mode that inspired the title is here. Teenage Michelle listed to Violator on repeat, just like Claire and Jamie.  

September 21, 2017, Spitalfields, England

Jamie’s patrol boots felt like concrete weights about his feet as he plodded down the hallway towards his flat.  Most days, he loved his job.  It filled a psychic need to contribute meaningfully to society and provided a loose camaraderie that acted as a substitute family.  Physically and mentally taxing, on a bad day like today, it left him feeling wrung out and far older than his twenty-seven years.  All that kept him moving was force of habit and the promise of a glass of whisky, a long shower and a comfortable bed.

A steady thump of bass throbbed from behind his door.  Frowning, he fit the key in the lock and walked into a wall of sound.  Claire was nowhere to be seen, but her iPhone sat on the coffee table, wirelessly connected to the tele’s surround sound system.  He tapped the screen once and lowered the volume significantly.

The sudden lull drew his roommate from the kitchen, where she’d evidently been cleaning.  She was wearing a tattered pair of jogging pants, a plain white tshirt and rubber gloves.  Corkscrews of sweaty hair stuck to her temples.

“Jamie, hi.  Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Understandable.   Depeche Mode, Sassenach?”

Her lips curled in a shape he knew was supposed to be a grin.  Something was missing, however.  A spark, a hint of magic, the ineffable quality he associated with Claire.

“Are ye alright, Claire?  Ye seem... I dinna ken, but not yerself,” he inquired as he opened the liquor cabinet.  Raising a nearly full bottle of Glenfiddich in silent query, he set about pouring two healthy glasses.  When they met back at the sofa, Claire had removed her cleaning attire and tried to arrange her hair in a slightly neater bun.

“I could ask the same of you,” she countered.  “You look done in.  Rough day?  Cheers,” she added, raising the amber liquid.

“Slainte,” he replied, letting the spicy heat coat his throat and settle like an ember in his belly.

“Do you ever...” Claire began before subsiding into silence.

“Do I ever what?” he urged.

“Some days I just feel as though no matter what I do, the cosmic ledger is not going to balance, you know?  That there isn’t enough good in me to balance out all the bad.”

He forced himself to mutely accept her statement, no matter how much he wanted to dispute it.  She was exposing a chink in her formidable armour.  His job was to listen, not debate.  He couldn’t help wanting to peer past the small opening to the burning core within, though.

“I loved this album as a lad,” he offered instead.  “Dark an’ moody an’ all about sex. My Mam hated Personal Jesus, complained twas blasphemous.”

Claire chuckled softly.  She was looking at a point over his shoulder, visibly straining to reach some buried emotion.

“When things got horrific at Camp Bastion, the surgeons would listen to music, ridiculously loud music.  Artillery fire, evac choppers, the wails of wounded soldiers, it drowned them all out.  Or at least that was the idea.  The camp only had an old portable stereo on its last legs, held together with suture wire.  By the end of my year, Violator was the only tape that fucking thing hadn’t eaten.  This is the soundtrack of the worst moments of my life.”

He could have asked why she would want to relive that personal hell, but he already knew the answer.  It was the same reason he still rushed into a burning building, even as the memory of his accident played havoc with his PTSD.  Survival was an act of redemption.  You fought your demons because if you didn’t, the demons had already won.

They sat beside each other on the sofa listening to the melancholy songs on repeat.  When her glass was empty, Jamie poured another two fingers unprompted.  He didn’t ask what happened during her hospital shift to send her thoughts back to Afghanistan.  He could guess.   She didn’t ask why his uniform smelled of ashes and burnt flesh.  She could guess.   Sometimes the hurt didn’t need to be articulated.  Sometimes silent complicity was the only cure.

***

October 20, 2017, London Stadium, England

She’d almost missed the envelope entirely.   Bleary eyed after an overnight shift, her plan was to sleep through the rest of the day and wake up tomorrow in her thirties.  Checking the surface of her desk for mail out of habit on her way to the shower, Jamie’s bold scrawl, black across ivory paper, caught her eye.

Happy Birthday, Claire.

Her finger shook as she unsealed the feather-light rectangle.  A ticket stub was the only content.  Her hand covered her mouth as she drew in a quivering lungful of air.  She had no idea how he even knew it was her birthday, never mind how he happened upon the perfect gift.

After a rejuvenating nap, shower and thirty minutes trying on every outfit in her wardrobe, she now stood in an endless security lineup in the hulking shadow of London Stadium.  A soft brush against her bare shoulder and a hint of his familiar scent were the cues that sent her heart beating against her ribs.  She looked up into the sunrise of his warmest smile.

“G’d evenin’, Sassenach,” he greeted.  “Fancy meetin’ ye here.”

She shook her head in mock exasperation.

“Really, Jamie.  I can’t believe you.  How ever did you even get tickets?  It’s been sold out for months.”

“Och, twas nothin’.  The sister of one of the lads on my engine works fer their record label,” he demurred, running a hand through his curls.   She could see they were still damp.  He must have showered at the station and come straight from work.  The bright floodlights caught the blond tones of the stubble along his jaw.  She looked away, feeling a lurch in her stomach that had nothing to do with missing dinner.

They chatted easily as they slowly advanced through the metal detectors and into the colossal stadium.

“I’ve never been inside,” she remarked, craning her head upwards.  “It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

“Aye, tis.  This way, birthday girl.  We’re on the floor.”  Jamie extended a courtly arm and shepherded her into the steadily growing crowd.

At concerts in her youth, she always started near the stage but was gradually pushed backwards by larger, rowdier fans.  It took several songs for her to realize why that wasn’t happening.  Jamie had planted himself directly behind her and was acting like a breakwater, parting the crowd with his tall, broad form before they could push up against her.   She felt something vigilant loosen along her spine.  Before long, she was dancing and singing along, completely lost in the moment.

Looking up over her shoulder at his proud, chiseled features as they were washed in multi-hued lights, she caught his eye and smiled.  He bent close, his warm breath feathering her hair as he whisper-yelled into her ear.

“Happy birthday, Sassenach.”

Impulsively, she stood on tiptoe and placed a careful kiss near the corner of his mouth.  Lying in bed that night with the echo of the music still ringing in her ears, it was the memory of his shyly delighted grin that lit her mind like a thousand stars.

[natural-namjoon]

Silver Millennium Ch 1

Previous Chapter

His hands. They felt warm, really warm...actually they were pretty close to burning at this point.  Yoongi looked down and noticed that they were... Glowing? The logical part of his brain told him this wasn't supposed to be happening but the other part felt fuzzy. Everything was soft and warm and if he had to put it into words he would have described himself as a soft little cloud floating in a bright daytime sky, weird but he was enjoying himself. The soft silver glow that was around his hands seemed to melt all around him. He couldn't see himself but he knew he was bathed in it. This pretty, soft, silver light. So comforting, so warm….

“YOONGI!” 

It was as if someone threw ice water on him. His joints locked and his muscles tensed. His heartbeat took off in a sprint and he was suddenly achingly aware of his own body and the space it occupied. He looked around but all he saw was white. He was floating in a white room, but it wasn't a room, it was just a vast colorless expanse.

“YOONGII!!” he heard the voice again… what was it saying? Yoongi? He knew it was his name but it sounded so unfamiliar to him. The voice called his name again and that's when the aching in his chest started. Dull at first but the more Yoongi tried to pinpoint the voice, it grew stronger. A tearing, painful ache that caused him to double over. He wanted it to stop. He knew who the voice belonged to and he needed to find them, once he did that the aching would stop. He didn't ponder much on why he knew that as a fact, he just needed to do it. With a huge gulp of air, he reared back and cupped his hands around his mouth, and with all his strength he hoped his call would reach the familiar yet unknown person, with one last prayer he let it all out and he shouted their name ********

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Yoongi jerked so violently it caused him to sit all the way up-right in bed. He looked around confused. For a moment he really didn't know where he was or who he was. The fog of confusion drifted slowly away as he was able to get his bearings. He was in his bedroom, in his tiny loft apartment in Seoul. Oh yeah, and it was also the first day of University. That also explained the blaring alarm that was coming from his left night-table. He groaned and reached over to smack the clock into silence. He sat for a moment trying to shake off the heavy feeling his dream had left him with. It was an extremely weird dream, no doubt, but it wasn’t one he hadn't had before. He had been having dreams like that for as long as he can remember. First, they started coming few and far in between and as he aged they occurred more and more often. Since moving to Seoul they actually have been happening almost every other night. They weren't scary per se, just alarming. He always woke with a strong sense of urgency and longing, but at this point, it wasn't something he wasn't used to. The content of the dream was always pretty similar, though the setting would shuffle between white space, a garden, a hall with marble pillars, a rose bush maze, and sometimes his favorite- on a grand balcony overlooking a bright bustling city with white shiny buildings. In all the dreams, though, he always started off alone, bathed in warm silver light, and it was that voice that always grabbed him. It was like hearing the voice of a long lost friend or relative. He knew the voice, he felt it deep in his soul, that voice belonged to someone dear, and he knew who it was, but every time he was ready to shout the person's name he always awoke. It was frustrating, to say the least.

 He remembers telling his mom about the dream and she has decided to take him to a Doctor and when Yoongi was deemed fit as a fiddle with no neurological or mental issues, she had taken him to a psychic who specialized in dream interpretation. She told him that the person calling his name was his own inner demon who was put there by some jealous relatives and if they paid her extra she could exercise the demon. Needless to say, she was scamming them to high heaven. In the end, Yoongi was forced to accept these odd dreams as an almost everyday norm in his life. Not that he was complaining, he could have been some unlucky bastard who dreamt of terrible, horrific things every day. Now that, he wouldn't be able to handle on account of his inability to sit through a scary movie without noping out of the theatre or living room.

Shaking off the heavy feelings he lazily climbed out of bed, he grabbed his phone and headed to the kitchen to turn on his coffee maker. He had felt odd buying the thing at first. He had always thought that only old people had a full pot coffee maker, but it was cheaper than those flashy one cup coffee espresso machines like everyone his age was so keen about owning. In the end, he felt like it was a better deal because he came with a warmer that he could leave on all day and the result was a nice hot pot of coffee when he came home, yeah grandpa Yoongi was winning the millennial game. 

As he set the machine to brew he checked his phone and was happily surprised to see a text from his little Sister, Chae Rin, wishing him good luck on his first day. She was five years younger than him and in her 2nd year of high school. He and Chaerin actually got along well and he always thought of them as closer than the usual brother-sister pair. He loved composing and she loved singing. Through their mutual love in music, they became the best of friends.

He texted her a quick ‘thanks Chae, give mom a big hug for me’ then he set off to get ready for classes. Once finished, he filled up a to-go cup of coffee and grabbed his plain black Jansport bag and headed out. He walked out to the attached parking garage that his apartment building had and took the elevator to the 2nd level, he counted himself lucky that he had a car. A lot of kids his age always relied on public transport, and even though public transport would probably be cheaper, he treasured his car because he was gifted his Dad's old car once he had gotten his license,  He stepped off the elevator and was met by his baby, a light grey 1994 Buick Skylark. It was an old car, literally as old as him but it still worked and he loved it. He hopped in and started her up, as usual, the engine stalled but after some sweet encouraging words and a few pumps of the gas he got it started. 

He found his way to campus relatively easy, having only lived a mile from the school. He found the designated parking for students and hesitantly made his way to go find his first class. Yoongi had always known what he wanted to do and it was produce music. He has always had a passion for writing and creating music and that's what lead him to enroll for a degree in music production and composition. He knew he'd have to take a lot of music theory classes, a lot of writing and reading classes and maybe some computer classes and history but never had he expected to be taking math and science classes. He was going to work with music, why did he need to know that the mitochondria are the powerhouse of the cell?? He grumbled annoyed at himself as he scanned the campus map to find the building that his first-class was in, which was Beginning Biochemistry. After about 5 min he was still very lost, the map was way too simply designed so he couldn't figure out where he was in regard to the map, therefore, he couldn't figure out where he needed to go. What also did not help was that none of the buildings had signs on them indicating what building was which, What school did that? He thought. He was now royally frustrated so he just started walking deeper into the campus, hoping to go by building shape to find the building he needed. 

At this point he was storming past people, intensely scanning the surrounding buildings and then the map, unfortunately, he wasn't paying attention to where he was going and he ran into a brick wall that knocked him on his rear end, well what he thought was a wall, until the wall yelped as it lost balance and dropped a couple of heavy-looking textbooks, It was another dude. Yoongi felt immediate embarrassment, he looked over at the other guy on the ground across from him, the dude was big, much bigger than Yoongi, which kinda wasn’t saying much since Yoongi was a smaller average man, but this dude was tall, Yoongi could tell he was legs and arms for days and he had a massive frame. 

The guy was quickly trying to gather his impressive mountain of textbooks and notebooks. Yoongi snapped out of his embarrassed trance and quickly jumped to help the guy, 

“Hey man, sorry about that, I should have been looking where I was going…” Yoongi said, tentatively handing the guy a notebook.

 The big guy looked over at him and that's when Yoongi first got a good look at his face, he had soft eyes with very full lips and a small button nose, he was handsome as hell, except for the piercing gaze that was being sent his way, Yoongi thought for sure that the guy was going to lay into him. Yoongi wouldn't consider himself a scrappy guy but he has been known to stand up for himself on more than one occasion during his primary school years, so he wasn't above fighting right there but he really wasn't up for it on the first day of school. Instead of yelling or reacting in any negative way the taller guy just sighed and in a deep smooth voice, he responded quietly

“It's fine man, I should've been paying better attention myself” 

With all his items gathered he stood and yeah Yoongi had been right, the guy stood really tall, he seemed to be a good 8 inches taller than him, with a wide frame and thick arms and legs, Yoongi thought maybe this guy played sports, probably basketball which he hoped was the case, Yoongi loved basketball and used to play competitively in high school. 

“Dang man your pretty built, you play hoops?” Yoongi tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, the guy then surprised him by… giggling? Yoongi looked up at him confused.

“ Sorry its funny, I've actually never really played any kind of sport in my entire life” tall,  deep voice said

“ WHAT?! Then why are you built like a tank man??” he said incredulously

“ My first priorities are always my academics but what's the point of being smart if I can't keep my body alive long enough to reap the rewards of my success? I just work out a lot in my spare time is all, just so I stay in tip-top shape” the deep voice explained, “Ah sorry where are my manners, my Name is Namjoon, Kim Namjoon, and you are?” Namjoon extended his hand over to Yoongi. 

Yoongi shook it, he had to admit that he was impressed by Namjoon, Tall, Well built, smart, nice and good looking, he didn't realize people like him existed, he was impressed yet felt significantly inferior. 

“ Wow, it's nice to meet you, I’m Min Yoongi. Sorry again about bumping into you, I was just looking at the map, Today is my first day and I’m just kind of scrambling trying to find my first class but this damn school doesn't seem to believe in labeling the buildings for us slower folks,” Yoongi complained and Namjoon chuckled. 

“It’s ok, I was confused too but after a closer look, I figured out the buildings are actually numbered on small signs by the doors. Kind of counter-intuitive because they made the maps so simplistic.” Namjoon explained, Yoongi just stood surprised and honestly ticked off

“ Well that’s fucking stupid” he stated bluntly.

Namjoon laughed again and then held out his hand, If you don't mind me looking at your schedule then I can maybe point out each building that your classes are in, maybe then we can avoid you being late” he smiled softly and Two cute dimples popped out on his cheeks

Yoongi just nodded excitedly and passed Namjoon his Schedule with relief. After scanning the classes and their corresponding class numbers, Namjoon made a surprised noise.

“ Well I guess fate has intervened, cause I have 3 of the same classes as you and our first one happens to both be beginning biochemistry” Namjoons dimpled smile got wider as he handed Yoongi his schedule back. Yoongi felt his jaw drop

“ No freaking way, that’s crazy! Well, I guess it's a good thing I face-planted into you” he laughed feeling genuinely lucky for the first time that day.

“ Come on, let's head over to class so we’re not late, I know where it is” Namjoon broke into a long stride heading towards a nearby building

“ Lead the way friend” Yoongi tried to hurry and match his big steps.

Once in class, they opted into sitting next to each other having formed this sudden friendship out of nowhere. As class when on during free moments they would talk and he learned That Najoon wanted to become a teacher and he was currently leaning towards literature teacher since Namjoon had a passion for writing. As he sat and learned more about his new friend Yoongi couldn't help but feel like he was meant to be here, his choice of leaving home and going to a big fancy college wasn't in vain, it felt right and he was actually pretty confident more good things were to come his way. He let that warm happy feeling sink in and radiate as he laughed and chatted.

………………………………

The day went on pretty successfully, the next class Yoongi had with Namjoon, so it felt nice to just follow his new friend around. His second class of the day he had Literature, easy enough. Again he sat next to Namjoon and again he felt at ease and comforted to have someone on his side on his first day. No awkward seating, no weird forced partnerships by the professor. It was awesome and he didn't know what it was about Namjoon but he radiated such a calming and trusting aura. Yoongi loved it and he was drawn to it, which made it that much harder to leave him once Literature was over. Yoongi's next class was music theory and Namjoon had a foreign language class. So after pointing Yoongi in the right direction and promising to meet up with him for their history class later in the day, Namjoon was off and Yoongi was alone again. 

With a dramatic sigh, Yoongi made his way over to his Music theory class. Once he found the correct classroom he grabbed a seat towards the back. He felt somewhat chagrined that he didn’t have anyone he knew in this class but he was also kind of ok with it. He had a feeling he would be too wrapped up in the course material to make many friends. Music was in his soul so he wanted to absorb anything he could in regards to it. 

One by one, students filed into the classroom and soon class began, his professor was an older lady, she was sweet and very wise, she was classically trained in over 10 instruments and she definitely had a passion for music. Yoongi loved her and he knew he was going to love the class. The professor was in the middle of telling a charming story about the time she took a trip to Italy and learned how to play the oboe from an elderly man who lived in a hut, she had all her students chuckling and the vibe was light and fun when all of the sudden the loud metal door to the classroom swung open.  Yoongi looked up and in walked the prettiest person he has probably ever seen. He was young, probably a student, and he was gorgeous, slim and small with muscled thighs and legs under black skinny jeans, he had a ripped band shirt on under a red velvet bomber jacket, he had on one sparkly dangly earring and a silver choker. His Hair was also the shiniest golden blond and styled longer with a clean undercut, he was breathtaking.  The pretty boy stood in the doorway and looked around, taking in the room, everyone just stared at him. A sly smile broke on the guys’ plump juicy lips which looked like they were covered in gloss.

 After a moment the teacher finally spoke up,

“ Excuse me? Can I help you?” she chirped, 

the guy giggled and it was high pitched and almost melodic.

“ Yeah uh, is this music theory?” the guy asked his voice smooth and pleasing to the ears, not deep but not too high pitched. The Professor gave a curt huff and got up to check the class roster.

“Jimin? Park Jimin?” she asked, reading the only name that was marked absent during roll call. The guy pointed at her and smiled that gorgeous smile again.

“ That’s me, sorry I’m late, I slept in a little too long, haha whoops” Jimin giggled again like he found the whole situation hilarious.

“ Whatever just please find a seat Mr. Park, you’ve disrupted the class enough already.” the professor looked completely done. With another small giggle, Jimin took a look around the room and Yoongi, having found the boy intimidating and incredibly attractive, prayed he sat somewhere far from him, he didn’t want any distractions. Almost as if he could read Yoongi’s thoughts, Jimin, zeroed in on a seat next to Yoongi and practically skipped over to him. Yoongi had hoped he didn’t look as alarmed as he felt. Jimin took the seat and immediately turned towards Yoongi, face beautiful and expressionless as he stared him down. Yoongi fought the urge to writhe in his seat, he wanted to snap at the guy and demand what the hell he was looking at, but he wasn’t the confrontational type so instead, he held his hand out and said quietly,  “ Hello, I’m Min Yoongi, nice to meet you.” 

after a beat Jimin broke into the biggest smile Yoongi had ever seen, his smile so big his eyes became slits and his perfect pearly white teeth gleamed at him. Jimin reached out and grabbed Yoongi’s hand and just held it. 

“ Oh my god it’s so nice to meet you too, I’m  Park Jimin but you can call me Jimin or Jiminie or whatever you like. Your so cute, let’s be friends!” 

And just like that Jimin turned back towards the front of the class and that was that. Yoongi had never felt so confused in his life. 

The rest of the class went off without a problem and Jimin didn’t say anything else to Yoongi, It was strange but Yoongi didn’t mind. Once class was over Yoongi stood up practically starving, he had a free period, so that means he had about an hour to kill before his history class with Namjoon, Yoongi decided to grab something at the campus cafe. As he gathered his things Jimin turned and looked at him expectantly. Yoongi stood in a permanent state of confusion, Jimin giggled again softly, finding Yoongi’s awkwardness adorable, 

“Sorry I just kind of expected you to say something, I was just wondering what class you had next, maybe we could walk together,”  He explained giving Yoongi a softer smile. 

Yoongi, on the other hand, felt so confused, How did he just make a friend just like that, he hasn’t even decided if he liked Jimin or not. After a moment he decided that even if he turned out not liking the guy at least he would be alone before meeting up with Namjoon.

“Um next class actually I have a free period after this, then in about an hour I got-”

“NO FREEKING WAY!” Jimin screeched grabbing Yoongi’s hands, “I have a free period right now too! do you want to hang out until your next class?” for the first time that day Yoongi smiled back at Jimin, 

“ Sure thing, I was actually going to head to the cafe to grab something to eat, care to join me?” He asked and Jimin just nodded excitedly. Both boys gathered their things and headed out of the now-empty classroom together, they made their way across campus to the Campus Cafe which was an extension from the library. Once there Yoongi ordered a roast beef sandwich with some fries and a soda Jimin ordered a berry almond salad and milk tea with boba. They both agreed on sitting in the courtyard at one of the picnic benches in the shade as it was a really nice day out, one they sat down they didn’t say much and just started eating, Yoongi was unsure how to strike up a conversation with Jimin, they hadn’t said much to each other after leaving class and even stood quietly next to each other in line for food not saying anything. He was hoping Jimin wasn’t feeling too awkward, at least not as much as he was feeling. Yoongi took a sip of his soda still wracking his brain for something that could start a decent conversation with his new “friend” when Jimin suddenly looked up from his food and looked straight at Yoongi,

“I intimidate you, don’t I?” He asked bluntly.

Yoongi literally spit out his drink, Jimin giggled,

“I- uh- um what do you mean I’m not-” Yoongi stuttered trying to not sound like a fucking dork and Jimin just smiled at him

“It’s ok, it happens a lot- and I don’t mean that in a cocky way i just… I know I come off as a lot, its hard for people to vibe with me because of it,” he explained, Yoongi nodded cleaning up the soda he had spit all over himself. 

“it’s not so much that I don’t vibe, I actually think it’s pretty cool that you came up to me, I’m not very good at making friends so people who take initiative first really make my life easier so thank you,” he smiled at Jimin hoping his sincerity came through strong enough. 

Jimin stared at him for a bit, Jimin liked Yoongi, he didn’t know why but he felt in his heart that Yoongi was a good person and was going to make a good friend. Finally feeling like he had broken the ice, Yoongi starting asking Jimin about his studies and found out Jimin was a dance Major, his life was dancing, of any style.  He specialized in Alternative Dancing, though. Yoongi noticed that when Jimin spoke about it he swore he saw a warm glow in his eyes, like literally a yellow gleam mixed in with his dark brown eyes. It was strange but he wasn’t going to say anything. 

In the middle of his chat with Jimin, Yoongi could suddenly hear his name being called. Confused, he turned around and saw Namjoon jogging up to him and Jimin,

“Yoongi! Hey man, why didn’t you tell me you had a free period right now,” he smiled his cute dimpled smile as he sat down next to Yoongi at the picnic table. Yoongi didn’t notice Jimin's Jaw literally fall to the floor. 

“Yoongi, whos this I thought you said you didn’t have any friends” Jimin practically drooled on the table Namjoon faked a gasp,

“ Oh wow I thought you considered me at least a friend since we were literally tangled up this morning” he laughed not realizing how that sentence sounded, Yoongi's ears turned red and Jimin gasped

“ That’s not what he means,” Yoongi put his hand in his face, embarrassed by the big dork sitting next to him, 

“ Oh! No, I didn’t-” Namjoon started, only just realizing his mistake.

“Anyways Jimin, this is Namjoon, Namjoon this is Jimin, I just met him right now in music theory class.” 

Namjoon reached out to shake Jimin's hand and Jimin just held it, for a little too long as his eyes literally devoured the tall brown-haired boy in front of him.

Yoongi cleared his throat trying to distract from Jimin's obvious thot behavior, 

“Hey so you have a free period right now too, that’s awesome, now we can meet up and head to history together,” Yoongi, once again felt so lucky that he didn't have to do any of this alone so far. 

Hey may not know either of these guys well enough to call them good friends but he sure as hell going to cling to any hope of friendship he could get. Throughout the free period, all three boys talked and bonded, it was strang the conversation ran like they had known each other for years and each guy felt a comfortable familiarity, even with Yoongi being a shy awkward weirdo, Namjoon being a bit of an airhead sometimes and Jimin being thirsty for Namjoon. Again Yoongi was hit with a new wave of happiness and he knew the others felt it too. He made some friends on his first day, and that was pretty damn cool.

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Next Chapter

[penname-artist]

Emergency - Chapter Five

Chapter Title: Eye on the Sparrow

Rated M

[Planes fanfic]

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Thunderstorms were rolling in, fast. Flashes of white light set the skies ablaze for merely a second, before darkness again claimed the clouds. Thunder boomed and rolled across the cliffs, chasing after the light spectacles in the sky. A scene as beautiful as it was dangerous. And this perfect storm was about to reign an all-out hell across the park.

Blade had only ever gone this fast once before. He shuddered still to think about it. He was hammering down at 193, 194... the needle all the way to the edge of the red, and he still wished he could go quicker. 195, he wasn’t even cleared to be able to go this fast. But that was what happened when you get hybrids - even with only slightly varied heritage, crosses tended to have random picks with genetics, in a wider range than you’d think. Both of Blade’s parents, who were non-pure themselves, had 193mph maximums. But he just passed 196. He hoped he wouldn’t spontaneously combust. As he neared the cliffs, he was hoping and praying that against all odds, they were alright.

-----

Thunderstorms were just a fraction of the problem; The Grand Fusel Lodge, the big hat of the whole park, called in for a search party from their air attack team. Somebody was missing. A minor. It had been a little over four hours since Madison and Clark had seen their daughter, Amy. Last they had seen, she was with a kids trail group near Anchor Lake. It wasn’t uncommon that while parents went to enjoy the more historical trails, park rangers and summer camp leaders would set up special trails for the young’ns to keep them from getting bored. Usually they included scavenger hunts or other interactive games for the group. What worried the team, however, was the trail that they used for the day. Generally the kids' trails went up around the lake and back, with one part going over a bridge. That meant a high risk for high waters, sure to be with the coming rain. They needed to find her, and fast, before the rapids did. Blade was the best they had - well, more the most capable they had, for an aerial search. Not everyone had the ability to hover and pivot mid-flight like rotorcraft did. He also had a hoist, which came in handy for just such occasions. So with Smokejumpers on the grounds all through that region of the trails already, Blade had to become their eye in the sky for the scouting mission. Amy was only ten, a Mustang GT, described as being burgundy with silver accents, with hazel eyes. Unfortunately, a hard color palette to find in a forest filled with brown pine needles and leaves. But the team was determined to do their best. Panic had begun to make itself known across the Agustawestland’s face as he scoured the hillside for any sign of the child. He was forced to double, and sometimes even triple-check every other rock that protruded from the earth that even resembled the shape of a vehicle. It had been about an hour now that they had been looking, and there was no sign of her. Not even a trace. Being so young, tracks that might have been made in the ground would be so light, barely noticeable under a foot of pine needles and brush. And then, an hour and a half into the search, one of the Smokejumpers radioed out to Blade to check the outskirts of the cliffs, to the far side of the lake. It was a long shot, and a risky one to boot, as it meant the chances of finding her perfectly okay were...slim. But the cliffs were close to one curve of the neighboring trail, so if she got lost on the wrong path she’d have ended up going by it. The helicopter took a deep breath, checking the treeline once more, before turning towards the cliffs. They had wandered to the other side of the valley where the trail started, so the cliffs were quite a ways off. But seeing the clouds rumbling in, Blade knew if he was going to search there, he had to get there now. He closed in on the cliffside at a whopping 197, the needle of his speedometer sticking past the red bar into the tiny region of black. He could feel the burn of his engine, being pushed to its limits. Luckily he didn’t have to go on for much longer. As soon as he could view the cliffside in focus, he came to a halt, engine happy to slow itself down, though still rumbling, boiling hot. For as long as he could, he scoured the rocky landscape, every rock and bush putting him on edge as his mind tried playing tricks on him. He waited for every update from the ground searchers on the other side of the park trail, panic rising still as nothing new was reported. His core beat through his system, hearing muffled with it’s every pulse. It was beginning to drizzle. Then it was sprinkling. In less than a minute, the rain began to fall in earnest, the wind whipping it across in waves of lighter and then heavier rain. Water lashed at the helicopter’s side, but he wasn’t going to give in. Even as lightning began to strike down closer and closer to the park, thunder getting louder and more in sync to every strike, the red and white chopper pressed on. He couldn’t let another down again. Then the unthinkable.

-----

The report came in jagged, both from the heavy static and from the helicopter’s wracked tone as he fought against choking sobs and strained cries. But enough was known for the team to turn their attention to the cliffside. There, at the bottom of the valley, their goal. Taken by the impact of the fall.

-----

Blade didn’t stick around to see the rest, once they had confirmed that it was her, and radioed to the Lodge about their find. It was their worst case scenario, but at least they had found her. At least they knew. The base was told, too. Maru sighed, cutting the radio off. He didn’t know what to expect anymore from the rookie when he returned, which he had just found out would be in the coming minutes. As the sound of the steady beat of rotor blades approached the station, he was already waiting outside of the garage. The first ones were always the hardest.

It was CHoPs all over again. He couldn’t stop himself from the horrific images that bombarded his mind the moment he touched down on the base. The moment his shock and denial was cleared, and he saw the reality of the situation unfold before him. He had broken his own promise to himself. He was too late to save her, too. He wasn’t on the base anymore. He was standing in front of Nick, watching the end. Watching him succumb to the flames, to his dying core. There was nothing he could have done, nothing anyone could have. The realisation burned inside of him worse than the burns against his body, boiling through paint and metal and twisting them into horrid things. Demons lurked in every crevice of the scene, buzzing like a swarm around them both. He’s gone. The form in front of him glitched and reformed into a much smaller being - a Mustang GT, laying broken and dead in the ditch of the canyon. She’s gone. The trails of demons swirled all around, enclosing every concept of light or life from around him. Every shrivel of hope. You were too late. He was losing himself to the darkness. Like drowning, and he couldn’t fight the pain and panic any longer. You couldn’t save them.

Then darkness was all that remained.

-----

His first conscious thought was that he had died. All he knew was surrounding darkness and a numbness in his body he couldn’t rid himself of. And then there was a song, somewhere in the distance, it’s singer somehow familiar, yet still entirely unknown to the chopper. But he knew the words. It was an old song, very old. He remembered every word, every note of that song, because he and his peers all recited it in choir each Sunday morning.

“Why should I feel discouraged, Why should the shadows come, Why should my heart feel lonely, And long for heaven and home…”

He hadn’t heard it in so long. It brought him back thirty years, back in Redding, California. His childhood, his family. Hearing it now brought a bittersweet twinge; He once had a great relationship with his family, until he came out about him and Nick. He and his father had never spoken a word since that fight. The young chopper had torn himself up about it then, practically tried to pretend his co-star and partner didn’t even exist for two weeks straight. When the Hughes finally deigned to ask him what the matter was, he finally caved. And Nick set the record straight for him. “Look, you be what you want to be,” he told him, “and if they only want to see you as shameful and something to be turned away, then they’re hypocrites. We have a saying in our house: Love always. That means we don’t care what you are, what you do, how far into the pit you get, we love everyone. Because that’s what we’re here to do.” “You’re too good for this world.” He always said, whenever Nick had to remind him of those principals. Love. It was the same form of admiration and care that the unknown singer put into every note of his song. The same way Nick did when he sang, usually to get something off his mind.

“I sing because I'm happy, I sing because I'm free…”

Letting his own cares go, Blade lip-synced the last lines of the song, as he had always remembered they were sung;

“For his eye is on the sparrow, And I know He watches me.”

[pigeonacademic]

pipermccloud So far, i've made other alien species for the gems to interact with; some they've fought, some they're neutral with, others they've aided (or been aided by) and some they've opened trade with

thegemnants that's cool! i think it's really neat for the gems to actually be involved in intergalatic affairs with other species. considering how much of the universe they must've combed through, it would make sense for them to have at least met ONE species as powerful as them.

pipermccloud Yep! Could also be a reason why they need a lot of planets and why they had to quickly churn out half-baked gems for the war

pipermccloud Because resources were low by fighting an even bigger war

thegemnants in my fic, red diamond once commit genocide against an entire species which the gems were allied with, and because of that, the gems were ex communicated from the Union... which is one of the reasons why red diamond is so awful and yeah, if there were other aliens, it would make sense why the gems need more resources

pipermccloud The Union? I haven't heard much of REd Diamond Are you going to make a post on it? I need to go downstairs to check on my sisters real quick

thegemnants The Union is just a generic term I'm using to refer to the alignment between the other aliens :P and i do think you've seen red diamond, i'm probably going to draw some more intimidating pix of her

pipermccloud ! ^-^ I've seen her before, and she does look like she'll crush you if you so much aas look at her funny

thegemnants yep! because she did that horrible atrocity to the alien species, gemkinds reputation tarnished. but it doesn't end there, because red diamond was also exiled from the gempire as a whole. not just because she commit that genocide, but because of how she did it-- forcing fusion with the other 4 Diamonds.

pipermccloud BIG YIPES

thegemnants So, Red Diamond was cast out, and took her Court with her, vanishing to create her own empire. And she was gone for millions of years before returning, stronger than ever. There's more to it than that, but yeeeeah, that's red diamond's story :'D

pipermccloud DAMN SHE'S HORRIFYING Suggested nickname for her: The Red Death

thegemnants absolutely! :D Sometimes I wanna call her Blood Diamond, which is an actual term! but, you knooooow gems dont have blood :'D

pipermccloud Pfffft! True So, how is her empire like? I bet she was real rough on them now that she was on her ow n

thegemnants it's a dystopian hellscape where gems are shattered for showing the slightest bit of disrespect or noncomfority. yellow wishes she had the heart to be this intense. the only gems free from red diamond's wrath are her pearl and her zirconia, because they've been so brainwashed that they would never even THINK of doing something that would upset their diamond.

pipermccloud sent a GIF

holy cow- So, she's a dictator basically, a warmonger?

thegemnants HellllLLLL YEAH!

thegemnants and the thing is, she and her court live entirely on ships she leaves nothing left of the planets she harvests Gems from

pipermccloud OOH o-o She makes them go ka-boom. Out of not wanting to leave a trace, leave any resources for the others or just because of sadism?

thegemnants mostly just wanting to be undetectable now, what if i told you, that in my fic, there's someone worse than red diamond :'D

pipermccloud Okay, how can anyone other than Space Satan herself be more terrifying- I'm curious how o_o

thegemnants So, you may be wondering this, not just in fic sense but just in SU canon general.

thegemnants Where did the Diamonds come from? Well, a long time ago, a burst of magic born of the gap between universe brought life to a planet of carbon. Not of carbon-based minerals or carbon-based organisms, but purely of the element Carbon. "I want friends, I want friends," she cried, this living Carbon.

pipermccloud O-O

thegemnants So, from her body, she created 5 children: the Diamonds. Red, Pink, Blue, Yellow, and White. "But it's not enough" So, after a while, Carbon sent her children out to make "more friends" Thus, the first Gem Colony was created "But it's not enough, it will never be enough"

thegemnants So, the Diamonds continued to spread out, taking planet after planet, creating Gem after Gem

pipermccloud O_O

thegemnants However, after a supernova, the Diamonds were seperated from Carbon. Even though she no longer had her grasp on them, the Diamonds were still terrified of what would happen if they didn't please her. So they kept grabbing planets and making Gems.

pipermccloud holy cow

thegemnants But then, guess what? When Red Diamond was banished, she went to the other side of the universe

pipermccloud what

thegemnants AND GUESS WHO SHE FOUND AND BROUGHT BACK TO HOMEWORLD

pipermccloud CARBON

thegemnants AND GUESS WHAT CARBON DID WHEN SHE GOT TO HOMEWORLD TO PUNISH THE CHILDREN WHO WERE SO CRUEL TO HER SISTER AND SO RUDE TO HAVE NEVER LOOKED FOR HER

thegemnants SHE TOOK A BIG BITE OUT OF IT AND ABSORBED BILLIONS OF GEMS INTO HER BODY and when i say absorbed, i mean they are digesting forever inside of her while being completely concious and part of a hivemind so yeah, carbon is the "final boss" of the fic

pipermccloud I cannot find a gif for the life of me to express how horrific that is So, Cluster but over 90000 holy shit

thegemnants Yep! And that's the entire reason why Yellow wants the Cluster. What better to take out a planet-sized monster than a planet-sized monster?

thegemnants It probably would've only served as a distraction, though.

pipermccloud How many gems know of Carbon's existence? For the newer ones, is she regarded as a myth?

pipermccloud Also, what does Carbon look like?

thegemnants oooh, carbon being a scary myth that agates used to scare new recruits is actually a really good idea!

pipermccloud :D

thegemnants originally i was gonna go with a 'just diamonds know', but very, VERY old gems probably know, too and carbon is like a giant, black planet, slightly larger than earth, with a face a fucked-up nightmare face and she reflects no light have you heard of hellstar remina? that's what i'm envisioning carbon to look like, but all dark and stuff

pipermccloud I haven't actually, but holy-cow, imagine her eclipsing Homeworld..a dark shadow falls across the gempire, and wait-does it have TEETH AND EYES-

heres a picture of remina from hellstar remina basically something like this mixed with the face of an elderly woman

pipermccloud !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! pipermccloud sent a GIF

You got an eye for nightmare fuel

thegemnants awww thank you ;w;

pipermccloud She's VERY terrifying, both in personality AND appearance Red Diamond is practically Mother Thersa compared to her, isn't she?

thegemnants pretty much! :'D even red is terrified of her at first red wanted to pull a "mommy, my siblings were mean to me! aren't you going to punish them?" but when carbon took that nice, juicy bite out of homeworld she immediately went to "WTF MOM THIS ISNT WHAT I MEANT!"

pipermccloud Classic mom, always misunderstanding and doing things her own way-

pipermccloud Is it likely she'll take a bite out of her own kids too?

thegemnants they'd have to do something reeeeeally bad for that to happen, so while possible, not likely not that it's much of a solace, considering she'll still breath down your neck and cause constant anxiety with her moon-sized eyes staring down at you

pipermccloud eugg I feel so sorry for all the Diamonds even Red And this also just gave me an idea for art! How many Diamonds did Carbon have again-

thegemnants 5, but she could probably make more if she wanted. she just chooses not to :D

pipermccloud "Okay, five's enough for me, this bunch is getting out of hand."

thegemnants not to mention, since she literally turns parts of her body into the diamonds, it would probably hurt a lot huhuhu

pipermccloud Ooh, planet-version of labor pain I'm going out on a limb here and guessing she likes Red better than the others? thegemnants Well, in her eyes, Red DID come and find her, even if it wasn't actually intended. So, she probably liked Red the best. Speaking of RD's dystopian style gempire, how much does it differ from Homeworld?

thegemnants i guess it's just really... tight. homeworld as we see it in the show seems pretty bland and generic as far as alien empires go, but in my fic, i want it to be like a mirror of earth where some things are similar but the things that are different are so vastly different that its hard to wrap your head around it. (not saying that my version is better, im just not a fan of the way this show is handling its mythology)

thegemnants Whereas Red Diamond is just a complete warrior culture where none of the members have any free time at all (except for RD's Pearl and Zirconia)They're always training, training, training, working, working, working. Ship builders and engineers and mechanics have to be constantly on their toes, since the Court lives solely on ships Soldiers have to be constantly sparring one another until exhaustion cycles into movation Sapphires have to novelize any and all visions Mages have to work on spells, Tourmalines have to work on maps, Agates have to constantly supervise, etc etc etc There is literally no room for anything else

Architect wise, how do the ships look inside and out?

thegemnants big enough to be cities, but inside, it's mostly just angular and grey monotonousness. but the gems in RD's court are just so used to it that they can tell the slightest differences in these highly-similar locations to find their way around and yes, shattering always is a fear sans those higher-up, who are the only ones allowed to show any sign of slack Do they have a uniform or is it a variety, as long as it allows them to function?

thegemnants it's all uniform per gem race, although, i suppose somewhat thankfully, red diamond does like to get fancy with it thegemnants I feel like she'd prefer to stay sedentary unless she has a reason to move. Although I also think she has a room where she goes when she's upset where she just fucking beats up statues to get her stress out.  @ufolotus

[butteredonions]

Listen. Listen. I got an amazing Voltron AU headcanon idea for you but you CAN'T GO RUNNING WITH IT MISS ONIONS I KNOW HOW YOU DO THINGS. From me to you: a Star Wars AU.

Predictably………..this is the longest one.

THANKS, ANDY.(I SCREAMED when this showed up in my inbox. Thank you for this gift, my friend. I hope you enjoy.)

(As a thank you to my followers for 100+, I took a handful of AU prompts in celebration! Prompts are quite closed, and I’m proud to present the culminating and final piece of this milestone series. Thank you all for choosing me on your dash!)

-

00. Lance has wanted to be a Jedi his entire life.

It’s his deepest, most sincere and heartfelt desire.

A Jedi is belonging.

A Jedi has purpose, a path and a place in life. A Jedi looks after others; a Jedi takes care of people. A Jedi is a protector of the galaxy. It’s a longing and a calling Lance has always aspired to.

A Jedi is great, and a Jedi is kind. A Jedi is a keeper of the peace. A Jedi has the Force, wide open and beckoning, bright and true. Lance has loved the Force and the Light for as long as he can remember.

A Jedi looks out for others. A Jedi looks outs for their own.

A Jedi belongs.

Lance is going to be a Jedi.

Little Lance, a handful of years old and toddling on tiptoes in the creche, pudgy face smushed against the transparisteel of the creche window. Stubby fingers leave messy prints, watching all the ships come and go in the distant hustle and bustle of Coruscant night traffic. That’ll be me someday.

Little Lance, older, peeking out from amongst his crechemates as they travel the halls. He watches the robes of the great Jedi Knights swishing about their ankles, Padawans rushing to catch up. That’ll be me someday.

Little Lance, sneaking out to the Temple Gardens late at night to watch the waterfall play, closing his eyes and listening to the Force gurgle over rocks, splash onto stones. The soft breeze of the Force through the grass, the flowers, the trees. The Force is everywhere. A pair of Jedi sit in the grass nearby, quiet, heads bowed in meditation. The Force swirls around them gently, a stream in its own right. Lance hides by his waterfall and observes, content. That’ll be me someday.

Lance, even older. Finally a Padawan himself, following at the heels of his Master as they head down to the hangars for their first mission assignment. Looking over his shoulder at all the other Jedi embarking on ships, returning from missions of their own. A hub of galactic peace, in and out, busy keeping the galaxy safe.

That’ll be me someday.

Lance, at the conclusion of his Trials.

Jedi protect.

Jedi belong.

Lance is going to be a Jedi.

01. Lance and Hunk have been best friends since the days of the creche.

“Are we getting anywhere?” Lance asks, leaning on the engine. The sleeve of his robe swings down and nearly smacks Hunk in the face.

“Watch it!” Hunk warns. He’s cross-legged in front of the ship’s engine, the door to its innards wide open and waiting. Larger parts are scattered on the floor next to him, a handful of tiny pieces suspended carefully in midair by his shoulder. They dart out of range of Lance’s robe; Hunk bats Lance’s sleeve aside and calls them back, floating them neatly within reach. “Lance!”

“Sorry.” Lance shifts appropriately, pulling the billowing fabric of his sleeves up and resting on them like a pillow. The engine malfunctioned a few systems back; Hunk’d pulled them out of hyperspace before any real damage could be done. They’re parked on some quiet little forest moon out here in the middle of nowhere while Hunk works his mechanical magic. “What’s the prognosis, doc?”

“I think I can do it,” Hunk says. He frowns and reaches in; the Force hums bright and content as Hunk tugs on something inside the machine. “Just need to - oh, come on.”

“Need a hand?” Lance offers.

Hunk shakes his head. “Not one of yours. Did you comm the Council?”

“Did,” Lance confirms. Hunk grunts an affirmation and sticks his head into the engine entirely. The bang of a wrench on metal floats out; Lance pitches his voice louder. “They can send a ship to pick us up if we need it, but it’ll be a while. The only other team out here in this quadrant of the Mid Rim right now is delayed.”

“Delayed?” Hunk asks, ducking out. “Can you pass me the hydrospanner?”

Lance waves his fingers. The Force responds easily to his call, lifting the appropriate tool and dropping it into Hunk’s waiting palm.

“Thanks,” Hunk says, ducking back in. His voice echoes from inside. “Who’s delayed? Do they need a pick-up instead?”

Lance shrugs, shifting his feet closer. “I asked, but the Council said no. Just something about ‘negotiations’ taking longer than anticipated.”

“Guess we’re not the only ones having trouble,” Hunk mutters. Something clatters inside the engine with him. He swears. “This is the last time we borrow a ship!”

“Excuse you, this ship’s doing great,” Lance croons, patting the broken engine fondly. “Aren’t you, girl?”

“Sorry. I’ll be clearer,” Hunk says. Lance can almost hear his eyes rolling. “This is the last time you get to borrow a ship without me checking her over.”

“Hey!” Lance squawks. Hunk laughs, his chuckles echoing. “Blue’s a good ship!”

“Did you name her?” Hunk asks, pulling his head out. His hair’s somewhat mussed above his standard ribbon. “She’s tan and green, Lance. There’s nothing blue about this ship.”

“She feels blue,” Lance coos, rubbing his knuckles affectionately over the busted metal. “Don’t you, my beautiful friend?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Hunk says, as if he’s even surprised. Lance grins. With a simple wave of Hunk’s hand three of the little pieces floating in midair drop down; Hunk catches them, squinting back into the engine. “And you get to explain this one to the Council, by the way. ‘Hey, where’s the ship you guys left with? Why’d you come back in that old thing?’”

Lance gasps. “She’s not old! She was a gift! Queen Luxia was grateful!”

“And also because ours was wrecked, no thanks to a giant serpent water-demon-thing that someone decided we had to awaken,” Hunk says. “Next time I tell you I have a bad feeling, listen to me.”

“It worked out in the end,” Lance protests, flopping down to sit by Hunk’s shoulder.

“It did,” Hunk agrees, “But next time, listen. Unless you want to be held captive by weird mermaid girls again.”

Lance pouts. “I thought they were nice.”

“Because they were flirting with you, Lance,” Hunk says patiently.

“What’s it like to get premonitions?” Lance wheedles instead, folding his legs underneath him. Lance is well-trained in many regards: he can fly almost any kind of ship, he’s super good with a lightsaber, and he’s awesome at negotiations (if he does say so himself). His training’s been thorough; Lance is proud to use the Force like he does. There’s a freedom there, a safety and a surety in the Light that Lance has never found anywhere else.

For all that he loves it, however, the Force has never seen fit to send Lance even the tiniest glimpse of the future. Which, considering how bent-out-of-shape Force Visions sometimes make Hunk, Lance doesn’t mind in the slightest.

“They’re useless, when your best friend won’t listen to you,” Hunk says.

Lance groans, flopping sideways. “Hunk!”

“Kidding,” Hunk says, grinning. The remaining two pieces floating in midair float gently into his hand. “Kind of kidding. If you’re going to sit there, you can be useful. Hold these, I need to concentrate.”

“So demanding,” Lance pouts, but scoots closer to help anyway.

02. Lance has looked up to Shiro for as long as he can remember.

Which is probably why this moment is absolutely, horrifically, entirely embarrassing.

Or it would be, if Lance was more than semi-conscious.

The Force inhibitor they injected him with - whoever they are, Lance can barely remember the species’ name - is still running through his veins, making his thoughts slick and stupid. His thoughts slowly tumble over one another when he tries to grab them, tries to slot them into any reasonable semblance of order or logic. The Force eludes him, its absence sickening and gone. Normally it flows through him like water, beautiful and strong, but now he can’t…he can’t…it’s like drifting through a terrible fog.

He’s not entirely sure how long he’s been here. A few hours? Days? Everything’s a bit of a blur. There’s the fog between him and the Force; Lance tries to reach through it, strains out for anything, but there’s nothing. His thoughts are oil, thick and slippery. There’s the hard surface he’s lying on; there’s a distant spark of pain burning in the back of his head, maybe. The lights are too bright and hurt, especially around the door, where it’s extra sparkly and red-hot shiny for some reason. They could at least have turned off the light. Maybe that way he’d actually get some sleep.

Wait.

Extra…red-hot?

What the -  

The door blows open. Part of it falls away in an explosion of metal and flames, letting in a burst of blinding light from the hall. A figure stands in the now wide-open, smoking doorframe, backlit like a rescuing, vengeful angel.

Huh.

“Lance?” says the angel.

“Hunk, I told you to go,” Lance says. Or tries to. The words trip over his tongue, thick and clumsy. All he gets out is some kind of whine vaguely shaped in the sound of “Hun’, I’oldu…”

“Lance,” the voice repeats, urgently. Lance forces his eyes open again. Someone’s bending down over him, blocking out the light from the hall and the stupid bulb overhead. Their face swims in and out of focus; dark hair, closely shaven to the sides except for a tuft in front. Strong nose. Worried grey eyes. What?

“Lance,” Shiro repeats. He leans closer; his hand’s on Lance’s cheek. The tiniest trickle of the Force hums in at his fingertips. It’s warm. For just an instant the headache’s gone. Lance’s eyes flutter closed. “Lance, can you hear me?”

“That’s me,” Lance mumbles. Definitely doesn’t make any sound related to “szat’smmborf.”

“Lance?”

“Uh-hmm,” Lance says, eloquently. He might actually just groan.

Shiro’s entire face softens into something more affectionate, more fond. “They got you good, huh, buddy. Can you walk?”

“Of course I can,” Lance says. Or means to. It definitely doesn’t come out like “‘fcurschmaumble.”

“Going to take that as a no,” Shiro says, and kriff, is he smiling? Lance can’t make his eyes focus, but Shiro’s voice definitely has a smile in it. Kriffing hell. “C’mon, up you go. We have to get out of here.”

He slings Lance over his shoulder like Lance is nothing more than a sack of potatoes, and carries him bodily, just like that, out the door.

Lance tries to keep track of their passage as they go, but it’s hard with his vision wavering in and out like this. They’re underground, judging by the path Shiro’s taking. Lance doesn’t remember these halls whatsoever. The last thing he remembers is -

“Hunnnghk,” he groans against Shiro’s shoulder.

“Hunk’s fine,” Shiro says. A tendril of Force wraps around Lance’s headache again, tugging, easing. Lance can’t help his sigh of relief. “Commed for help and we came. You doing alright?”

“Mm’fnn,” Lance manages. He swallows. “‘m fine. You - wha -?”

“We were closest,” Shiro explains. He’s supporting Lance easily with his left hand, clipping his lightsaber to his belt briefly with the fingertips of his right. “Council sent us, but we would’ve come anyway. Keep breathing, Lance. You’re doing fine.”

Uhhh. “ ‘Wh’e’?”

“We,” Shiro confirms, pulling out his commlink and speaking into it. “Guys, what’s your ETA?”

“We can meet you in the hangar in three minutes,” comes the reply. Lance frowns - or tries to. It’s more of an uncoordinated twitch of his facial muscles than anything. He knows that voice.

“Wait,” Lance struggles to say. Who’d Shiro come with?

Shiro ignores him. Lance probably would too if their positions were reversed.

“Do you have him?” the commlink asks.

“Affirmative,” Shiro says.  “He’s - “

Shiro stops suddenly, feet skidding on the stone floor. Lance struggles to raise his head. He can’t manage that, either.

“Halt,” orders a mechanical, tinny voice. “Hands up, Jedi!”

Kriffing.

“How did you end up on a planet with battle droids?” Shiro asks Lance, incredulously.

“They didn’t say they had battle droids when they asked for aid,” Lance tries to explain. Approximately three of the words make it out (“th’y ddn’sulgheshemm”). He gives up.

The comm squawks a burst of static. “Shiro? Shiro, are you there? What’s happening?”

“Hands up, Jedi!” The droids command. “Don’t move!”

“Minor delay,” Shiro confirms to the commlink. His voice is thoughtful, and almost…amused? “We’ll meet you in the hangar momentarily.”

Metal feet clack against the floor. Lance still can’t see with his face flopped into Shiro’s shoulder. “We said, hands up!”

Shiro’s shoulder shifts under Lance’s midsection. “Lance, buddy. I’m going to need to set you down for a minute.”

“My ‘saber,” Lance groans, with a supreme effort of will. “I’ca fight.”

“I have that, and no, you can’t,” Shiro says, still with that amused lilt in his voice.

The determined click of blasters interrupts him. “Don’t move!”

“I’m just putting my friend down,” Shiro says, deliberately slow. “He’s hurt.”

“I can fight,” Lance tries, one last time, as he’s gently slid off Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro sets him carefully down in an alcove in the wall, cupping the back of Lance’s head to make sure he doesn’t jar it further. Lance slides down the wall bonelessly, unable to so much as lift his head once Shiro pulls his hand away.

“Surrender!” the droids order.

“Mm,” Shiro says. He drops something into Lance’s limp palm: the commlink.

“Shiro,” Lance croaks, as Shiro stands.

“Rest,” Shiro tells him. “We’ll be out of here in two minutes.”

Even with his blurry vision, Lance can just make out the determined glint in Shiro’s eyes, steady and firm above a scarless face, one single thick streak of white in the otherwise perfect set of bangs. How Shiro got that white streak is legendary.

As is Shiro, the youngest Jedi Knight in six centuries.

“Last warning,” the droids command. “Surrender or be destroyed!”

“Not doing that,” Shiro says easily, and in one smooth motion calls his lightsaber to his right hand and ignites it.

The greatest regret of the mission, Lance thinks, is not being captured in the first place. It’s not the loss of the Force, thanks to the inhibitor drug still coursing through his veins. It’s not even that Hunk and his bad-feeling-number-twelve were right.

No. Lance’s greatest regret is that he passes out before he can watch Shiro single-handedly take down six battle-droids, armed only with a lightsaber and the strongest, most unwavering trust in the Force that Lance has ever seen.

Lance is never going to live this one down.

03. Scratch that, scratch all of that: the greatest regret of the entire mission failure is that being rescued by Shiro also means being rescued by Keith.

Lance comes to because people are yelling.

“Everyone on?” bellows a voice from afar, sharp syllables brash and blunt. Lance knows that voice. Aw, hell, he knows that voice.

“Go, Keith!” Shiro shouts. He’s carrying Lance again, slung over his shoulder. Did early promotion to Jedi Knight come at a total loss of any basic field first aid?

“What happened?!” says a blessed voice rushing towards him - oh, that’s Hunk, oh thank the Force, that’s Hunk. Relief surges through Lance’s chest.

“Hunk,” he cries, stretching out a hand. Or tries to. The drugs mean he just moans and weakly flings his fingers into the fabric of Shiro’s hood.

A hand grasps his anyway, calloused and warm. “Is he okay?” Hunk asks, worry thick in his voice.

Before Shiro can answer the ship shakes, hard. Shiro staggers but somehow doesn’t drop Lance. Hunk yelps.

“You might want to buckle up!” Keith shouts, probably from the cockpit. Keith. Of all the terrible luck.

“‘m not letting Keith save me,” Lance groans, trying to kick his feet so Shiro’ll set him down. His feet don’t even twitch. “Put me back. No. No way.”

Surprising absolutely no one, only half of the syllables make it out. (“ ‘mnahleKeeeeef…”)

“You sure he’s alright?” Hunk asks, following in concern as Shiro carries Lance further into the ship. “He’s kind of out of it.”

“Understandable, after what they dosed him with,” Shiro says. His voice reaches Lance as if through a distant tube. The world tilts; something soft presses against his back. Shiro’s hand cradles the back of Lance’s head again, laying him down. Even so Lance’s entire world spins - he can just barely make out Shiro’s face still, and behind him, Hunk’s wide-eyed worry. He squeezes his eyes shut, miserable.

“Lance,” Shiro says. “You need to go into a healing trance, okay? It’ll do until we get back to Coruscant and can put you into bacta for your head. Can you go into a trance yourself, or do you need help?”

Oh hell no. Lance doesn’t need help with a healing trance. He’s the best at these. This is his chance. He’s totally got this.

He raises a hand to say so - maybe cock the trademark finger-guns in Shiro’s direction - but can’t actually get his hand more than a millimeter off the bunk. His fingers really just flop weakly against the medical mattress.

“Uh,” Lance groans.

“He needs help,” Hunk summarizes for him.

The ship shudders beneath them, harder. Hunk grabs for a hold; Shiro braces Lance against the bunk with one hand.

“Keith?” Shiro calls urgently.

“I got it, I got it,” Keith shouts back. The ship shakes again, harder. “Krithspit!”

“You got him?” Hunk asks. “I can man a cannon.”

Shiro nods. “Go.”

Hunk squeezes Lance’s hand and lets go, robe brushing Lance’s failing fingers as he leaves. Lance should say something  - total encouragement, maybe - but the words are stuck in the fog, lost in the slick of oil inside his head. The Force is still so far away it’s sickening. He hates this.

That comforting broad hand settles on his forehead, gentle and firm.

“Breathe,” Shiro suggests. The Force swirls under his palm of his right hand; his glove’s ripped, exposing bare skin. Lance can feel Shiro’s pulse through the contact, steady and strong. Shiro’s fingertips are warm as he brushes Lance’s sweaty hair away. “Let me help you.”

“You came for me,” Lance murmurs. It’s the easiest thing he’s managed to say all evening.

Shiro’s smile warms his voice, too. “Of course we did.” The Force presses, insistent, strong. It reaches out to Lance like tendrils of wind, brushing back the clouds trapped in Lance’s brain. Lance sighs, the fog drifting wisps at his corners.

“Breathe with me,” Shiro murmurs, and Lance does.

04. It’s not that Lance doesn’t like Keith, per se. It’s just that there’s all kinds of better, totally-valid-and-not-petty-at-all reasons not to (shut up, Hunk).

For one, Keith’s - prickly, or something. He’s super quiet. He’s never really said more than four words to Lance, even when they were assigned to a mission together back in the day. He’s curt and closed and Lance has definitely wiped that mission from his memory, thank you very much. Clearly they didn’t work well together or the Council would’ve tried again. Case closed.

Keith’s an excellent swordsman. He was the first one in their early classes to advance to the next form of lightsaber technique, always reaching, always going first and always outdoing Lance by a landslide. Even now it’s not uncommon for Lance to come back from a mission with Hunk, seek out one of the sparring bots, and find Keith’s set some new record or other. If Lance wasn’t an awesome Jedi who could release his anger into the Force and all, it’d be infuriating.

There’s also the fact that out of everyone in their age-group, Keith was picked first by a Jedi Master to be a Padawan.

He was picked first and he was picked early. And even though it’s been years, even though Lance did get chosen before his thirteenth birthday, even though that’s long past and now they’re all Jedi Knights anyway so it doesn’t even matter, it still….stings, sometimes. Just a little.

The other big reason to Not Like Keith is that Keith’s primary partner for field work just so happens to be Shiro.

Nine times out of ten they’re off together, completing missions with aplomb and speed and legendary success and blah, blah, blah. A dream team. Fine. Lance gets it; he has his preferred field partner, too. He wouldn’t trade Hunk for anybody. He certainly wouldn’t trade him for Keith.

Which is why when Hunk comes down with a nasty case of the Andorian flu the day before the Council summons arrives, Lance barely manages to hide his dismay.

“I can do it,” Hunk insists, but the very act of speaking sends him into an explosive fit of sneezing.

“You’re sick,” Lance says patiently, fluffing pillows. He’s helpfully fetched every pillow in their apartment, propping Hunk up and making sure his airway’s as unrestricted as possible. It’s a nasty bug, but all the meddroids can do for Hunk is administer the vaccine and wait for it to take effect. He hands Hunk another handkerchief, fresh from Lance’s stash - a habit he’d gotten into as a Padawan. “You stay here and rest. You good? You can reach the water from there, right?”

“Yes, Master,” Hunk mimics grumpily, already reading for a holopad. “Is this yours?”

“Yours,” Lance confirms. He’d tucked away all the ‘pads with anything remotely busy or stressful, like the Council’s latest mission request? Totally stressful. The only holopads left within Hunk’s reach are puzzle games, exotic cooking magazines, and that one interesting holo-opera Hunk claims he doesn’t like (but definitely does).

Hunk’ll figure it out eventually, maybe, but hopefully not before he falls asleep for at least a quick nap. Hunk’s supposed to rest, not worry about the mission details on the Council summons. Especially since there’s no way the vaccine will take hold fast enough for him to join Lance for it.

Lance is just going to have to work with a different partner for this one.

He rocks back and forth on his heels all the way up the turbo lift, all the way up to the Council chamber. Mostly it’s nerves. The last time he went out without Hunk, he’d had to do it with that weird Balmeran Rax, and that had been, uh…interesting. Less exciting than the time Lance got paired with that one Arusian, though - Lance doesn’t even remember her name, it’d been that bad. None of it even comes close to the disaster that was the Keith-mission.

Lance shudders. Maybe he’s cursed. Does the Force work that way? Maybe he needs Hunk in order to have a successful mission. Maybe he’s better off telling the Council to wait, to find someone else to do this “time-sensitive” whatever.

No. Lance is a Jedi, and as a Jedi he has a duty. He’s not shirking this because he’s nervous. Lance is skilled and strong; he’ll make a success of this no matter who his partner is. They won’t live up to Hunk, but that’s okay. Lance can work with anybody.

Unless it’s Keith.

…the Force can’t hate him that much.

The lift lets him off on the Council floor. The young attendant there waves him in.

“Ah, Lance,” says Master Coran, seated in his deep brown chair. The other Jedi Masters of the Council nod in greeting as Lance slips in through the door. “Good of you to come. How is Hunk?”

“Definitely got the sniffles, but on the mend,” Lance says, “This is about the mission, right? I can work with whoever - ”

He stops short, because he’s finally caught sight of the anomaly in the room. The other person summoned before the Council, standing in the middle of the Council chamber floor and, oh Force, oh no, smiling apologetically in his direction.

“Keith’s ankle is broken,” Shiro says, taking no notice of Lance’s open-mouthed bug-eyed Gungan-fish impression as his jaw meets the floor. “He’s down for the count as well. Mind if I join you?”

05. Lance has never met anyone with as much control over the Force as Shiro.

The Force has always whispered to Lance like water talks to trees. It’s easy to listen and easy to drink in. It guides his choices, rushes through him with significance, answers, a simple ebb and flow that’s deeply comforting. He’s certain the Force manifests itself to other people in other ways;  sometimes, in meditation or when he focuses hard enough, Lance can feel it. The Force swirls around Hunk, for example, as bright and warm as Lance’s own energies, welcoming and gentle as a sunbeam.

Shiro’s so steeped in it, so firmly grounded in Light, that he practically shines.

The Force ripples and sways around him, tender, attentive, little wisps of a waiting breeze. When Shiro calls on the Force to soothe ruffled feathers at the royal dinner on the planet they’re visiting, it’s so subtle Lance barely notices. When they’re nearly overtaken by the palace’s personal guards, insistent the ‘honored Jedi’ stay in their rooms and don’t go into the city, Shiro’s Force redirection of their attention is so gentle and firm that Lance has to fake a coughing fit so the guards won’t notice his squeal of glee.

When they discover the outlawed rebels on the edge of town, frightened but not cowed, it’s Shiro’s battle plan that regains the city - quick-thinking, clever, genius. Lance’s favorite part of the entire thing is standing on the eve of that battle, the moment when Shiro pulls his lightsaber out. The blue blade hums in the darkness as he tilts his head, whispers to Lance: “Can you swing in from the south? You’ll only have one shot.”

Fierce pride bubbles warm and expansive in Lance’s chest.

“Yeppp,” Lance smirks, and does.

Needless to say, the mission goes really, really well.

It’s not the last time Lance and Shiro partner up, either. Keith’s ankle takes time, which leads to Mission Two - and then even longer, as Keith tries to train too soon and makes everything worse (which Shiro reports with fond exasperation as he arrives for his and Lance’s Mission Three). Hunk takes a brief stint at teaching - basic ship repair while the primary Jedi-instructor is away - which gives Lance and Shiro Missions Four and Five.

And so on. It’s amazing. Shiro isn’t Hunk, of course, but - who is? For a substitute, Lance has to admit, Shiro’s not bad. Not bad at all.

(“And this isn’t an opinion tinged in hero-worship, of course not,” Hunk teases, when he and Lance are back in the field again.

“Shut up,” Lance says.)

One afternoon, back at the Jedi Temple after his and Shiro’s impromptu mission streak has ended, Lance goes up on a whim to ask if Shiro wants to spar. Shiro’d mentioned last time that he’d be happy to teach Lance some tricks - when they aren’t in as confined an area as a ship, or as tense an area as ‘peaceful’ negotiations - and Lance fully intends to take him up on it.

Shiro’s quarters are in the same section of the Jedi Temple as Lance’s, just a floor or so away. Lance bounds up and knocks on the door.

The door swishes open.

It isn’t Shiro.

Lance’s jaw drops. “Keith?”

“The hell?” Keith blurts, right back.

“Is that Lance?” Shiro asks, from further inside.

Unbelievable. Lance gapes, staring. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Keith snaps. “What are you doing here?”

“You live here?!” Lance squawks. “But - “

“ ‘Living’ is a broad term when you’re hardly ever home,” Shiro says, finally in line of sight over Keith’s shoulder. He smiles. “Hi, Lance. What can I do for you?”

“Uh,” Lance says, still reeling. “Uh?”

“Unless you came for Keith?” Shiro asks politely, or it would be polite if not for the frankly mischievous glint in his eyes. Lance, seven missions in with Shiro, knows that glint.

“No!” he yelps, windmilling back. “Him?!”

“He’s just mad I saved his ass,” Keith says. He pulls away from the door to push around Shiro and back inside. “Twice.”

“Once!” Lance hollers at his retreating form. “Don’t remember the first. Doesn’t count!”

Shiro shakes his head, which he’s totally doing to hide the fact that he’s laughing. Traitor. “Quite the history. Keith, do you still need help with -“

“No,” comes the sullen call from within. A door slams.

“How did he manage to slam an automatic door,” Lance whispers.

Shiro rolls his eyes, amused. “Keith is a man of many talents. Come in, Lance; you’re welcome here. Ignore my rude roommate.”

He steps back, freeing the entry to his apartment. His and Keith’s apartment. Kriffing.

“I will if he will,” Lance declares, and steps inside.

06. The dream changes everything.

“They’ll expel you from the Jedi Order.”

Lance gasps; his head whips from side to side, struggling to catch a view of the speaker. No one is there. He’s alone in the middle of pitch darkness - no floor, no walls, no ceiling. Just black.

“Expel?” His voice echoes into the nothingness, hollow and distant. Cold fear swoops into his stomach. He can’t feel the Force. Lance takes a cautious step forward. “Expel - who? What’s going on?”

“Lance.”

Lance looks over his shoulder. Keith’s standing there, lit from the flickering lights unique only to the back corners of the temple hangars. A ship waits behind him, loading ramp down, landing lights humming. He is between the ship and Lance.

The hilt of a lightsaber rests in Keith’s hand, his fingers curled around the metal - no. He and Lance hold it, both their hands on it, Lance’s on top and Keith’s below. The lightsaber rests in the space between their palms.

Keith’s eyes burn.

“Don’t do this,” he says.

The room shifts. Lance reels with the abrupt curl of the hangar fading away. He’s standing in a hall, now, narrow and tight. The light overhead is cold and weak.

Shiro’s seated on a bench down the way, slumped over, elbows on knees and back bowed forward. He’s cradling his right wrist in his left hand - a wrist that shines as it catches the light. His palm, fingertips, and all the way up past his elbow is made of metal, silver and grey glinting in the weak light of the hall.

“I don’t know,” Shiro whispers, tired. Deep exhaustion’s settled under his eyes, in the harsh scar etched across his nose. The tuft of his hair has gone completely white.

A chill of alarm shivers down Lance’s spine. He steps forward. “Shiro?”

Shiro shakes his head, still staring at his hand.

“I couldn’t stop it,” he says.

“No,” Keith snaps, harsh and brutal. Lance spins towards the voice, but Keith isn’t looking at him. He’s not the same Keith from earlier; his Jedi robe is gone. He’s standing alone in the middle of a wide, cavernous room. Thin blue strips illuminate the cold rock walls and the hexagonal symbols rising from the floor. His lightsaber hums to life, the purple blade highlighting his face in stark shadows.

“I won’t quit,” Keith snarls, and lunges.

“Lance!”

Lance turns in alarm. Hunk’s staring at him - no. Hunk’s staring off into the distance, the dusk of an orange sky bright in his wide-eyed horror. A figure stands by his side, small and hidden in Hunk’s shadow. “Lance, don’t!”

“Hunk!” Lance cries, and starts forward -

It’s too late. The light of the sunset fades. Lance nearly slams right into Keith one final time, standing stock-still in the middle of the way.

“Keith?” Lance says. Keith’s back is to him, illuminated only in the light from one of the long Temple windows. The sun’s setting outside, too, but it’s dim and offers no warmth. “Keith, what’s going? Where are we?”

“The Council’s given up on him,” Keith says. Lance has never heard him like this, bitter and tired like an old bell. “They say he’s gone.”

“Who?” Lance insists. “Keith, what are you talking about?”

“Shiro’s my friend,” Keith says. He’s turned, staring down the hall towards a shadow Lance can’t see. His face is twisted, hard, and closed. “I’m not letting the Dark Side take him.”

“What’s wrong?” Hunk asks, when Lance bursts out into their shared little sitting room. He’s still up, tinkering with a droid. A holopad blinks open on the coffee table; parts of the droid are scattered all over, spanning nearly every available surface. It’s one of the reasons Hunk stays up later than Lance. He sets his tools aside, concern deep in his frown. “Lance?”

“I have to talk to Shiro,” Lance blurts. He’s half-dressed already, shoving his feet into boots. He doesn’t bother with the robe.

“Sure,” Hunk starts, easily. “Is this about - Lance, wait, Lance! Do you even know what time it is?!”

Lance doesn’t hear him. He’s already out the door and moving too fast to stop.

They’ll expel you from the Jedi Order.

I couldn’t stop it.

I’m not letting the Dark Side take him.

06. Lance doesn’t get premonitions.

06. Lance doesn’t get premonitions.

Through some stroke of luck, he finds Keith and Shiro down in one of the sparring rooms. The Force leads him there, pitter-pattering ahead of his heartstrings on silent feet. Lance pauses just in line of sight, just beyond the door.

They’re using their actual lightsabers, or at least Keith is. He’s stepping carefully and deliberately across the salle’s floor, the green blade of his lightsaber quick and burning sharp as he demonstrates a move for Shiro.

Green blade. Lance lets out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Inside, Shiro reaches to correct Keith’s grip, fingers tapping lightly on Keith’s wrist. Fingers. Flesh and blood. Real.

Real.

Lance ducks out of sight. He leans his head against the wall, breathing hard.

He doesn’t get premonitions. He doesn’t get any of this. The bad feelings, the visions? The future? That’s Hunk’s job. That’s not what Lance does.

This isn’t…

I couldn’t stop it.

Don’t do this.

This can’t be.

07. There’s only one person in the entire Jedi Order Lance trusts enough to help with this.

“I knew it,” Coran exclaims, slapping the tea canister down on the counter. “I knew it! Was this your first one? You haven’t had other dreams you’ve been hiding from me, have you? Have you?”

“What?” Lance blinks, pulling back. Coran’s right up in his face, squinting at him with one eye. “Uh, no? What - ”

“Your premonitions!” Coran exclaims, gesturing broadly with both gloved hands. He wiggles his fingers. “Your awakening.” He straightens, tugging proudly at the ends of his mustache. “And to think the others doubted me. Master Kolivan owes me fifty credits. That old scoundrel!”

Lance chokes. “What?!”

“Of course, he’s not around to collect it now, so that could prove a bit of a challenge,” Coran muses in agreement. He shrugs. “Ah, well. Patience comes to the faithful!”

“Were you,” Lance starts to ask. He can’t even - what the hell. “Were you betting on me?”

Coran’s eyes are shining, twinkling with pride. “I’d wondered if this little talent might find you someday.” He sniffs, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “Oh, I’m so proud!”

Lance buries his face in his hands. “You can stop any time, old man.”

“Nope, not now, I’ve been waiting years for this,” Coran declares, gleeful and giddy. “Sometimes this particular talent can turn up late, very late in life. This is later than usual, but I had a Hunch and the old Force hasn’t led me wrong yet.”

Enough’s enough. Lance groans, letting his forehead hit the table. “Do I always have to do things late?”

There’s a reassuring pat on top of his head.

“There, there, Padawan,” Coran says. He’s sombered a little, voice gentle. It takes Lance back immediately; some of the tension drops from his shoulders. “There’s no shame - ”

“- in taking your time,” Lance mutters with him, into the wood. “‘m not your Padawan anymore, Master.”

“You’ll always be my Padawan,” Coran says, fondly. He ruffles Lance’s hair one more time before pulling away. “Tea?”

“Maybe.”

Coran hums, still quite pleased, and busies himself with the tea preparations. Lance gives himself twenty more seconds of embarrassment before he sits up, rubbing at his forehead.

“Right,” Coran says, when the tea’s steeped. “Tell me more. You’re certain the lightsaber was purple?”

Lance nods. Coran pours. The tea streams into two mugs, steaming hot and a peaceful amber. “Not like - magenta purple, but darker. Almost blue.”

He can’t shake the images from his head. Keith’s determination in that empty room of rock, hard and fiercely desperate. Shiro slumped in the hall, the strength Lance admires and respects leeched from his shoulders.

I’m not letting the Dark Side take him.

“Here.” Coran slides a mug of tea to Lance, breaking him from his reverie. The busy traffic of Coruscant sails by the windows, far away in the distance. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

“It better not be that nunvil-flavored stuff,” Lance warns, reaching for the cup.

Coran waves his hand absently. “No, no, not for this. You haven’t had this one before.”

That’s never reassuring. Coran’s infamous even among the Council for his terrible taste in tea. Lance suffered through many an awful cup in his Apprenticeship.

…well, there’s always a chance. Lance takes a skeptical sniff.

The putrid scent of dying animal and burnt grass whiffs straight into his nostrils. Lance gags. “Coran!”

Coran chuckles. “Helps clear the old noggin. Take a sip, and then finish telling me about your vision.”

Vision.

Lance stills. A spark of fear lights under his ribcage; he struggles to release it into the Force, setting his cup down slowly. “So you think it’s real.”

“I think times are changing,” Coran says, carefully.

08. Time passes. Lance doesn’t have the dream again. Maybe it was a fluke.

The call comes, blinking urgent and frantic across the dashboard of their ship.

“That’s an emergency code,” Hunk says, frowning. “The frequency - ”

“I got it,” Lance says. He taps open the channel immediately, cocking an eyebrow at the comms. “Lance and Hunk here.”

There’s no visual on the comms; nothing but static. Hunk leans forward, tweaking a dial until the static diminishes. Lance grins. “What can we do you for?”

There’s such a long pause Lance wonders briefly if the system’s broken.

“Helllllo?” he drawls. “Anyone there?”

The voice on the other end sighs.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Keith groans.

It’s six hours before Lance and Hunk manage to pick up Keith and Shiro. Any thoughts Lance had of lording this over Keith dies as soon as the landing ramp hits the dirt.

“Quick,” Keith insists by way of greeting, “They’ll have seen you land, we have to get out of here. Hurry!”

Keith is a mess. He’s covered in scratches and bruises, his robe ripped and marred. He’s frantic, yelling up the ramp as Lance stares back at him, tongue-tied and paralyzed with shock.

Keith’s visibly supporting Shiro, who staggers with every step the two of them take up the ramp. Shiro’s bruised and bleeding too, from a scratch under his eye just to the left of his nose. For a second Lance is slammed with a double-vision of the Other Shiro, the one from his dream with a scar deep across his face -

No. That isn’t real. This is just a scratch; just a nick. What’s most frightening is the vacant look in Shiro’s eyes, the tiny tremors wracking his frame as Keith all but drags him onto the ship.

“Keith,” Shiro mutters, as their feet hit the metal grating of the interior. He’s swaying.

“We have to go,” Keith says, again. “Medbunk?”

“This way,” Hunk says, swooping in to sling Shiro’s other arm over his shoulder. “C’mon, big guy, we’re heading over here.”

Lance follows despite himself. “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t need it,” Shiro murmurs. The way he staggers into Hunk betrays him.

“You’re sitting down until I tell you otherwise,” Keith snaps. The medbunk’s not far; between the two of them he and Hunk get Shiro there with ease. “He threw you into a wall!”

“Who?” Lance gapes, hand gripping one of the overhead rails. Shiro lets himself be pushed down without complaint. The fingers of his hand are twisted tight in Keith’s tunic; he shows no sign of letting go and Keith doesn’t move to pull away. “What happened?”

“It was a trap,” Keith says tightly. “They sabotaged our ship and then ambushed us. Why aren’t we moving? Shiro, lay down.”

“I’m fine,” Shiro protests.

“You are so not, man,” Hunk says, placing his broad hand on Shiro’s chest when the other man tries to get up.

Shiro’s terribly pale and shaking. The stark red of blood stands out against his cheek. His pupils are blown wide. “We have to - the Council has to know - ”

“It can wait, Takashi,” Keith snaps, “Lay down.”

“I can comm them,” Lance offers. He’s halfway between the medbay and the cockpit, but despite Keith’s urgency the Force isn’t screaming at Lance to get them in the air. The mystery in front of him is too unnerving. “What do they need to know? What happened?”

“Medkit?” Keith grunts.

“Right here.” Hunk also reaches up to snap on the brighter lights of the medbunk. Shiro flinches. Keith turns Shiro’s cheek towards him to carefully apply a plasti; as he does Hunk gasps, shocked. “How did - Keith, your arm!”

“What?!” Lance abandons any pretext of giving them space, crowding in over Hunk’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Keith says. “I got out of the way.”

The sleeve of his robe is completely and utterly singed, marred in a distinctive pattern that Lance - Lance knows. How many times has he received a similar burn on his sleeve, on hems, even on flesh when the training blades are set low enough? Next to him Hunk gapes, speechless with horror. A chill runs down Lance’s spine. The Force goes very, very still.

There’s only one type of weapon in the entire galaxy that could cause that kind of a burn.

“Who did you run into?” Lance asks. It’s as if the words come from somewhere outside of him, someplace different. Distant. Cold with fear.

Keith stiffens. Shiro blinks, sucking in a ragged breath.

“Guys?” Hunk asks, worry and concern warring in the single word.

“A Sith,” Shiro says at last, into the horrified silence. He swallows, thick and choked. “He called himself Darth Sendak.”

09. The Force works in mysterious ways.

Shiro’s sitting on a bench in the hall, slumped, hunched over. He cradles his right wrist in his other hand. The lights overhead glint off the metal of his wrist and palm.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“I won’t let them,” Keith says, fierce, stern. “Shiro’s my friend. I’m not letting the Dark Side take him.”

“They’ll expel you from the Jedi Order.”

“Lance,” Keith says. Lance whirls; Keith’s standing there between Lance and an open ship, holding out a lightsaber. Their hands meet, over and under.

“Lance,” Keith says, again. His eyes burn. “Don’t do this.”

Lance jerks awake.

It’s late. The lights of the ship are dimmed, the comms silent. His heart’s pounding. Hunk snores next to him in the co-pilot’s seat, completely out. Lance leans over him, checking the hyperspace clock. Plenty of time.

Lance pulls Hunk’s robe off the back of the seat where his friend had tossed it, draping it over Hunk’s shoulders and tucking him in instead. Hunk snuffles a bit in his sleep, but doesn’t wake. Lance shakes his head fondly and stands up.

He needs some air, or something.

He’s heading for the little galley on board when he hears the voices. They’re quiet, pitched low and murmuring in the artificial night. The ship’s not exactly small, but Lance can’t help himself. He presses against the wall and settles his breathing.

“You need to tell someone,” Keith murmurs.

“It’s really nothing,” Shiro insists. He sounds exhausted. Lance can’t exactly blame him.

A tiny huff of air. “Don’t give me that. I’ve never seen you so off your game. Sendak rattled you.”

“He’s strong,” Shiro mutters, and if he’s trying for thoughtful, the tone isn’t quite there. “Keith. Nothing’s bleeding. I’m alright.”

“Your definition of ‘alright’ has always needed help,” Keith shoots back, so fast it’s clearly an old topic between them. “You don’t have to be bleeding to be hurt. What do you want, Lance?”

Lance jumps, startled. Caught, he swings sheepishly out from around the corner.

Keith’s sitting on the metal grating by the medbunk, glaring up at him. Shiro’s still lying down, though his eyes are focused now and there’s a little more color to his cheeks.

“Just passing through to the kitchen,” Lance offers. Keith exhales another tiny huff of air. Lance refuses to back down. “You guys want anything?”

Keith’s reply is immediate and harsh. “No thank you.”

Lance’s eyes narrow. Where does Keith get the right to be like that to him? What has Lance ever done? “I’m not going to poison you or anything. I know how to make caf just fine.”

“That’d be great, actually,” Shiro says, before Keith can. Keith starts to say something; Shiro cuts him off with a pointed look. “That’d be nice, Lance. Thank you.”

Keith shuts his mouth. He doesn’t make eye contact with Lance.

There’s nothing else Lance can do, then. He nods and turns to head back down the corridor.

He’s barely made it three steps before Shiro’s voice floats quietly to him once again.

“Why are you so rude to him?”

Lance’s feet stop.

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t -

But something in him is upset, is coiled and tight and hurt. Keith rattles him too, even if he doesn’t mean to, even if Lance can’t explain why. Guiltily, quietly, Lance pulls the Force around his presence to mask it ever-so-slightly, making himself seem out of earshot and farther away than four feet down the hall.

“He started it,” Keith mutters. He sounds angry - no. Not angry. Sullen? Lance frowns.

Shiro sighs.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Keith says.

A pause. The slight shifting of cloth, brief. “All I’m saying, Keith. Give him a chance.”

“Oh, so I’m supposed to be polite to someone who’s been nothing but rude to me?”

There’s a pointed silence. Lance frowns. I’m not always rude.

Right?

Keith sighs, that tiny little huff of air again. “He doesn’t - I don’t get him, Shiro. He’s always glaring at me, and he’s so - so loud. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I do it because it’s not hard,” Shiro says. “In addition to being talented, a good partner, and strong in the Force, Lance is also a Jedi Knight, just like you. He didn’t earn that title lightly. Ask him to spar with you, when we get back. He might surprise you.”

Keith doesn’t reply. Lance tucks the Force in closer to himself, hiding both his presence and the confusing mix of emotions the Force surges with. Pride swells in him again, but this time it’s also mingled with the hot burn of shame, pressing and tight.

Has he been mistreating Keith, too?

“I don’t understand him,” Keith says, at last.

“That might be because you haven’t tried,” Shiro suggests, slow and calm. “Lance is a good person, Keith. It doesn’t matter who ‘started’ it. One of you has to end it.”

Lance’s face heats, flushing embarrassed red in the darkness of the hall.

Jedi protect.

Jedi look out for others.

Jedi look out for their own.

How could he have forgotten so thoroughly?

Keith doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. The awkward silence is enough.

Shiro chuckles, the sound tiny but true. “Besides.” Cloth rustles again, shifting for longer. “You might need him someday.”

“That the Force talking, or my laserbrained friend who shouldn’t be sitting up?”

“Can’t drink caf lying down.”

“You’re hopeless,” Keith mumbles, but it’s fond. Lance pushes himself away and heads for the kitchen.

The caf takes a bit of time to brew. Lance busies himself by grabbing the mugs (finding them, really; Hunk stores things in weird places sometimes) and giving them a good cleaning, just in case.

One for Shiro. One for him. One for Hunk, who’ll probably snore himself awake any second if he hasn’t already. Lance hums a little as he prepares the hot drink. He’s no Hunk, sure, but the motions are familiar and soothing.

Don’t do this, Keith’d said, in the dream. Lance’s hands still over the cups. Lance, don’t do this.

I don’t know, Shiro’d whispered, in the dream.

Shiro’d also said: One of you has to start.

Lance reaches and grabs a fourth mug.

By the time he returns to the medbunk, mugs balanced carefully in his hands, it’s been long enough he’s kind of surprised to still hear voices. The conversation’s turned again. Lance slows, not willing to risk the corner so fast with four mugs.

“So we get stronger,” Keith says. “We warn the Council; we insist. For next time.”

“You think so too, then.”

“The Sith didn’t just appear,” Keith says, low. Lance pauses, nearly spilling the caf. “You know it. I know it. If they’re out, they want something. This isn’t going to be the last time we see them. This is a beginning.”

There is a terrible, heart-wrenching pause.

“Shiro?”

Lance waits. Fabric shifts; someone sucks in a breath. Lance makes himself stay put.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, barely loud enough to be heard. His voice cracks; Lance has never heard anyone sound so concerned as Keith does in this moment. “Shiro, what’s wrong?”

Lance cannot resist any longer. He peeks around the corner.

Keith’s kneeling now, looking up at his best friend. Shiro’s sitting up, folded in on himself. The lights of the bunk reflect off a face lined in weariness.

“I don’t know,” Shiro murmurs, and only Lance’s grip on the Force keeps the mugs from dropping. “But I…I have such a bad feeling about this.”

Shiro’s staring at his right hand.

10. When it happens, it’s devastating.

“I don’t know,” Shiro murmurs. He’s staring at his hands, the fingers of his right whirring as the machinery inside moves. It’s a quiet noise in the silence of the hall. “I couldn’t stop it.”

“Don’t do this,” Keith insists. He’s standing between Lance and a ship, lightsaber held out, eyes hard. “I trusted you.”

“Lance,” Hunk urges, frantic, “Lance, you need to come and come now, I can’t hold them off much longer!”

“No!” cries a new voice, one he’s never heard before, the syllables stark and short. “My father - my family!”

“The Council’s given up on him,” Keith concludes. The long windows of the temple let in the light of the setting sun. It’s warm and wrong across Keith’s skin, the hard purple of his eyes. His lightsaber hangs at his waist; not purple. Unignited. Dark. “They say Shiro’s gone.”

“The Council knows what’s best,” Lance tries. It’s like he’s speaking without being aware of it, like his tongue moves without his conscious consent. The words drift to his ears from afar. “I’m sure they - ”

“I don’t care what they say,” Keith snaps, and he’s looking over Lance’s shoulder - no. He’s making direct eye contact, cold hard steel burning into Lance’s gaze. Lance can’t look away. “They don’t know Shiro like I do. Shiro’s my friend. I’m not letting the Dark Side take him.”

Lance jolts awake with a cry, breathing hard and panicked. Cold sweat dries on his skin. The Force is screaming, crying with outrage all around him. With Keith’s words ringing in his ears Lance throws the bedcovers aside, clambering for his boots. He has to find Shiro. He has to ask. This time he has to ask, don’t be a coward, Lance, if Shiro’s really in danger from the Dark Side Lance owes it to him to ask.

The Force cries, swirling around him, upset upset upset. There’s no time. Lance doesn’t have time to sit and be sick about it. The Force barks a warning just as he palms open the door to his bedroom. Hunk stands on the other side, hand raised to knock.

“Lance!”

“Hunk,” Lance gasps. “Hunk, I need to talk to Shiro. He’s - ”

Hunk’s jaw drops. “How did you know? Did the Force tell you?”

“I - what?” Lance’s thoughts grind to a stop. The Force - told him something, if that’s what the vision was, but right now it’s just screaming, crying and loud. He can barely stand. “I - no? What? Hunk, how did I know what?”

Hunk’s eyes widen. “You don’t - you don’t know, then. Oh, Lance. I’m…I’m so sorry.”

For the first time Hunk’s alarm fully reaches him. The pallor of Hunk’s skin; the way he’s worrying at his lip; the way he’s wringing his hands. The wide fear in his eyes. “Sorry? Sorry for what? Hunk, what’s wrong?”

“The call just came in,” Hunk says. Lance’s breath catches in his throat. “I was coming to wake you. Shiro was escorting some scientists over to Kamino. They were - we think they were shot down.”

The Force slams to a shuddering, desperate full-pitch halt.

“No,” Lance breathes.

“Master Coran commed,” Hunk says. Worry mingles with great sorrow in his eyes. The Force coils around the both of them, upset and distraught. “If anyone would know, it’s him. Their ship was destroyed, Lance. Shiro’s gone.”

12. Lance catches Keith in the hangar, wide-eyed and frantic.

“Keith!”

“Don’t try to stop me.” Keith’s got a bag over his shoulder, bulky and crowded. Exhaustion lines the shadows under his eyes, sits rigid in the tension of his shoulders. “He’s not gone. Get out of my way.”

“No.” Lance stands his ground. “Keith, you’re too close to this. We’re all - ”

“He’s not dead,” Keith cries, a near shout in the emptiness of the hangar at this hour of the morning. “Someone sabotaged their ship, exploded it or something just so we’d think that. Shiro isn’t gone.”

“Keith,” Lance tries, again. The Force whispers around him, keening and lost. He takes a step closer. “Keith, you have every right to be upset - ”

Keith pulls away, out of range. “Don’t touch me.”

Lance pulls back too, fingers hanging in the air. How do you comfort someone who doesn’t want to be comforted?

“Okay, I’ll play,” he says. Something beeps from the ship behind him; Keith looks up, brow tight. “Say Shiro’s not dead. Where is he?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Keith snaps. “And that’s what I’m going to find out. If he’s stranded, or someone took him, I’ll - I’ll find him. I’m not letting this happen.”

I’m not letting the Dark Side take him.

Lance stills. Keith, sensing the change, pushes past Lance’s shoulder and towards his ship.

“Wait,” Lance says, spinning round. “Keith, wait. There’s no proof someone took him.”

Keith turns, too. His eyes meet Lance’s. Lance braces for Keith’s angry hot glare -

- and is instead surprised to see frustrated, bitter sorrow.

“Shiro’s not dead, Lance,” Keith says. He swallows. “He isn’t. I would’ve…”

He stops. The Force whispers. Lance notices it almost absently: a warm press, like heat from sitting too close to a fire. Keith takes a deep breath.

“I would’ve felt it,” he says, quietly.

It’s the first piece of honesty they’ve ever shared.

Lance’s heart catches in his throat.  “Are you two…?”

He doesn’t even know what question to ask.

Keith shrugs, hefting his bag higher on his shoulder. “I’ve known Shiro my whole life. I don’t care what the Council says about this; he’s still out there. I’m not wasting another second here while he’s alone and in danger.”

“He isn’t alone,” Lance says, still trying, still reeling. “What about the scientists he was with? Hutch? Holt?”

“Does it matter?” Keith asks tightly. “If I find them too, great. Shiro’s my first priority. I have his last known coordinates. Every minute I waste arguing with you about this is a minute longer he’s on his own. Now let me go.”

The Force whispers to Lance again, distraught, tired. It’s more of a whine -

No.

It’s a murmur.

It’s a murmur of a creek, small and new. It’s a murmur built into the swish of an open door; the shout of a pilot from the cockpit (everyone on?). It’s a murmur shaded in the blur of a lightsaber late at night (green, not purple). It’s a murmur founded in the answer of a frantic call (you’ve got to be kidding me). It’s a murmur crafted around the corner of a small ship, formed in the hold of a tiny kitchen, pulling down a fourth mug.

Let go.

“I’m not here to stop you,” Lance says. Keith’s head snaps up. “I’m here to help.”

Keith opens his mouth to reply; Lance holds up his hand. “I get it. I get that you don’t like me, but Shiro’s my friend, too. If I can help, I want to. I’m going to. And besides: you need a pilot.”

Keith blinks, stunned. “I need a what?”

“You need a pilot,” Lance repeats. “Or a co-pilot, whatever. That ship behind you’ll fly a lot better with two sets of hands. Or we can take Blue. She’s old but she’s fast. You and Shiro both already know her.”

“Blue?” Keith echoes, confused.

“My ship,” Lance clarifies. “I mean, not ‘mine’, of course, she belongs to the Temple just like the pod you’re borrowing there, but. She’s sturdy, and she can get us to Kamino faster than this old thing. What do you say?”

Something in Keith’s eyes shifts, a barrier not breaking, but…bending, perhaps. In the Force, a tiny ember sparks.

“I’m not asking you to come with me,” he says.

“Tough,” Lance says. “I’m offering. Yes or no?”

The silence in the hangar is thick. Any minute now the Temple’s going to wake thoroughly; any minute the hangar’s going to flood with droids, beginning their morning routine of maintenance. They’re out of time.

“What about Hunk?” Keith asks, finally.

“I left him a note,” Lance lies. Hunk will understand. “Are we doing this, or not?”

+1. Keith agrees.

(other AUs: daemons | fashion | pirates | fantasy: magic | fantasy: urban | sports | fantasy: obsidian | hogwarts )

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Final Edit

Introduction to Doctor Jane Healy’s Essay on the Ian McKinnon Logs.

The daily logs of Doctor Ian McKinnon were found among the rubble of the Astra 27 three days after it plummeted to earth in the April of 2067 after a failure in the electrical wiring. These logs, since then, have been heralded the most convincing piece of evidence supporting the movement to end solo space travel since the first Astra took flight in 2037. The logs support the argument that ships as technologically complex as the Astra model can not be manned alone, and that machine failure cannot be overcome alone. But I believe the logs provide substantially darker evidence as to why solo space travel should be abolished for good.

Log 1.

I think that I should perhaps do a little introduction. Hello, my name is Ian and I’m 34 years old. Goodness, this I’ve made this sound like school. Hi, I’m Ian and I’m 34 and I like TV and the colour yellow, when I grow up I’d like to fly to space. I’m rambling. They don’t make it clear what we’re meant to be reporting in these logs. I suppose some sort of progress report. Right, well, I’m heading to space and that seems to be going rather well so far. Astra 27 all intact, no malfunctions yet, at least none that the Astra deems necessary to warn me of. It’s all quite exciting. Until tomorrow!

23rd May 2067, Post-Mortem

Upon careful examination of the body of Doctor Ian McKinnon it has been discovered that the cause of death was electrocution. It has been deduced that the most likely cause of this was the deceased’s attempt to correct the faulty wiring of the ship. This deduction is being contested due to the unlikelihood of the scenario, due to each astronaut’s teachings not to touch the motherboard of the ship. Further tests are being run.

Log 61.

It seems horrifically ungrateful, doesn’t it, to say that space can get boring. I spend each morning staring down at the Earth in the same way I would stare at the stars as a boy. I could name every constellation, pull out all the important stars and attempt to make friends by listing them off to any poor child that made the faux-pas of standing too close to me at Scout Camp. Sirius, of course, was my favourite. But if anyone asked it was Vega, for it’s blue. But I knew it was Sirius, quite simply because it was big and in the dog constellation, two things that excited my prepubescent brain. And now, I stare at the Earth. I watch as it turns and each day I wait to see the tiny slice of Europe and wonder at all the little boys and girls who are just getting to sleep after spending the night looking up into the sky. How many, I wonder, will tell their friends they had seen a shooting star? I’m sure they knew, as I did, that it was really a helicopter, but their friends didn’t need to know that. But here, there is no one to tell about the slice of Europe I can see every day.

There were no malfunctions in the Astra today.

20th April 2067, The Telegraph

A night of speculation and panic has reached a devastating end this morning as the bright lights that streaked the sky in the early hours of the morning are revealed by NASA to be the Astra 27 plummeting back home. After a severe malfunction in the wiring, it appears that British astronaut Doctor Ian McKinnon tried to return the rocket to the plains of Colorado, USA, to save the £25 million machine and his own life. Yet, terribly, to no avail. Though the atmospheric shields remained secure through both the Thermosphere and Mesosphere, saving the Astra from combustion, it shut down entirely just a cruel 55km from the Earth’s surface. In a plead posted on the NASA website as dawn broke, we are asked to take a minute’s silence at midday to honour the deceased Doctor Ian McKinnon.

Log 76.

Outside the right window, you can see nothing. A static screen through the rectangular glass. It reminds me of being young again, the black with white flecks, often curtained with soft grey. But this time without the potential mystery of a unidentified flying helicopter. Perhaps, from this window, nothing is a bit harsh. In the clean, unaffected glass I can see myself. The grounding reminder that I still exist.

Log 80.

You left me a booklet that I consult every single day. It tells me about the importance of routine in maintaining your sanity. So I read it every morning as soon as I wake up. It stresses the importance of remembering your past self, your self on earth. Little tics, little habits you have to maintain. As well as new routines to integrate into your new life. So, after checking the booklet, and my pocket-watch, I go to the motherboard.

2nd June 2034, NASA interview posted to their website

We are honoured to reveal today the next revolution in battling the final frontier. After decades of innovation, experimentation and exploration, Professors Amelia Hudson and Alijaz Guildenstern can now reveal their Astra, a rocket that can not only fly itself to and through the universe, but can also repair itself if it should encounter any technical malfunction.

‘It will completely change our idea of space,’ says Hudson, ‘No longer will it be an unattainable image, but a reachable destination that any person can visit.’

That is not to say, however, that the Astra can be flown by your average man. But this is a solid step paving the way to the human race’s conquering of the stars as space travel becomes more accessible and safer by the day.

Log 95.

I woke up to bright blue lights. Small, glowing beams of iridescence, burning onto my eyelid. As I closed my eyes the image of them glowered on my eyelid from the clinical blue to a fuzzy red and when I opened my eyes again they were gone. But when I closed my eyes again they were there, but fading quickly. And the more I blinked the quicker they left, until I was quite unsure whether they really existed in the first place. I wish there was someone here, to make sure I’m not going crazy. I have checked the Astra status and there has been no reported malfunction. I have reasoned with myself and have come to the conclusion that when my eyes went from black to this sterile white interior my brain must’ve confused itself, forgot its function, forgot how to process. This makes sense to me.

As for space, it remains the same. When I stare out the window I can see the same stars, and they all look the same. Until tomorrow.

Log 129.

It doesn’t quite make sense anymore. My theory doesn’t quite play out. The blue lights are here in the day. And god how they taunt me. They dance around me but I can’t follow them. They burn onto my eyes and I can’t blink to make them run away. I think they’re maybe in my brain now. It is cruel. But who can I tell? I can look down onto the earth and see the piece of my home and scream at them, hoping that my cries will make it through the machine, the vacuum, the spheres, air, bricks, into home. But I’m not that crazy yet. There has been three alerts in the rocket today, the wiring has been damaged but it is being fixed.

Log 135.

I have spent the day investigating the blue fairies. They’re just how I imagined the sprites in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Puck a whirl of blue, causing mischief and praying on those who are alone, changing their psychology and their desires. Now when I wake up I don’t really see him, but I can hear him a little, his clanging in the engine room echoing into my room. I see him later though, when I check the motherboard. Not properly, of course, just a quick flash. The machine is working hard to repair the wiring.

A clipping from James Goodwin’s 2086 award winning non-fiction novel on Ian McKinnon.

On a small metal spaceship, with thin, empty corridors, sharp corners and smooth walls, any sound you might hear, you will hear. Sometimes, Ian would tap one of the metal pipes and listen as the sound reverberated through the hallways, bouncing off the sterile, steel walls until it reached him again. It was nice, for Ian to have those little conversations with the walls. It made him forget quite how alone he was. And for hours at a time he would tap, sometimes a little pattern, occasionally the tune to a simple song from home, but mostly just single taps, waiting for them to come back before he’d reply again. It became part of his routine. He would wake up to the bright blue lights, check the motherboard, then talk.

Sometimes, if Ian was lucky, he wouldn’t have to start the conversation himself. He would hear a knock, or a pattern, or a little song from home, and stop what he was doing and knock back. It never particularly crossed his mind who he was talking to, it was just nice to have someone there. In fact, it wasn’t until Ian heard him talk that he had even considered meeting him.

“Hello?” Ian said, when he heard the voice. “Who’s there?”

The man was sitting in the control centre. His hand, which was resting on his lap when Ian first saw him, was now gliding over to the motherboard. He didn’t speak when Ian saw him, although he did hear him on several occasions after though he only saw him once more after this day. He was older than he was, with receding hair and deep lines on his forehead. He wore a well-fitting grey suit, and he had with him a briefcase. He made Ian feel small, in a lovely way. Ian quite liked looking at him, he was comforting and he liked having someone there with him so he wasn’t quite so alone. His hand, which had a few freckles covered with long, curling grey hairs, ran over the buttons and wires. He ran over them in a circle, like he was memorising the pattern. He gave Ian a comforting smile, picked up his briefcase and left.

2nd June, 2067, The Telegraph.

In a disturbing progression of events, Doctor Ian McKinnon’s Captain’s Logs have been found amongst the rubble of the Astra 27. Doctor Ian McKinnon has now been honoured and mourned by the nation for his tragic death two months ago, but the public now has a new tragedy to adjust to as the logs reveal the leading weeks up to his demise were not spent in the jovial state we had all naively but rather a state of increasing paranoia and insanity.

Last Log.

I have finally accustomed to life on the Astra. I had a moment of enlightenment this morning, about the loneliness that I think eats at us throughout our lives. I have spent over 100 days staring at the Earth, the Earth in it’s entirety and I think that this gives me rather broad understanding of the people that mill there below. They’re all alone. Every one of us is alone. And here, if I make no noise, all I can here is my little pocket watch, a token from home. It’s rhythmical ticking, dimmed by time. But it reminds me that I’m alone. I can remember the moments in my life when that was all I could hear. Moments when I was physically alone. But I have come to the realisation that it doesn’t matter whether I can hear that ticking or not. We are all alone. Alone in our heads, in our thoughts. I think that maybe these are what these solo missions on the Astra are about. I think I understand it all now.

Rhiannon Whale

[hermanwatts]

Science Fiction and Fantasy New Releases: 20 July, 2019

Dungeon core factories, ghost machines, and vampire councils feature in this week’s fantasy new releases.

The Depth of Deceit (Elder Stones #5) – D. K. Holmberg

With the threat of another attack, Haern must use his new abilities to make a dangerous gambit. Doing so requires he trust someone who has betrayed him once before, and count on others who still don’t fully understand the nature of their abilities. If they succeed, they might finally be able to stop Olander Fahr before he manages to acquire another of the Elder Stones.

Daniel struggles to understand his connection to the shadows along with what it means that he can sit at the Council of Elders. When a new threat appears, his unique understanding of the shadows might be the key to survival.

Lucy continues her search to discover the longer game. With the Architect now imprisoned, she has access to someone who can guide her to where Olander Fahr might attack next, but they remain a step behind. A growing fear that someone has deceived her leads her in a new direction, but it’s one that will require her to make a dangerous choice.

Isolated within the city of Lexa, Ryn must continue to serve the Great One, but a new challenge to her authority forces her to look for power in a different way.

Plans unfold, but for the first time, all begin to wonder if the one behind them is different than who they had believed. And if not Olander Fahr, who is the real threat?

Factory Core – Jared Mandani

Who could have predicted that a simple mining mission would end up jeopardizing the entire known world?

When a couple of dwarves keep pushing deeper and deeper into the earth to find new veins of mithril to extract, what they unearth, however, is the doom of their race. Bursting out of the breach they created is a horde of powerful demons that only know one thing: to destroy.

Fast-forward a few months and the war rages on. Unfortunately for them, despite their bravery, the dwarves are no match for the sheer numbers and ferocity of their adversary.

In a last-hope attempt to save their kind, they decide to activate a secret project their engineers had been working on: a mobile factory made of bricks, brass, magical runes and soul gems. That sentient machine is not only capable of observing and learning from its foes, it can also produce the required weapons necessary to strike back.

This Factory Core—as they call it—will need to build units and defensive mechanisms to repel the demon army and prevent it from razing the city. But this will prove to be an almost impossible task as the invaders, led by a vicious commander, have more than one trick up their own sleeve…

The Forging of Dawn – Jacob Peppers

No armies march. No generals marshal their troops on some distant battlefield. Yet the people of Entarna are at war.

And they are losing.

The nightwalkers have returned, creatures that roam the darkness searching for anyone foolish or unfortunate enough to find themselves without light to protect them. And the people of Entarna carry lanterns and torches, wielding them as shields against the night’s creatures.

But sooner or later all lights fade. All flames go out.

Torrik and his wife were once soldiers in the war against the Dark. But when their son Alesh was born, they left that life behind them in the hopes of keeping him safe. But Alesh is no normal child, and Torrik will be forced to learn a hard truth.

Mortals plan. Mortals hope. And the gods laugh.

Finding themselves in the center of a conspiracy threatening the entire realm, Torrik and his wife must try to become the people they once were, people they’d thought they’d left behind long ago.

For when all lights go out…darkness reigns.

The Ghost Machine – Kristen Brand

Ella Rosenfeld doesn’t feel insane. In fact, she feels quite normal. Exactly how she did before the accident.

Until the sun goes down. Then the hallucinations start…and the ghosts come. Sometimes they speak to her. Sometimes they merely stare. But they couldn’t possibly be real, could they?

Checking herself into an asylum in the mountains of Eastern Europe, Ella hopes the doctor there can cure her. She doesn’t want to be a burden to her family. She doesn’t want to keep seeing ghosts, or whatever they are, every night. Desperate for relief, she’ll try anything to banish the dead.

But there is no solace to be found. Only silence, knitting, and cruelty. Soon Ella realizes that while she could check herself into the asylum, she cannot check herself out. At the mercy of the doctor, her treatments grow more barbarous and agonizing by the day.

Ella must escape before the horrific experiments leave her dead. Or completely mad. But her only hope is the surly and stubborn Baron. Only he can stand between her and the twisted treatments her Doctor insists are necessary.

Will the Baron help Ella or betray her? And what terrible fate is waiting for Ella beneath the asylum?

Godless (Feathers and Fire #7) – Shayne Silvers

Callie Penrose is back to murder vampires and chew bubblegum. And she’s all out of bubblegum.

Callie has had a rough few days. Five minutes after discovering she had a Godfather, she learned that the future of the world depended on the two of them taking an immediate road trip.

To Castle Dracula—a place even the supernatural community believed to be an urban myth, dead and abandoned long ago when Dracula had perished at the hands of Van Helsing, Mina, and Jonathan Harker.

Except…Dracula and his castle were alive and well. Worse, he had been secretly running the Sanguine Council—the governmental body of every vampire in the world—ever since his alleged death, with none the wiser. Not even the vampires.

And Callie’s first Godfather-daughter dance was to go assassinate the Sultan of Suck once and for all.

But she soon learns that Dracula is the absolute least of her concerns. And that some bonds should never be forged. Because once made, they can never be broken…

Callie Penrose is about to show the world fear in a palmful of blood.

Lighting Distant Shores (Challenger’s Call #4) – Nathan A. Thompson

He was too late to stop the darkness from falling.

But there’s still time to raise up a light.

Wes Malcolm has arrived to the world of the Sun-Jeweled Seas, but the cataclysm of this world has already passed. Darkness covers the waters. All but a handful of people have vanished without a trace. And something dark and burning hunts the survivors hiding in their islands.

But the Challenger-Lord of Avalon refuses to believe that all is lost.

He is no longer the damaged teenaged orphan that stumbled into the mists of Avalon. He has rescued two worlds, seen the dead resurrected, unearthed forgotten magics, and received the power of two cosmic dragons. Every impossibility thrown at him so far has proven to be a lie.

He will not accept defeat here, either. Not until he drives back the darkness hiding every shore.

  Science Fiction and Fantasy New Releases: 20 July, 2019 published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/