#these belts are a great way to use all scraps

[badassindistress]

I had to listen to someone who called himself a "Customer Succes Manager" for more than an hour today, so I made myself another edwardian belt from the last scraps of my dragonfly waistcoat

[reiding-writing]

Can i get a workshop session? How about spencer with a reader who's actually smarter than him? Maybe she's younger too, thanksss

GENIUS² — SPENCER REID!

working alongside another genius was a blessing, in more ways than one.

early!seasons!spencer x reader | fluff | 1.3k | event masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n— the genius x genius trope is great i love it

Spencer Reid prided himself on being one of the smartest people in the room.

At 24 years old, he was a genius with an IQ of 187, three PhDs under his belt, and an eidetic memory that made him practically a walking encyclopaedia.

His mind moved faster than 99.7% of the world’s population, processing information, analysing patterns, and solving puzzles with ease.

But none of that prepared him for you.

You were younger than him by two years, and while you didn’t have a wall lined with degrees like Spencer, your intelligence was undeniable.

A bachelor’s degree in Theoretical Physics had been enough to earn you a spot in the BAU, something that had surprised even you.

Hotch had seen something in you—your ability to not only understand the unsub’s behavior but to intuitively connect pieces of information in ways most people couldn’t. It was something the team found invaluable.

And it didn’t take long for Spencer to notice.

Where Spencer excelled in academic brilliance, you had a talent for thinking outside the box. You connected dots faster than most people even realized there were dots to connect.

Spencer was used to being the one with all the answers, the one who could solve problems others struggled with, but you? You were different. You weren’t afraid to speak up, even if it meant contradicting his carefully constructed theories. You didn’t care about bruising egos, least of all his, and it fascinated him.

The first time Spencer realised you were special was during a particularly tough case.

The team had been chasing down a serial killer for weeks—a cryptic unsub who left strange, undecipherable messages at each crime scene.

Spencer had spent hours poring over the notes, scrawling down numbers, symbols, and trying to make sense of the pattern, but nothing clicked. His frustration was palpable; his fingers were tapping restlessly on the desk, and his usually sharp mind felt like it was hitting a wall.

An iron wall, covered in spikes and barbed wire.

Then you had walked in. Quietly, unassuming, you hovered over his shoulder for a moment before making a suggestion that cut through his fog of confusion.

“You might be thinking about this too literally,” You said casually, your voice breaking through the silence.

Spencer looked up, frowning slightly, both intrigued and a bit defensive. “What do you mean?”

You slid into the chair next to him, your eyes scanning the pages spread out across his desk. “You’re trying to solve this like a mathematical puzzle, but uh— the letters in the corners of his notes are literally just spelling out ‘library’, so I went to the nearest library and spoke to the librarian on staff, she gave me this,”

You pull out a scrap piece of paper from your pocket and hold it out towards him, a handwritten poem.

Spencer blinked, the pieces clicking together in his mind with almost audible force as he took the poem from you.

You’d identified the connection instantly, something Spencer would have done himself had his mind not been knotted up in frustration. But instead of feeling defeated, he was astonished.

“How did you-?” He asked, genuinely curious.

You shrugged, as if it were obviousLooking at the bigger picture can be really useful sometimes,”

Spencer stared at you for a moment longer, watching as you calmly began jotting down more notes, your mind racing ahead as if you’d never even paused for breath. He realised, in that moment, that you weren’t just another member of the team. You were his equal—possibly even more than that.

From then on, Spencer found himself constantly intrigued by you. The two of you often ended up working side by side, bouncing ideas off each other in a way that was both exciting and intimidating for Spencer.

You were quick, your mind moving in a different way than his, and he found himself almost eager to keep up with your train of thought. You saw things he didn’t, caught details he might have missed, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that. No one had ever made him feel… not inferior, but challenged in such a unique way.

The conversations between you were often odd. Both of you were too intelligent for typical small talk, so you found yourselves discussing obscure facts or debating over scientific theories in the most random of moments.

Spencer would mention something about a 14th-century mathematician, and you would immediately counter with a parallel discovery made in physics centuries later. Neither of you really knew how to navigate personal conversations, so you stuck to what you both understood—facts, theories, and knowledge.

One evening, after a particularly long day spent on another complex case, the bullpen was empty except for the two of you. The team had gone home, but you stayed behind, just like Spencer always did, combing through the evidence again, searching for a missing piece.

You were seated across from him, your brow furrowed in concentration, scribbling notes onto a pad of paper.

Every few minutes, Spencer found himself glancing at you. It wasn’t something he could control—his curiosity about the way your mind worked was something that pulled him in, a constant mystery to unravel.

You were focused, absorbed in your task, and Spencer couldn’t help but admire how quickly you picked up on things. Sometimes, you were faster than him, and that realization both thrilled and unnerved him.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your voice breaking the silence without even looking up.

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. He wasn’t used to being caught off guard, and you did it effortlessly. “I—I wasn’t staring. I was just… thinking.”

You finally looked up, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “What were you thinking about?”

He swallowed, his brain scrambling for an answer that didn’t sound ridiculous. “You’re really good at this,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “You are too.”

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond. Compliments weren’t his strong suit, and he wasn’t used to receiving them either. “I mean, you’re younger than me, but you’re just as—no, sometimes more—effective than I am. It’s… impressive.”

For the first time since he’d met you, you looked almost shy. “I’ve always looked up to you, you know,” You admitted quietly. “When I first started here, I thought you were kind of untouchable. Like, how could anyone keep up with a guy who knows literally everything?”

Spencer stared at you, speechless. The idea that you—someone he viewed as his intellectual equal, if not superior—had once looked up to him was almost unbelievable. It made him see you in a different light.

“Well,” he said, after a long pause, “I guess we keep each other on our toes.”

You smiled at that, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. It was a strange dynamic—two people too intelligent for normal conversations, yet too awkward to fully acknowledge the unique bond that had formed between you.

But it worked. You pushed each other, kept each other sharp. Whenever Spencer stumbled over an obscure reference, you were there to catch it. When you went too far into the realm of abstract thinking, Spencer reeled you back in with hard logic.

You were a perfect balance—an unstoppable team, even if neither of you would say it outright. And in a world where people rarely understood either of you, you had found something important in each other, an unlikely equal.

[catboybiologist]

Alright I can't finish this all in one sitting, but here's at least a bit of.... something? A word vomit? A prelude to smut about the eroticism of the machine? For all you robot, mecha, and spaceship fuckers out there. @k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl that means you

Pappy always said that manufacturing biological transportation was nothing knew. I mean, shit, humanity's been breeding horses for how long? To him, not much was novel about what was going on in the shipyards way out by Neptune when I was a kid.

But Pappy didn't know a lot of things. And he certainly didn't meet Roseanna.

The Federation Navy had experimented with biologics for decades. The idea was to create self regenerating ships- something to interface with the hull, move the new titanium plates and particulates into place, have a living, growing mass interfacing with the steel so that the ship didn't have to head all the way back to the yards to patch up after every dogfight.

The first generation... worked. With a full time crew, that is. Full time people on deck jabbin the rigid, chitonous interface with the hull full of growth hormones to get them to set just right. Full time onboard bioengineers to compute what signaling cocktail ya need to hit 'em with to get it to grow back right. Skilled onboard technicians to shave back the chitin when it tried to overgrow the titanium, and slap some new cells in to seed the process in heavily damaged areas. Less input material, less time in the yards, but far more manpower. Great for a Federation cruiser on deep space peacekeeping missions. Far too complex for small craft. Right?

Until some bastard put brains in 'em.

Well. A lotta suits would say that they weren't brains. They were a diffuse network of sensory neurons and ganglia, living inside the body of the ship, integrating signals from a skin of alloyed metal and fibrous protein, calculating power draw too and from various components, and integrating with the mechanical and electrical components of the ship to precisely manage the "wound healing" process of the vessel. And of course, it just so happened that one of those ganglia was larger and more complex than the rest of them, and it just so happened that the computer interfaces with this ganglia exhibit complex, thinking behaviors on the level of human cognition, and it just so happens that most pilots and navigators reported them developing their own personalities.....

But of course, the Navy didn't want anyone to have some kind of pesky empathy in the way of their operations. And they certainly didn't want anyone side eyeing the rate at which they disposed of the damn things, and let them suffer and rot after disposal. So as far as the official record was concerned, they didn't have brains.

Like most people in the belt, I found Rosie on a... unsponsored field trip to the Neptune scrap yards. She wasn't a ship then. She wasn't much of anything. Not much more than a vat with the central ganglia and just barely enough of the stem cells needed to regrow a network. But I took her all the same. Brains were valuable. Few pilots outside the Navy had them back then. Nowadays, a black market for "brain seeds", a cocktail of neuronal stem cells and enough structural stem cells to grow your own into the chassis of your ship. They were pumpin' em out, and leaving them to die. It was cruel. They may be vehicles, but they're a livin' being too.

But I digress. I'd never do that to Roseanna. I make sure she gets proper care. And for a good, proper, working ship? That includes some good, proper work.

The asteroid we were docked in was one of my usuals- good bars, nice temp quarters, nice views of the rock's orbiting twin, and a spacious hanger for Rosie to rest in. The chasiss I had imprinted Roseanna to was a 40-meter light skipper, with some adjustments for handling deep space trips. It was pretty much the smallest thing you could actually use to live and work for long periods of time, but it got the job done. The angular design made the entire ship look like a wedge, or the blade of a bulky dagger. It didn't hurt that each bottom edge was fortified with a sharpened titanium blade, turning the entire sides of the ship into axe-like rams.

Those would probably come in handy today.

I approached Roseanna on the catwalk above her, marveling her alloyed scales. I could almost see her shudder in anticipation as my footsteps vibrated through the air above her. I took the steps down, and hit the trigger to open her top hatch.

When the news got out of the Navy scuffling with a rebelling mining station, an electric air raced across the station. Some went about their day as normal. Some resigned themselves to picking at the leftovers after the dust had settled. And some, like me, knew that they could get the finest pickings.

I strapped in to the pilot's seat like it was an old boot.

"Welcome, Captain Victoria."

Rosie could talk, but more often than not, she chose not to. But she understood me just fine. Most of our communication took place using her three prerecorded lines- her welcome statement, affirmative, and negative- as well as the tiny screen showing a small, emoticon face. Many pilots chose to give their ships an elaborate render, but Rosie preferred it this way. It was the first face I gave her, from somewhere out of the scrap heaps, and she refused any offer I made to upgrade. Secretly, I was overjoyed. To me, that was her face. That was her voice. And it was beautiful to see her true self through them.

I brushed my hands across her paneling. Across the switches, the hydraulic controls for the plasma fuel, the steering, the boosts, the comms channels. The thing with biologics was that you were still the pilot. For whatever reason, they hadn't quite gotten to the point where the brains could take over their own piloting. My personal opinion was just that their personalities lacked the ambition to. But whatever reason that was, the best pilots were still the ones that knew both their ship, and the ship's brain. And me and Rosie? We knew each other well.

As my fingers touched the brushed aluminum controls, rimmed with chitinous layers rooting them into the ship, I could feel the walls around me holding their invisible breath. "Do you know what we're doing today, Rosie?"

Her tiny panel flickered on. ...?

"We got a scrap run."

^_^

:)

^_^

Her panel flicked between various expressions of excitement. My finger quivered on the main power, holding for a moment before flicking it on. The primary electronics of the ship hummed to life, and what Rosie controlled pulsed with it. My hands moved across the main functional panels- main hydraulic plasma valve, exhaust ports open, and finally, flicking the switch the start the plasma burner.

My hands gripped the steering. The hanger's airlock doors opened in front of me. My neck length hair started to float as the station's gravity shut off. I hit the switch to unlatch from the supports above. For a moment, we hang there. The dull crackle of the idling plasma burner is the only sound that resonates through Rosie's hull.

Go time.

I punch the boost.

[hidefdoritos]

How do you decide what to do to fix clothing that needs mending(like what type of mend a tear or hole needs)? And when is something too far gone to fix?

Hey, thanks for asking great questions!

So the two main ways of repairing holes are (1) covering them with more thread or (2) patching. Generally, "more thread" is good for little holes that aren't very worn out, and "patching" is good for big holes and lots of wear! Plus there's a third type I call "preventative mending": fixing things before they have the chance to wear out.

Descriptions of how the mends look and how they were done are in the alt texts.

Examples of "more thread" mends:

A tiny hole on sturdy fabric. Needs more thread!

Some end results. The first one is just back and forth mending. The second mend was larger, so I wove over it. Personally, this is the largest darning I like to do. (It's easier for me to make a patch than to essentially weave my own fabric over a big hole.)

Examples of "patching" mends:

These jeans recently wore through. (I intended to do my DIY ripstop on the thighs, but life kept happening.) The hole is maybe the size of a quarter, but the fabric all around it is also very weak and worn. The line marks where the fabric is strong enough to hold a patch.

Here's the inside and outside of some jeans I've been working on for a few years. I started by actually doing the DIY ripstop. When that was really disintegrating, I put patches on the inside. As the outside disintegrates more, I'll use my machine to do "more thread" mends. That'll anchor the mend to the patch and keep the patch from showing through to the outside world.

Example of a "preventative mend"

I've had these jeans for a couple years. Pockets and belt loops tear often, and I don't like showing my boxers to the world. So, before the threads can tear apart all the way, I'm putting a second layer behind them to spread out the strain and create a little extra protection.

When is something too far gone to fix?

Part of me wants to answer "never," but that's not the case.

Once upon a time, I went to a barn sale, and I found the old owner's favorite pair of jeans. "Tattered" doesn't begin to describe them. Every pocket was tearing away, all the belt loops were popped, the knees were gone, the cuffs were just threads, and every inch of them looked well-worn and well-loved. Repairs, at this point, would take a week.

It's too far gone when the effort required is more than you're able to give.

I got them for something like a quarter, brought them home to wash, and they became my first pieces of patch denim. The back pockets became cargo pockets on some other pants. The zipper got salvaged. Almost all the scrap denim you see in this post is from them.

If the repair is so intensive that the clothing is better as rags/scrap, then it's too far gone.

[Or if it's a holey sock. I hate darning with all my heart. I'd rather chew sandpaper than walk on darned socks. I just hack them up for stuffing.]

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Wasting time

When we pull into Venus port, I don’t head to the hauler bar, and the rest of the crew don’t ask me to. Where they turn left, I turn right, and head off among the locals. The buse I take is new; they have different restraints now. The driver, too, probably. But the route is the same as it was when I left Venus for the first time, seven years ago.

I see her before she sees me. Natalie is almost thirteen now, and oh wow, she’s getting tall. She leans on the school fence, talking to a friend; both girls wear their school uniform belts at an odd angle, but it’s the same off angle, so it must be the latest teen fashion or something. There is laughter in her eyes and the ugliest paint I’ve ever seen on her nails and crystals threaded in her hair and I’m almost surprised that I can even recognise her on sight. It has, after all, been a full year since I’ve seen her.

Then she catches sight of me, and her eyes light up with joy, and without even pausing to say goodbye to her friend she runs over and throws her arms around my neck (not a strain at all, she’s getting so tall). “Mum!” she shrieks in delight, and pulls back a bit, smiling. “You look the same.”

I nod. It’s not surprising. It has, after all, only been a month since she’s seen me.

“Let’s get to the restaurant. We’ll meet your dad there.”

“Are you going to stay for my birthday?”

She always asks, and the answer is always the same. “Of course I’ll be here for your birthday.”

The restaurant is the same one that we always go to – my favourite, mostly because it never seems to update the décor – and unlike Natalie, I almost don’t recognise Samuel. There are new lines in his face, new grey in his hair, and he’s stopped bothering to wear clothes I’d remember; only his position at our usual table, and the way Natalie rushes right over to him, tips me off that this man is my husband. I sit down, and I smile at him, and he smiles back and there’s so much love there, but also tiredness. So much tiredness.

“The usual?” he asks.

“You know what I like.”

We order, and Natalie orders something with Neptunian prunes in it. I frown. “You hate Neptunian prunes.”

She rolls her eyes. “I love them, Mum.”

“I could have sworn…”

“I think what your mother means,” Samuel cut in, “is that you used to hate them when you were younger.”

“Well, yeah; when I was a kid,” Natalie says, and pops a prune into her mouth.

Throughout dinner, Natalie tells me about the latest fashions and the latest music and the latest drama with her friends, and I drink it all in as best I can. I’m in port for a week, and then I’m off, and by the time I get back next month this will all be a year out of date, but I try to keep up. It’s all I’ll have. Hair diamonds are in but hair rubies are out, if all you’ve got is rubies then you’re best to go ‘barehead’ without any jewels, and Venus Fog is the latest upcoming band and Natalie thinks she’ll get into acting and also I should tell dad how great it would be to get pet rats. Eventually she excuses herself to go to the bathroom, leaving Samuel and I over the scraps of our meals. I push some vegetables around my plate, not meeting his eyes, while he watches me.

“You look the same,” he says.

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

“Next time I’ll get a tattoo or something.”

He tenses up at the phrase ‘next time’. I fall silent again.

After several long, awkward seconds, I ask, “How’s Valerie?”

“Fine,” he says. “Valerie’s doing fine.”

I bite my lip, not caring if I look jealous. I’m not; really, I’m not. It would be ridiculous for me to expect Sam to wait an entire year to see me, over and over, and not have someone else. He would never have even pursued Valerie if I hadn’t suggested it. It was a necessity of the situation.

And honestly, it’s not even just the long waits. Sam and I had been school sweethearts and gotten married when we were both nineteen. Now I’m twenty seven, and he’s… thirty five, I think? No amount of love in the world will change the fact that I am simply getting too young for him. And that’s the real problem with Valerie, I guess. She’s always been younger than him – two years younger. And me? Well.

“You’re staying for Natalie’s birthday, right?” he asks.

“Of course I’m here for Natalie’s birthday. I’m always here for Natalie’s birthday.”

“And not much else,” he mumbles under his breath, and I drop my fork and glare at him.

“What would you have me do, Sam? We have bills!”

“Everyone has bills. Everyone manages.”

“If we want to get Natalie into a tier one quarternary school – ”

“We both managed fine in a normal quarternary school.”

“ – then we need an income; a good income. Being an interstellar hauler makes me ten times the money I could make anywhere on Venus and you know it.”

“Ten times the money, for twelve times the time. You realise that, right? It comes out less on our end.”

“Do you need more? I can borrow from – ”

“No! This isn’t about needing more money; I work, Valerie works, it’s fine. It’s about your excuse for this job being oxshit! On our timeframe, you pull in less money this way, and you know it. You’re out there on the edge of lightspeed, for a year at a time, letting it do this to you, for – ”

“Do what to me? It isn’t doing anything to me; I’m fine. Just because I’m living slower than you doesn’t mean – ”

“It’s stealing time from you; time with your family! Do you see yourself? Hear yourself? To you, it’s a month-on, week-off job, but every time you go out to haul near lightspeed, it’s a year before we see you again.”

“I understand that. I – ”

“I don’t think you do! I don’t understand how you can – your daughter is turning thirteen! Half a year ago, she was six to you, right? In half a year for you, I raised a child into a budding teen. Six months more of this, and your daughter will be an adult. You realise that, right? In less than a year and a half, your time, your daughter will be older than you. And she’ll barely know you! She barely knows you now! This isn’t time you’ll get back, you know. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

“I know,” I say. “I know, I just… one more haul, maybe two. Then we’ll have enough for Natalie’s education, and I can come back and with that nest egg I’ll have time to actually spend with her, an so will you, since neither of us will have to work long hours any more. Just a couple more months, and we can – ”

Samuel reaches out and wraps his large, soft, gentle hands around mine. “Love. If you get back on that hauler ship, then when you get back, there will be divorce papers waiting for you.”

Natalie comes back then, so I’m forced to bite back my reply, and I think I manage to hide my rage through dinner. Afterwards, I decide to walk back to my dorms in port rather than take the bus; maybe I can walk off some of the anger.

He doesn’t understand, he really doesn’t understand, how good the money is for so little time. He’d really rather I stay on Venus and work for over a decade to make what I could in a single year on the ship. And he’s right, to an extent, about missing time with Natalie, but wouldn’t I me missing almost as much time working long hours here? This way, I have a full week off to see her every month. And once I’ve made enough, I’ll have as much time as I want with her.

Divorce. Ha. I should’ve known he’d fall more in love with Valerie in my absence. This is just an excuse.

I get to the dorms, and keep walking. Walk all the way to the hauler bar. It’s full of lightspeed haulers and basically no one else but waitstaff; we haulers tend to keep to our own kind, on the whole. My crew are there, of course, as are a few other crews, all mixed up and chatting with each other, because when you’ve spent a month cooped up with the same people you don’t want to hang out with just them on your downtime, too. We all share friendly, familiar nods and looks, friends and strangers alike. Lightspeed haulers intrinsically understand each other. There are experiences we all share that people like Samuel just don’t get.

My captain presses a drink into my hands. “So your little girl’s party is in three days, and then you’re free, right?” he asks without preamble.

“Not so little any more. But yeah.”

“You don’t mind if we head out a day early, then?”

I look out the window, up through the environmental dome and toward the stars that are completely hidden by Venus’ thick atmosphere. Already, I can feel the thrum of the ship’s engines in my bones.

“I can be ready a day early,” I say. “I don’t mind at all.”

[artnerd1123]

Big thinker, attention blinker, and always down to tinker~

profile undercut~

Name: Inventor Pronouns: she/her Gender/sexuality: trans woman + lesbian Species: human  Height: 5’3”  Age: late 20s Occupation pre-dungeons: mechanic/repairman of many assorted machines (cars, factory equipment, household appliances, anything really), general tinkerer  Dungeon wish: a complete understanding of everything in the universe!!!  Fighting style: scrappy. In EVERY meaning of the word. She’s incredibly skilled at building her own weapons/equipment on the fly, and uses this to her advantage on the battlefield, able to use a “gadget” for free the entire fight- though she scraps it for a new one after each battle. Her lineups often seem slapdash and chaotic, but her experience as a mechanic, computer code geek, chemist, and holder of two science based PHDs mean that even when something backfires, the results help further her goals. Any advantage she can have she’ll take, though she tries not to fight unfairly with those weaker than her/equal to her in strength/prowess. She’s not experienced in a lot of weapon use, but she doesn’t have to be- she just has to know how to build em! She can make them pilot themselves if need be. All that being said, her stocky body is still PACKED full of muscle and energy, so even though she’s not a great fistfighter, she can and will fuck you up  Strengths: high energy, curiosity that knows no bounds, her hunger for knowledge is never sated (and therefore her persistence of answers never wavers), will get up over and over again no matter how many failures she endures, works great off of spite, in all aspects of her life she’s highly inventive- no seriously! She’s resourceful, extremely good at troubleshooting, and always thinks outside the box. She absorbs information like a sponge, and even if some of it leaks out now and again, she’s never one to shy away from re-studying her topic of choice. She thrives in chaotic and fast paced environments, and has experience in mechanical/chemical/computer coding/a bit of biology all firmly under her belt. Weaknesses: absolutely cannot sit still, processing slower tasks is difficult and waiting is excruciating, so her patience with her own work is very low, working hard off of spite can make her run herself into the ground if she’s not careful, has trouble reaching out for help in her own personal life struggles, can get overly emotional, explosive when angry, her one track pursuit of knowledge often leaves her blind to the obvious (bad) stuff happening around her, getting her to fully drop something is really difficult unless you have a project that’s more exciting, sticking to just one thing is agony so she hops between projects a LOT- not that great for long term goals  Personality: Inventor is always bright eyed and bushy tailed no matter how late of a night she had! She’s fast paced in how she works, how she talks, how she reaches for activities/knowledge, and how she exists day to day. She likes to keep herself busy all the time, and has a BLAST doing so- after all, you never work a day in your life if you love your job! And she LOVES being able to tinker with all sorts of gadgets, machines, and all manner of chemical reactions. Despite her avid love of finding and learning about new things, she can be timid around strangers, unsure how to present herself or conduct herself around them. She’ll shake it off and go back to her own bouncy eager self with enough time. While she often gets impatient with her own work, she does her best NOT to be impatient with people- especially those who are helping her in her work, and those she loves. Her patience when it comes to learning about new topics and/or people is vastly larger. She often wears her emotions on her sleeve, getting riled up easily (for better or for worse). Passionate is probably the best way to describe her overall. She is, however, terrified of being a failure. Being told you’re worth nothing growing up will do that- hence why she keeps moving all the time. Something’s bound to turn out eventually! There’s no way those screaming for her downfall are right. Right?

[bomberqueen17]

great great great

It's all going great, it is. I'm frazzled for no real reason. But it's going.

Wednesday it snowed and the contractors showed up later than they meant to; it was almost 9 when the van pulled in to the neighbor's driveway and I opened my front door and said "over here man" and the guy was like "ah whoops there's the house number" and we laughed.

Description and photos behind the cut, this got long, but anyway this is why I dont' have a chapter ready to go this week either >.>

The demolition crew was two guys, a white dude about five feet five named Andrew with a piercing voice and impeccable manners, and a taller quiet Black dude named Dave. They put plastic sheeting over the doors out of the kitchen and proceeded to just wreak mayhem in there. The "installer", who I assume is kind of a project lead from the way everyone talked about him, wasn't present, he was tying up loose ends on a previous job. ("We had a third party doing vinyl and they just walked out and didn't finish it," Andrew told Dave. "I thought we didn't use third parties," Dave mused. "Yeah," Andrew said, "well that's why we don't." I loved how sharp Andrew's voice was because I could eavesdrop even over all the crashing noises.)

Andrew never swore in my presence but again, piercing voice, so I heard him explain to Dave, "I fucked myself over on these jobs tho, one of the early ones for this company I had extra time and they were like keep yourself busy somehow so we can pay ya, and I was like okay and I went through and I pulled all the staples and left the place so clean and nice, and now they expect me to do that every time. But it means I always get the job, the installers request me, because I'm gonna pull all the staples." I have no idea what was stapled, but I do believe him, because Dave was like "okay okay I'll pull the staples" and then I never saw any staples.

He was done by about 3:30 pm, to his own surprise. "Thought we'd need another half day, especially with the late start I got, on the road for an hour like that," he said (he was commuting up from the snow belt, and while our area had gotten three inches, they'd gotten over a foot down there, and nobody was handling it well on the roads.) "I didn't work slow, but I took my time, but everything came off so clean I'm all set here and it's done."

[image description: My kitchen before work started. Yellow linoleum floor in poor condition, brown wood cabinets, white and yellow linoleum countertops on a little L-shaped area, and a half-wall dividing the room partially so it's a tiny kitchen and a tiny dinette.]

[image: the work in progress, from the other door of the kitchen. The half-wall of the leg of the L is still visible as framing. The linoleum is gone, peeled back to wooden subflooring. The plaster walls are gone, down to the bare studs. The electric fixtures are hanging from the ceiling. in the foreground, Andrew is leaning on a four-foot stepladder, on his phone; in the background, Dave is in a fluorescent yellow hoodie on his knees on the floor scraping up the remnants of the linoleum underlayment.]

There is not a scrap of insulation in those walls. I asked Andrew and he laughed and was like "usually there isn't, in houses like this one".

When he left the half-wall frame was gone, and all of it was hauled out to a dump trailer in the driveway, neatly stowed, and the room was immaculate.

[image: an empty room with bare wall studs. The new windows are white frames. You can see the sink pipe, and the drainpipe vent going up toward the roof, jogged around the window. You can also see, under the bay window, the reinforced framing in the wall to support the original, much smaller picture window that used to be there.]

So that was day one. Day two, The Installer showed up. A fiftysomething moustachioed man named Jim, with the soft-spoken sort of mumbly variant of the local dialect that Dude's dad spoke too-- I had forgotten, Hap (yes dude's dad's name was really Hap) died twenty years ago now, but I did know him-- he did this kind of work, too-- anyway, Jim was more reserved than Andrew, but I made a point of greeting him, and made a point of mildly swearing fairly early in the conversation in like a funny way. A little later another guy showed up, a younger guy named Chad, and Jim explained later that Chad was finished with his project and looking to fill some time so he'd come to help and Jim was glad of the help. Chad set to work demolishing the last half-wall that was supposed to come out-- Andrew hadn't because Jim wanted to put in some bracing beforehand, since the wall's load-bearing and they're going to put in reinforcements to support it a little later.

I came out to look, and apologized for being nosy, and Chad laughed and said "it's your house!" and then mimed hitting the wall with the sledgehammer again and said "Bam!" quietly, like showing that he understood that it was fun to do/watch, and I proceeded to watch in delight as he carefully demolished the plaster wall and carefully removed the light switches and thermostat wiring from the remains.

Jim laughed at me and Chad, and after that has been much warmer to me. i've been well-trained to stand out of the way, and have come to watch them do various things.

[Image: Clean new 2x4s arranged into a temporary brace from ceiling to floor, with a stepladder threaded through it, extending along a space about two feet into the room from where the half-wall was just demolished, to hold the load of the rest of the house. The light switches are dangling and the heat vent poking up out of the floor is just a hole.]

Unfortunately they needed me to clear out a section of the basement where I'd deemed it safe to store things, because there need to be reinforcements put in under the pillars and beam that are replacing the load-bearing wall. I worked on that, and they came and helped me move a table. The heat vent has to be moved, and Jim thought there was going to have to be some whole thing with concrete but midway through the day he had called someone to confirm and they were like what are you talking about and he was delighted to discover he was reading an earlier version of the proposal, and the final contract had said that he could just reinforce a floor joist and meet code that way, rather than having to demolish part of my basement floor to pour a new concrete footing for a new jack post for a pillar to support the corner of the kitchen. He explained this to me with wonderful clarity, and pointed out other places where the original builders of the house had used this same doubled floor joist reinforcement.

Meanwhile the company hauled away the dump trailer with all the demolition debris, and then showed up with a flatbed with all the drywall and insulation for my project, which they put into my garage-- which coincidentally I'd just cleaned out because we'd just had the garage door replaced (on Tuesday, that finally happened, which is great because that was the last possible day it could have happened ha ha no that didn't stress me out at all why do you ask), so anyway it was great to have a good spot to put all that. They even moved the snowblower so it'd be easy to get to, before they filled up the space with the drywall.

Today (Friday) Jim's back by himself, cutting out the old heat vent and extending it to the other side of the room, where it will come up through the kickplate of one of the cabinets. This means that cabinet will be warm and also whoever sits at the table built in to the window will have warm toes, so I approve. Probably Chita is going to want to sit there so we're going to have to figure out how to make room for that, LOL.

Tomorrow Dude's mom is leaving to travel for Christmas, and we're going to go over to her house to house-sit. I think Jim won't have any more questions for me by then, or so I hope-- I'm going to give him my number anyway, and review with him that he's got the house key and everything he needs.

We are living in the living room like gremlins, and have to move sideways through the space because it's so crammed. It was all fine and good until we forgot we'd need to put the stove in there too, and now it's a struggle. And the microwave can't be on the same circuit with the fridge, so if I want to microwave something I have to use an extension cord going into the kitchen. So I can't microwave my lunches. And even still sometimes it trips the circuit breaker. Me having pre-prepared a bunch of food to microwave is now kind of a bummer, because the damn circuit breaker tripping is so annoying and slightly scary.

[image: Haunted-house-looking-ass-shit-- the thermostat is taped to the temporary bracing with painter's tape, and the light switches controlling the pale yellow light that's illuminating the scene are just dangling from their wires into the dark room.]

Today Jim's working on that heat vent and then figures he can get the floor underlayment in. He's cautiously optimistic that the project can be done before Christmas-- they said it would be six weeks, with the kitchen "roughly usable" after three, and he explained it more to me yesterday as he was about to leave.

So once he has the underlayment in, then Monday and Tuesday ("mondee-chusdee", in his accent) the electricians can come, and "chusdee-wensdee" the plumber can come. (He'll mark out the locations of all the cabinets and heights of the counters in painter's tape, he said, so the electricians can work confidently to place the outlets and fixtures.) The plumber will move the stove gas line and the refrigerator water line (Jim was so casually contemptuous of the way the installers had plumbed the waterline for our fridge when we bought it last year. "We'll do it right," he said, "with a water box and a shutoff up behind the fridge so you can work on it from there, we won't use a little plastic hose." He sniffed. "We'll repair this." The installers had used one of those lil sharkbite things I think, to put a little T into the waterline so a plastic tube could thread up through the floor to the fridge. "These things are-- well they're easy for a homeowner to install," Jim said not unkindly, "but they're, well, they're kind of trash."), and will bring the sink standpipe up to code-- it's not bad but it's very 1950-- and then after that, Jim can come back-- but he's got some vacation coming up, he's going to Florida to see his mom, so his colleague Max who's out sick this week ("I told him we didn't need to share whatever he's got, he's a giving guy but it's okay to keep that to himself") will be taking over but it should be pretty seamless-- anyway he explained the master-carpentering things he's gotta do, including building the cabinets and such, which'll take a while. The cabinets get built-in, and then the flooring is installed afterward to butt up against them (the flooring doesn't go under the cabinets because they're not movable, but it does go under the appliances since those are movable), and once the cabinets are in he can get the final measurements to the countertop people, who then take seven-ten days to manufacture the countertop to spec. So that's the delay, he explained-- the appliances can come in and get hooked up, and then you have your stove and your fridge and you can kind of use your kitchen. But the countertop people have this delay before they can install, and that's always where the project feels like it's dragging and people get frustrated, but it's unavoidable. He was delighted to be told that we won't be in the house at that point, we're gonna be house-sitting and won't be breathing down his neck about it. And if we do have to move back in here before the countertops we'll know what's up anyway.

Anyway. "Six weeks is a kinda CYA," he said, "yanno? We wanna leave space for problems. But this is a pretty straightforward job and I don't think we'll have problems." His goal is to have his end of the work done in time for the countertop people not to have to spread their seven-ten day lag out over Christmas and make it even longer. "If I can avoid that, they can get their install done before Christmas, and we can be done," he said. "That'd be pretty great."

So there's that scoop. I ought to be finding this relaxing, as all I've had to do is be like, available, and I've mostly had my days to myself, but I have found it so stressful to listen to all the crashing and such I haven't really gotten much done. Oh well, it's okay.

I am doing a little mini sewalong with some Discord buddies of a Sew Liberated blouse pattern. So I'll have photos of that at some point. I did manage to get the fabric cut even with my house torn up, which is a considerable achievement.

[ehlnofay]

Martin’s room is still bare.

Pax rifles through it, one night, when they haven’t been told the next thing that needs to be done and Martin’s lying with his face in the pillows half-asleep and they’re bored. It’s so bizarre, this room – bigger than most of the inns Pax used to stay in down Blackwood way and richer by far, the walls hung with tapestry and the floors plush with rugs whose patterns are just as intricate. Everything on the bed is probably silk. The legs of the desk and sides of the bookshelves are carved beautifully. And yet, lavish as it is, they spend so little time in it. The colours and materials, however tastefully matched, feel gaudy. The air is heavy and solemn.

Maybe it’s that Martin is so blatantly uncomfortable with it – more so than he’s uncomfortable with most things. He always walks around the rug instead of over it as though he’s afraid of dirtying the careful weave. And even though it’s been ages, there is nothing of him in the room. Whenever he’s gone it’s as if he was never there at all.

It's honestly a bit concerning at this point.

“What are you doing,” Martin says, too flat to even be a question, voice muffled by the copious cushions.

“I’m looking in your wardrobe,” Pax tells him. She flicks through the handful of neatly hung up coats and folded tunics and the two pairs of trousers right down the bottom before she finds something right at the back – crumpled and with several recognisable stains, still smelling, after all this time, faintly of blood and smoke. “You still have this? I thought we chucked it on the road.”

Martin peers blearily around, blinking – when he sees the robes Pax holds, he freezes, eyes wide open. It takes him a moment to speak.

“I couldn’t throw it away,” he says.

The robe is sooty black fabric, a bit itchy at the seams, the material worn thin in several places. It’s filthy, too. It’s clearly had a wash since Pax last saw it before they got new togs on the road to Chorrol, but that’s done just about nothing for the bloodstains.

“Hm,” Pax says. He’s thinking.

He gets it, what Martin means. The ruined vestment is about all he has from Kvatch, from life before. That and the silver knife, and Pax has already noticed how he slots that into his belt every day and sleeps with it on his nightstand.

“I know I should get rid of it.” Martin’s hair is tousled, falling all over his face, and he’s managing to sound both serious and muzzy. “It’s a bit disgusting. And it isn’t wearable. But throwing it away feels so callous, and I don’t know what else to do.”

Pax is thinking. Pax is getting an idea. “I reckon I could repurpose it.”

“I don’t think there’s enough salvageable fabric to make something else out of, Pax.”

Not for another garment, no. “Can I try?”

Martin drops his head back into the pillows.

“I’ll give it back after,” Pax persists.

Martin rolls onto his back. “Fine, then. It isn’t as though you could wreck it more.”

Pax bundles the fabric up and tucks it under their arm. “Great,” they say. “Now go to sleep!”

“You’re the one disturbing me!” Martin protests, but Pax is already out of the room.

Down in the shared room with all the little pallets, Pax nicks someone’s fabric scissors and cuts right up the side seam. Martin was right – most of the material is ruined – but Pax reckons there’s enough. He spreads it all out to get a feel for the sizing. He’s not got sewing chalk, doesn’t want to ask for it, so he just kind of eyeballs the shapes and sizes, cutting bigger pieces than he thinks he needs just in case. He’s pretty sure he fucks it up. It probably doesn’t matter.

Pax ends up leaving the temple the next day. Word’s spread about a Gate on the northern Red Ring Road, and it’s not more than a couple weeks there and back if she’s quick. It’ll give Martin time with the book. She tucks her shoddy piecework into her mending bag, along with her scrap fabric fold of needles and enough thread for an emergency. It’ll give her something to do on the road.

It does. Finicky stitchwork is a good way to pass evenings alone.

She keeps at it until everything is joined and there’s only one bit that needs stitching up, and then she stuffs it back in the mending bag and leaves it until she’s done with the Gate.

It’s not even a hard one. Not worth the trouble of travelling. But it wasn’t that far, and people were worrying, and what is a hero for if not this? So they close the Gate, and rent a room in an inn in a town a half-hour’s walk from its shell. They keep their armour on when they go there (because they kind of sort of want the attention) but they end up getting more than they bargained for – everyone is so cloyingly grateful that it feels a bit suffocating. (It’s nice. They liked that they helped people. They forget, sometimes, that closing the Gates helps real actual people living their day-to-day lives. But it’s a lot.) The woman in the sewist shop even refuses to let them pay for the bundle of raw fleece they want, which makes them feel so wrong-footed they have to pinch a handful of beads and threads from her piffling haberdashery section just to make the situation feel normal.

The threads are the fancy kind – six strands, in pretty colours. The beads are smooth red wood.

Pax stays up in the inn, digging the project out of the mending bag and stuffing the fleece in until the tight little stitches look like they’re about to burst. They save the details – the coloured thread, the buttons – to work on while they’re travelling back north.

Martin isn’t in the big hall when Pax throws the doors open a week later. He checks the room with the bookshelves, and then Martin’s special, painfully empty chamber, before tracking him to the kitchen. He drops his bag on the table.

Martin looks up. He’s sitting with a plate of eggs and a book – not the Xarxes – open on the table. He puts down his fork. “You’re back! Hello. How was your journey?”

“It wasn’t much of one, Martin Priest,” Pax says, digging for the mending bag in the bottom of their pack. “I was only gone two weeks. I’ve got something for you.”

“Oh?” Martin closes his book. “My curiosity is piqued. And really – would it kill you to say hello back?”

“People who critique me don’t get presents,” Pax tells him. “Close your eyes.”

Martin rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but he shuts them. Pax scoops the repurpose-the-priest-robes project out of the mending bag and deposits it on the table next to the plate of eggs.

“You can look now.”

Martin opens his eyes and looks.

And keeps looking.

An uncomfortable amount of time passes, before he says, thick-voiced, “It’s a mouse.”

Pax is impressed. It’s supposed to be a mouse, though it looks more like a long-tailed lump than anything else. It’s got shiny wooden beads for eyes and fancywork all down its sides. (It’s been a while since Pax sewed anything, but they think the simple ornamental pattern of swirls and stars turned out all right. They were always better at needlepoint than pattern-work.) The tail at the back is ringed with a rainbow of stitches.

Martin asks, “Did you make this?” and Pax nods. He asks, “Is this my old robe?” and she nods again. His eyes look shiny.

Pax either did a very good job or fucked up royally, is what she’s getting from this.

Martin stares at it a minute more.

Then he says, “Can I hug you?”

Pax grumbles as if it’s a great trial, but they step around the empty dining-chair and bend a bit awkwardly in front of where he’s sitting. Martin pulls them in – it’s a really weird angle and it makes their back twinge – and he holds them so tight they’re not sure where to put their hands. They hug him back as best they can. With their hands on his back and his face half-pressed into their shoulder, they can feel him shaking.

“Please don’t get weepy on me,” Pax says.

She hears Martin sniff. Somewhere below her ear he mumbles, “Too late.”

It really is a very awkward angle.

“It wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t think I would cry either, but life is full of surprises.”

Pax pats him clumsily on the head. “Is it,” she says, sounding more anxious than she thinks she feels, “is it a good surprise? Is it good crying?”

Martin finally pulls away and wipes his face with his sleeve. He picks up the stuffed thing, turns it over in his hands, traces his fingers along the needlework. “It’s a wonderful mouse,” he says, only marginally less tearful, “and you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met, and I’m not sure why I’m crying but I’m not upset with you.”

Pax squeezes Martin’s wrist, because he’s not sure what else to do; some flighty thing in the pit of his stomach feels settled, like a bird’s first nest after a long migration. Then he steals a bite of boiled egg from Martin’s plate. He’s not sure what else to do.

Martin puts the mouse in pride of place on that ridiculous pile of pillows, and has a hand on it every time he goes to sleep.

[im-writing-extra]

zero apologies for this chapter. theoretically the next one should have more Yord but idk. oh thanks to everyone who voted on my poll! you chose the one I was going to do anyway lol.

table of contents

chapter 8 - the road less traveled

Mornings at the Jedi Temple are a loud affair. Knight’s quarters are farther away from the younglings than the padawans are, but their clamoring can be heard throughout the halls at the first crack of dawn. You’ve never been able to tune it out and today is no exception.

Yord on the other hand is fast asleep. It’s a rarity. In all the years you’ve known him, he’s always been the one to wake up first; but he’s sleeping soundly here in your bed. You wonder how many times you’ll be able to wake up next to him. You hope it’s enough that you lose count. 

You carefully extricate yourself from his grip. He has ten minutes and then you’re waking him up but until then, you re-familiarize yourself with your room.

Everything seems to be in order, but a scrap of paper pushed under your door catches your eye. You frown. That wasn’t there when you went to bed.

You pick it up and unfold it to see a note in Imanu’s strangely flawless handwriting. You smile at its contents before frowning again. Imanu Venez was outside your door last night, and you didn’t hear him. You’re relatively certain he didn’t knock, but what if he had? Did he linger in the hallway? Could he have heard something?

You replay the night in your mind, this time with a critical eye. You have a vivid recollection of slapping your hand against Yord’s mouth and sinking your teeth into his shoulder in an effort to keep quiet. 

There is no way he could have heard, right?

Right.

You shake off the anxiety and turn back to Yord. He’s completely sprawled out on your bed, taking up the space you just occupied. His mouth is parted slightly, and you walk over, crawl on top of him, and lower your mouth to his. He blinks once, twice, the inhales sharply as he wakes up.

“Morning,” he rasps.

“Hello, my love,” you reply. “Sleep well?”

Yord nods, then rolls you over so he’s on top. “I should be asking you that,” he replies as he reaches for your hair. “How’s your hand?”

You say, “Weird,” then push him off you to get dressed. You flex it involuntarily as you open a drawer to find a robe. Yord starts dressing in last night’s clothes, a testament to how much he loves you.

You struggle with the tie around your waist; your hand isn’t quite sore, but you’re aware of it in a new way. It felt normal the other day but that must have been the meds. It folds like your hand used to, but you can definitely feel the crystals grind together.

“Here,” Yord says from behind. He helps you with the tie and fastens your belt. You sigh. You’ve never been great at handling injuries.

Scratch that: you’ve never been good at being taken care of.

It makes you feel incapable, like you aren’t able to handle being a Jedi. A Jedi Knight should not need help getting dressed. You step into your boots, refusing to look at Yord.

“I’m going to see Master Yoda. I’d imagine he has a lot of questions for me. And Venez left me a note saying the Council has been considering me to teach some of the younglings, so I’m going to have to talk to Master Lakshay later too and I don’t know how long that will take.”

You don’t explicitly tell him you don’t want to see him, but he knows anyway. And you’re sure it hurts him, it would hurt you if the roles were reversed, but it’s overshadowed by the lingering question you’ve been trying to push from the back of your mind.

What if you can’t fight the way you used to?

A critical part of Jedi combat is being able to wield a lightsaber. What if you can’t anymore? What if it hurts, what if you’ve lost the ability to perform some skills, and what are you supposed to do with a second kyber crystal?

Yord can’t read your mind, but he certainly can read your face.

He reaches for your left hand and traces a line along the palm.

“You’re fine,” he says. “I promise. Dalphri and Imanu want to do dinner tonight. Will you be there?”

You want to say no, but none of you have ever skipped dinner debriefing. Rescheduled, sure. Relocated, of course. But bailed completely?

Never.

You half-nod, unable to actually form the word yes, but Yord smiles a crooked smile anyway.

“Perfect,” he says. “I’ll see you then.” 

He strokes your cheek once then heads out the door.

—

The Jedi High Council would be intimidating to you, probably, except Master Yoda’s there and you’re not intimidated by him, so why would you feel nervous around anyone else?

You aren’t surprised to see Master Lakshay present as well. He was your lightsaber instructor as a padawan, and had often stayed late to answer your questions or to teach an obscure sparring technique. He doesn’t smile at you, but he throws a wink in your direction.

“Master,” you say with a slight bow.

“Knight,” he returns. “Here for my job, I see.”

You grin. “Master, we both knew it was a matter of time. And look at you, you’re getting much too old to be chasing around all those younglings all the time.”

He shrugs. “They age you, that is certain. But I’m still capable enough to beat you. Say, tomorrow after the noon class?”

Master Lakshay looks at you expectantly. After all, you’ve never been one to turn down a challenge. But you flex your hand and feel a shock of anxiety travel from your chest to your fingertips. This morning’s questions still linger in your mind, and they are much louder and more real than you would care to admit.

But you’re the best swordsman of your generation. Possibly of a few generations in the past and future as well. So you shrug with as much confidence as you can muster and say, “Of course- if you’re not too tired.”

At that, Master Lakshay lets out a loud guffaw, accompanied by chuckles from various nearby council members.

“I wish I had time to come see that,” Master Piel comments.

The Council doors shut with commanding thud, and everyone turns to see Master Yoda.

“Quick, we shall keep this. Much to discuss have I with my padawan,” he says as he makes his way to his chair. You’re standing in the center of the room with Master Lakshay off to the side. Yoda nods, and Lakshay begins speaking.

“I’d like some help with the older younglings,” he says. “They need practical training from someone who is able to teach various forms and styles that aren’t necessarily my forte. Particularly forms such as Ataru or Soresu.”

“And a form of Djem So,” Master Piel interjects. “The Council has deemed it necessary for younglings to have a closer study of Jar’Kai before they are chosen as padawans, and Master Yoda has informed us you have come into possession of another kyber crystal.”

“Come into- yes, I have come into possession of one,” you stutter. “But I haven’t been able to build a lightsaber yet. And my understanding of Jar’Kai is rudimentary at best-”

The Council titters.

“Your ‘rudimentary understanding’ is considered a mastery among most Jedi,” Master Rwoh interrupts. You blush, a deep red the blooms from your chest, up your neck, and onto your cheeks. You’ve never felt particularly comfortable with this type of direct, public praise (except when it comes to outshining Yord) and you feel even less comfortable with your potential impediment. You carefully feel for the lightsaber attached at your hip and slowly run your fingers over the hilt as to not attract attention. 

Master Lakshay’s speaking again, saying something about the benefits of teaching, but you’re not really listening. 

You had assumed that you would be an assistant of sorts, or teach theory and basic Shii-Cho. That you’d be walking around a room full of younglings and helping them with their grip or their stance. Not training groups of almost-padawans in double-bladed combat.

As you feel the cool metal of your lightsaber, you allow yourself to feel everything else around you. 

There’s an avian perched outside the window, a rarity on Coruscant.

You hear the pull of thread as Dalphri makes sure a stitch is taut. The rattling of a multi-tool and smell of grease as Venez tinkers with a ship. Yord pacing outside the door-

Yord.

He’s supposed to be reviewing diplomatic policy the Archives. You’re so focused on his footsteps that you almost miss Master Yoda interrupting Master Rwoh.

“To Alderaan, we have decided to send you. Temporary this teaching position is. For your own benefit, and for the younglings we believe it will be. We shall discuss further questions privately.”

He taps his walking stick on the floor once, a signal that the meeting is adjourned. The Council gets up and disperses, but you make your way toward Master Yoda. 

“Temporary?” you hear Master Lakshay say to Master Rwoh. “That isn’t what was discussed.”

You don’t catch her reply. You greet Yoda as he points to the door. “A walk we will take.”

You push open the doors and brush past Yord, who stops himself from speaking when he sees Yoda. Your shoulder burns where it touched his but neither of you acknowledge the other. Whatever he was going to tell you will have to wait.

“About the vergence I will not ask, unless talk about it you wish to. Ready, you do not seem to be; yet a conversation we must have.”

This is not uncommon. Often the two of you will walk and talk and suddenly instead of telling him what you thought was wrong, something else entirely comes spilling out.

“Master, the Jedi code decrees attachments are forbidden,” you say. This is the beginning of a question you have tossed around since becoming a padawan, but you have never voiced it before. You’ve never had the need- just accepted it as a flaw, a minor oversight; but one that strengthened the Jedi rather than weakened them. 

“Perhaps a question, in there you have?” Master Yoda asks, twinkle in his eye.

The corner of your mouth twitches, the barest hint of a smile.

“All attachments are forbidden, as decreed by the code. We are allowed compassion alone, yet most if not all Jedi form deep friendships with each other. This is overlooked time and time again in favor of romantic partnerships, which are not expressly forbidden in the code. Jedi must accept the transitional, ever-changing nature of life. Is that not possible with romantic love? What differentiates it from the attachments formed between friends, or even master and padawan? Masters are told not to form familial bonds with their padawans, yet very few listen. And they go without consequence. Should we not be learning how to exist within these varied relationships in accordance to the Order instead of picking and choosing which we vilify?”

The twinkle is gone. Yoda’s face is etched with a deep frown as he taps his cane on the marble floor.

“An intricate question, you ask,” he finally says. “One perhaps unstudied. Ancient, the Jedi code is. For our detriment, it is not; but rather our betterment. Glad I am that me, you asked. As understanding, another master would not be.”

You’ve known Master Yoda long enough to know when he’s steering you off course. He doesn’t have the answer, and disappointment hits you in a solid wave. 

There is no scenario in which you or Yord leave the Order. There is no scenario in which you or Yord leave each other. You picture the future, twenty years from now, still sneaking around. Perhaps you’re stationed far apart from each other, unable to communicate lest you raise suspicion. Could either of you really live like that?

The memory of Yord’s lips on yours flashes before your eyes. You’re not sure you could live in a system where he never touches you again, never traces a finger down your spine, never meets your eyes with an intensity brighter than the suns of Tatooine. 

“Jolee Bindo,” Yoda says, breaking through your reverie. “Files of him there are, in the Archives. Interesting, you may find them. If asked who sent you, my name do not say.”

You look down at him and into his once-again sparkling eyes and realize, he’s helping. Master Yoda feels the same attachment toward you that he teaches other Jedi masters to disregard. He wants you to succeed. He wants you to find the answer, wherever it may lead, position on the High Council be damned. Whatever you find about Jolee Bindo must have some sort of answer to the question you’re really asking. You’re under no illusion that you’re fooling Master Yoda, although you do hope he hasn’t guessed the specifics.

“Knight Fandar,” he says, sending a jolt through your body. You think, does he know? but years of Jedi training help you school your expression. 

“To Alderaan the council is sending you,” Yoda continues and you’re flooded with relief. That’s Yord’s home planet and culturally similar to yours. It’s been a long while since you’ve been there and you’ve never gone with Yord before. 

The Council has often paired the two of you together, or sent Dalphri, Venez, and his former master along. The Jedi have always believed in creating the most cohesive teams as possible; you’re pretty sure that most (if not all) of your teachers purposely cultivated your friend group for that purpose. It’s been a strange transition from going on assignments with Master Yoda to being responsible for yourself. Certainly not unwelcome, just strange. 

“Listening intently you are,” Yoda quips and you laugh. 

“I’m sorry Master, I just have a lot on my mind.”

Yoda says, “Hm,” and nothing else. You continue walking in silence for a few paces and you realize you’re headed toward the training rooms.

Yoda opens the door to a particularly secluded sparring grounds and reaches for his lightsaber.

“Rusty I am,” he says, but that’s a lie. You know exactly what’s happening here and once again, he’s guessed exactly what’s on your mind. 

“Master,” you begin to protest, but he’s pointing a green blade at your throat so you have little choice but to draw your saber. The blue beam comes to life with a familiar hum, and you feel the kyber crystal harmonize in your chambers. 

I can do this. I am one with the Force.

But you’re afraid. 

You’re afraid to use your left hand and be proven right so you don’t; Yoda attacks and you block, restricting your grip to the right hand only.

It’s easier than you remember, but you’ve trained for this. Technically you can fight single-handedly and had studied specifically for the event that you lost an arm. You hadn’t planned on it and you preferred to keep both of your limbs, but life is unpredictable.

You block and parry, but with no real offensive maneuver. You’ve never been one to underestimate Yoda due to his size; he taught you how to use it to your advantage through Ataru when you were younger. He’s not pulling his proverbial punches, either. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was actually trying to kill you.

Combat is a bit like a dance- you have to be sure of your steps and know them so well you don’t have to think about it. You have to be mindful of your opponent, both where they are and where they will be. You fall into the familiar rhythm as you step, step, block. Step, turn, duck. You’re waiting for the perfect opportunity to disarm Yoda, to make the move he can’t block.

For half a moment, as he leaps through the air in a horribly perfect somersault, you see it.

You barely think as you exhale, I am one with the Force, and reach up while he passes overhead.

He wasn’t expecting it so his grip on his lightsaber isn’t as firm as it should be. He lands and you hold your saber in one hand and his in the other, criss-crossed at his neck.

Yoda smiles and reaches, and from seemingly nowhere he has a yellow blade in his hand. It’s not his size, but he wields it with grace. He rushes you with full force but your instincts are too sharp. It’s easier with two blades, and it reminds you of your days as a padawan studying Jar’Kai with Master Lakshay. 

You sense someone bearing down behind you and block with one hand, using the other to fend off Yoda.

You push Yoda away so you can get a good look at your new opponent. Master Sol smiles as he forms a classic Djem So stance. 

Yoda is on one side, Sol on the other. You twirl your sabers and breathe. Everything’s quiet. Nothing is wrong. The only thing you hear is your own breaths and the clash of lightsaber upon lightsaber.

It feels good to spar and not be certain of a win, but to know a loss won’t result in death. Dalphri has never been able to beat you in combat, but both Yord and Venez have come close. Still, you love the thrill of fighting Jedi Masters. 

It’s a first, fighting two Force-wielders against one like this, so you have to calculate a win. How can you disarm both of them in a way where neither will catch you off guard? You dive and roll in an attempt to get them on one side of you, instead of two but you’re barely on your feet before they’re on you again.

You feel more people in the room but you’ll pay better attention once you don’t have two lightsabers swinging at you.

No- three lightsabers. 

A green one joins the fray but you’re undeterred. It’s harder for more than two to attack a single person at once, and they have to be in perfect sync in order to avoid tripping over one another. You can use their weakness to your advantage. 

Unfortunately, Masters Battchi and Sol have been complementing each other’s fighting styles for years. Paired with Master Yoda’s attack on a lower plane, they make formidable opponents. 

You push them all away and reassess. 

“Some more assistance we might need,” Yoda calls which two other masters take as an invitation to join the fray.

He wouldn’t do this with any other Jedi and to an outsider, it might even seem unfair. But this is your element- 

They don’t stand a chance.

The room is filled now as Jedi of all ages and ranks stop to see what’s happening. Each breath comes quicker than normal, but you’re grinning with each strike and flip. You land a particularly solid kick to Master Battchi’s chest, more of a push than anything, but it’s simultaneous with a difficult defense against two other sabers. You lose your footing for the barest hint of a second but that’s all it takes for five lightsabers to be pointed at your neck.

You could surrender now, it’s not a huge loss. But you catch sight of Yord and the youngling, Jecki, both watching you with similar awed expressions and that’s all it takes to drop your lightsabers and push. All five masters are thrown to the sides of the arena and you hold them there. It takes effort, especially as they struggle to get out of your hold, but finally Master Yoda drops his weapon with the loudest laugh you’ve ever heard from him. The other four follow suit as the training room erupts in applause.

It’s hard to catch your breath, especially now the adrenaline has worn off. You crouch on the floor and focus on inhaling through your nose and out through your mouth until a pair of boots comes to a stop in your line of sight.

You look up to see Jecki staring down at you. 

“That was wicked,” she says. “Can you teach me how to do that? I heard Master Mundi saying you were replacing Master Lakshay.”

“I’m not,” you tell her, but don’t elaborate. You give yourself a shake and stand up. “What are you doing here?”

Jecki shrugs and follows you as you squeeze your way through the crowd. You dodge compliments and slaps on the back as you look for Yord.

“Everyone was in here watching something and I was curious. You’re pretty good with a lightsaber,” she says. You snort. Pretty good. That’s probably the most accurate assessment of your skills you’ve heard in a long time.

Jecki asks, “Could you teach me?” and that stops you in your tracks. You turn to face her which is impressive, because it’s still very crowded.

You say, “I’m going to teach the younglings for a bit before my next assignment,” but Jecki shakes her head. “I’m talking about me. Can you teach me how to fight like that? I’m a good student. You can ask Master Sol.”

“Maybe,” you reply.  “Where the actual kriff is Yord?”

Jecki shrugs. “Probably off being stuck up somewhere. Does he ever smile?”

“Yes,” you say a little too emphatically. Jecki reminds you of you, funnily enough. A strange mix of formal and comedic with an affinity to pick on Yord. 

You don’t want a padawan, but having Jecki trail behind you feels- normal? Good? You’re not sure, but it’s not as bad as you thought it might be. You spot your by the door and as you push your way through the throng he reaches for your hand. You grab it and he pulls you the last few feet to him and then sweeps you out into the hall.

“Here,” he says. “I grabbed this for you.”

He hands you your lightsaber, which you’d forgotten on the ground. You clip it to your belt and frown. “We’re going to Alderaan,” you say.

“I know. We should talk about it later. I don’t think now is the most appropriate time.” Yord glances behind you with a wrinkled nose. “Jecki.”

“Yord,” she sniffs.

She notes your apologetic expression and laughs. “She’s so cool, Yord. Maybe someday she’ll rub off on you.”

You drag Yord away before he can retort. You take him all the way from the training halls to the living quarters. You punch in the code to his room and shut the door behind you.

Alone once more, Yord says, “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” then he takes your open mouth as an invitation. He kisses you with an intensity that makes your head spin, and you feel the same way you did as when you first held your lightsaber. He pulls away and your eyes flutter.

“I could ruin you,” he breathes.

You reply, “I know,” but you actually consider what he’s saying. You have a long, theoretically illustrious Jedi career ahead of you and getting caught in a romantic relationship with a fellow will completely destroy any chance you have at fulfilling your potential.

“I’m serious,” he says.

You pause and take a good look at his face. You can see it’s weighing heavily on his mind, and the fact that he’s so considerate of your future almost makes you want to cry.

Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and say, “Then ruin me.”

[mezzy303]

Ok laddies time for this week's theory time (do I need to make a masterpost of my theories? This is getting a little ridiculous lol)

Spoilers for One Piece chapter 1115 spoilers under the cut

The way I jumped and threwwww my kindle (onto pillows) when Vegapunk confirmed all the Atlantis theories!!!!!!! I made the mistake of reading it right before bed and I was wide awake for like another two hours talking to a friend and just thinking about it 😅

I honestly was ready to scrap my theory from ch 1113 about there being whole continents 800 years ago before a great flood happened, and I'm still reeling on how it all turned out to be true besides the natural phenomenon part (here's my theory from ch 1114). And Oda once again proves how fucking genius he is bc I never expected 200 meters?????? Omg???? That's over 650ft for my fellow US folks. Here's an image going around Twitter from a YouTube video that shows what are own world would look like if sea levels rose 200m

Insanity

These recent chapters have had me really questioning the mechanics of the One Piece world lol. Tbh I think we all just assumed that the world was just Like That and mainly functioned to drive the plot forward. But there are actual reasons behind it?? With this revelation, I started thinking about how the sinking of land could have been intentional on the Allies' part, beyond the destruction of the Great Kingdom and erasing it from history. The way the world is now, with the Red Line going all the way around and the Calm Belts running perpendicular to it, it's incredibly hard to travel between the different Seas. The islands are also fairly isolated from each other, especially on the Grand Line. It makes it hard for information to travel around, and the only way to get world news is through a heavily vetted newspaper. To me, it all seems purposeful to further subjugate the world by physically dividing the people, making them easier to control and rule over.

I also want to reiterate how easy it would've been to erase the Great Kingdom from history and collective memory when the Allies/World Government had the capabilities of mass destruction that could cause sea levels to rise hundreds of meters. Not only does it make the original land inaccessible, the amount of people that died was probably immense. And with the death of a large number of people comes the loss of knowledge. Those that survived likely wouldn't have wanted to pass down information on the Great Kingdom from both the trauma of the event and the fear of retribution by the World Govt (I assume the laws forbidding research on the Void Century was immediate). So potentially after just one generation, knowledge on the Great Kingdom and how the world used to be would've disappeared. Iirc only the Minks and the Kozuki family passed down info on the kingdom's existence, and their lands are largely isolated from the rest of the world. (Speaking of which, they both are in locations where further rising sea levels wouldn't affect them)

Looking into it further, the way the geography of the world also seems like it's trying to prevent (or at least discourage) people from getting into or leaving the Grand Line and also travel between islands. Just trying to get to that sea is dangerous because it requires a person to either sail through Reverse Mountain, where many pirates canonically have died because of the crazy currents and storms and end up crashing into the mountain, or going through the Calm Belt, which is current and wind free and infested with Sea Kings. And once you're in the Grand Line, the waters itself are extremely difficult to navigate. Now what's in the Grand Line that the Allies may have wanted to prevent people from getting to? Laugh Tale.

For a little while now, I've been playing around with the idea on how the magnetic fields on each island may have been created to specifically help a pirate/sailor get to Laugh Tale. We've already seen Kidd using his awakened devil fruit powers to change the polarity of different objects, what if it's possible to change the polarity of an entire island? With those powers, a person could have created the seven paths of the Grand Line. I'm still trying to decide if this was done outside the Allies' control, or if it was an order from the Allies and the person was secretly loyal to the Great Kingdom.

And don't think I missed that little detail Vegapunk said about the Allies using ancient weapons!!!!!!! Literally each chapter has been teasing the reveal of the Elders having Uranus!!!! ｡゜(｀Д´)゜｡ It seems like the Lulusia attack really was just a taste of what their weapon can do. I can't imagine how big an attack (or how many attacks in succession?) it would take to cause 200m sea level change???

[magnoliacharmed]

A Lot to Learn

(GIF credit - jasvvy)

18+, Drew McIntyre x Logan Paul, one-shot

[Also available on Archive of Our Own!]

Tags: Slight age difference, face fucking, anal sex, bruises, come eating

Word count: 2110

Author's Note:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Logan pranced. He pranced and paraded and trounced around backstage like the little boy he was. There was only a ten year age difference between him and Drew, but it felt more like fifteen. He was just so immature— he had no idea what it was like to work his way up to the top. Drew had to claw to the main event, just to have the floor fall out from under him when it was his moment to shine. Logan skipped his way in with his silly social media clout and got the US title bestowed on him like a crown. A crown for a prince that would never truly be a king, a holdover belt to tide his ego over. At least Drew could say there was some prestige to the World Heavyweight Championship. With him earning it, because there was no other option but for him to win, it would gain even more honor. He was a Top Guy, an important figure, something Logan Paul could never be.

“You’re pushing my buttons, kid. I suggest you go find someone else to mess with.”

“No man, I’m doing just fine right here. Am I bothering you?”

Yes.

“You bother me the same way a gnat does. Mild irritation, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Oh?”

Drew shut his eyes and let his hands rest behind his head. Once Elimination Chamber was over, he and Logan would not be anywhere near each other event-wise. He could focus on more important, worthy opponents, men with years of experience that showed in their sore muscles and scratched up bodies. Logan’s chest was disgustingly unblemished. No scars or bruising, no ring burn discoloring his skin. It was soft, it was pretty… it was fresh. It’d been a while since Drew had seen anyone with so much newness about themselves. Apparently no one had gotten to him yet, not even Roman from what the locker room gossip whispered through the grapevine. So Logan was a bit of a princess, wasn’t just letting any knight in the castle. Interesting images began to form in Drew’s mind.

“Don’t you have to go get ready.” Drew hoped the finality in his voice came across to Logan. It seemed to register in his head, only to be immediately tossed out into his mental wastebin. Logan looked down at his silly yellow vest and smiled the smile of someone who knew how annoying he was being. 

“I am ready.”

Drew laughed. Ready, sure. Oh, the boy thought he was. 

—-

Elimination Chamber was a hard fought match. Once again though, Drew did what he did best. He brawled and won as it was meant to be. Even with Randy stalking around, Bobby giving it a fair shake, and LA Knight showing impressive drive to be the best, the other men didn’t stand a chance against Drew. His prophecy was inching closer to being fulfilled, with no help from Logan buzzing around the ring. He spent a good majority of the match taunting him, which Drew thought was quite bold. It was cute, he was like a puppy nipping at his heels for attention. Drew had noticed that was just the way he was, always poking and prodding at bigger men for scraps of acknowledgement. Maybe it was time to give him what he needed so he’d stop being such a fucking nuisance. 

“Great job out there Drew. Hope my dick drawing didn’t distract you too much.” Logan stood at Drew’s door a sweaty, disheveled, slightly pink mess. That worn out, used up look fit him a lot better. 

“Not at all. Nothing was going to get in my way of going to Wrestlemania… not you or your dick, sweetheart.”

A separate, deeper flush than the one that painted his chest colored Logan’s face as he smiled again. It didn’t quite reach his eyes this time due to some sort of anticipation and fear that flashed in his irises. 

“Thinking about my dick, are you Drew? I’m not surprised, I tend to have that effect on people.”

“You’re quite smug for someone who's had everything handed to him.”

Drew was up and approaching Logan before he could run out of the door and back into his hidey-hole of a dressing room. Probably nothing but bottles of Prime and yes men in there waiting to praise Logan for the bare minimum of selling like he was supposed to and not injuring anyone. It made Drew sick. Logan looked down at the knob and felt the cold surface of the door against his back while Drew’s heavy breathing made his chest rise and touch his. Drew had a lot of dark chest hair that Logan suddenly had to urge to rub his face in.

“You’re right, I have been given a lot. I can admit that I always get what I want, as long as I ask for it.” Logan stared up into Drew’s eyes with a pout that immediately made Drew’s cock stiffen up. 

“So you just asked for big matches? For the US Championship?”

“I asked. Triple H and the executives felt like I deserved it. It was a mutual thing.”

Drew’s expression hardened. What a little jerk, throwing his weight around like that. Of course they would let him get high profile events, he had millions of followers. That meant he deserved shots that the other guys who’d started out wrestling in high school gyms for free food would have never bothered to dream of. 

“What are you going to ask for now?”

The skin around Logan’s eyes creased when he laughed. It sounded undone and nervous, no usual unearned confidence making it too loud of a noise.

“You gonna show me more of what’s under that kilt? I think you tried flashing me as a distraction so you could win.”

“I would’ve won whether I did or didn’t flash you.”

Drew removed his kilt and pulled down his trunks in quick succession, exposing himself to Logan without ever looking away from his face. The sides of Logan’s mouth twitched when he saw how perfectly thick Drew’s cock was. It was crazy he wore trunks knowing he was that was big.

“Nice.”

“Hm. You know what you’re gonna do for me, Logan? You’re going to earn what you want tonight. For the first time in your life, you’re going to have to work for your reward. Got it?”

Logan shrugged and decided to throw caution to the wind. He always got what he wanted in the end. It might take a few false starts and pit stops, but it worked out in one way or the other. He rubbed his face into Drew’s chest and inhaled deeply. His post-match sweat was intoxicatingly strong and only served to make Logan rush to get on his knees. Drew rolled his eyes at the way he exaggeratingly crossed his eyes at the length of his dick. Everything was a joke to this kid. 

Logan pulled out his own cock as he took Drew into his warm mouth. The scent of his sweat was amplified twice over that close to his balls and his mass of equally dark pubic hair. Wrapping his hand around himself, he felt precome drip out onto his fingers. Drew was already groaning from the way Logan hollowed out his cheeks around his dick. 

“You’re a pro at this, huh? Been getting your practice in on the other boys?”

“Not yet,” Logan squeezed himself and stroked with a fervor, then continued to suck. 

Drew couldn’t help but to feel like he was going to come thinking about Logan with his mouth open and waiting for Roman or LA Knight or Santos, any one of the guys he’d provoked over the last year or so, to paint his tongue back to back. His hands reached to grab into the weirdly cut strands of Logan’s hair so he could push his dick past his tongue and down into his throat. Surprisingly he took it well with no tears spilling out or teeth scraping the sensitive skin. Drew closed his eyes and shoved Logan’s head completely against himself, letting the boy gag around him until he slapped a hand against his thigh to let him breathe. Although he felt like he’d die from the loss of sensation and wet, pretty noises, Drew slowly removed himself from Logan’s mouth. 

“I was just about to come too, fuck.” Logan poked his bottom lip out petulantly. 

“You’ll be happy you didn’t.”

Logan was pulled up off of his knees only to be dragged over to the nearest couch. Drew took his time and got comfortable when sat down on it, spreading his legs wide open and letting his cock bob in the air. 

“Come on, take those off and come sit in my lap,” Drew patted at his upper thighs, also covered in hair, and winked at Logan. He wasn’t done with him yet, not by a long shot. From the speed in which Logan stripped down, he knew he wasn't done either. 

Drew picked up a bottle of lube from the side table and squeezed a generous amount into his hand to smooth across his dick. All of Logan’s thoughts, what few he had in the first place, left the building when he sank down onto Drew in one swift movement. Drew’s eyes widened in surprise; he didn’t know Logan was that capable. 

“Aren’t you a good boy?” 

Drew began to fuck up into Logan before he could respond. His face slackened up in ecstasy with every thrust inside of him. Logan attempted to ride back against him, but his aching legs betrayed him by shaking. Not only was he being fucked harder than he’d ever been, the chamber match had done a number on him too. Maybe Drew and the others thought he was just there to bring fresh eyes to the program, but he really was trying his hardest in the ring. Just as soon as he was ready to give up and let himself enjoy it all, Drew pressed his fingers harshly into the flesh of his hips. The sudden pain gave him a jolt that motivated him to grind deep and huff out shallowly. 

“There you go. I knew you’d like that, baby,” Drew smoothed over the marks he’d left deep in Logan’s skin. It was a good thing he wore tights instead of trunks, or else the top brass would have his head for leaving their golden boy all ruined. Logan responded with a steadying breath that turned into a destroyed moan when Drew grabbed at his twitching cock. Gasps fell from Logan’s mouth every time Drew stroked him with his rough palm while he plunged himself as far as he could go inside of him. 

“Please Drew, please—“

Drew watched as Logan’s body shuddered hard while he came. It leaked out messily onto his hand, Logan bucking up into his fist involuntarily from the orgasm. His vision cleared up enough to see Drew holding up said hand to his lips for him to clean up. With the first couple of licks, Drew once again sank his fingers back into the bruises on Logan’s hip to lift him up off of his dick. Seconds later, he felt the warmth of Drew’s come splash across his ass and the very bottom of his lower back. 

“Really got me good here,” Logan ran the pads of his fingers against his reddish-purple bruises and bit back a moan. 

“Wanted to leave a little something behind. Now you’ve got some scars, something that proves you can take a little pain. It looks like you like having them, too, which is an even better sign. It means you’re finally on your way to becoming a worthy competitor. Maybe one day you’ll face me for the title.”

Drew’s smile was patronizingly sweet as he ruffled up Logan's stupid haircut further. Logan was still a young man. It’d take a lot of hard work and practice, not necessarily with Drew alone, to really turn him into the best he could be. 

“Yeah, maybe so.”

“Until then, you come find me or any of the other guys and we’ll try to help you, okay?”

Logan nodded as he put his gear back on in a daze, not even bothering to clean himself up. 

“We won’t break you— not too badly anyways.”

Logan let a weird smile spread across his face when he reached the doorway. It was huge, all teeth and kind of crazy with the corresponding way his pupils blew out and let the blue that surrounded them turn into little slivers..

“What if I wanna be broken?” 

[may--hawk]

xxviii. here comes the knight (ineffable remix)

Here Comes the Knight - Van Morrison

This love will surely last forever / This love will surely last always

Any knight who's any knight shows up for King Arthur's latest tournament, a great multi-day event meant to celebrate the wedding of someone or other. The Black Knight rides in with the others, a tall black 1 streak on the field. Aziraphale's there, too. Crowley'd hoped he would be. He's not a knight, though, not this time; this time, he's a lady in Guinevere's retinue, most decorously arrayed. 

Crowley spots him all the way across the field, long white curling hair like a cloud, a real Heavenly vision of blue silk and wool. "Aziraphale," he says, and kisses Aziraphale courteously, in the manner of the times. Aziraphale is flushing when he pulls back, although it could be the heat of the day, the summer sun. "Come to watch the tournament?”

"Oh, I suppose," he says. "It is awfully exciting, isn't it?" Around them, multicolored pennants flap; there's the clang of jousting knights, horses' hooves, cries of merchants with their wares. "Are you going to compete? They say the field is formidable."

Crowley shrugs. He's got a black flag, black shield, each with a serpent on it, twined around a red heart. "I have no luck token," he says, referring to the scraps of fabric women give their preferred knights so they know who to root for on the field.

Aziraphale tsks, undoes his belt, a blue silken thing seeded with pearls. "Give me your arm," he says, and ties his belt around Crowley's upper arm, his sword arm. "There," he says, standing back and admiring his handiwork. And no tricks," he says, sternly.

"It's like you want me to discorporate," Crowley says, but he rides off dutifully into the field.

And he doesn't use any tricks, but when the third spear misses him, gone completely wide, Crowley realizes the token is blessed. He can feel it, the soft soothing trickle of Aziraphale's power rolling over him, like a good, gentle rain. He grins. And then he really sets about laying to the left side and the right side, as they say, everyone miraculously avoiding serious harm, except Sir Kay, who had made fun of Aziraphale once, and who suffers a broken collarbone. Throughout it all he can make out Aziraphale in the queen's box, his white hair shining in the sun like a halo, turned his way, always. Throughout that day, and the next, and the next, Crowley clears the field, until it's just him and Gawain, facing off.

At the feast that night, which concludes the tournament, Aziraphale says, "You could have won, you know," their fingers brushing as Crowley passes him a platter of roasted quail.

Crowley looks over at Gawain, sitting with a fair maid on his lap. Gawain winks at him. “You said no tricks,” Crowley says to Aziraphale now, who follows his gaze, and puts his hand to his heart2, and gives Crowley a dewy look.

“Shut up,” Crowley says, but he doesn’t mean it, not one bit.

Crowley still has that belt, centuries later, that scrap of blue silken luck, embroidered with seed pearls, and with Aziraphale's love.

1. Occasionally falling. back

2. Well, hand to something, anyway. back

Read the others here.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Sanctuary part 2

Chapter 9: Paths Unknown

A/N: This chapter follows the episode very closely, I wanted to add it in because all I could think about was how much Tech would have loved it 🥹

Warnings: 18+, that icky plant thing, canon action, some feelings, mentions of experiments.

Word Count: 6.4k+

Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

Masterlist

5 months after Stitch was taken.

Tech glanced at his brothers, passing a look through their helmets at the scream that sounded from the chamber behind the closed door.

“That did not go as he expected,” Tech quipped but Hunter scowled. It had been months without Omega, even longer without you. The toll taken was obvious on all of them; from the scuffed and unkempt armour to the worry lines that marked all their faces. Hunter had been relentless, using every contact and ounce of knowledge they had between them to find some solid intel.

He should be happy the Imperials don’t seem to be focussing on his squad anymore but it meant they had what they wanted. And it boiled his blood. Hunter would blaze through this galaxy if he thought it would lead him straight to the rest of his family. But they still needed to be careful and clever.

This current move was dangerous and reckless, if they really analysed it. But this is what they were bred for. Combat, covert missions, tipping the scales in their favour.

“Who stands before me next?” A female commanded.

“I can make a deal,” the desperate Pyke chatted right before Hunter shoved him forcefully through the opening door. They had come to Devaron to chase up the only current lead they had. It chafed on Hunter’s pride, to do the dirty work of others for just a scrap of intel. But he’d do anything for Omega.

The chamber was large, members of the syndicate watched from the sides which Tech took in with great interest. Hunter didn’t care, focussing on the female sat on the throne. He shoved the Pyke again, forcing him out onto the red barrier that he had no doubt the last visitor had fallen through.

“The mercenaries we discussed,” Roland informed Isa Durand.

“Such courage to demand an audience with me.” Her voice echoed through the cavernous chamber, as regal and commanding as her posture on the throne. Tech stood relaxed, his brown eyes taking in new details as he studied everything around them. They had no plan to get out if this went badly. Wrecker was nervous about the drop below his feet but he did nothing except shift a foot on the barrier.

“You’d be dead if my son hadn’t convinced me to consider your offer.”

Hunter pulled the severed horn from his belt, showing what was in his hand. “And we’re here to deliver.” He tossed the horn to Roland, trying not to remember the discussion Tech and Wrecker had on the way here, wondering if the Devaronian was going to try and reattach it. “You asked for the Pyke who disgraced your family.”

“He’s all yours,” Wrecker told them, slapping the Pyke on his back.

“It won’t be traced back you,” Hunter’s helmet tipped towards Tech. “We made sure of it.”

Isa regarded them for a moment and Hunter felt a trickle of sweat run down the side of his face.

“Take him below.” The Pyke protested, threatened, but it was pointless. He was dragged beyond the door and sealed from sight. “Impressive. Your willingness to cross the Pykes shows how desperate you are.” Hunter hated she pointed that out, grateful to the helmet covering his face. “Tell me, why is the intel you’ve requested of such value to you?” Roland had told them to be honest. He said his mother did not appreciate liars and she wouldn’t hesitate to send them below if she thought they were hiding anything.

“Doctor Hemlock stole someone from us. We heard your syndicate had the connections needed to find the Imperial’s base. And since we’ve upheld our end of the bargain,” Hunter ignored the sharp inhale from Tech at his temper starting to come through in his words. “Now it’s your turn.”

Hunter saw Tech’s fingers flex. He wouldn’t have time to do anything if Isa decided to send them into the depths and it irked him. But Hunter didn’t want anything risking this exchange.

The floor extended from the throne dais, meeting the force field beneath their feet so Roland could cross the space to speak to them.

“Hemlock’s whereabouts have been well guarded by the Empire, but one of our sources came across these coordinates linked to his laboratory.”

“And they’ve been verified?” Hunter asked. Too many times had they hoped, only for it to be smashed into a dead end.

“Take what you came for and go, before my generosity runs out,” Isa demanded. Tech reached for the chip, depositing it in a pouch on his belt.

“I hope you find who you’re looking for,” Roland told them quietly. The heaviness in his gaze conveyed he knew exactly who it was.

None of them spoke on the way out to the ship. Hands never straying far from their weapons until the ramp had closed firmly behind them. Tech guided the Marauder easily out of the atmosphere, using the coordinates in the chip to programme their hyperspace jump. Only when the blue and white lights rushed over the canopy, did they breathe easily.

“That went smoother than I thought,” Wrecker broke the silence in the cockpit.

“Indeed. Still, this could be another dead end,” Tech let out a brief sigh.

“No point thinking like that until we’ve visited the coordinates for ourselves,” Hunter murmured. “Wrecker, contact Echo and find out if they can come with us. Tech, what do we know about where we are heading?” Tech grabbed his datapad, moving to the console in the hold where he as able to bring up the details.

“Setron. A jungle planet, with no known occupied settlements. A perfect place, it seems, to hide a secret laboratory.”

“Sounds promising.” Hunter crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. His gaze drifted to the doll Wrecker had given to Omega, propped up like it was looking for her return. Tech continued to research the planet, looking for a landing site and about any possible threatening creatures or plants they should be aware of.

Wrecker came through from the cockpit, drawing their attention. “Echo said he and Rex need two rotations before they can meet us at the coordinates.”

Hunter frowned, an expression he couldn’t seem to shift these days. He knew he couldn’t just drop these things on Rex and Echo, they had their own fight going on. Yet the frustration was still there.

“That’s not good enough. We’re going now.”

“It would be practical to wait for backup,” Tech said, knowing exactly how reckless his brother was becoming the longer their search went on. “The last few encounters we have had with the Empire, have not always ended in our favour.”

“I know they haven’t.” Hunter stalked into the cockpit. Wrecker sighed and shared a look with Tech before they joined him. “Omega and Stitch have been waiting for us for a long time. I’m not…I can’t make them wait another day.”

Tech couldn’t deny it. Hunter was right, you had been gone for too long. He prided himself on his memory and holding onto facts and details. But for some reason, anything to do with you was not as easy to recall as it once had been. He needed you here, back in the ship with him. Where you belonged.

His attention was directed to the flashing light on the console. “Approaching Setron. I am not detecting any ships.”

“Surely that’s a good thing?” Wrecker asked.

“Perhaps,” Tech answered, bringing the ship smoothly out of hyperspace. “I would have anticipated some form of orbital activity.”

“Maybe it’s that secret they can’t have ships hanging around.”

“Means they will other ways of deterring visitors,” Hunter added. “Eyes open.”

“They always are,” Wrecker sighed.

The ship descended into the atmosphere, drifting through the thick misty, cloud cover to find a clearing in the jungle large enough to house the ship.

“I have run a rudimentary scan of the surrounding area and found no Imperial activity so far.” Tech put on his helmet, checked his blasters and grabbed the datapad.

“Sounds like this could be…” Wrecker stopped mid sentence, glaring at them both as they stared at him. “Fine, I won’t say it,” he grumbled, notching his helmet up so it rested on his forehead.

The ramp opened, letting the stuffy air from the jungle filter into the ship. Tech set his goggles to record, while his datapad caught the fauna noises that warbled through the heavy trees.

Wrecker let out a disgusted sound. “Smells like rancid Jotaz out here.”

“For once, Wrecker. I am inclined to agree,” Tech’s nose wrinkled and wished his helmet filtered out the smell.

“Anything?” Hunter asked.

“Negative,” Tech replied, lifting the datapad higher. “The signal could be being jammed.”

“Mmm. My thoughts too. Let’s move, keep an eye out for anything.” Hunter took the lead through the jungle. Pausing every now and again to sort through his senses. Even though the scanner was potentially being jammed, his enhanced senses were not and Tech watched him closely. Noticing the quickened pace and the sharp change of direction until they broke out of the trees and onto a rocky outcropping.

Below them was the base, and not how they expected to find it. “Fascinating,” Tech breathed. His eyes widening at the buildings and how they had been completely devoured by vines.

“That’s the lab?” Wrecker asked in disbelief.

“They destroyed it,” Hunter pointed out. “Another orbital bombardment.” The reminder of Kamino’s destruction was always there. The explosions that rocked their feet, the water rushing in, the booms as buildings fell into the sea to be swallowed up and never seen again.

“But Omega!” Wrecker panicked. “Stitch…if they were here…”

“We don’t know if they were,” Hunter cut across him.

“The intel we have could be incorrect,” Tech offered, hoping to soften the sharpness of Hunter.

“Whatever this is, let’s get down there and check it out.” He took the lead again, leaving Tech and Wrecker to fall into step.

“I really thought this was going to be it,” Wrecker admitted softly. Tech had no words for him, he couldn’t. Logically he knew there was a high probability Omega and you would not be here. But he had still dared allow a fragment of hope to kindle.

“We might yet find something inside,” Tech finally said.

“Yeah,” Wrecker mumbled. “Maybe.”

The jungle terrain was not easy. Roots the thickness of Wrecker’s arms curled over the ground, slick with soft moss and surrounded by sticky mud. The way down was treacherous, but they’d encountered worse. Finally it levelled out and they slowed to a walk until Hunter raised his fist.

Tech immediately drew his blasters and Wrecker hunkered down. “We’re not alone,” Hunter eased out, drawing his own weapon.

“Freeze!” Two young boys stepped into view, makeshift weapons in their hands. Tech held his weapons steady, trying to figure out what teenagers were doing out here.

Wrecker laughed at them, already deciding they weren’t a threat. “Blaster beats stick, kid.”

“Tech, do you see it?” Hunter asked, not taking his eyes off them.

“Both adolescent males,” he said, casting a sideways glance at Hunter when he held out a hand and relaxed.

“They’re regs.”

“And who are you?” One of them demanded.

Wrecker kicked his helmet up, while Hunter removed his entirely to address them face to face.

“We’re clones. Same as you.”

“You don’t look like clones,” the kid answered back.

“They must be 99s,” the other one said. “Defectives.”

Tech holstered his blasters and pulled out the datapad to run another scan of the area. Something wasn’t quite right but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Defective and effective,” Wrecker told them with a smirk.

“What are you two doing out here?”

“What’s it look like?” The one on the left snapped at Hunter. “Surviving. Or trying to. No thanks to the Empire.”

“They send you to finish us off?”

“Do we look like we’re with the Empire?” Wrecker sounded offended by their words. The boys looked them over, Tech avoided meeting their scrutinising stares, concentrating on the scanner and why it still wasn’t picking anything up.

“What do you want?” One finally asked.

“We’re looking for a young girl. She’s a clone. We think she was sent to the lab here,” Hunter explained. “And an adult, female. A medic but she would have come in as a prisoner.”

“Never saw anyone like that, but Mox might know about them.”

“He won’t talk to them,” the other boy interrupted.

“Please,” Hunter stepped forward. “We have to find them. They’re, part of our squad.” The boys looked at each other until one gave a quick sigh.

“Stick to the trail. Follow our steps. And don’t touch the vines.” Tech looked up at the broken building. He knew those vines weren’t natural, their colouring did not match the other vines within the jungle and if he had to guess, he’d say they seemed to be originating from the building itself.

They all walked in silence for a bit until Wrecker couldn’t take it anymore. “So, er. How did you end up here?”

“When the Empire transferred us off Kamino, we thought we were getting more training. Instead they made us prisoners. Took samples of our blood.”

Tech frowned, his datapad was recording everything so he’d be able to come back to this later. Anything the cadets could give them might help in trying to work out what exactly Hemlock wanted.

“Do you know what they were looking for?” Tech asked them.

“No idea,” one replied.

“They didn’t tell us anything.”

“At least we escaped before they destroyed the facility.”

Tech followed the cadets through the flora, taking care when pushing it aside, the warning about the vines still held his curiosity. “Wrecker!” He shouted, already knowing he was too late.

“What?!” The large clone demanded, letting the thick dark vine go after he’d pushed it aside.

“Behind you!” Hunter called out. Tech rushed forward, watching the vine begin to slither and slide, the end waving in the air.

“Run!” The cadets took off while the others pulled their weapons.

“I do not see our blasters doing any considerable damage,” Tech said as they moved back a few paces.

“We’ll see about that.” Wrecker let loose a few bolts, the vine almost crying out from the burn.

“Don’t shoot! It gets hostile when you shoot!” A cadet called from behind them.

“You mean, it’s not already hostile?” Wrecker shouted.

“I feel this situation has the potential to escalate,” Tech said pragmatically just as a vine from behind grabbed Wrecker, pinning his arms and swinging him back into a tree.

“Hunter!” The vine started to drag Wrecker up. Tech continued to provide cover fire while Hunter pulled his blade free and sliced through the plant holding Wrecker with one swipe. The other vines retreated as abruptly as they had appeared.

“That will not be the end of it,” Tech stated calmly.

“Come on!” The cadets called and rushed off, not waiting to see if the others followed.

They reached a clearing where Wrecker doubled over to catch his breath. Tech was already moving around with his datapad, pressing buttons on his vambrace to cycle through the different scans he could perform and see if the vines showed up.

“What was that stuff?” Wrecker huffed.

“Slither vines.” Tech cocked his head at the reply, not something he’d heard of before. “The Empire made it. It’s some kind of experimental weapon, until they lost control of it.”

“Intriguing,” Tech whispered. He knew Hemlock was interested in experimenting on humanoids, he had no idea the Empire’s interest stretched outside of that category.

He ignored the pang in his chest when his thoughts turned to you, as they always did. He held onto the fact the Empire was so desperate for you they sent out a bounty. Which meant they wanted you for a reason. So you still had to be alive.

“Probably why they ordered a Base Delta Zero on their own facility,” one of the cadets was saying when Tech focused on the conversation again.

“We’ll be safe on the crag. The slither vines haven’t spread there.”

“Yet.”

By the time they made it to the cadet’s camp, darkness had fallen. The other cadet, Mox, had lit a fire seemingly waiting for the others to come back.

“Who are they?” He instantly demanded, pointing the stick at the adults.

“Clones. We found them by the overlook.” Tech stood to the side, his back to the fire so he could put his visor down and scan the surrounding area for heat signatures. He found the lack of signal very peculiar.

“What do you want?” Mox queried suspiciously.

“We’re looking for a young girl. She was taken by an Imperial named Hemlock. And possibly an adult, female medic that would have been brought in as a prisoner. Their names are Omega and Stitch.”

After determining the clones weren’t a threat, Mox sat back down. “Never saw a girl around the lab. Only adults we saw were the scientists, no medics. But I know Hemlock. He was in charge, until things changed. One day the Imperials started packing up and shipped out. So we made our move and escaped.”

“We were the only ones to make it out before the orbital bombardment,” one of the other cadets continued the story.

“Even the clone troopers left us to die,” the other chimed in. “Said they were following orders.”

“They were,” Tech spoke up. “Every clone trooper had a chip inserted by the Kaminoans. It is what allowed the Emperor to use them to devastating effect and eradicate the Jedi.” There was a beat of silence as they absorbed his pragmatic words.

“What about you?” Mox insisted.

“We are defective clones, the chip did not work on us. Well, not all of us,” Tech amended. “We have since had ours removed.”

The boys looked at each other and Tech wondered how long they had been out here for. He admired their tenacity, although it was a trait all the clones shared as well as their survival skills.

“We can take you to someplace safe,” Hunter offered. “But we need to find out if Omega and Stitch were here or where Hemlock took them.”

“There is a possibility the Imperials left behind some intel that could help us,” Tech lifted his visor and turned to the cadets. “Is there a control panel or a data socket that I could access?”

The boys glanced at each other until one responded. “One of the control room panels was still intact during our last scout. I tried to use it to send a signal, but there was no power.”

Hunter looked at Tech who gave a slight nod in return. Anything was worth an attempt right now. “Can you take us there?”

“No way,” the other cadet refused vehemently. “That area is covered in slither vines. It’s toxic.”

“Stak’s right,” Mox agreed, standing up the address them. “Going near those ruins is a suicide mission. You’re on your own.”

Tech wanted to shrug and tell them, they had faced worse odds, when the cadet who’d spoken about the panel stepped in front of them.

“They need help, Mox. I’ll go with them.” When no protests came, he grabbed a blaster and a com out of the crate. With a gesture he started to lead the Batch back down to the jungle floor. The remaining cadets watched them leave with grim expressions.

“I can get you inside the ruins, but you won’t be able to get anything from the console without a power source.”

“I have already thought of a solution to that particular problem,” Tech told the cadet. “We must return to the ship to retrieve it.”

The torch lights dipped over the uneven ground with every step. “This clone you’re looking for…”

“Omega,” Hunter supplied her name in the cadet’s pause.

“How long has she been gone?”

“Too long. But we’re not giving up.”

“The other one. The medic. Is she a clone too?” Tech could feel Hunter’s gaze on him through the gloom, as though he could break apart at the mere mention of you. “She is not,” he answered.

“But she’s just as important to us,” Wrecker added.

“I wish the other clones felt that way about us,” the cadet sighed wistfully. “You may be defective, but at least you’re loyal.”

The ship materialised in the darkness, highlighted by the torches. The ramp lowered, everything about the ship sounded loud and out of place in this part of the jungle. Tech walked up the ramp with Wrecker just behind him.

“Gotta job for you, Gonky.” The droid beeped in excitement and Tech’s mouth twisted into a grimace.

“It will neither be fun or exciting. But it is important,” he told Gonky while attaching a leather harness to him. “Ready?” Wrecker nodded, dropping to his knees and slipping his arms through the straps. Gonky honked, his feet waving around Wrecker’s helmet. “Yes, I’m making sure they are tight enough,” Tech reassured the droid with a gentle pat on the metal casing.

“Right,” Wrecker stood up slowly, finding his balance and shrugging the straps to a more comfortable position. Tech followed him down the ramp, mentally checking his pack for everything he could possibly need.

“Lead the way, kid.” Wrecker’s melancholy mood had lifted with the possibility that this trip wasn’t a complete waste of time.

“Name’s Deke,” the cadet offered.

“I’m Wrecker, Hunter, Tech and this Gonky,” he replied, gesturing to the droid on his back.

“I don’t really know what we’ll find down there,” Deke admitted. “But it probably won’t be pleasant.”

“Nothing ever is,” Hunter huffed a despondent sigh.

The journey down to the entrance was hard work. Their torches only lit up a few feet in front of them and it made the jungle seem to stretch out around them forever.

Wrecker tripped a couple of times, not used to having the weight of Gonky on his back and the ground was unfamiliar. “I don’t like this,” the big clone mumbled to himself.

“It is only going to get more stimulating once we are inside,” Tech informed him.

“Part o’ me thinks you’re enjoying this.”

“I have never seen flora that reacts like these, slither vines. There is an obvious connection within the plant itself, that allows it to deal with any threats swiftly and efficiently. I would really like to see the point of origin. Is it a single specimen that has spread over the entire building, or multiple plants that have grown and connected together?” Tech mused. “From what I have witnessed so far, it almost seems to be verging on sentience.” The group came to a stop but it took Tech three more paces before he realised he was the only one moving. “Is there a problem?” He asked, pausing to look at them over his shoulder.

Hunter shook his head, approaching Tech so he could pat his spaulder fondly. “No, no problem. It’s nice to see you so interested in something again.”

“Does it have to be killer vines though?” Wrecker groaned.

“I do not see anything else remotely interesting other than these vines,” Tech defended himself while feeling the ghost of a smile forming.

“You won’t be saying that when it’s crushing your ribs.” Wrecker knocked affectionately into Tech, nearly losing his balance in the process.

“At this rate, you will not make it to the lab in one piece. Or Gonky. And we need him.”

“Do you want to carry the droid?” Wrecker called over his shoulder. Now Tech did smile, rolling his eyes before following the others. It had been a while since they had had the energy to poke fun at each other.

“This is it,” Deke told them once they had caught up to him. “There’s slither vines everywhere in there. Interesting or not,” he said with a glance at Tech. “Be careful where you step.” He took the lead, with Hunter behind him, then Wrecker and Tech brought up the rear.

Tech looked up as they entered the large entrance of the compound. Vines climbed to the walls, slithering slowly along the ceiling and encroaching on the floor. They had to watch their feet carefully, making sure they didn’t touch any of the tendrils in their path.

“Fascinating,” Tech breathed. The vines seemed to be emitting noxious spores. Deke had mentioned the air here was toxic, clouds of it bloomed sporadically from random parts of the vines. Tech wanted a closer look but he couldn’t get distracted from the main objective.

Deke lead them in silence. Metal creaked above the group and Wrecker paused, his torch light wavering slightly. “I don’t like this,” he hissed to Tech. A deep rolling sound echoed down the corridor. “I really don’t like this.”

“How much further is the console?” Hunter growled. He was just as anxious as Wrecker, feeling that something was going to happen, deep in his gut. He never ignored that feeling.

“Hard to tell,” Deke answered. “More vines have spread down here. We had to stop scavenging the site because of it.”

Tech nudged Wrecker, getting an agitated growl in response before they continued. Hunter looked around, mulling over his next question. “What other experiments were going on in this place?”

“Nothing good. They didn’t exactly tell us what was going on.” Deke paused, swinging his light around.

“Do you hear that?” Tech asked. His visor came down but nothing showed up on the screen. He checked the datapad, tracing the spike in sounds with his eyes.

“Let’s keep moving,” Wrecker urged.

“Wait…” Hunter made them stop, casting his torch light around.

“The sounds…” Tech shook his head. “I assumed they were from an animal. But I was wrong.” He looked up as he spoke, noticing the activity in the plant had increased. “It is the vines.”

Deke cried out as his body hit the floor. Vines wrapped around his legs and began to drag him away. He was lifted into the air, Wrecker grabbed his arms to keep him within reach while Hunter sliced through the violent tendrils with his blade, until Deke dropped to the floor. They crowded together, weapons drawn looking for more vines ready to attack them.

“Look out!” Tech’s warning was just in time as a piece of the vine broke off and launched itself at Hunter. The blast rang out loudly, but vine creature seemed undamaged. It skitted away on misshapen legs, crawling into a hiding place.

“Go! Keep moving!” Hunter shouted.

“Still finding it interesting?”

Tech spared Wrecker a glance, the corners of his eyes creasing with his smile. “Even more so,” he admitted. “Did you see? It had thorns, like teeth.”

Wrecker groaned. “I didn’t. I’m going to have nightmares.”

Their pace eventually slowed as the corridor opened up. Tech looked up when they all stopped. A huge hole broke the roof apart, clearly a wound from the orbital bombardment. Stars littered the sky, a single piece of beauty in this rotten place.

“Ergh,” Wrecker was looking down, where the ground dropped away at their feet. Something bubbled and hissed, liquid oozed in the pit creating a putrid swamp that made even Tech’s eyes water. “I didn’t think it could smell any worse. But I was wrong.”

“We’re in agreement on that,” Hunter said, swinging his torch to further out.

“There’s the console,” Deke pointed to a control panel almost completely hidden by the debris from the roof. “Come on.” He dropped down first, followed by Tech. Then Hunter with Wrecker dropping last, the force of his extra mass created a ringing echo through the whole place.

One by one, they made it across, jumping from piece to piece until they reached the other side. Tech gestured to Wrecker and the pair of them lifted the durasteel strut, tossing it into the fetid quagmire where it sank down out of sight.

“I don’t even wanna know how deep that is,” Wrecker muttered to himself while Tech helped him shrug off Gonky.

The droid chatted a little and Tech inspected the console. Standard Imperial control panel, this would be easy enough to get data from. He pulled the lead from the console, plugging it into Gonky and feeding the battery droid’s power into it.

“Do your thing little guy,” Wrecker patted the droid.

“Well?” Hunter asked from the side, his torch roaming slowly over the swamp.

“Power has been restored. I will be able to download any information they left behind.” Tech plugged in his datapad to the console and started to cycle through the data.

“Something’s coming,” Hunter said slowly. “We need to make this quick.”

Wrecker went to stand next to him at the edge. “Is it more of those things?”

“No. Something…else.” Wrecker pulled out his knife, refusing to be caught unawares again.

Deke stood beside Tech. “I am familiar with this system, most of this data looks to be useless.”

“I am confident there will be something of note in here,” Tech informed him as he pressed another button and opened a separate file. “I just need time.”

A deep rumbling growl grated through the pit. The debris they were standing shifted and Tech adjusted his balance, spreading his legs wider. A large air bubble rose to the surface, exploding in a shower of rancid water and sludge.

Tech barely flinched when Hunter and Wrecker opened fire at whatever had snuck up behind him. Water splashed on his armour and the screen of the datapad, which he just wiped and carried on going through the data. The ground shifted beneath his feet, making him glance to the side. A huge tentacle rose out of the water, wider than Wrecker and set on crushing them all.

“Tech!” Hunter shouted, his armour lit up by the blaster bolts as he fired. “Times up!”

It wasn’t enough to go through everything, but Tech could definitely see his time had run out. Wrecker hastily grabbed Gonky, attaching him back onto the harness while Tech unplugged him from the console. He tucked the datapad away and pulled his own blasters. Deke was talking into his com, backing away, no doubt asking his brothers for help.

“Look out!” Wrecker shouted and the group split. A tentacle came crashing down, Tech’s eyes widened when he saw it wasn’t the limb of some creature. This was a thick vine, twisted and gnarled by whatever experiments it had been subjected to. Tech stood there for a moment, watching the vine rise up once more ready to crash down again.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Hunter’s shout made him move, following the others to climb up and out. The vine came down again, dislodging the durasteel they were climbing. Deke cried out. He began to fall but Hunter reacted quickly, lunging forward to grab his ankle before he went completely out of sight. Tech jumped over, getting to his knees to help pull the cadet up, shooting at the vine at the same time to deter it striking again.

“In here!” They followed Wrecker into another corridor only to be faced with more putrid water. A vine pursued, attempting to seek them out and only getting hot blaster bolts in return. It made the vine recoil, but Tech could see it did no real damage.

Hunter looked behind them, silently making the decision to jump to the floating debris and the others followed. They kept firing as more vines appeared out of the water.

“It’s everywhere!” Deke cried. Tech wasn’t beginning to see a way of this until they were bathed in light.

Light from the Marauder.

The cadets in the ship lowered the cables, but they couldn’t stop firing. Hunter threw one of the little vine crawlers off his arm and Tech shot it. They needed to get on the ship and move it out of the reach of the vines.

“Go!” Deke didn’t hesitate. Grabbing a cable the same time as Wrecker. They both started to lift, Hunter swiftly looked up, shoving Tech towards the cable and shot at a thick vine. He grabbed it, holding on with one hand and his feet, still shooting while Hunter jumped to grab the very end of the cable just in time.

“Osik.” A very fitting word Tech felt, for the current situation. Vines wrapped around the wings of his ship, his grip almost slipping on the cable as he climbed up as fast as he could. The engines struggled against the strength of the vines, flaring with a whine to keep the ship in the air.

“What is that?” Tech looked down at Wrecker’s gasp and realised his assumption at it being just a plant, was incorrect. A circle of serrated teeth rose ominously from the black water. Snarls rumbled through the air as they waved in anticipation of a meal.

“Aim for the mouth!” The cadets started shooting but it made no difference. The creature wasn’t letting go. Tech carried on climbing, heaving himself over the edge of the opening and into the ship.

“We need more firepower!” Hunter yelled through the com as the ship groaned, listing to the side and nearly throwing Tech and the cadets off their feet.

“Incoming.” Tech quickly dragged out the case of explosives, tossing one to a cadet who caught it easily. Mox helped Tech move the crate, giving one last push to ease it over the edge and straight into the open maw of the breast. Stak leaned out, activating the thermal detonator before dropping it down with the rest of the explosives.

Time seemed to stand still as the explosive beeped its count down, rattling round the teeth of the creature until it was finally sucked in with the rest. A bright yellow glow lit it up from within, billowing outwards with the force of the explosion and the vines dropped limply away from the ship.

Tech was already in the pilots chair, pulling away as Hunter and Wrecker pulled themselves up and into the ship.

“I’ve never been so happy to leave a planet before,” Wrecker moaned from the floor. The cadets worked together to free him of Gonky, gently easing to droid to his feet.

Hunter leaned against the hull. He pushed off his helmet, breathing heavily as he regarded his brother. “I dunno,” he said. “It didn’t seem that bad to me.” Wrecker laughed. Hysteria mingled with relief, and Hunter joined in. A sound that hadn’t been heard since you had been taken. He eventually helped Wrecker off the floor, who cracked his back and rolled his shoulders.

“I miss Stitch.” He said that every time his body ached, desperate for the moment he could ask you to do that thing you did with his neck and your hands.

Tech punched the ship into lightspeed, keen to start filtering through the data they had downloaded.

“Did you get much?” Deke asked eagerly.

“I am about to find out.” Tech plugged the datapad in and they both watched the information scroll onto the screen. “It will take me a while to sort through it all.”

“Kids! You hungry?” The boys gravitated to Wrecker who had got the ration box out in the cockpit and started sharing the food around.

Hunter watched them for a beat, a small relieved smile on his face before he turned to watch Tech. “Want some help?”

“It will not take me long,” Tech answered, adjusting his goggles and tapping on the controls of his datapad. “It keeps my mind occupied.”

Hunter nodded. He knew Tech needed this, needed to feel busy. The few days after you had been taken were Tech’s worst. But straight after Omega, he shut off completely. This visit to Setron had been the first time Hunter had finally seen an inkling of his brother shining through the blankness. It had been unnerving, like he was travelling with someone he didn’t know. Hunter supposed this was all new to them, these feelings. Tech most of all.

He walked through to the cockpit, listening to Wrecker tell the boys some tales from the war. He found himself relaxing, joining in with the details because Wrecker only seemed to remember the glorious explosions. They talked about the droids, their memories of Kamino. Because at the end of it all, it had been their home.

Hunter stiffened when Tech came through, the datapad in his hand and a look in his eye. “You found something?”

“I have,” Tech started. “But it could be nothing. I have scoured all the data downloaded, Hemlock transferred his entire base of operations and his experiments to a new location. He never recorded if Omega and Stitch were there, but he does mention a sector.”

“That’s great!” Wrecker’s face split into a beaming smile.

“Still means we have a lot of space to cover,” Hunter said. “But it’s something.”

“Yeah it is!” Stak stumbled under the weight of Wrecker’s joyful back slap.

“It is certainly a lead we cannot ignore,” Tech added.

“What about us?” Deke asked.

Hunter leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. “We’ll drop you three off someplace safe. There are good people there, they’ll take care of you.”

“We’re cadets without an army,” Mox sighed. “I don’t know where we fit anymore.”

“You have time to figure it out,” Hunter told them. “Make your own path. Be something other than a soldier.” The war was over. The Republic was finished. He could help these boys to live a normal life, something so many of the clones would never have the chance to experience for themselves.

“What about you?” Mox inquired.

“Our mission is not over yet.”

“Not until we have Omega and Stitch back on this ship,” Wrecker growled.

“Back where they belong,” Hunter stated firmly, meeting his brother’s eyes, both of them nodding in agreement.

“We could help…” Stak started but Hunter shook his head.

“You’ve suffered enough and this is our mission.”

“Why? Worried you’ll miss us,” Wrecker joked, nudging Deke hard enough so he stumbled into Mox.

“It doesn’t feel right,” Stak continued, his nose scrunching slightly. “To sit back and do nothing.”

“Ah, get used to it kid.” Wrecker kicked his leg up, planting it on the console and leaning back in the chair. “As soon as you see those blue waters and those big, big fish. You’ll never want to leave.” The boys all turned to him, asking questions in a jumbled mass that made the large clone chuckle to himself before he began to tell them all about Pabu.

[sheliesshattered]

We had a fabulous time visiting Batuu yesterday! Our outfits were comfortable and functional and well suited to what turned out to be a relatively cold and cloudy day in southern California. Disney cast members definitely seemed to interact with us more because we made the effort to dress up, and we got some lovely compliments from other guests, too. We were even gifted some BSO credit coins by random strangers who liked our outfits!

It was Jack's first visit to Batuu, and while I did get to spend a little bit of time there with my mom in October, this was my first opportunity to really explore the entire area, browse through the shops, and sample all the food and drinks available. It was at least as cool as my first impression of it back in October, and Jack was impressed and delighted by all of it. We spent a good portion of the day just admiring all the details and world-building and excellent sets.

Jack has requested no photos, but I did manage to snag this pic of him blocking the camera like a victim of the paparazzi, lol.

But look at those pleats! Both Jack and I are so pleased with how they turned out. Several of the Resistance jackets on display in the Rise of the Resistance queue had similar pleat details, and it was fun to look at them up close.

Over this last weekend and all the way up to late Monday night, I was able to add a few last details to our outfits. I finally adjusted the chain length of my dangley earrings and glued the leather cording wraps to the back of my kyber crystal necklace so that it wouldn't slip out. While I had the glue out, I figured I'd take a stab at making some spat-type things to cover the lacings of my tall Doc Marten boots. I was completely winging it from start to finish, but I'm really happy with how they turned out!

The spats are made from some left over suede I've had in my stash for literally more than 20 years now -- it's been used for an Aragorn vest for Jack, a couple of bags for me, and the inner layers of the big wedge shaped piece on my Oswin belt. And I still have some left over! Maybe I'll make myself a belt pouch to match these spats at some point in the future.

The narrow end of each spat tucks under the laces closest to the toe of my boot, and theoretically secures to itself with a hook and eye, though I found the hook didn't really hold from that angle, and really wasn't necessary anyway. The straps then velcro around the back of my leg, at the lowest point of the bend of my ankle, and right at the top of the boot, so that the strap sits just above the top edge of the boot in the back, which helps keep it from slipping down.

To make these I really just draped scrap suede on my boot while wearing it, started cutting it to the shape I thought might make sense, then copied that over for a second spat. I measured how much I would need for the straps and how much of an overlap I wanted for the velcro, then cut out all those pieces and glued them together using E6000 -- which works wonderful for adhering velcro to suede and suede to suede, but is a bit more iffy with the metal hooks and eyes (one eye popped off when I was taking off the spat at the end of the night, but since it wasn't staying hooked anyway, I'm not fussed).

Despite being such a quick off-the-cuff project, the spats worked out great, and added that last little bit to my outfit by covering the laces of my boots. They're visible in the third photo, the full-length shot in front of the door (and in the video below), and I think they add an understated bit of texture difference in all the black-on-black there, in addition to obscuring the modern look of the boots a bit.

Besides those detail bits for me, I also made a pair of little pockets for Jack's jacket, to hold 'code cylinders'. It's a tiny detail that really makes the jacket look that much more Star Wars-y, and the cylinders themselves are empty and their tops unscrew, so the space can actually be functional, too. (Currently they're filled with gum!)

And at Jack's request, I threw together a quick insert for the zipper section on his collar that used to hold the hood before we removed it. The hood was making the collar too puffy, but without it the collar didn't have enough body to stand up on its own.

I took some measurements, then cut a piece of cotton duck canvas (that I had originally bought to cover the zippers on my Moment vest, before I changed gears and made the Batuu vest instead) to the right length and about three times the height of the interior of the hood section. I did a simple zigzag tri-fold on the height, ironed it flat, and marked some guide lines perpendicular to the length. Then it was just a simple process of quilting the three layers together by machine sewing in short vertical rows ~1cm apart.

The quilting gave the canvas even more stiffness, and after that point it absolutely did not want to fold or droop along the short vertical axis. I slipped it into the former hood pocket (after snipping one corner to fit around the snap I hadn't accounted for), zipped it closed, and gave the whole collar area a quick pressing. It's removable if we ever need to, completely washable, and keeps the collar standing upright without looking too stiff. Jack was very happy with the result.

With our outfits finally done, we headed into the park around mid-morning, with a plan to stay late. I wasn't quite sure what to expect with Batuu Bounding at Disneyland (which is notoriously a bit more hit-and-miss than Batuu East, in Florida), but we got through security without incident and through the rest of the park without anyone commenting on our outfits. We saw someone else wearing the same leather-look leggings as me, and a guy wearing similar jacket and pants to Jack (but without the pleating), which made us feel like we didn't look too weird, by general Disneyland standards.

Once we were in Batuu, though, our bounding definitely got noticed more. A couple of fellow guests complemented our outfits (including the kind strangers who gave us the coins!), and cast members seemed way more interested in interacting with us in-character. I got to bring up a bit about the history I'd made up for Samæni Ray -- which led to one cast member later referring to me and Jack as "my friends from Denon!" All of the prep and character design made it a lot easier to think on my feet in those little improv interactions.

One cast member in particular kept finding us throughout the day, just suddenly appearing out of nowhere it felt like, and kept trying to sell us a speederbike that totally wasn't a broken down lemon.

Later in the day, he kind of sold us out to Kylo Ren and a pair of stormtroopers (but like, in a fun way, lol) which led to an intense interaction with Kylo Ren right up in both my face and Jack's. Kylo Ren is tall, and the voice and the mask and the body language was all perfect up close. There was a bit of nervous laughter on our part, but we kept our cool and convinced Ren that that since we'd only just arrived on Batuu from Denon, we couldn't possibly know anything about any Resistance activity in Black Spire Outpost.

We were way too in the moment to get any photos, but because we were dressed up and Kylo Ren was so much up in our faces, we did draw a bit of a crowd, so for all I know other people may have taken pictures or videos of the event, lol. My family has a saying about 'look hard' rather than take photos, and it was definitely that for us.

Overall the whole day was wonderful, and we ended up spending nearly 12 hours in Batuu without leaving once. I got to pilot the Falcon multiple times (though I can't really say I've gotten any better at it, lol), and got to try out gunner and engineer, too. We managed to ride Rise of the Resistance both during the day and again after dark, explore every part of Black Spire Outpost in detail, learn to play Sabacc with a cast member, have drinks at Oga's, and eat a bunch of really tasty, really well-presented food.

All together it was an excellent, excellent birthday. And we're already talking about when we might want to go back again.

[twoidiotwriters1]

The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Im pleased to announce I finally know wtf I'm doing -Danny Words: 2,063 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'The Only Exception' -by Paramore

XVIII: Help Boy, I'm Craving Validation

Ara takes her time to change into her PJs, brush her teeth, and brush her hair. She's had a rough week and it's only been four days, so any free time she gets, she makes the best of it.

Hedge is taking the night shift, so she calmly knocks on Leo's door without worrying about the satyr barking at her to go back to bed. 

The door's open, so she lets herself in and finds Leo on his bed: He's reading a book, though Ara can't tell what it's about because the writing is normal and she's tragically dyslexic. Leo isn't, so he reads way more than she does, usually books only a Hephaestus kid would find interesting.

Ara examines his room, it has a worktable and a board just like the one she has back in her room in the Big House, he's pinned a picture of her next to his crayon drawing of the Argo II, and next to that there is a picture of his Cabin Nine siblings.

On the bed, there are scraps of stuff he's dismantled from Hephaestus knows where, and he has different kinds of tools hanging from the walls. Ara worries he might die trampled under all this mess the next time a monster attacks them. Still, she likes it here. It has personality, looks inhabited, and belongs to Leo.

When she looks at the boy Ara notices he's already looking back, waiting for her to say something. She wonders if she should be angry, she's argued with friends before, but this isn't like those times, they didn't even fight. She just feels weird about him after choosing him over everything that used to matter most to her old self.

"You okay?" He asks.

Ara believes he's trying to assess the damage. She's a machine and he needs to know how tough the work ahead will be. It's a weird analogy, but she knows it's accurate when it comes to Leo.

"No," she admits calmly.

Leo was probably talking things out with Hazel while no one was there to interrupt them, and he was gazing into her eyes, probably close enough to tell whether they were liquid gold or not... Ara shrugs off the thought grumpily. 

"To be honest, I'm not insecure enough to believe that you would cheat on me. Also, Frank is twice your size and could break your neck. You're not stupid."

"Wow," Leo replies. "You say the sweetest things."

"Do you want me to be angry?" She inquires. "Do you have feelings for Hazel?"

She's never seen Leo's soul-light during the times he's interacted with Hazel, but still... she needs to hear it from him, otherwise it's going to bother her for the rest of their quest, and she needs to focus.

"I don't want you to be angry, and I don't have feelings for Hazel," he closes his book. "That's not the reason why I'm drawn to her."

"You're drawn to her?" Ara gives a step back.

"Not like that—hey, just sit down?" Leo points at his desk chair. "It feels weird that you're just standing there, like you're ready to bounce at any moment..." 

Ara is thinking about leaving for some reason, but when he points it out, she feels guilty. Leo deserves to be heard, so she sits on his bed (trying not to stab her legs with metal scraps). Leo sits cross-legged and puts his book away. 

"I'll explain," the boy starts to pick up the nails, screws, and pieces of bronze from around her. "Hazel was born way before us..."

"I know that."

"Turns out she used to know this guy, Sammy," Leo makes a face. "Her boyfriend, I guess? But like, the kind of boyfriend you'd have as a kid—"

"She mistook you for her boyfriend from like fifty years ago?"

"Well," Leo pushes all of the stuff he's picking into his tool belt. "That guy was my Great-grandfather."

Ara takes a moment to process this. Sure, why not, she's heard crazier things. "And was he that similar to you?"

The boy grimaces. "Man, it was weird as hell. He was, you know... he had this old-school swag that'd be popular nowadays—and in the past, everyone seemed to love him. He had the girls giggling and..."

Ara never met Leo's great-grandfather, but she's not having this. "Well, you make me laugh a lot," she offers. "That's a big deal nowadays."

Leo looks at her with a pout. "You would've liked him faster than you liked me. I don't blame Hazel for hoping I'd be him."

"Who told you I didn't like you as soon as I saw you?"

Leo ignores her. "Anyway, I'm involved in this 'cause he—uh, sort of promised me to Hazel?"

Ara raises a brow. "How, exactly?"

He blushes. "He was sure I'd meet Hazel and said I'd help her, but I don't know how, and honestly, Hazel doesn't need my help at all."

Ara tilts her head in confusion. "So this is why Frank doesn't like you? Why Hazel looks at me like I stole her favorite toy?"

"I mean, Frank doesn't love that I look like Sammy, but he's got this curse too," Ara's heart skips a beat. "His lifeline's attached to a piece of firewood, and if that thing burns, he dies. Hazel has it for safekeeping. Frank gave it to her."

"So you're like a double threat," she muses. "Well... If I met someone who looked like your middle school crush and also happened to be a hunter of children of Olympus, no doubt I'd be cranky."

"I'd feel the same way if we ran into an Apollo dressed up as a firefighter."

"For the last time, I don't have a crush on Apollo," she scowls.

Leo leans back on his hands. "So that's the story."

"Wait," Ara leans forward. "That doesn't explain why you and Hazel were holding hands."

"Ah crap, I forgot that part," he sits upright again. "That's how she showed me the regressions."

Ara feels a little dizzy. "You can do that?"

"Yeah! She was a ghost for so long, that stuff just happens to her," Leo takes off his tool belt and folds it neatly, just to have something to do with his hands. Otherwise, he'll be tempted to reach out to Ara. "I even got to see Nico Di Angelo from up close. Weird-looking guy."

"Yeah, he needs more sunlight..." she says absentmindedly.

"So... we're good?" The boy's left leg is swinging back and forth on the edge of the mattress. "I'm honestly relieved. Hazel was throwing way too many mixed signals."

Ara makes a face. "I don't like how that sounds..."

He leans forward and tentatively reaches for her hand, giving her butterflies. "Don't look at me like that, cielo. I'm all yours."

Being who she is, Ara wants to hear more of that. Her body lights up a bit. "You are?"

Leo smirks. "Of course. I'm a limited edition and you got the only available item. The other one died almost two decades ago."

Ara presses her lips together to avoid laughing. "That's not funny."

"It's a little funny," Leo's hand wraps around her wrist and pulls her towards him, smiling playfully. "Sólo poquito..."

She ponders, moving closer obediently. "So you're not leaving me anytime soon?"

"Unfortunately no, you'll have to put up with me."

She smiles, then wrinkles her nose and shakes her head with a heavy sigh. "I don't understand us."

Leo hesitates. "What do you mean?"

"When I was talking to Janus, I said I chose Annabeth's quest but in reality, I think it has to do with you more. I would die for camp, but when they forced me to choose you or go to them... I stayed. I feel guilty."

Leo feels glad at first, then remembers all Ara went through trying to protect her home, and regret settles in his heart. "I would've understood, Arae... I'm sure they do too."

There it is again, the way he says her name, so different compared to how the campers used to hear it and grimace. Ara wants to think that means something, that staying with him is the right choice, but the curse hovers above them, and she's scared. She's so unhappy all the time.

She could tell him about the curse, but it would take away the one thing that still makes him happy. So instead, Ara leans forward. Leo follows her every move, his gaze brightens as he realizes what she's about to do. Their faces are only one inch apart when Leo tilts his head, his nose brushing against hers. 

When she was younger, love sounded fun, but the more she witnessed it the more it started to become something grave. Then Leo does things, like trying to save a nymph from her fate, repairing her dragon, or even saying he would've understood if she'd abandoned him, and she's addicted to what she feels no matter how much it scares her.

Ara knows Leo thinks he isn't attractive, but she admitted just now that she's chosen him over her old life, which makes her feel too vulnerable. It's a different weakness than the one she's used to feeling, it turns her bones into sand. Leo could touch her with one finger and she'd cave in an instant.

Her anxiety gets the best of her and she ends up kissing his cheek. Their bodies glow golden, and Ara wonders if the tug she feels at the base of her stomach will ever go away. "I gotta go."

The boy pulls her back with surprising confidence. Ara falls right on his lap. "Stay."

All of a sudden, she can't speak. "Why would... what?"

Leo cups her face, his gaze is soft and adoring. "Sleep here."

Ara has half a mind to make sure they're on the same page. "Just sleep."

"Just sleep," he pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "I cuddle you, and you can warm your feet and won't hear a complain about it."

"Wake up early?"

"At the crack of dawn," he smiles, knowing what she's asking. "Still have repairs to do."

"Okay," she whispers, melting into his hand. "I'll stay."

Leo kisses her. Ara wonders why she doesn't kiss him more often, it would make her days much easier to handle. Her eyes are growing heavy even though her heart is thumping against her chest, and maybe Leo is tired too because all he does is get her under the covers before collapsing beside her. She can hear the tool belt falling off the bed as they lie down but none of them care much about it.

He nuzzles his face on her neck, takes a deep breath, and mumbles. "You washed your hair?"

"It smelled like fish," she replies half-asleep.

Leo kisses her shoulder and then presses his cheek against it. "I like how you smell. I love you."

The words slip out of him so easily but Ara goes crazy over it. "I love you" falls short, she needs a new way to say how she feels about her boyfriend.

"Leo?" Her hand runs through his curls.

"Hm?"

"Goodnight."

They arrive at the pillars of Hercules the next morning, where Hercules is actually waiting for them.

"I'll go," Jason offers. "He's a son of Zeus. I'm the son of Jupiter. Maybe he'll be friendly to me."

"Or maybe he'll hate you," Percy replies. "Half brothers don't always get along."

"Thank you, Mr. Optimism."

"It's worth a shot," Annabeth intervenes. "At least Jason and Hercules have something in common," she looks at Ara. "You too, maybe he'll understand the urgency of the situation if he sees the child of Olympus is with us."

"Or at the very least he'll take pity on me."

"And we need our best diplomat," Annabeth continues. "Somebody who's good with words."

Everyone looks at Piper. Ara's a charmspeaker, but she tends to blurt out exactly what she's thinking at the worst times.

"Fine. Just let me change my clothes," Piper's wearing her pajamas because most of them were violently woken up by a cruise ship.

"You'll be okay?" Leo nudges Ara's side.

"Yeah," the girl tucks in her shirt, she doesn't like how it looks over her shorts. "Should I be nice or should I be like, 'Sup, dude, I'm your replacement!'"

"Just don't let him bully you, whoever he is, you're ten times cooler." Leo tries to help by pushing her hair back and removing a speck of dust from her shirt. "There. You look, er... Olympian?"

"Thanks."

"Take your cloak with you," he adds. "Maybe he'll be impressed if he sees all the blessings you've got."

"Great idea, handsome," she pecks his lips before leaving.

Leo turns to Jason with a huge smile. "Heard that? I'm handsome!"

Jason squints. "Did she sleep in your room last night?"

"Don't tell Percy."

Next Chapter –>

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[stationary-cycle-in-motion]

@augusnippets day 21: alt. prompt flashback

tw: gaslighting, emotional abuse

There is a full-scale blizzard raging beyond the Palace walls. Rex is of the opinion that letting Senator Amidala die from hypothermia is just as much a failure on his part as leaving her behind to fall prey to the droids, so, instead of facing the kinetic unknown, he turns toward the mountain the Palace is half carved out of.

“I suggest we hunker down in one of the caves and wait for the generals to find us,” he shouts over the screaming wind.

“I suggest we find cover before those clankers can pick off the rest of us,” he shouts over the ear-splitting boom that rocks the valley floor. Somehow, the explosion isn’t quite loud enough to drown out the dull thuds of armored, lifeless bodies hitting the ground.  General Skywalker huffs. “C’mon, Rex. It’s just a few hundred droids. Nothing we can’t handle, right?” His shiny blue blade slices through clankers with ease, twirling in a convoluted dance, the general dodging and weaving in tandem without even breaking a sweat. Rex’s helmet is so full of perspiration he may as well be drowning in it, but he grits his teeth against the protest that threatens to slip out. It isn’t his place to question his general’s tactics. Besides, he trusts General Skywalker; he always comes through in the end.

“Good thinking, Captain,” Senator Amidala answers.

Rex blinks. He hadn’t been expecting the senator to agree with him, though he’s not sure why.

The cave is small, a bit claustrophobic for his taste, but it’ll have to do. As they slink into the measly depths of their shelter, Senator Amidala stumbles, hisses through her teeth. A hand on the wall, she balances precariously on one foot as she lifts the hem of her dress.

“Are you alright, Senator?” Rex asks, dread seeping into his bones as he watches her examine her ankle because he was supposed to protect her, he should’ve been paying more attention, it’s his fault–

General Skywalker hisses through his teeth, sharp, as Kix wraps the bandage tight around his shoulder. “Let’s attack the factory on foot, they’ll never see us coming,” he mocks. “Yeah, great idea, Rex.” Rex resists the urge to point out that he had suggested a stealth approach, and that it was the general who wanted to march the troops parade-style through the valley. Now isn’t the time to be petty. The general doesn’t mean anything by it, anyway. Rex would be just as irate if he’d nearly got his one good arm shot off.

Senator Amidala shakes her head, offers him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, I think I only twisted it.”

For some reason, that doesn’t make him feel any less guilty.

The two of them get a fire going to stave off the chill, burning scraps from the senator’s dress, and when Rex thinks it might finally be safe to set up the locator beacon, he extracts it from his belt, flicks the switch.

Then, he curses.

“What is it?”

“The signal’s too weak. It won’t reach through the rock and snow.”

Senator Amidala frowns. “Will it work if we get it beyond the cave?”

“Out into the blizzard, you mean?” Rex says, a little ruefully. Wincing, he rushes to correct his slight. “Theoretically, yes. Realistically, I don’t like our chances of survival. It only takes a couple of minutes for hypothermia to set in.”

“Alright, someone’s gotta go out there and draw their fire while I lead a squad around to the back entrance.” Rex is already shaking his head before the general even finishes his sentence. “I don’t like our chances. There are too many droids on the door. We should–” “That wasn’t a request, Rex!” General Skywalker’s glare is almost cold, but that’s just the pressure of the mission getting to him. It’s getting to all of them. “Find someone to get it done.” Pushing down the anger simmering in his chest, Rex eyes the door, levels his blasters. Because there’s no way in hell he’s going to send the shinies on this suicide run.

There’s an odd look on the senator’s face, something that might be pity, or perhaps an emotion entirely unfamiliar to him. Her slender fingers dance across the beacon’s form, and Rex is reminded, jarringly, of makeup brushes and serenity.

He almost wants to laugh. He'd been a fool to hope the day would end in anything other than utter disaster.

Senator Amidala's face hardens in resolve. “I’ll do it.”

“No!” Rex snatches the beacon from her grip, his fingers grazing her knuckles as he does. “I'll do it,” he says, and it's not quite a snarl, but it's a near thing.

Because someone has to risk their life for this, and that someone sure as hell isn’t going to be the senator.