#colonists eating without a table

[wyervan]

Probably gonna taper off answering asks, least for a bit. Wanna refocus myself on doing some real writing for the Slasher AU. Also Artfight coming up ⭐

It's a little too easy for me to come on here and yap at you guys😝and I love it. But I got wips and dreams aplenty and not nearly enough time in the day to do it all.

Gonna leave the askbox open... for now. And I definitely have old ones I'd still love to get around to responding to. But yeah. thank yous as always you guys for visiting me here 🖤.

[faggotbeloved]

Cold Metal Biting Soft Flesh | Yandere!Curly x Captain!M!Reader

2: Blinking (A Good Thing) (~2k words)

Cw: Canon typical gore and body horror, manipulation, many short timeskips :(,

This work does not contain smut but is 18+. Minors and fem-aligned people, please do not interact. AN and taglist at the end.

Last time: You, the captain of a colonization ship, discovered the charred body of an ex-freighter captain. You, along with some of your other crewmates, set out to heal him as much as possible.

└───────────────────────┘

Curly has a remarkably strange pain tolerance–in blanket tests, his threshold is significantly higher than even the toughest member on board, but whenever he’s doing anything that you supervise–eating, talking, moving, the like, he gasps and winces and whimpers loudly and only seems to be soothed by your hands doing the task for him. You don’t blame him for unimaginable pain, but it makes it hard to do your captain's duties.

“Facial reconstruction is today,” you chirp as you enter the medbay. “We got a bunch of skin from your DNA. We should be able to at least repair your eyelids, add back your lips, recanalize your tear ducts, and see if we can get your other eye open and working,” you list, watching Curly read the captioning machine. “When we touch down on Earth, we can look at getting you an evaluation for a cochlear implant, but there’s not much we can do for your hearing right now.”

Curly nodded, his eye trained on you even when new people entered the room.

“You’ve met Rhodes, but this is Dr. Simmons; she used to be a plastic surgeon, but switched professions to come to this colony. She’s worked on a 3D model of your face and can replicate it pretty well, does that sound good?” You informed, to which Curly tore his eyes away and glanced at Simmons before looking back to you. He nodded, reaching out for you. “Yeah?” You questioned, coming closer. Curly pat the bed with his forearm nub, requesting your presence. “I’m here, don’t worry. I’ll be in the next room over, catching up on some work:”

──────────────────────

For a man with no arms or legs, you’re surprised at how good at violent behavior Curly is. His heart rate skyrocketed once you left, and he clashed teeth and bones with any doctor misfortunate enough to get near him. Soon, you were ushered back in, and you watched his erratic chest slow down into heavy gasps the second you entered.

“He got anxious, we think,” one of the colonists said. “He thinks of you as a safety net.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s not in the room. Let me see him,” you commanded, suiting up in scrubs.

You observe him on the operating table, uneasily glanced at the beeping monitors, and wrote something for him to read.

It’s okay. I’m here.

You flashed the whiteboard at him and he rested his arm on your knee. You smiled underneath your mask at his endearing clinginess.

Let’s get you knocked out so Simmons can start? :)

Curly glanced at the board, then you. He sighed and laid back, waiting for the mask to go on.

──────────────────────

It was strange. Not… repulsive, per se, but different than before. They’d reconstructed much of his eyes–plural, since the closed eye was half-blind but still worked–and had fixed his tear ducts, so now he could theoretically close his eyes and sleep. That is, if he could remember how. Actively months, but physically decades, without activating the nerves had nearly disintegrated them.

Either way, it was odd watching someone carry a conversation calmly through tapping morse code with his amputated arm (he’d forgotten about it until now) and eye-tracking devices (newly installed) while the same eyes watered and pooled with tears in a vain attempt to moisten it.

His face was even odder. You’d grown used to the single bulging eye, and now both were in use and constantly trained on you, the lids refusing to close for even a second. His face was a mess of bandages and temporary stitches holding together numerous skin grafts.

You spotted a trail of drool down the corners of his reconstructed lips and carefully swiped it off with a towel.

“You look better,” you determined, gazing intently at his face. It was a work in progress, trying to restore and heal the man who'd faced such horrors. “How do you feel, though?” You asked.

His eyes darted around a keyboard and spelled out, “Numbed 2 Hell. Am I Hot Again?”

You snorted. “Yeah. Give it time to heal–a few months until the bruising goes away, you'll be just as pretty as ever,” you assured with a crooked grin. “They say it's a wonder you can even see. Your good eye was so dry, they expected corneal ulcers, vision loss, stuff like that, but your eye was more or less okay.”

Curly nodded and stared at you for a long moment. He snapped out of it after the door to the medbay opened and looked over at the intruder, a passenger with a broken arm.

“Loud In Here. And Bright,” he typed quickly. ‘I wish I could recover somewhere more peaceful’ was what he meant to say, but he’d hoped you would come to that conclusion on your own.

As if on cue, you called for Rhodes. “Hey, do you think we could put Curly in a different room? Anywhere would be fine–hey, Curly, would you mind being put in my quarters? It's also keycard protected,” you suggested.

Curly nodded with what he hoped wasn't too much enthusiasm. “Well, it's settled. Let's move him to Captain’s Quarters.”

──────────────────────

Curly was comfortable in your quarters. You'd erected a curtain wall to give him some privacy against your nephew, but Curly preferred it open when you were busy at the computer. Your higher ups were intrigued to hear how Curly was doing—he and his crew never claimed their paycheck, so they were a missing persons case for years that nobody investigated. Every ten or so minutes, Curly would cough or make some sort of movement to bask in your attention for as long as possible until you went back to work.

“Capt. I’m Cold,” the eye tracker read. “Any Blankets?”

The only one you had on hand was a throw blanket on your bed, so you draped that over him and kept it as comfortable as possible for him, but as soon as your back was turned he raised the blanket to go over his face and inhaled.

──────────────────────

“Okay, that first one was a prototype. Proof of concept. Let's try this one,” you decided, fitting a better prosthetic hand on Curly. It was bionic, since you had all of the materials to splurge for the best, and as soon as the hand opened and closed, he used his eyelids to blink rapidly and used his new hand to wipe away the tears he felt.

“Hey, your eyelids work! And the hand! You know, your brain can actually trick you into feeling what your bionic hands feel,” you said excitedly, rubbing his shoulder gently. “Let's try the other one on,” you directed, attaching the bionic wrist to Curly’s forearm.

Once Curly got used to the arms and understood their strength, he hesitantly wrapped them around your neck and pulled you into a hug. “Thank you,” he rasped, voice heavy from disuse and of the same cadence of many hard of hearing people you'd met. You returned with your hands on his bandaged waist, gently holding him as well. “Of course, Curly.”

After a very… very long hug, Curly let out a sigh and laid back down. Once you brought the blanket to his chest, he stopped you there.

Curly typed up a quick message on the eye tracker, “Can I Try Keyboard? I Want To Type. New Hands.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Here, his wireless one’s hooked up to my laptop. I'll get my laptop up and running so you can get my attention when you need it.”

Curly nodded and began a coughing fit once he had the keyboard, but instead of using his hands he requested you to straw feed him water.

──────────────────────

Weeks passed, and with all of the medical supplies you could scrounge up, Curly looked significantly better. His prosthetics, when he chose to wear them, could easily support him and the vast majority of his skin grafts were settled. His facial reconstruction was far from healed; he still had a few months left, but he was actually more or less okay. Compared to how he came, at least.

You’d fallen into a comfortable routine: awake at 0800, and by 0900 eat breakfast with Curly and your nephew-slash-first-mate, Sealegs. Check on and mediate conflicts between settlers, and by 1000 ensure everyone is awake. Work until 1400, have a late lunch with the upper crew, and then work until 1900. Afterwards, watch some TV with Sealegs (and, by default, Curly), then sleep by 2100 if you didn’t stay up late flipping through the various health, robotics, and physical therapy textbooks you picked up on your noble quest to help this man.

You woke up, of course, multiple times a night to the emergency alert. Curly, the poor man, had somehow stopped breathing every few hours just until his heart rate skyrocketed. Upon questioning, Curly blamed a family history of night terrors and sleep apnea, because it’d be ludicrous to suggest such a kind and selfless hero like himself would choke himself just so you’d tend to him and sit by him until he fell back asleep.

──────────────────────

The first sign of healthy fat was celebrated. For too long, he lived on rations, mouthwash, and then himself. For a person so horribly harmed, it was amazing to feel a bounce back in his skin. Physical therapy, though marked by many celebrations, was far less exciting. It was like you were his crutch, but also his legs. He couldn't work with you, and he couldn't work without you.

“Come on, I want you to walk to the other side of the room,” you sighed. It had been an hour of this; he'd fumble a few steps, clumsily sign “HELP ME,” then collapse back onto the bed.

“Just ten steps, Curly. It'll be a good start,” you added hopefully, signing as well as talking into the voice to text machine. “If you make it to the painting, I’ll carry you back and we can end it for tonight.”

Curly furrowed his brows and took two steps, then three, then up to eight before he stopped to regain balance, and finally took two more steps towards you instead of the wall. He raised his arms expectantly, waiting for you to pluck him out of the prosthetic legs and carry him back to bed. “I WALK TEN, HELP ME,” he signed quickly. “THIRSTY. WATER?” Curly requested, a weak smile on his face.

Another sigh left your throat, but you couldn't stay mad at him, not when he clung to you so carefully as to not catch your skin with the prosthetic and he buried his face in your neck–out of reflex, you assumed. You laid him down on the cot, but as you stood back up he let out a protesting groan. “LAY WITH ME PLEASE,” Curly pleaded, making a spot for you in his bed, freshly cleaned from that morning. You hesitate, but the eyes he gives you makes you ignore the work you wanted to get ahead on and instead lie beside him, immediately being encased in metal arms that press you against Curly’s tachycardic heart. Soon, you fell asleep and, for the first time, slept through the night without being awoken by blaring alarms.

The next morning, Dr. Simmons woke you at 0928 for Curly’s next surgery–checking in on some bone they'd been growing for a nose surgery, then trying to compile a medical plan for when Dr. Simmons had to inevitably leave for the next colony. It took hours, but soon you had a lengthy calendar of healing times, surgery schedules, and more. Throughout all of this, you worked yourself to death keeping up with both Curly and the entire ship, trying your hardest to stick to your preferred schedule at all costs. Curly was happy to pick up for you whenever you fell asleep at your desk (he was happy to find the Captain’s duties were similar, even decades apart) and according to chat logs, he began a correspondence with your own boss to explain the situation and request to stay under your care as co-captain with Sealegs staying as First Mate. Once you awoke, you had a long talk about not using your computer with permission, but gave in to his request of co-captaining only if your boss allowed it. Which… was approved the same day.

Welcome, Grant Curly, the co-captain of the Astraeus.

┌───────────────────────┐

Thousand month hiatus for the most boring damn chapter I’ve ever made… ugh. I'm sorry, everyone who waited :(.

I took 2 years of ASL in high school; ASL, when written out, is in all capital letters, I usually see it without much punctuation, and it doesn't use filler words like ‘the’ and ‘of’, with grammar to the tune of time-topic-comment-verb, and while I'm by no means fluent, I still tried to keep it as accurate as possible for my HOH friends who are probably sick of italic English that ‘means’ ASL. Those who are more experienced and can point out flaws, by all means, do so, please.

Taglist:

@eaterof-concrete + @tfamidoingwithmylife + @onlyemb3rs (It HAS been a long time, no worries if you guys want to be removed ^^,)

[swaps55]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by @cr-noble-writes, @mallaidhsomo and @westernlarch. Thank you!

I am freezing up on who to tag. Please, consider yourself tagged!!!

A Mezzo snippet:

The only thing worse than getting saddled with colony babysitting duty is watching Pendergrass microwave a toaster pastry. “It’s called a toaster pastry,” Kaidan informs her. “You’re supposed to toast it.” Pendergrass gingerly takes it out of the microwave in their temporary quarters on Horizon, waving it at him like it’s somehow proof she isn’t committing a food crime. “Takes too long.” “It takes two minutes!” “Takes too long.”    Aslany eyes them from the tiny kitchen table that’s mostly covered in Pendergrass’ diagnostic gear and takes a pointed bite of a granola bar without saying a word. Her position on toaster pastries – that anything that tastes like cardboard can’t be called a pastry no matter how you prepare it – is well-established. Kaidan shakes his head and puts his own toaster pastry in the toaster like nature intended. “Faulty AA guns. Constant stonewalling from colonists who can’t stand us. And now here’s Pendergrass, siding with the enemy.” “Wait, who’s the enemy?” “People who microwave toaster pastries.” Aslany snorts. “Man, promote a guy and he sure gets fancy pants about his breakfast.” Pendergrass shoves an oversized bite of criminally prepared breakfast in her mouth. “Let’s not talk about the promotion,” Kaidan mutters. It had been as unexpected as it was unceremonious. You have hereby been promoted to Staff Commander, right alongside the orders to Horizon. If it hadn’t had Hackett’s signature on it, he’d have thought it was a joke. He’d only been named a Lieutenant Commander a year ago. None of it sits right, and not just because he now has Shepard’s rank next to his own name.   Pendergrass gives Aslany a shit eating grin. “We could talk about the fact that Aslany got laid last night. Guess not every colonist hates us.” Aslany takes an enigmatic sip of her coffee. “’Cause she wasn’t a colonist. Off-duty Alliance.” “Who?” Kaidan asks with a frown. “I didn’t know anyone else here was Alliance.” Aslany shrugs an indifferent shoulder. “I wanted to fuck, not talk. Didn’t care, didn’t ask.” Kaidan sighs. “Well, someone who understands we’re not actually here to poison their crops or exert martial law and knows the locals could actually be helpful, you know.” “Fine,” Aslany says with a put-upon sigh. “I’ll see if I can figure out what her name was. But if she tries to get to know me, you have to cock block.” “Just get her name, please?” Pendergrass makes a reassuring sound. “Don’t worry. We won’t let the hot girl ask for a second date.”

[weirdlet]

Okay!!

So- when last we left our bold and stupid heroes, we’d just lost our leader, Alastair the half-elven ranger. He’d been ganked by horrible starspawn creatures and then hit the ground after we dimension hopped back to our time, world, and place up in a destroyed tower.

Not gonna lie, that was a rough one.

As the many former slaves and indentured servants sent to rebuild the town start arriving, we have our friend’s body set up in the fashion the orcish trossfrau insist is right and proper- REALLY insist- which is sat up at a table-shrine with offerings made. If after a certain number of days no resurrection magic is found or he refuses the call, then we can burn or bury him. Glory lights incense every moonrise, Phillip has a conversation every day, and we all sort of- are not crossing the orcwives on this, but we're not super crazy about it. But they've saved our asses many times, so- if that is the way it is done, then that is the way that you must do it.

Meanwhile, the colonists need help organizing, and those of us who are left help out. There’s a festival coming soon, that of Green Grass, and it’s supposed to be a time of success and abundance and fertility in a multitude of ways- there’s even some bard tales that hint if the moon is right, Alastair might just get up and dance.

He doesn’t get the chance.

*brief record scratch*

We (the party) have an opportunity to both ingratiate ourselves and set ourselves up as new town founders/leaders, start any traditions we want to see going forward, so that's what we're doing. Glory is helping organize things logistically, having served on ships, as well as getting a statue started for Alistair, and making sure there's dancing for the festival, that it's going to be a proper shindig even as the place is still basically a fortified camp. Phillip the dragonborn warlock is organizing a library, and Trinidad the tortle barbarian is just grumpily hauling stuff as needed, uninterested in becoming a founding lord and adhering to 'we came here to do a job, we'll finish and get on to the next one.'

A day or so before the festival, we get a knock on the door at dinnertime. Lo and behold- it's Alastair's player's new character. Alastair's fiance lady-love, Lady Ravenleaf.

Who is horrified at the news, having arrived just a day too late.

There are some attempts at comfort, and she casts Speak with Dead, and delivers some Lore as she gets closure/a promise from Alastair. See, she's not actually affianced to Alastair. She's engaged to Neverember's son- the same whoremongering hard-drinking wastrel who was our last item on the duty-list to actually take care of, find, and haul back to daddy in one piece.

The plot THICKENS!

Well, Alastair's ghost promises to wait for her, she casts Gentle Repose, a raven comes and pecks at the glass of the window we're all eavesdropping at, and it looks like our next job is going to involve heading to a town overrun by kobolds to rescue this dipshit, then (at least in Glory's mind) engineer some farcial shenanigans to avoid the unwanted marriage, because it's just so SAD about these lost lovers! He's got his own sweetheart in some little shore town, waiting on him too.

Morning after, we've arranged what we can to ensure the place runs smoothly without us. Glory is waving to the girls and saying 'be sure to drink and dance for me, since I'll be missing the festival' We get on the road, talking about all sorts of things, like the fact that the kobolds are apparently serving a pair of young dragons- red and blue, which would make the full house if we manage to tackle them- and other stuff, such as Who Is Actually In Charge. At the very beginning, there was an eating contest to see who would lead. Trinidad is furious because he ate most in volume but wasn't informed that the count was via number of completed plates. Phillip- who is dangerously naive and irritatingly self-assured at the best of times- insists that by having come in second in the original contest, he's now the new leader, and it's for the best. Glory is just like- 'I didn't vote for EITHER of you.' And they're both howling about how this! is not! a DEMOCRACY!, and Glory is a veteran of pirate ships, see, where the captain's word is law, but the captain is drawn from the crew by cast lots. Personally, he's leaning towards this new chick who has her shit together, but quorum will have to wait until these two get their heads out of their butts. And it's just amusing to get Phillip wound up by questioning his (frankly specious) claim to authority. (Trinidad, being the most military-minded of all of us, is also blusterously furious when Glory points out that there was no actual chain of command spelled out when we all got sent on this suicide run. Go on, tell me the rules and I'll see my way to obeying them. Go right ahead.)

So just barely out of sight of the gates, a bunch of large angry folk riding boars come up the road. More Anchorites of Talos. Their leader gives us a nasty grin and an invite- really just a play-with-the-food sort of thing- of 'come and see what we've been working on, and join our worship, or we'll cut you down and then take your village'.

Knowing their propensity for wereboars, and having been vocal in my horror about being silver-less lowbies against werecreatures who are IMMUNE TO EVERYTHING BUT- I petition the GM, and he lets me roll to have retroactively spent the money and gotten my rapier silvered. Thank. The. Gods. Because there were a lot of wereboars.

We plow through the advance party pretty quick, and Glory and Lady Ravenleaf are pretty solid on following the trail to where the Anchorites are doing their ritual, while Phillip and Trinidad bicker. We're approaching stealthily, hearing the chanting rise to a pitch in the ring of standing stones at the top of a hill- and suddenly we're ambushed by twigblights. Glory rolls good enough to get a surprise round, and uses his one Burning Hands to clear the 'blights from around Ravenleaf, who's thoroughly surrounded otherwise. Crazy shit ensues.

The 'blights in their various flavors are relatively easy, but the shambling mound that starts grabbing folks and swallowing them whole is a Problem. Particularly since our dragonborn warlock is a lightning mage, our barbarian tortle has a swirling vortex of lightning energy around him- AND LIGHTNING HEALS SHAMBLING MOUNDS, AS WE SHORTLY FOUND OUT.

There's- A Lot going on. Folks move around the battlefield, including Phillip thunder-stepping away from the mound and leaving us to mop it and the blights up, while getting WILDLY ahead of us and into the thick of the wereboars and anchorites who are realizing that the guests have arrived.

Mister Glass Cannon, everybody.

Glory is doing his usual dive-strike-move thing fairly successfully, just occasionally chunking rolls, and the shambling mound IS on fire but takes a long, long time to die and free us up to help. And even Phillip is mostly holding his own, way out in the far corner of the battlefield, because Sickening Radiance is, ngl, a pretty nasty and badass bit of utility casting. It kept a majority of the anchorites and wereboars either cornered or fleeing in small, killable chunks, until we could finally get over there- only to see the Anchorite orc-king and his MINOR AVATAR OF TALOS BOAR MOUNT step on up to Phillip.

Shit gets real fucked, real fast- Phillip's on the ground two failed death-saves in, and while he eventually makes ONE- he's literally helpless on the ground. The Radiance goes away with his being unconscious. Things are about to get REALLY bad. Phil's player spends a Plot Point.*

The giant lightning boar puts a foot down, obliterating Phillip's hand- and the genie-pact ring that holds his personal space, his treasure, and the chest full of sealed eyeball-moss evil.

Said eyeball-moss evil oozes out and wraps itself around the giant boar, hissing hateful things and, in a spectacle not unlike a ball-bearing being devoured by magnetic putty (and then put in a microwave)- the two destroy each other.

(A god vs a demon on the mortal plane- the god wins, the Intelligent, Lightning-filled giant boar growls, just before it dies.)

Well-played, very good, home for tea and medals! Or at the very least, sitting down and breathing and licking our wounds, having mopped up the Anchorites and having had a Very Eventful Day. I don't think I missed anything- but by golly, that was a party.

*Plot Points- everyone is issued one at character creation, and in theory you can earn them again by doing extremely cool stuff, but I've yet to see one get passed out again. They're very handy for ensuring that some little slip of fate passes you by (or something extremely cool and ridiculous becomes an I-win button).

[vineee2000]

Oh prev, you totally should

In short, it's this colony management game, set in this sci-fi universe, except the premise is "3 of your starting guys fall out of an exploding spaceship with nothing but some metal and 2 guns to their names on an absolute back-water-ass planet", like "there are still tribal societies around" backwater. And then you have to re-invent beer brewing before you can eventually re-invent spaceships tech to get out of here

And also, it simulates all of your individual colonists and their relations with each other and their health, and the health of any enemies you deal with etc, a little bit a-la Dwarf Fortress if I understand Dwarf Fortress well enough. Your colonists get upset when they eat without tables, they can form rivalries and marry each other, they can get into social fights, and then your unarmed melee master cyborg colonist can explode someone's leg with 1 punch in said social fight, you can get attacked by a raider with asthma and then recruit him to join you after you beat him, your colonist can get a brain scar from a bullet that gets through your helmet, and then become a trauma savant who can't talk but is hella good at making things, you can make hats out of the skin of people who attack your colony and then sell them to passing traders...

Colonists are always like "oooh we took that guy's lungs it's so sad" ma'am who has those lungs now? You do. And do you have athsma any more? No, you don't.

Ungrateful.

[danepopfrippery]

Oh to add to my prior ‘stede is not colonist for teaching ed fine dining’ post i wanna drop this fact:

Your elaborate spoon dickery where u can eat a salad w a wrong fork was invented around this time to keep out the nouveau riche. Too many ppl were making enough money without the lineage (like being the duchess’ 5th cousin) so they made this shit up to keep out those types. The Crown puts this on display w Jackie O as the Queen effortlessly switches 9 pieces of cutlery for her egg and toast.

Ed i believe makes references to riches. Logically he must have shit after all those years. His alleged kill Stede plan was to become an aristocrat type, the type who knew what the snail fork was for. It was the kind of world made to keep people like Ed out even if he was wealthier than them.

So asking Stede to teach him these ways absolutely makes sense. I dont recall what all the setting is on the revenge but we never see the 20 utensils per meal. Its clear Stede finds all that shit tedious. But its something he would’ve been taught from birth.

If u dont think blue bloods still do that shit remember the royal family insists on pantyhose and not eating garlic. Rich ppl are weird. Tho id rather 20 forks than musk’s bed table setup

[the-iron-orchid]

Rimworld: Arcana Part 2: Getting Busy

Julian immediately attempts to get into Tsedi’s pants. Sadly, he is unsuccessful.

GUYS. GUYS IT IS NOT EVEN PAST 8AM ON THE FIRST DAY. NOBODY EVEN HAS BEDS YET, FFS

Jinana and Julian have a strange chat as they break down an ancient brick wall, while a wild turkey looks on. The Chat Bubbles mod is the best tbh

Nothing like a little light conversation I guess

He would probablly like to be drunk right about now, eating a packaged survival meal while sitting on a filthy cave floor with no table. (Colonists get unreasonably upset about eating without a table, it will be one of the next high priority projects.)

Turel was able to harvest some wild herbal medicine and tend to Lucio’s asthma, at least. And we found an ancient bed, which is now our shitty but dedicated Medical Bed. (Heron exchanged his pants for the Flak Pants. Jinana immediately stole his old pants and ditched hir skirt.)

...is this a euphemism? 🍆🍆🍆

The end of the first day. They’ve managed to close off the cave, build a well and a latrine (that even has its own room) and thanks to Turel’s incredibly well-honed talents, he was able to quickly build Good-quality beds for everyone. (Better quality furniture makes pawns happier!) The bed he built for Jinana and himself, of course, is Excellent quality. ;P They also got a little night-gardening done, planting a bunch of rice (fastest-growing crop, plus they planted it in Rich Soil so it will grow even faster!)

Lucio woke up and started wandering around the shelter, eating plant scraps and bothering people who are trying to sleep. He is REALLY going to need a pen.

[jumpship90]

“I’ve read a lot about this Christmas holiday of yours. I never expected it to be quite like this.”

For jaq and phin pls 🥰

Thank you so much for this prompt! :) Ok, I am super late with this but I reckon it still counts as Christmas as we're pre-new year so here are roughly 1700 words of pure romantic fluff of Jaq and Phineas enjoying their first Christmas together aboard The Hope

Pixelated flames flickered away on the aetherwave screen and Phineas Welles gave a contented, heavy sigh as he sank onto the sofa. He didn’t think he’d ever felt this full in his life.

“You know, I’ve read a lot about this Christmas holiday of yours. I never expected it to be quite like this.”

Jaq chuckled where they were slumped beside him. They languidly draped an arm about his shoulders, knocking his paper crown askew, before pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes, very much so. Though, I’m not sure I’ll need to eat again for several days.”

The feast had been like something from the old Auntie Cleo’s ads from his youth showing the perfect, wholesome, Halcyon family crammed around a table groaning under the weight of the food. Only, in place of ruddy-faced parents and beaming children, the long benches in the canteen had been filled with his lab-coated colleagues and the Hope’s support staff, all tucking into a spread that had been carefully prepared over the course of the morning. Not all of the colonists celebrated in what he was informed was the traditional sense, and there had been other holidays besides this one, but this was Jaq’s favourite and so Phineas had decided it was his, too.

Jaq hummed in agreement and patted their stomach.

“Not quite a turkey with the trimmings, but that was easily the best meal I’ve eaten since thawing out.”

There’d been a great deal of debate over the food in the weeks leading up to today. Everyone seemed to have a different signature dish, a perfect recipe or a family tradition that had to be incorporated. There’d been boarst wrapped in cysty-bacon, mounds of golden roasted potatoes, vegetables fried with cysty-bits, and in pride of place at the centre of the table, the largest chicken Phineas had ever laid eyes upon. This alone would have been more than enough but several colonists had insisted that the meal wasn’t complete without trifle topped with purpleberry-pieces followed by crackers and wooly-cow cheese. After all that, the walk back to their quarters had been quite the undertaking and Phineas was feeling warm and drowsy, his eyes slipping closed.

Jaq nudged him. “No sleeping just yet, you still need to open your present.”

Oh yes, presents. How could he forget after the weeks of agonising over precisely what to give them? Jaq had explained that it should be something small and personal, and preferably inexpensive. Which suited him just fine. He didn’t often leave the Hope, and vanishingly rarely without his partner at his side, so it would have been near impossible to purchase something without them discovering the surprise. No, he had turned his ingenuity rather than his bits toward finding them the perfect gift.

“Come on, we can snooze after this,” Jaq said, getting to their feet with a grunt. They offered him a hand that Phineas gratefully accepted, struggling upright. Good law, all this celebrating was exhausting.

The tree had appeared a week ago, lugged over one broad shoulder from the Unreliable and deposited in the corner of their shared room. Apparently, Jaq had liberated it from the vaults of the hidden Museum of Earth recently uncovered in Byzantium. It was, they explained, a replica of the fir tree that had filled their home each year at this season, and that they must decorate it together. Phineas didn’t quite grasp the significance of hanging coloured paper ribbons and taped together ornaments on a plant, but it mattered to Jaq so he had thrown himself into it with gusto. A few chipped glass flasks and test tubes painted with snowflakes had served well to adorn the plastic spruce and Jaq had been thrilled by it. At the top sat a star, cut from spare sheet metal they’d been using to patch up the hold. It twinkled in the dancing light of the screen as he eased himself down to the woolly cow rug before the fake fire.

“Yours is a little rough around the edges,” Jaq said as they rummaged beneath the tree, groping around the floor for something. They emerged a second later clutching a rectangular object carefully wrapped in brown paper and tied with a ribbon. “I couldn’t find the mineral oil I wanted to finish it with so had to make do with the stuff in the storeroom.”

They gave a near shy smile as they handed him the gift, sitting back on their heels to watch as he peeled away the wrapping a layer at a time until an intricately carved spoon appeared.

“You made this yourself?” he asked, turning the utensil in his hands, marvelling at the workmanship. He’d seen Jaq take apart any number of electrical items and knew that they were talented when it came to mechanics but he’d no idea they could turn their hand to carpentry as well.

They nodded. “Where my family are from, sailors used to give them to their sweetheart before they went to sea, as a token of love and a way of winning their heart. If it was accepted, traditionally that meant you were a couple.”

Phineas ran his fingers over the wood, following the grain. He could imagine the hours of work that had gone into this, could perfectly picture Jaq leant over the bench in the Unreliable’s hold, calloused hands cutting and chiselling, sanding and smoothing, their handsome brow tugged into a neat V of concentration as they worked.

“It’s made from a mock apple tree we’ve transplanted to the New Hope Centre build site. The anchor’s a symbol for safety and security, and these bits, they’re called celtic knots, they mean everlasting. Eternal.”

He glanced up at that to find Jaq watching him intently, a faint flush to their cheeks visible in the twinkling lights strung about the tree.

“I’ve not worked with wood since I was kid, so I hope it’s alright?”

It was a good deal more than alright, Phineas thought. Handmade items were rare in Halcyon, given colonists did not usually have the time nor energy to create them. He knew he held something precious; a link to Jaq’s past, the fruits of their toils, a physical manifestation of their regard for him. He ran his fingertips over the curve of the handle with reverence.

“It’s splendid,” he said, setting the spoon down cautiously between them so that he could take their hand. “And I wholeheartedly accept your gift, my intrepid sailor.”

Jaq grinned, ducking their head. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do,” he assured them, giving their hand a squeeze before releasing it to go hunting under the tree for his own present. “Now, let me just find . . . aha! Here we are!”

A frisson of nervous excitement sparked in his chest as he slid a thin, square package out from between the branches. He handed it over with care, worrying at his lip as he watched his partner slide a finger beneath the fold of the wrapping paper. Stars, after what Jaq had given him he hoped this would be a suitable gift in return.

Once all the paper sat in a pile by their feet, Jaq was left delicately holding a sheet of plastic. A faintly confused smile turned up the corner of their lips.

“It’s . . . a brain scan?” they said, looking to him for confirmation.

“Yes! My brain!”

He leant over to better show them what they were looking at.

“To be precise, it is a scan of my brain showing the nucleus accumbens – that’s a structure that mediates emotional and pleasure processing – lit up as bright as our Christmas tree.” He took Jaq’s hand, directing them to a bold, white patch between grey squiggles, circling it with a fingertip. “And you see all these sections? The colours here? These are the dopamine, serotonin and oxytocin pathways. Increased activity here is associated with experiencing romantic love.”

He beamed up at them. “Everything you see here is what’s going on in my brain when I think about you.”

Jaq sat silent, processing, and Phineas near reckoned he could hear their own brain ticking over that information. He watched their gaze running over the image as softly as their fingers, deep brown eyes moving from one luminous patch of grey matter to the next with a look of wonder.

“This”- he tapped the plastic film -“this is irrefutable, scientific proof of my love for you.”

Their mouth parted at that but no sound passed them. Their throat bobbed around a hard swallow and Phineas found himself with the sudden urge to fill the silence for them.

“I wanted to see if there was any difference in emotional processing in the brains of those awoken from extended cryosleep, and of course, that required a comparison to a non-colonist brain, and you know I have always been a strong believer in testing the science on oneself . . .”

He knew he was rambling but they seemed to need a moment so he continued on, explaining the basis of the experiment that had led to this particularly delightful illustration of his musings on them.

“ . . . and it can get rather dull lying there in the scanner, so naturally my mind wandered to you and –“

He didn’t get any further as suddenly Jaq’s lips found their sense of purpose, impressing upon his own a kiss that left his head spinning. He found himself gripping tight to their shirt for balance.

“Thank you,” they breathed, their head pressed to his own. “It’s perfect, Phin.”

When eventually they drew back, he could see pure, unfiltered affection writ large across their face and a warmth shining back at him from their eyes that could have engulfed a star. There was no need for a brain scan; Jaq made no attempt to hide the strength of their feeling for him.

Phineas uncurled his fingers and flattened his palm against their chest. The steady, reassuring beat of their heart pulsed against his skin. He gave a thoughtful nod and kissed the tip of their nose.

“Well, yes, of course it is.” He gave them a mischievous smirk, eyes twinkling. “That’s the mind of a genius you’re looking at.”

The delighted laughter that burst from Jaq’s throat rang about the room and a moment later, their fingers tangled in his hair as they pulled him in for a deeper kiss. As Phineas found himself pressed back into the soft embrace of wooly fur, the lights of the tree softly blinking above him, he considered that truly there was something to this talk of magic at Christmas.

Posting this was delayed by me going down a rabbit hole about brain scans and trying to come up with something suitably clever for Phineas to say regarding reward processing centres and the rest. I won’t pretend any of what I’ve written is particularly accurate but if you want to read some of the same articles I did then you can find out more here:

https://www.livescience.com/18468-relationship-longevity-brain-scans.html here -

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2954158/

https://www.medicaldaily.com/what-love-mri-scan-reveals-what-stages-romantic-love-youre-brain-map-326080

I also watched this fascinating video of people thinking about love in an MRI scanner and trying to “win” at loving the most - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1npQEdTsF8

Also, for anyone interested in the history of Welsh love spoons, there’s a bit of info about the tradition and the different symbols here - https://angelwoodcraft.co.uk/history-of-the-welsh-love-spoon/

[hrtiu]

“Give me a heated argument. A good solid disagreement. And also the making up of it later :) I really think this is a hard one”  Thanks to @redsong​ for the prompt!

AO3 link

Strictly speaking, Ahsoka didn’t really need to escort the Togruta colonists back to Kiros. It was a low-risk mission without any need of Jedi support, but Anakin had suggested the trip and Ahsoka had eagerly agreed. Ahsoka so rarely got to see the good that came from their efforts in the war, so rarely got to see the fruits of their labor. Accompanying the people she’d helped free from the Zygerrian slavers—her people—seemed like a good way to wash the foul taste of such a brutal, soul-crushing mission from her mouth.

She and the rest of Torrent Company flew the transports down to the the colonist settlement on the verdant planet’s surface, and the looks of relief on the colonists’ faces as they walked back into homes they thought they’d never see again eased some of the darkness that had settled on Ahsoka’s heart. First Umbara, then Zygerria—these past few months had been particularly bleak.

“Thank you so much for bringing us back to our homes. We cannot express the depths of our gratitude,” Governor Roshti said as he walked with Ahsoka and Rex into the Governor’s residence.

“It was our pleasure, Governor,” Ahsoka said.

“We will be holding a celebratory feast tomorrow. Please, stay and attend as our honored guests.”

Ahsoka glanced at Rex and the corner of his mouth quirked up—his version of an encouraging smile. They were hoping that Kiros would officially join the Republic, so it wouldn’t do to ignore their hospitality.

“We’d be honored.”

---

Ahsoka sat at Governor Roshti’s right hand at the head of the table, Rex on her other side. The table was heavy with Togruta delicacies—thimiar steaks, roasted cepa, even akul stew. She’d never really lived among her people, so Ahsoka didn’t have much of a taste for Togruta food, but she ate as much as she could handle to show her appreciation. At her side Rex enthusiastically bit into another hunk of thimiar steak, his enjoyment completely unfeigned.

“Maybe you were born into the wrong species, Rex,” she said, leaning over towards him. “You seem to fit right in as a Togruta.”

Rex looked up from his steak and sheepishly wiped the savory sauce from his mouth. “Sorry, Commander, I just don’t often get a chance to eat anything besides ration cubes.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “It’s flattering to our guests to enjoy their food.”

“Is that a Togruta culture thing?”

Ahsoka shrugged. “I’m not sure. I never spent much time on Shili.”

“Maybe you’ll get a chance to go someday,” Rex said, his eyes crinkling with the suggestion of a grin as he held her gaze.

Ahsoka found herself smiling back at him, a warmth in her chest making her feel light a giddy. She looked away quickly.

It had been like this since Rex had gotten back from Umbara, and it was terribly inconvenient. It had taken his near loss during that campaign to reveal how necessary he had become in her life, how his presence was like light—illuminating and coloring an otherwise dark world. She did her best not to think about it. Thoughts led to actions, and if she ever acted on these thrilling, terrifying feelings, she knew her life would change irrevocably.

She shoved another spoonful of akul stew in her mouth and forced the foreign food down, turning back to the Governor to compliment him again on the delicious feast. Then she took a sip of the madyam wine, easily her favorite part of the meal.

“Are you sure General Skywalker would approve of your drinking?” Rex asked, speaking softly to avoid being overheard.

Ahsoka shrugged. “They don’t have the same rules about underage drinking on Shili. And I’m not overindulging. It’s fine.”

Rex looked a little doubtful, but he let the subject drop.

The feast wound down and Governor Roshti showed them to their quarters. They’d be staying in the house of one of his daughters, in a guest suite that was as luxurious a home as anyone had access to in the colony. The rest of Torrent Company went back to the transport to sleep, but Rex was invited to stay with the family as well, having been heavily involved in the Zygerrian operation.

Governor Roshti’s daughter Daivi, a stately woman with elegant purple montrals, led Ahsoka and Rex to their rooms. The feast had gone late into the night, so the house was dark and the rest of the family already turned in for the night. At least, that’s what Ahsoka had assumed before a little boy no older than five darted out of a hallway and ran up to her, grabbing her hand.

“Are you a real Jedi?” the boy asked, bouncing with excitement.

“Yalit!” Daivi said. “What did I say about pestering our guests?”

“Oh it’s alright,” Ahsoka said with an indulgent smile. She crouched down to the child’s level and patted his red montrals. “I sure am a Jedi!”

“So you can use the Force?”

“Yep!”

“Can you do stuff like this?”

The boy reached out a hand and something in the air shifted. A ball halfway across the room—some toy must have left out—suddenly started rolling towards him, completely unaided. The room fell utterly silent.

The ball reached the boy and he gathered it up in his arms, then looked up at the adults surrounding him, staring slack-jawed. “Did… Did I do something wrong?”

“Sweetie,” Daivi said, her jaw tense, “It’s too late for you to be up. Go to sleep now, alright?”

Yalit looked around him, his eyes wide and his lower lip quivering. “Ok…” 

He hugged his ball tightly to his chest and walked dejectedly back to the hallway from which he’d come. The adults in the room watched him leave, then Daivi moved onward towards the guest quarters.

“Um, your son-” Ahsoka said, shocked that Daivi would just pretend nothing had happened.

“He’s a good boy, isn’t he?” she said with a nervous laugh, still soldiering on towards the door across the room.

“He’s Force sensitive!”

Daivi froze. “We… don’t know that.”

“He moved the ball with the Force! And I felt it—it was definitely the Force and not some random accident.”

Daivi turned around slowly, her white facial markings appearing especially pale in the dim lamplight. “If true, that is a great blessing,” her expression not matching the sentiment of her words.

“He should be brought to the Jedi Temple and trained. He needs to learn how to control his abilities,” Ahsoka insisted.

Daivi bit her lip, and her hands twisted nervously in front of her. She looked at Ahsoka pleadingly for a long moment, but Ahsoka had no idea what she was pleading for. This whole situation was making her confused and uncomfortable.

“Please, Master Jedi,” Daivi said, bowing her head low. “Yalit will be fine with us! He… he really doesn’t have very strong powers. He can barely do anything. It would be a waste of time for the Jedi Temple to train him.”

“That’s just because he’s not trained! If he were trained he’d pick up so much!”

“It… It… He’s too old, isn’t he?” Daivi said, looking near tears.

Was she worried her son wasn’t good enough? That was silly, Ahsoka was telling her the Jedi Council would be pleased to have him. It was strange that they hadn’t picked him up earlier, but she knew that children sometimes slipped through the cracks. The galaxy was such a big place.

“He’s a little older than the Temple usually takes, but I’m sure they’d make an exception-”

“Commander Tano,” Rex said, taking her by the arm and pulling her towards the guest rooms. “It’s late, and our host looks tired. Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

Ahsoka looked up at Rex in confusion, but his stony expression revealed nothing. She let herself be pulled, though, trusting his judgment.

“Well, thank you so much for hosting us, Daivi. We’ll see you in the morning,” Ahsoka said, following Rex into the guest suite.

“Good night,” Daivi said, her voice small in the retreating darkness.

Rex shut the door behind them and stopped in the middle of the room, his back to Ahsoka. “Are you really going to take that child away from his parents?” he asked, his voice low and calm but with an underlying tension that Ahsoka had learned to pick up on over time.

Ahsoka looked blankly at him, not sure what was wrong. “The Jedi Temple is the best place for any Force-sensitive child to grow up. It’s an honor to go there—a rare opportunity very few people are ever given.”

“Hmm,” Rex grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing but simply accepting.

He set their luggage down on the table in the middle of the sitting room and started for one of the guest rooms off to the right.

“Wait up, Rex,” Ahsoka said.

He stopped but didn’t turn back towards her. “Yes, Commander?”

Ahsoka pursed her lips. He was doing that thing. That thing where he disagreed with her but wouldn’t just come out and say it. “Come on. I know you have something to say.”

Rex’s head bowed and he shook it once before turning to face her. “It’s not my place to have opinions about the Jedi, Commander.”

“Well, I’m asking you for it. What are you thinking?”

He looked up, meeting her gaze with his own steely stare. “I don’t think you should take that child away from his family.”

Ahsoka raised her eyebrow markings in surprise, genuinely taken aback. Her first instinct was to say it was Jedi business and he wouldn't understand, but then that’s what he’d said and she’d insisted he tell her anyway. “Oh…”

“As I said, sir. It’s not my place to have opinions.”

Ahsoka’s brow furrowed. She knew Rex would follow whatever orders she gave him, but that wasn’t the point. She wanted him to agree with her. “It’s not like we’re stealing children from their parents, Rex. He’ll have a good life at the Temple—the best life. He’ll have training he can’t get anywhere else, a safe home to grow up in, a place of privilege and respect galaxy-wide. Most parents are thrilled when their children are identified by the Council.”

“Most parents, maybe. But obviously not these parents.”

“What are you trying to say, Rex? That it’s bad when the Jedi Council invites children to go to the Temple?” she said, getting annoyed. “That it was bad when I was taken to the Jedi Temple? That Jedi are kidnappers stealing unwilling children away from their parents?”

“I don’t know if that child is willing or not, but his parents clearly don’t want him to leave them. Are you going to take him anyway? Because if that’s what you’re planning on doing, then yes, I think it’s bad!” Rex said, his voice rising in volume with each word. By the end of his speech his skin had reddened and his golden-brown eyes flashed. Ahsoka had never seen him this angry before. Angry at her. Judging her way of life.

“Have you even considered that if the Jedi Temple don’t train that child, someone else might? Someone with bad intentions? Someone from the Dark Side?”

“He’s made it this far without being noticed by any Force users, so he’ll probably be fine.”

“Look, Rex. This is how it is for all Jedi. I won’t apologize for my people and our traditions.”

“You asked for my opinion, Commander.”

“Well, that was when I thought your opinion might be reasonable!”

Rex narrowed his eyes at Ahsoka and folded his arms across his chest. “You were taken before you could even remember your parents, but that’s not true for this child. He’ll remember his parents, he’ll remember that they willingly gave him up to strangers to be raised on a faraway planet. I won’t pretend that I understand all the Jedi ways, but I know something about not having parents.”

His words cut her like a vibro-blade, slicing right through everything she’d prepared to counter him. Ahsoka had never been one to shy away from conflict, but she’d never been in such conflict with Rex before, and it hurt. She wanted to run away and hide. She needed to find a way to end this conversation now.

“Well I don’t have much of a choice in the matter, anyway,” she said, arms crossed and shoulders hunched up under her jaw. “The Council has protocols for these kinds of situations, and it’s out of my hands. Judge me all you like, but that’s the way it is.”

Rex sighed and unwound his arms, letting them fall to his sides. “Look, little’un. I’m sorry. This is your world, and I trust your judgment. I’ll follow your orders.”

“Thank you.”

With that he retreated to his room, and Ahsoka gathered her things together and went to the bedroom opposite his. Sleep was a long time coming that night, and visions of Rex’s disappointed, angry, sad face haunted her dreams.

---

The next day dawned bright and clear on Ahsoka’s misery. Rest had provided little comfort, since sleep did nothing to fix the disagreement Rex. Yes, Rex had told her he’d follow her orders, but she didn’t want him to follow her orders because he’d been trained to no matter what. She wanted him to follow her because he believed in her and believed in what she was trying to accomplish.

What the night had done was provide Ahsoka with space to consider Rex’s points. She’d been raised at the Jedi Temple, and she knew what that life entailed. She’d rarely missed her parents—barely remembered them, really—and the Jedi masters, padawans, and younglings had been her family. It was a good life, and she knew that firsthand.

But maybe Rex had a point. Her parents had willingly given her up, and as far as she knew, the same was true for the others younglings at the Temple. As much as she didn’t want to accept it, Yalit’s parents obviously didn’t see their child being trained at the Jedi Temple as a blessing. And… well Ahsoka and Rex were both equally parentless in most respects, but he obviously felt differently about it than she did. His perspective was valid, even if it was different from hers.

Ahsoka got up and got dressed for the day, thoughts stewing all the while. Daivi knocked gently on her door and invited her to breakfast, so she emerged from her room and found her way to the dining table. 

The table was set with sizzling thimiar bacon and plom fruit, but Ahsoka found she didn’t have much of an appetite. Daivi and her husband sat at the head of the table, their expressions tight with worry, and Yalit sat next to Ahsoka, smiling and oblivious. Rex was across from her, shovelling thimiar bacon into his mouth and avoiding her gaze.

Ahsoka could speak up. She could explain that the Jedi Council believed all Force-sensitive children should be trained at the Jedi Temple, that it was a great honor, and that Yalit would be well taken care of for the rest of his life. She knew his parents wouldn’t object. The Jedi were a powerful organization in the galaxy, with near mythic status as warriors and defenders of the Republic. How could they refuse?

And Rex would support her. As he’d said last night, he trusted her. It wasn’t just that he had no authority to contradict her, he trusted her. She wanted desperately to be worthy of his respect.

She cleared her throat, and the eyes of everyone around the table turned to her. Daivi took Yalit’s hand in hers and squeezed.

“I think I may have had too much to drink at the feast last night,” Ahsoka said with a weak laugh. “I can hardly remember anything after getting home.”

A confused expression crossed Daivi’s face, then understanding dawned. Ahsoka thought she saw tears forming in the older Togruta’s blue eyes.

“It was a long night, Master Jedi.”

“It’s my own fault. I can’t resist madyam wine, and I’m not allowed to drink it back on Coruscant.”

“Well, you should take some with you then!” Daivi said, getting to her feet with a smile that was heartbreakingly hopeful. She rushed over to the pantry and pulled out two large bottles of wine—drink that Ahsoka knew was a luxury in this fledgling colony.

“Oh no, I couldn’t-”

“Please! Take it!” she said insistently, her eyes intense and pleading. She held the bottles out to Ahsoka, and Ahsoka took them, understanding that this was what the grateful mother wanted.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Ahsoka said, holding the bottles in her arms and getting to her feet. “We should be on our way—my Master is expecting us.”

Their hosts agreed and helped them pack up their things, insisting on carrying their luggage for them all the way back to the transport. Ahsoka and Rex climbed up the gangplank, and Ahsoka turned back to wave goodbye before getting aboard. Yalit smiled broadly at her from his perch in his mother’s arms, his red montrals jiggling back and forth with the force of his wave. Daivi and her husband clung tightly to each other like they’d just escaped slavery a second time. Ahsoka felt a pang of hurt, that they would be so averse to their child joining the Jedi, but she let the pang pass.

Soon enough the transport was in hyperspace, and Ahsoka hid in her quarters. She sat on the floor in a meditation pose, but serenity would not come. She simply stared at the floor, thinking of everything and nothing at once.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” she said.

The door whooshed open and Rex walked in, a bottle of madyam wine in each hand. “Can I join you?”

“Sure,” Ahsoka said, still staring at the floor.

He handed her one of the bottles, then opened the other for himself, taking a long pull before setting it on the ground. Ahsoka opened her bottle and followed suit, the sweet liquid clinging to her throat as she swallowed.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Rex said eventually.

“I know,” Ahsoka said, taking another drink from her bottle. “But your opinion means a lot to me. And I could see his parents wouldn’t take it well.”

“Thank you for listening.”

Ahsoka looked up and met Rex’s eyes, daring a small smile. He returned the smile, his eyes crinkling again in that way she loved. “I can’t promise I’ll always side with you,” she said, “but I’ll always listen.”

[tortoisesshells]

For the ship meme - dealer's choice please, for whichever pairing's been on your mind lately, and I'm looking forward to reading and learning about them!:)

Thank you, kind friend, and many apologies for the delay! I’m currently mired in trying to get the actual plot moving in Customs and Duties, after an unstated number of chapters wherein the Main Idiot Duo has not achieved much beyond being Emotionally Shut Down and mired in their own problems and not thinking of each other romantically in the slightest, because James Norrington is too stuck on his past and trying not to let the rapidly deteriorating situation in Boston get out of hand & Nellie Treat is the furthest thing from over her late husband’s death and also trying to keep the good Commodore from finding out about her smuggling business. In the base continuity of the 1730s, some of these questions don't really apply, so I've tried to either answer for an analogous question, or drawn from my stable of AUs of the AU.

Who reaches out to new neighbors?

Nellie's generally a friendlier face, but more importantly, Nellie thinks about community and interdependence in a far more positive, concrete way than James, who, bless his heart, is far too used to bossing people around.

Who remembers to buy healthy food?

Nellie initially, since she's spent years being a Good Mom and after getting small children to eat their greens, how hard could it be to make sure another adult eats his peas? (actually, I have no solid idea what "good food" looks like to an early 18th century Anglo-American colonist. Does she even know what broccoli is? Certainly she doesn’t think of healthy food the same way I do.) Too, providing is her love language, but I'm pretty sure after spending more than a week with Jimothy, realized the man treats food as sort of an irritating necessity of life, probably starts in on spice cakes and drinking chocolate.

Actually, on rereading the last few chapters, every time Nellie has seen James she’s been thinking /someone/ has to give that man a cup of tea that’s more sugar and cream than tea and/or a slice of cake - and she’s still at a point in her relationship with him where she intermittently thinks her life would be much easier if she’d just let him drown several months before.

Who remembers to buy junk food?

Nellie, again.

Who fixes the oven when it breaks?

Neither of them. One of them arranges for someone else to fix something like a blown-in chimney or a damaged galley-stove. Even in the 20th or 21st c. continuities, I'm pretty sure one of them would call Sears or a handyman while the other read the manual and bemoaned that two otherwise capable and intelligent adults have no idea what's going wrong. They're deeply pragmatic people, but in this instance that means knowing that they've never had to learn this, and knowing when they're beat.

Who waters the plants and/or feed the pets?

If there's cat, I imagine Nellie is very much the hardass about not feeding them off the table - which means that James would just do it when she's not looking. 

In the modern AU, Nellie and her family do have a cat named Hotspurr, and I do imagine that Hotspurr very much becomes James’s responsibility. Pets just aren’t really Nellie’s cup of tea, in any continuity; James, on the other hand, I think appreciates the regimen and regularity of feeding animals or watering house plants. 

Who wakes up earlier?

Hard to say. Neither of them have good sleep schedules, and both tend not to sleep when under stress; when they’re not under pressure, I actually imagine Nellie tends to get up first - she’s had many years managing children and running a household, and lucky for James, being a commissioned officer who doesn’t have to stand watch means he gets to keep relatively normal hours.

Who makes the bed?

James. Nellie's just not that neat outside of public spaces in her home. If it can’t be seen, she can’t be judged for it; plus she’s just going to get into bed again eventually, and it’s going to get mussed again, so why bother? Pull the bed curtains if it’s going to be an irritant. James, on the other hand, like order and organization in all things - even and especially if no one else is going to see it.

Who makes the coffee?

Nellie, because even in the 18th century continuity she’s incredibly dependent on caffeine & it’s the luxury she lets herself indulge in consistently. It’s not that she doesn’t trust anyone else to make it to her liking ... but it is.

She may let James make the coffee, or talk her into letting someone else, like his steward, make it. After several years of close observation, and, possibly, locking her out of the kitchen.

Who burns breakfast?

I don't imagine Nellie in any era can do much more than very basic cookery, but what she can do, she does pretty well. I'm going to have to give this one to James, though I really can't imagine him cooking; I don’t think he’d be bad (though, if pressed, I assume James Norrington is a better baker than cook, if only because I associate baking with just following the damn recipe & cooking with arcane arts and hidden rituals  & just making shit up on the fly) so much as it’s not something he’d ever have had much reason to get good at in the main continuity, because yay gender roles (/s) and class expectations(/s).

How do they let each other know they're leaving the house?

This is Quite Difficult to answer in the base continuity without giving away parts of the ending that’s not  the obvious “the truth is revealed & some very Hard Talks happen before they get together” so, uh, have some Modern AU - They’re both practical to a fault, so they both tend to run down the phone-keys-wallet list and ask the other if they need anything while they’re out - Nellie’s job, however, is literally in the store-front downstairs, so she doesn’t tend to leave the house as much? (also, in every era, Nellie’s just ... kind of a homebody. She finds a home and sticks to it.)

How do they greet each other when one of them gets home?

 Announcing it to the house, kiss on the cheek, and probably immediately going into something that happened to them that reminded them of the other that day? Neither of them tends to say “I missed you” about day to day things, but being remembered because someone was talking about Samuel Eliot Morison in the shop or all that trivia about longitude finally came in handy at the law firm is the greatest kind of compliment?

Who brings home little gifts like flowers/chocolates more often?

Nellie - she’s very bad at saying “I love you” or even being openly affectionate, but she loves picking up books or shells or interesting curios as a means of saying “I was thinking about you” -

Who picks the movie for movie night?

No movies in the 18th century, alas - but as far as books or plays, neither of them is actually all that regularly educated, or even into their early 30s had enough free time to develop taste? Nellie went to a dame school for a few years, but irregularly; James got stuck at sea from the age of five and hard a largely practical education that didn’t include much other than seamanship & political maneuvering. Nellie’s the more openly curious of the two, so I suspect she’s the one picking up new books to read out loud. Maybe she’ll even get around to teaching herself (or hiring someone to teach her) the harpsichord one of these days?

Their favorite kind of movie to watch?

In modern continuities? I’m not wholly sure, but I feel strongly that James would have very strong feelings about Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World. I think Nellie would like historical dramas, honestly?

Who first suggests a pillow fort?

Nellie, I think, as a coping thing? She tends to curl up or wedge herself into the corner of chairs when she’s exhausted or beyond upset; I think she’d like or benefit from small, enclosed spaces from time to time. Both of them like /doing/ things - certainly, sitting still is not something Nellie tends to do. Ever. Unless pretty much forced to do so.

Who builds the pillow fort?

It’s a group effort, but I suspect this is mostly James’s doing. Especially if the kids/ step-kids get involved.

Who tries to distract the other one during the movie?

Nellie, probably, because ruffling his feathers is just so easy, and of the two of them, Nellie is less likely to take anything not life-threatening seriously.

Who falls asleep first?

Nellie. When not stressed beyond her limits, she can and will fall asleep standing up.

Who is big spoon/little spoon?

Nellie’s little spoon, in part because she’s just shorter (though, not to keep bringing up her late husband - Nellie’s about a foot shorter than James, but she was over a foot and a half shorter than Samuel, so it’s not so dramatic as before) - and in part because she tends to sleep curled up on herself, which she can’t very well do as the big spoon.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “The Wrath of Conn.”

Lol, I couldn’t resist. Anyway this is for the multitude of you Conn groupies who wanted a little something form his perspective. Well cue a couple pages of him sort of being an asshole. But also it is totally plot relevant so there is that. 

Hope you all enjoy. This was actually kind of difficult to write, and I had to re-write it at least once :) 

The ship was a strange place now, months had gone by without his presence, and without his connection to their thoughts, and in that time, things had changed. Conn wasn’t entirely sure he appreciated it, but only because that meant he had to re-gather all the information he had originally collected on his human crew members to begin with.

It had been a difficult few months, the most difficult the ship had ever experienced. Conn wasn’t exactly displeased at that fact considering that it was the collective fear and horror from the Cannibal incident that had finally broken him out of his Coma, but he was also displeased to find that things had changed somewhat. Conn didn’t lie change, especially the change that he saw within the Commander. The only person aboard the ship that he could actually communicate with mind to mind.

Well actually scratch that, there were a few others he could speak with, but currently the weighed about fifteen pounds and had language ability so rudimentary it was like trying to talk with the dog. 

Regardless, the last few months  had absolutely ruined what tentative trust the two of them had garnered. 

After returning to the ship, and after putting the Commander into a sort of psychological coma to deal with shock, a HAZMAT team from earth had been called to deal with the issue. Ensuing autopsies had proven that the crew had, in fact, been eating each other despite their being plenty of food left in storage. The remaining survivor, who the commander had been forced to kill in self defense was one Captain Everett Malaney Ex UNSC officer and current freelance ship contractor for both tourist and colonist divisions. By all right he had been an upstanding decision. 

His autopsy had shown that advanced scurvy including kidney failure was the main reason for his monstrous appearance, bruised skin, thinning hair, infected gums and so on. As for the behavior of the crew, it could only be put down to some sort of exaggerated mass hysteria when people realized they would likely die alone in space billions of miles from home in the blackness of space.

Commander Vir had been….. Ok at that point,  but the subsequent venture into a border-world prison had shattered his already cracked composure.

Conn was the only one who had been able to experience the fall from the man’s own perspective. Watching inside his head as he careened into a psychological spiral that had eventually brought them to the earth for treatment. 

Generally conn would have said that he totally didn’t care about anyone’s mental status, and he still would say the same upon being prompted, but this was something that needed to be taken care of and it needed to be done quickly. It wasn’t his fault he was the only one who would truly be able to handle it.

So there he floated in the darkness of early morning, down the hall and towards the mess hall, a ghost town in the early morning devoid of both the sleeping crew-members and the skeleton crew who were off working at their perspective jobs.

He could sense five minds on approach to the room. Three rudimentary and childish minds, and one completely alien guided primarily by smell and hearing. She was the one to  sense his first, with that powerful nose of hers. She didn’t like his smell, it was a burning and caustic thing that made her uneasy, and generally caused her to sneeze.

The next to notice were the spiderlings underdeveloped noses that were already almost as good as the dogs. They were strange creatures to be sure and Conn wasn’t sure how he thought about them.

Tendrils billowing at his back he floated into the room. 

With a whine of agitation, the dog lifted her head from where she had been grooming one of the spiderlings cradled between her two forward paws. Her tongue was still out from where she had been dragging it down the monstrosity’s back. Finally recognizing that he wasn’t going to leave she went back to her grooming. The soft scritch scritch scritch sound of her tongue on fur echoing around the room. She hadn’t originally known how to feel about the spiderlings, but they did smell oddly like Adam, and they looked enough like puppies that she could almost ignore the fact that they had extra legs.

He floated a bit closer to where the commander was sitting alone at one of the tables pen in hand making soft scratching noises as it moved across the paper.

Clinging to his back, like some sort of grotesque backpack, was another one of those little monstrosities. This one’s name was Glados, and Conn was almost sure that she was entirely a creation of anger and hatred aggressively protective of the commander even more so now that they considered his current psychological state.

Conn was only halfway across the room when the scratching of the pen slowed.

Adam paused, and Conn listened as a chill went up the man's spine. He could feel something watching him. And Conn marveled at that fact not entirely sure how the human could know that he was here when he had made no noise. Glados turned her head and hissed at him, but Conn flicked at her with his mind making her shrink back with a whimper.

Setting down his pencil, Adam turned slowly in his seat.

His expression registered absolutely no shock upon seeing Conn floating towards him. On the surface, he looked older as if he had aged ten years in the past month. He was slightly disheveled too hair mussed over his head, skin pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Everything about him seemed washed out.

“Conn.”  The man said, his voice echoing about the room. It was soft, flat, and uncharacteristic of him.

Conn paused glancing through the man’s mind to get a good look at the paper. His vision wasn’t so good in the dark confines of the ship. Generally his species spent much of its time in the direct light of stars, so much of his world was seen through other people’s heads. He saw the sketchy line drawing of a zombie head with hesitant crosshatched marks of shading.

:”Still haven't bothered to tell your therapist about that?” Conn projected into his mind.

He felt a sudden flash of anger in the man before it faded away dimmed as soon as it had come. That fact made Conn displeased.

He didn’t like the man without some sort of passion, and if he couldn't get happiness he would have settled for anger.

Not that he cared of course.

“No…. I haven’t.”

“Why not?”

“You should already know the answer to that.” The commander said turning back to his drawing, “Go on, I know you’ve already looked.”

Of course Conn had taken a look. 

“Why do you insist on getting over this yourself when someone payers her a truckload of cash to help. It seems stupid and prideful.”

“Keep going.” The man prompted.

“Well consider now that I am here you no longer have privacy, so there is no reason to try and hide it anymore.”

There was a deep sigh, and the man tilted back his head. Inside Conn could hear his inner monologue urging his anger down. Conn couldn’t understand what kind of privacy invasion this was, in fact he should have seen this coming, but he still didn't want to explain himself to the strange creature and it’s freaky black eyes.

“Why do you want me to explain myself when you can just read my mind anyway. Why do you need to hear it from me.”

“I don’t need to hear anything, you need to hear it.”

The man paused setting down his pencil and turning again to look at Conn, one of his eyebrows was raised and the expression he had taken on was almost one of a disapproving father, which was a strange expression on a man that spends most of his time in the mental headspace of a 12 year old.

“Why do you care.” 

Con kicked his feet a little causing himself to float upwards towards the ceiling, “ I don’t care accept for your constant inner pity party is putting me off my relaxation time. I did just wake up from a coma after all, and the last thing I want is to have to deal with your dysfunctional thoughts invading my snooping. You see it is very difficult to dig up juicy secrets on the rest of the crew when your ‘oh woe is me’ attitude keeps breaking into my concentration.”

Another little spark of anger, this time a little stronger.

yes , that was good, better to have to moving out and being destructive that way than moving in. However, the human locked down his troughs with an angry twist of his lips, “Will it get you out of my head.”

“Alright.”

“What do I need to do.”

“Nothing really. I am going to say something to you and you are going to respond, that’s it.”

The human hesitated his chin lowered a bit, but eventually he sat back arms crossed, “Ok seems easy enough.”

“Bitch”

The human frowned, “Hold on.”

“Bitch.”

“Hey,” Another flash of anger, “What the hell kind of statement is that.”

“Whiny pathetic bitch.”

The human stood, “Hold on, I said I would play your game, and then you just come at me with insults.” That little spark was growing inside his chest heating up nice and warm. Conn could almost feel it as if it was his own. He liked the sensation. Human emotions were so fun to feel, so fun to play with. They gave him physical sensations he was physically incapable of having.

“Whiny- pathetic - bitch.” he repeated 

“You know what Conn screw you and the horse you rode in on because I have no idea where you are getting this.”

“Really. Someone once told me that actions speak louder than words and here you are moaning to your therapist about how hard your life is, and how hard it is to sleep and how hard everything is wa wa…. Wa.”

The human thrust a finger at him, “You shut your trash mouth. I am not going to be shamed for getting myself help. What I had to go through was rough, and I wasn’t ready for it. I could sit in the corner and cry about it, but here I am getting help holding myself together, so you can just shut up.”

“Doesn’t seem to be working.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean.”

Conn held out his hands to either side, “Look around Commander. Here you are sitting alone in the dark at three in the morning drawing pictures of cannibal zombies. I mean honestly you have gone and lost it. If you really wanted to get better you would probably tell her that you keep seeing him when you look in the mirror.”

“Fuck you Conn. I needed time, I STILL need time, and I will TAKE all of the TIME I NEED.”

If he could have cracked his knuckles he would have. This was fun, “No you can’t. You have a job to do, and by acting like this you are letting the entire crew down.

“Id let the crew down more if I took over not being ready.”

“Then why aren’t you ready?”

The human stepped forward right up in his face. The spark had lit into a flame fanned. The anger was billowing outwards, “I think I deserve to feel like shit for a little while. I watched a man die.”

“You mean the man you killed.” Conn went on smuggly 

The human was even closer to him now, chest to chest, “I DID-NOT-KILL-HIM. I survived. That man may have deserved what he got and maybe he didn’t, but no one died and made me GOD so it's not my place to decide.”

“You didn’t help him though, did you.”

“No, I didn’t, but why was it MY job to help him. Me against an entire prison. The guards weren't going to stop them, they hated that guy just as much as the rest of us, and while we are on the subject. YES I wanted him dead, any normal person would. I’m not a saint, I’m not perfect and yes I have those sort of thoughts. In fact, I got what was coming to me; my punishment was the beating I got. Anyone who blames me for any of that can go right to hell.” The flame was roaring nice and warm now. It was anger, and it was making both of them feel light. Blood ran through their hands and into their heads. 

It felt sort of nice to be mad.

“Oh please, if you really believed that, you wouldn't feel so guilty.”

The human snarled. The dogs and the spiderlings on the floor had retreated under a table, but Glados hissed along with him. “You think I feel guilty because of HIM, no. I feel guilty because I didn’t live up to my own standards. If I really am who I thought I was, I would have helped him no matter what, but I didn't and that's why I am frustrated. I am not the man I thought I was, and that PISSES ME OFF.”

Conn floated a little closer two dark eyes looking into one green one, “You know who you remind me of?”

“Oh please tell me more, I am DYING to know.”

Conn paused allowing the tension to build, “Mr. Everett.”

The room had gone very silent. Glados stopped growling, and her little ears went back, “Take…. That…. Back.” The human hissed in a horse whisper.

“Make… me.” Conn whispered back 

He watched from the Commander’s peripheral vision as Glados crawled across the floor and under the table. He was getting into dangerous territory, but that was no matter. He would manage just fine, “Come on, just look at his career, mirrors your own now wouldn't it. I can just imagine it, the ship goes dark and poor little Adam Vir loses his mind and starts eating the crew.”

A vein was pulsing just above the man’s good eye, “I would not.”

“I wonder what the Drev taste like. I mean Sunny is small enough, you could probably catch her and chop her up into bite sized pieces if you really wanted to.” 

‘I said SHUT UP.” “Why should I!”

The man lifted his hands as if he was going to choke Conn, but held back balling them into fists, “I would never do that, and I don’t give a damn what you say. I would keep my cool, and we would find a way out because that is what we always do.”

Conn shrugged intentionally and quite completely blowing him off as if it was nothing.

“You know it’s just sad. You trying to justify yourself.”

“What do you want from me Conn. Why are you her. Does messing with people get you off or something. Is this some kind of sadistic pleasure for you?” 

There was silence in the room for a long moment. 

Waffles whined below the table, and the spiderlings chirped nervously along with her.

“No Commander.” His voice lost it’s edge, he let it slip take on a more distant quality inside the man’s head.

“These thoughts aren’t mine…..” The human looked on in confusion, the flame in his chest pausing.

“They’re yours.” The flame was snuffed blown into smoke which rose into confusion on his face. He took a step back.

“What are you talking about?”

“None of those words were mine. I stole them all from your own head. All of the insults all of the illogical assumptions.” He grinned, “they made you mad, didn’t they because they didn’t make sense.”

The man just stood there mouth agape jaw working furiously though no sound came out

“You argued pretty heavily with me didn’t you. Thought I was being some sort of asshole….” Laughter, not that he could make the sound, but inside the man’s head he could sound like anything, “I’m not the asshole, Commander...you are. Calling yourself names, doubting yourself. Personally my opinion is that if you are allowed to do it, than I am. I mean if it’s inside your own head than you must believe it.”

“But I don’t.” the man whispered 

“Than what do you believe commander?” He waited there, knowing the answer but watching as the human struggled to find it inside his own cluttered head. Parts of his subconscious doing its best to hide the truth, but then he snagged it. Just a tendril, but it was enough.

He sighed deflating, “I want to feel normal again, I want to get back to work. I wanted someone to be angry at me, someone to yell at me like I won't shatter. I want them to tell me that I am NOT doing as well as I could. I want people to expect MORE from me not less because less means that they believe in me less. Even if I can’t reach it, I want people to honestly believe that I can because maybe if someone believe it, it’s true.”

“You feel like people have been making excuses for you.”

He threw his hands in the air, “Exactly. They’ve been going so easy, they've been so nice, but that's not what I want… It’s not what I need. I know it sounds stupid, but I want someone to come in here and tell me to my face that I need to do better because they'd be right. All the doctors and all my friends they think they are being supportive, and they are, but that’s not what I need. I need expectations.” 

Conn crossed his arms, “Fine, do better. Get off your ass and get back to work.”

He sighed, “it’s different coming from you.”

“Why?”

“Because You know exactly what I want, but you're probably don’t mean it. I don’t need platitudes Conn.”

More laughter. He liked the sound it was fun, and it was a great way to mock people, “Platitudes. Do you honestly think I care about your feelings enough to give you platitudes. I am being honest. I think you’re being a selfish asshole sitting here all alone in the dark coloring when you have a job to do. Do better.” The man was glaring at him again. That little spark in his chest had come back easier than it had before, Conn reveled in the feeling of his anger.

“What do you want Commander, right now what do you feel right now.”

“Probably the desire to strangle you.” Conn didn’t even bother flinching.

“You don’t really want that.”

He sighed in annoyance, “Fine, I don’t want that…. I….” Conn waved a hand trying to prompt him on. Conn could feel it, a sort of buildup of emotion inside the man. Physically it felt like a cap on a shaken up bottle filling his entire body up till just under his head, like he was trying to keep his face out of the water in order to avoid drowning.

“You now what, honestly I’M PISSED OFF. IT’S NOT FAIR DAMN IT. If I could just…..”

“Come on….” Conn coaxed.

“If I could just, clear it all out then maybe I’d feel better, but I have to act all civilized because of my rank. I have to be in control.

Conn waved a hand dismissively and motioned around the room, “Well go on, no one is stopping you.”

“Not on the ship.” The man hissed in return.

“It’s your ship isn’t it. Look around, Commander what is the worst you could do, break a couple of chairs bust the coffee machine , nothing you couldn’t pay for.”

“What if the crew sees. 

“Screw them.” Conn said, “everyone will be better off if you get a little destructive now versus not doing it and being a lot more destructive later.”

THe man held his eyes for a very long moment, “It won’t be pretty.”

“I’m inside your head, I have seen plenty of things that aren't pretty.” 

There was silence for a few seconds before.

“You should probably step back.”

This time Conn did as directed floating back and high watching as the man turned on the spot. His head was bowed, his hands curled into claws at his side. He watched from the sky as one dog and three spiderlings slunk across the room and hid under the salad bar.

He allowed himself to feel the buildup as the man’s hands began to shake uncontrollably, his breathing grew heavy, blood rushed into his face and neck, and then, the cap burst from the bottle….

WIth a scream of anger, almost inhuman the man lashed out with his prosthetic leg kicking the table. The power was enough to snap some of the bolts holding it in place and it hit the floor on it’s side with a crash. Chairs went flying along with creative curses Conn would have to save for later. Silverware crashed onto the ground. Lights hung from exposed wires. Metal screeched as it was dented. Paper was rent and scattered about the floor like confetti. 

Minutes passed by followed a reign of destruction so impressive Conn admitted he actually underestimated what was going to happen. 

The commander  stood at the center of the room surrounded by carnage. His hands were bleeding. He tilted his head back towards the ceiling screamed again and fell to his knees breathing hard. There he went quiet and Conn could feel as the last bit drained from him, dripping onto the floor and dissipating away.

The red faded from his neck and face, and with an exhausted sigh he flopped onto his back one bloody hand resting on his stomach, the other resting on the floor as he stared at the ceiling. Conn floated over, adjusting the gravity field so he sunk to the floor, and lay down as well. Their heads were side by side, though their feet were going in opposite directions.

They lay like that for a minute.

After a few moments, There was a soft shuffling on the floor as waffles slunk from under the salad bar crouched close to the ground, her tail sweeping fast and slow to the ground her ears back.

She scooted closer to the commander, whimpering and yawning with agitation.

The commander patted her ears as he stared up at the ceiling, and she lay against him in the crook of his arm. 

Noise down in the hallway, along with the sound of rushing feet and a group of humans charged onto the deck carrying an assorted array of weaponry. They paused in the doorway to the mess hall from two doorways looking both worried and confused spotting the commander lying amidst the carnage.

“Commander wha-”

The man held up a finger, “SHHH…. Shhhhh.” 

The humans went quiet looking between each other with confused expressions. Dr. katie poked her head around the door frame and glanced around the room, then with tentative steps she walked quietly into the room and towards where the commander lay. She didn’t say anything but paused, then shrugged and slowly lowered herself to the ground, adjusting herself till she was flat on her back staring up at the ceiling. The other humans looked between each other in surprised confusion, but one of the marines shrugged walked forward and lay down on one of Conn’s other sides resting his hands atop his stomach in silent contemplation.

Following their baser social instincts, the other humans followed until, one by one, he was surrounded by an array of human bodies all staring up at the sky in deep contemplation. Conn reached out to them feeling their solidarity to their commander, and then connected the two together allowing the Commander to hear them for one brief moment.

There was silence and then, inside his head.

“Thank you, Conn.”

“don’t mention it.”

...

“Conn.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t EVER try that on anyone else.... ever again.” 

“You have my word, Commander.” 

 Whatever..... its not like he cared.

[border-spam]

Leech Lord: Allies

Troy

Gar is about as native as a Pandoran can get, and has for years had a very soft spot for the bratty King.

He's old colonist, thinks his parents might have been with Atlas on one of the many failed corporate town setups that plagued Pandora 30-ish years ago. He was too young to remember who's banner they flew under when his family stepped out of the shuttle and onto the dust planes they’d been instructed to settle, just that things went wrong fast and anyone still alive 18 months later had needed to adapt quickly to what constitutes living on this planet.

He was drawn to the Holy City for the same reasons as most survivalists, it was an opportunity for safety and a roof over your head. Not needing to fight to eat or scrabble to stay alive is a blessing for most Pandorans, and he's one of the thousands who live within the walls who don't quite worship the twins as Gods, but praise them as holy... because the twins gave them a chance to have a home. Wether they are deities or not isn't a factor in the loyalty they've’ earned.

He's skilled with food. Knows how to spice spoiled flesh to hide the rot, pickle cactus root and delicate rock blossoms for long storage, or how long rakk wing needs to be slow roasted to turn from gamey string to meat that melts in the mouth.

Like most in the HC, he ended up where his skills have value and has ran the kitchens in the Grand Cathedral since its founding bricks were set.

It didn't take very long for him to find Troy in it one night - picking through ingredients and half finished dishes in the early AM.

While he'd expected to need to drop to his knees and grovel, the God King had seemed more embarrassed than anything, awkwardly explaining he hadn't eaten that day and asking if there was anything left from the after sermon banquet. 

His eager politeness had hit Gar hard, but his reaction to finding out the leftovers had been destroyed was what left a lasting impression.

Gar had thought the twins affluent spoiled little shits who'd hit things lucky on Pandora and been clever enough to know how to use their wealth to culture worship, so when Troy was genuinely upset to the point of disgust that food had been wasted like that? It changed his perception immediately.

This wasn't the reaction of some egotistical little shitbag from a wealthy background, this was the visceral panic and anger of someone who'd starved before, who understood the insult of food being destroyed when there were so many hungry... when he'd known hunger.

It took less than 24 hours for the kitchen policies to be changed and Gar's team to find out nothing was to be wasted. Uneaten and unused stock was to be transported at end of day to the Slums from now on, where it would "Bolster the flesh of the faithful."

Every time he finds Troy hunting through his kitchen at 4 am over the years, their chats grow a little longer.

By late COV, Gar's meals delivered to his sanctum are some of the only things God King Calypso still trusts enough to eat.

Tyreen

Xanshi Ur-Vendit is obsessed with the God Queen.

As her Saint of Marketing, he's got both her ear and a position of high authority within the organisation that he covets viciously, and takes great personal offense towards newer Saints he doesn't deem worthy of the title.

His pedigree speaks for itself, the man had quite a reputation on Promethea among the media departments of the high corporations. An expertly trained and cut-throat money maker that was the exact kind of egotistical, nasty piece of work that would be drawn to the God Queen's side.

Has direct tie in's with the esteemed Katagawa family, something he's used to his benefit throughout his career.

He fawns over her, she can do no wrong around him, and he spends as many hours of the day as he can trailing behind her heels like a lapdog, reaffirming her beauty and intelligence and infallibility with every breath he can manage between the underhanded threats he aims towards anyone possibly about to draw her attention away from him.

Hates Troy. Fucking hates him.

Too much of a hole-sucking little coward in his $60k three piece suit to actually do anything about it of course, but he takes plenty of his vitriol out on Troy's departments instead.

Marketing has such massive reach within the internal structure of the COV that he's able to throw his weight around far more than some of her other Saints, and regardless of if they actually like him, they tend to back Xan and his opinions automatically.

A huge amount of the conflict between departments and heads is driven by this imagined competitiveness, that Troy's people, Troy's chosen, must in some way be inferior to Tyreen's.

Xan is her right hand in his own mind, he's her holy knight. If she holds too much misplaced love for her brother to see how pathetic he is in comparison to her radiance, then it's up to Xan to keep Troy's people in place...

In reality? Tyreen isn't even invested in him enough to remember Xanshi's full name.

Seifa

Sei makes friends in low places far easier than higher ones, always has. People at the bottom of the ladder, folks who have struggled? They recognise each other. Doesn't matter where on the scales they currently stand, there's an unspoken nod, a side glance. You see your own - even if who you are has been lucky enough to change over time.

While she's never been in one place long enough to set up a friend network before that was tangible and not based on e-comms and data feeds, she's woven one since settling in the HC without really even noticing it was happening.

One-hand Jim in the King's Call, that high end rave bar near the cathedral grounds. Not so gruff now he's not drowning in debt, few more smiles while he's mixing cocktails.

Cleo in munitions stocks, breathing a bit easier since her son landed that underling role in the Mechanica, more food on the table with less worry.

Feliz and Irgo running deals in the western slum backstreets. Not competing against the HammerClaws for territory anymore since JK "got wind" of the shit they were cutting their gear with and had Vanguard waiting at their quarters for a polite discussion about unspoken laws. What Fe and Iggy are selling isn't exactly high quality but at least it won't rot your brain inside the skull.

Sei will tell you she's a lone wolf. She'll insist she’s a one woman show, runs shit on her own and doesn’t need others.

But watch closely when out with her in the city, check how often she buys a drink, how often it's not on an invisible tab the barstaff nod knowingly about as they hand her glass over with a smirk.

She's never asked to pay.

That should tell you plenty.

Seifa and Tyreen

- Early COV

"Ty, you ever wish you were born a guy?"

Of all the things Tyreen had expected to hear from Sei tonight, that... wasn’t it. She stopped reading the same piece of nonsensical math in the sheet she was holding to gawk at Seifa instead, staring at the other woman’s back as she continued to work on the data records they'd been passing between them all evening.

"No.. god. What, and look like Troy?" she snorted with a wince. "Nooooo thanks" Ty sighed as she leaned back and heard her stiff spine pop, waiting for a response that didn't come. She felt a pang of concern as Sei's shoulders sank a little lower in front of her, deflating.

This wasn’t normal, where was the bitchy retort, or joining in on insulting her brother? She shuffled together the files and stood, walking to her friend's side and sitting slowly next to her in the quiet of the twin's shared office. Sei still hadn’t responded, pretending to be completely absorbed by the notes she stared at. Ty cleared her throat with a cough.

"Uhhh.. why?"

Seifa silently reached to her side to take the offered files from Ty as she sat, pointedly not making eye contact, though the younger woman picked up on the redness in them easily enough.

"Sei, I need to have someone's hands cut off?" 

Ty pouted, hitting her mark as Seifa failed to completely hide a smirk in response.

"I need to have someone thrown into a pit? Huh? C'mon Sei, talk to me. You always tell me I need to talk more about things that me down, right?" she weedled, hands clasped over her heart as she faux whined, earning a quiet laugh from her companion.

"Oh god Tyreen SURE, if you'll shutup." Sei groaned, leaning back in her chair and running hands over her eyes. She was tired. Beyond tired, really. Always said she knew how to not outstay her welcome but had been wondering recently if that had ever been true. Day to day in the cult, managing people she’d never meet and holding the weight of more responsibility than she’d ever wanted was eating at her. Had been for some time. Nights like this helped, shooting shit with Tyreen, bitching, sometimes gently bullying Troy together if he’d decided to grace them with his janky presence, but still.. it was heavy, and Seifa was tired. 

"Ahh.. just the usual shit" she whispered, thumbing through the papers as Tyreen leaned a little closer, as much of a comforting presence as she could muster all things considered. An arm around the shoulder or gentle stroke of hair wasn’t an option. All Ty had was words and honestly, they weren’t exactly her forte.

“It's just like. Sometimes when I'm talking, and it's about something they think I shouldn't know shit about, like how Burgess is spending too much of your budget on expensive, low grade gear-assemblies when if we went off brand I can prove it would be better, they just zone out."

"It's like.. if they thought I had a cock, if I was 6'4, they'd be listening. " she added, eyes burning again.

She groaned, leaning over the table and resting her cheek across her folded arms.

"I got so angry. I'm used to dealing with it, it's always happened, but I just boiled over. This week has been.. long, I guess." she whispered, pinching the bridge of her nose as Tyreen watched quietly. "I ate into him in front of like, 6 other people Ty, couple of heads were there. That doesn't help my reputation does it.. that's just making shit worse. I'm sabotaging myself. They think I'm a bitch already without me starting a fight and stirring the pot."

Tyreen shifted in her seat, eyes thoughtful as she rested her chin in her hands, elbow propped on the table edge.

"Nah. "

"Just sounds like they're dumb. I keep telling Troy we need people with actual brains leading this shit Sei, if you're getting ignored cause you have tits? Haha. Wait till they meet me in person. " she grinned, a genuine act peeking through her usual haughty persona as Seifa chuckled.

"I mean my rack is way bigger than yours, you're flat as a fuckin' plank in comparison."

Asks are Open!

[misslillianelliott]

Happy @blakesecretsanta2019 to my giftee @distinguishedinfluencercupcake! Hope you enjoy your gifts, I loved working on it. 

Simple Changes March, when the seasons change from summer to autumn. 24 days into the month and 1-day left. Lucien and Matthew had left earlier to stay overnight at the Colonists, at Lucien’s insistence. They had spoken about it, and Lucien had told her that he had somewhere to go other than the house, unlike her; so he would leave for those painful 24 hours before the wedding. So now, with 15 hours remaining, she was roaming around the for once very silent house in her nightgown and robe. Leaning back against the table, she waited for the milk to boil for her cocoa. She smiled, lost in her own thoughts about that kiss here a few months ago… it was passionate and showed nothing but his love for her. Soon they won’t have to worry about going too far!

‘Only one more sleep.’ Jean thought to herself. She looked forward to the intimacy that marriage offered, from certain perks to the simplest of touches. In one day it wouldn’t matter that they lived under the same roof. She wouldn’t have to stop herself or Lucien from getting carried away. The gossips would stop, move onto something or someone else who didn’t deserve the attack of those plovers. Stepping out of her dream, she turned the gas off before the milk burnt and she would have to start again. Preparing and drinking the warm beverage before returning to her room upstairs for the last time. She woke at a reasonable hour the next day and went to prepare a light breakfast for herself. ‘A simple omelette should suffice.’ She whipped it together with the usual ease and grace that had Lucien in awe of her. She had some time before Rose arrived for them to start getting ready. While eating her thought travelled back to the recent trip to Melbourne. To the young shop assistant who steered her away from anything white. She found it so rude, her job was to help the customers’ needs and wants, without their own bias and opinions unless asked for. First, she took her away from the traditional bridal gowns, then thought she was the mother of the bride, and in the end sold her a bronze suit. Not what she had had in mind at all. So she did what she always did and made it herself with the help of the last few friends she had within her sewing circle who were happy for herself and Lucien’s engagement. In the end, it had turned out quite well. Lucien had been quite impressed with her strength and ability. He knew what the shop keeper had done and he wasn’t pleased at all. She had to stop him from calling up to complain. “Lucien there is no need to do that, I have solved the problem now, and while she may not have been the best consultant, she just didn’t understand the situation. I doubt she has many of these kind of cases come through the doors of the salon.” “Jean darling, she still shouldn’t have treated you that way no matter your age or circumstance,” Lucien replied being annoyed on his fiancée’s behalf. “She will see how the world works and people’s different circumstances soon enough, it’s all part of the process.” And well that was the end of that. The dress was simple but certainly her style and appropriate for someone of her age and position in the community. No one really knew about it, Lucien had been too wrapped up in a case to notice her working on it and Rose only knew because Jean had told her she could wear the suit she had initially bought for the occasion. Rose arrived on time punctual as always, and they began to get ready. They got ready in the studio as Jean’s dressing table had been moved into there when they were doing the studio. Rose began to button up the back of her dress - she got about halfway before complaining ‘Jean, honestly, why did you have to make this dress with so many buttons?! It’s tough to do up. While I have no doubt that Lucien will enjoy undoing these later, I’m becoming rather frustrated with them now.’ Jean blushed a crimson red but laughed. ‘Rose I didn’t put them there for you to be frustrated at or for Lucien to enjoy. I like the style and the elegance they bring to the dress.’ After plenty of muttering under her breath, Rose finished her duty, and they made final touches to hair and makeup. Jean went out to the sunroom to collect their bouquets before departing for the club. x-x-x-x-x At the bottom of the stairs, Jean stopped in her tracks causing Rose who wasn’t paying attention to where she was going to run into her. “Jean, what is going on? Are you ok?” “2 minutes” Jean whispered under her breath. “Pardon?” “2 minutes left, after years of fighting it then trying to be together we have less than 2 minutes. After everything that we have been through in two minutes, it will all be worth it.” “Yes, yes it will, come on. It’s time.” Jean took a deep breath, pulled her shoulders back and began to walk up the stairs. She paused when she saw Matthew standing at the top. He smiled at her, blowing her a kiss before limping towards the alter. She stayed there for a moment longer allowing Matthew to return to his position beside Lucien before continuing. When she reached the top a grin spread across her face, she turned back to look at Rose who smiled back at her. Lucien’s grin matched her own as he stood in front of her. After barely making through the vows the couple were married. A long time coming, Matthew commented to Lucien. The party made their way through to the adjourning room for the reception, the happy couple talking to each of their guests individually, thanking them for their gifts and attendance. Charlie had bargained with his superiors to be able to come, he wasn’t going to miss this. These were his parents. As strange as it may seem to some, these were his parents; happy finally. He was greeted as if he was a son. Jean held her arms out for him and so did Lucien. Lucien commented as he walked over. ‘There he is.’ Yep, these are definetly his parents. He made a small comment about whether he would see Mattie. He asked Jean if she was coming and unfortunately she couldn’t make it as they refused to give her the time away. He would have liked to see her, have the family back together. They chatted for a moment before the newlyweds were called away to the dance floor. ‘You look beautiful.’ Lucien whispered in Jean’s ear, placing a kiss on her cheek before pulling away to grin at her. Jean leaned back in. Other couples slowly join them on the dance floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucien spots Matthew and Alice dancing off to the side. “Looks love is in the air.” Lucien whispered. Jean didn’t need to turn around, she knew who he was referring to. “Lucien don’t meddle, let them figure it out themselves.” “Wise as always dearest.” He leaned in for a gentle kiss before spinning her around. Once they had finished dancing, they made their way over to Cec to thank him for all of his help. “You both have always been kind to me, it’s the least I can do. Once again, congratulations.’ Once they had finished talking the couple made their way over to the cake. While Lucien had turned around to speak to guest standing nearby Jean had picked up the knife before getting the attention of her husband. “Lucien.” She called. Her husband turned around and jumped. He never got used to her wielding a knife or anything similar. He knew she was more than capable but it still made him nervous. They cut the cake and fed it to one another, much to Jean’s embarrassment, but secretly she enjoyed it. The party lasted long into the night. You couldn’t wipe the grin off anyone’s face; they had all waited a long time for this moment. When it reached midnight, the newlyweds decided that it was time to leave. Only the ‘family’ was left. Charlie and Matthew were staying in a hotel to give the newlyweds some space. The small party waved the couple off as they got into the taxi to head home before departing to their own beds. Lucien opened Jean’s door, helping her out before paying the driver. Then offering his arm to her as they walked into their home. It had been their home for quite some time but now it was indeed their home. Before reaching the door, Lucien stopped in his tracks. “Lucien – ” Jean stopped mid-sentence as her husband swept her off her feet. Jean pushed the door open, and he dropped her on the other side. “I have to carry you across the threshold, dear.” He gave her one of his charming smiles. “You didn’t really, but I glad that you did.” She leaned in to kiss him before leading him gently down towards the studio. Lucien had all of a sudden become quite nervous, and his hands had become sweaty. Jean noticed and squeezed his hand lightly to try to calm him down. This had been a long time coming, months of almosts led to this moment. But that wasn’t why Lucien was nervous. No one (besides his fellow soldiers in the camp) had seen the scars on his back, ropey and red. There wasn’t just a couple, they laced his back almost entirely. He wasn’t sure how Jean would feel about them. Jean had sat down on the edge of the bed, allowing him to get lost in his thoughts for a moment. Patient as always his Jean. He kneeled in front of her, taking her hands in his. Jean sat there and patiently waited for him to talk to her. He took a deep breath, smiled at her nervously before standing up and turning his back to her. He took off each layer slowly, all while Jean sat in silence. As he took his shirt off, he started to shake. He stood there shirtless with his back to Jean. Waiting for a reaction of some kind. He was just about to turn around when her arms wrapped around his torso. He felt her head rest on his back and place a light kiss onto his skin. He turned around into her arms, but before he could say anything, Jean spoke up. “Lucien, they are part of who you are. I’m not going to stop loving you or leave because of them. I love you, they are part of who you are. I’m not going anywhere – ” Lucien covered her mouth with his before she could finish. Of course, he should have known that to his Jean they were just part of his story, that she wouldn’t love him any less. Jean broke the kiss to turn around, allowing Lucien to undo the buttons on the back of her dress. Which to Jean’s amusement, he found rather annoying and complicated, but nevertheless, he got there eventually. His reward was more than he could have ever asked for. They woke the next morning for the first time in each other’s arms. Jean woke first, always up at the crack of dawn. But this morning she didn’t want to get up. So instead she remained next to her husband, her love, her life and drifted off again. She no longer had to wait, not anymore.

[seven-dragons]

Drabble Challenge: Blake Friday

Happy Blake Friday everyone!  @it-is-bugs gave us Blake Friday but I double dipped and did the costume prompt I meant to do a few weeks ago.  All the digital gods have been against me and I am posting this with 1 bar of cell service, so either it will be 1600 words of fic, or 4 eggplant emoji.  I won’t find out until I am home in a few days.  Anyway, enjoy!

Lucien stood tall and imposing in his tuxedo, patiently waiting while Jean fussed over his tie and some other details only she could see.  On the whole, Jean seemed more excited than he was.

"A masked ball!  That's a novel idea for a charity function.  I don't think I have ever heard of such a thing in Ballarat."

Jean stepped back and Lucien examined himself in the mirror.

"Well, I think Patrick and the board were trying to step things up this year, bring in more big spenders.  The whole thing seems tedious to me, but as a member I need to do my bit."

"Then you'd better get going.  Don't forget this."

Jean offered up a sequined mask in royal blue.

"Ah yes, wouldn't be a masked ball without it."

"You and Joy have a good time."

Lucien gave a perfunctory nod before heading out the door.  He turned at the doorway to see Jean watching after him, hands clasped in front of her. 

"Maybe if they do it again next year I'll see if I can get you a ticket, eh?"

"A ball?" Jean demurred,  "Much too fancy for me. Go or you'll be late."

As Lucien drove away he felt a pang of guilt.  It had not occurred to him for a moment to ask Jean to attend.  She was his housekeeper and bringing her as a date to a social function would be laughable.  But he wondered if she might have enjoyed the night out.  Lucien thought of the dreary evening to come - tiring conversations, dull town dignitaries full of themselves, being polite to people he despised.  It would be nice to have a friend like Jean be his side.

Joy was fine company.  She was attractive, confident, and had a keen intellect that excited his mind and if he were honest, other parts of him as well.  After so many years alone it was nice to  have a romantic prospect.  She was a good match for him, but there was a coldness to her as well, a lack of compassion beyond what was needed to get what she wanted.  She would look good on his arm, and say all the right things to the right people, but he couldn't help feel like he was going to face the evening alone.

The Colonists Club was decked out in silver and blue.  Rather than holding the event in a ballroom the steering committee elected to have a roving party of sorts throughout the club. There were rooms for cocktails, a room for dancing, rooms for quiet conversation.  Drinks and food were on hand in each room, with musicians tucked away in every corner.  Lucien could not help but be impressed.  

Lucien and Joy made their way throughout the party, and after a few drinks he found he could be charming to the most self-important men and their even more self-important wives.  He even managed to be cordial to Patrick Tynneman. Eventually they settled in to a quiet table in one of the lounges.

"By the way Joy, you look lovely tonight."

Joy was wearing a long white beaded dress that flared at the hips.  Her mask was feathered and looked vaguely like a swan.

"Why thank you, Lucien, I had a devil of a time..."

Joy had launched into an explanation of the purchase and tailoring of her gown, but Lucien was distracted by a commotion on the other side of the room.  A woman had entered, and was holding court while several men vied for her attention, offering to bring her drinks or something to eat.  She was utterly striking.  An elegant emerald green satin gown stretched over her lithe frame.  Little buttons ran down the long sleeves like something out of an Arthurian painting.  Her face was obscured be a mask of peacock feathers.  Lucien could make out hints of copper-brown curls peaking out from behind the mask, but nothing more.  He was mesmerized.  So apparently was everyone else in the room.  In a corner, Cec looked on approvingly.  Lucien bolted from his seat, ignoring the exclamation from Joy as he turned away.  Cec smiled as he approached.

“Are you enjoying your evening, sir?”

“Yes, thank you.  Tell me, Cec.  Who’s that woman over there?”

“Why my date, sir.”

“Your date?”

“Yes.  All staff working tonight got a free ticket.”

“I see.  Who is the lovely lady?”

Cec smiled.

“Just an old friend.”

By way of ending the conversation, Cec offered to bring Lucien another drink.  He returned to his table and a frosty Joy.

“What was that about?”

“Oh nothing.  I thought I saw someone I knew.  My mistake.”

Lucien gulped the remainder of his drink to avoid answering any more questions.

The rest of the evening was a blur.  He tried his best to entertain Joy, and to be charming company to everyone else, but he was preoccupied by the women he saw earlier.  She was so familiar, yet the way she commanded attention made him sure he had never seen the likes of her in Ballarat before.  He was determined to find out who she was.  This was easier said than done.  The Colonists Club was a warren of dark rooms filled with colorful costumes and masks that left him feeling disoriented.  It was hard to tell friend from stranger let alone find a specific person.  

Towards the end of the evening Joy had finally succeeded in cajoling Lucien towards the dance floor.  As they entered the room Lucien stopped short.  There was the woman in green, dancing gracefully with man Lucien vaguely recognized as a friend of Jean’s from the church.  However the man was of no concern to him.  Even while dancing she never took the mask off and he still could not see her face. He wondered if this might be his chance to introduce himself.  Perhaps he could at least ask Jean’s friend what the lady’s name was.

“Lucien?  Lucien!”

Lucien snapped out of his thoughts and turned to Joy with a forced smile.

“Since you clearly have other things on your mind then dancing, I’m going to powder my nose.”

Joy walked off in a huff, just as the song was ending.  Lucien stood watching the woman, considering his next move.  Should he cut in?  Try and pull her aside?  But to his relief the man and woman parted with a few words and she headed in his direction.

“Hello there!”

The woman stopped and regarded him carefully.  He cursed the elaborate mask she was wearing.  Was she smiling at him?  Frowning?  They were finally face to face and he could not muster up anything more witty than hello.  The scent of jasmine wafted around her and it was distracting. 

“Lovely evening.”

Lucien definitely detected crinkles around a pair of dazzling light green eyes.  She was smiling at him.

“Yes, yes it is, isn’t it?”

Lucien was struck by her voice.  It was high, yet warm and so very familiar.  The band stuck up another tune and Lucien started to ask her dance, but was interrupted.

“There you are, my dear.  I am ready for that dance now.”

The woman laughed, a rich, musical sound.  She took the hand Cec offered and turned away without another word.  Lucien thought to wait them out and try again, but the appearance of Joy scowling put an end to it.

“If it’s all the same to you I’d like to leave now, Lucien.”

Lucien hung his head.  He’d been a boor and he knew it.

“Yes, of course.”

It was a frosty ride back to Joy’s hotel.  When the evening started he had though it might end with an invite upstairs for a nightcap.  Instead she all but dumped him in the car, suggesting that they might take some time to think about what they wanted from each other.  Lucien know that “they” meant “him.”

By the time Lucien arrived home his head was pounding.  He had behaved himself all evening and was in need of a stiff drink.  He couldn’t help but think he’s lost two women that night, even though he didn't have the foggiest idea who the second one was.  He wondered how Cec got so lucky.  Lucien was surprised to find the house in complete silence.  He had expected to find Jean in her bathrobe and hairnet waiting up for him to hear all about the ball.  Instead the house felt empty.  Drink in hand, Lucien sat down on his bed and slowly divested himself of his tuxedo.  He was down to his slacks and vest when he heard the front door open and quickly shut, followed by the sound of feet padding carefully down the hall.  Lucien wondered who was up and about at such a late hour.  

Lucien stepped carefully out of his bedroom and looked around.  The house was still quiet, but there was a single peacock feather laying at the base of the stairs.  Lucien picked it up examined it closely.  A faint hint of jasmine sent his mind reeling. It didn’t make sense, but it was the only possibility.  The eyes, the voice, the feeling that they had met before, they all pointed to Jean.  Yet she had said nothing.  Cec had said nothing.  

At the top of the stairs, Lucien could see light spilling out from Jean’s bedroom.  He could make out the sound of Jean humming to herself.  The mystery woman in green who had enchanted him all night might be at the top of the stairs.  He might get to see her face after all.  Calling out her name softly, Lucien ascended the stairs, letting the feather fall to the ground behind him.

[locthaicpa]

Marseille | France - Top-rated Tourist Attractions

Marseille, a port city in southern France, has been a crossroads of immigration and trade since its founding by the Greeks circa 600 B.C. Travelers visit the port city of Marseille, the third largest city in France, for the meeting of style and history.

Marseille is the  "oldest city in France"  and indeed one of the oldest in western Europe. The city was founded as Massalia in around 600 BC, and soon developed into an important port in the ancient Greek world. For the Greeks, and later for the Romans, it was a major point of transition and trade between the civilisations of the Mediterranean, and those of Gaul and northwest Europe.

What is Marseille in France famous for? Marseille is famous all over the world for its Bouillabaisse. Go to the bouillabaisse. The famous fish soup of Marseille jumped on the shark. Aggressive marketing has pushed up its cost to 60-100 euros.

Is Marseille France worth visiting? Marseilles is the second largest city in France, and one of the biggest port-cities in the Mediterranean. ... That said, it's a city worth visiting as it's not as famous as Paris, but there are still many beautiful and unforgettable places to see.

Is Marseille, France safe to visit? OVERALL RISK : MEDIUM. The police are doing its best to protect both the citizens, and tourists in Marseille, and it is highly-effective, But tourists still might be a target for pickpockets on the city's streets. It is a safe city with certain parts to be avoided.

 Rather in the same way as Genoa or Naples, Marseilles' importance as a port, rather hindered its development as a tourist destination; and while other Mediterranean ports like Barcelona, and Valencia began to develop their tourism in the 1970's, Marseilles  did not. Its port was too important. But more recently, Marseilles has managed maintain its status, as one of the most important ports on the Mediterranean, and develop as a tourist destination at the same time.

How expensive is Marseille? You should plan to spend around €91 , ($106), per day on your vacation in Marseille, Which is the average daily price based on the expenses of other visitors. Past travelers have spent, on average, €21 ,($25), on meals for one day and €25 ,($30), on local transportation.

How dangerous is Marseille? Having said that, we can't say that Marseille is a totally safe city, where you can walk around everywhere without any risks… Indeed, it is unfortunately well known for its trafficking, of all kinds, (prostitution, drugs, weapons), and for its high crime rate.

How many days should I spend in Marseille? For a solid itinerary, we recommend at least two to three days, so you can explore the city's famous port, its diverse neighborhoods, and the delicious food scene. Tack on more time for Marseille's ancient sites, and modern museums, with possible day-trips to the Provençal countryside or Mediterranean coast.

What are the dangerous areas of Marseille? If it is possible, you should avoid certain areas in Marseille, like the northern districts. These areas, like the 13th, 14th, 15th, and 16th arrondissement, are dangerous. The Bellevue on Felix Pyat in the 3rd arrondissement, and the Hauts de Mazargues in the 9th arrondissement are particularly notorious.

Is it expensive to live in Marseille? Summary about cost of living in Marseille, France: Four-person family monthly costs: 3,339.95$ , (2,869.27€), without rent, (using our estimator). A single person monthly costs: 917.35$ ,(788.08€), without rent. Cost of living index in Marseille is 23.07% , lower than in New York.

How cold does it get in Marseille? In Marseille, the summers are short, warm, dry, and mostly clear, and the winters are long, cold, windy, and partly cloudy. Over the course of the year, the temperature typically varies from 39°F to 84°F , and is rarely below 30°F or above 90°F.

Is Marseille a good place to live? Marseille, France, is among the top cities with a free business environment. Our data reflects that this city has a good ranking in housing, and healthcare.

Do the French eat croissants everyday? Do as the French do, and get a great croissant. Although there are patisseries on every street corner, and pastry is one of the things that the French do best, They tend to be more of a once, or twice a week treat rather than an everyday item. Most Parisians are too health conscious to eat pain au chocolat every day.

How long is the train ride from Barcelona to Marseille? 10 hours, and 19 minutes. The average journey time by train between Barcelona, and Marseille is 10 hours and 19 minutes, with around 7 trains per day.

Do they speak English in Marseille? In Marseille – People, who deal with tourists will speak English, – hotels, restaurants, attractions, and places like the Vieux Port, Cours Julien, and La Canebière. Elsewhere English proficiency tends to be more basic, so having some French phrases will really help here.

How much is a taxi from Marseille, airport to Marseille? When traveling from Marseille airport, to the city centre, you have three options, bus, taxi or train. A taxi costs 50€ in the day,  and 60€ at night, and takes 30 minutes to reach the centre. A bus will cost you 8.30€ one-way, and your journey will take around 30 minutes.

How long is the train ride from Paris, to Marseille? 4 hours, and 18 minutes. The average journey time by train between Paris, and Marseille is 4 hours, and 18 minutes, with around 19 trains per day.

Should you tip in France? Think of it as a gesture, not an obligation. Once again, it's not necessary, but is appreciated for good service. There are no rules about tipping in France. In nicer restaurants, such as 3-star tables, where the service is exemplary, a tip of €20 is fine to leave.

What is special about Marseille, soap? Thanks to its “extra pure” vegetable composition, Marseille soap is highly recommended for greasy, or acne-prone skins. It can be used for deep-down cleansing, and controls sebum. What's more, it makes so much lather, that it can even be used as shaving foam. It cleanses the skin, and prevents ingrown hairs.

Does it snow in Marseille, France? Much like in Avignon to the north, winter properly arrives in Marseille in December. Although the city rarely sees snowfall, it does experience cool temperatures, ranging from an average of 4°C at night, to 12°C on average in the afternoon, which continue to become chillier into the New Year.

Where is the best place to live in France? The Best Place To Live In France: The Verdict.

   Paris: Best for nightlife...    Brittany: Best for its affordability...    Lyon: Best for food and drink...    Montpellier: Best for families...    Luberon: Best for countryside...    Dordogne: Best for retirement...    Provence: Best for beaches.

Is Marseille The oldest city in France? Founded in 600 BC by the Greeks from Phocaea, Marseille is the oldest city in France, and the second largest after Paris.

Why do French drink coffee out of abowls? Practically speaking, there are advantages, too. A bowl is (generally) bigger, which means more coffee, and easier dipping for your croissant. Not to mention, drinking your coffee from a bowl also negates the need for those mugs.

What is the most important meal of the day in France? Lunch. Essentially, it comes down to this: Lunch is the most important meal of the day for the French. Even serious corporate businesses often look the other way, if employees take more than an hour at lunch. For the French, lunch is that big meal that's supposed to get you through the day.

How do I get from Paris to Marseille? It takes an average of 3h 59m to travel from Marseille, to Paris by train, over a distance of around 410 miles, (660 km). There are normally 19 trains per day, travelling from Marseille to Paris, and tickets for this journey start from $23.30 when you book in advance.

Is there Uber in Marseille, France? Uber is available at Marseille Airport, so you can enjoy a convenient, and comfortable trip to wherever you need to go. ... Uber prices to, and from Marseille Airport may be affected by time, traffic, and other factors. Check the Uber price estimator in the Uber app for approximate trip prices.

Why do you only tip 6 percent in France? Why don't we tip the same way in France, as we do in America then? In France, waiters are paid a living wage. That means that they don't depend on tips to supplement their salary, like waiters do in the US.

Do French restaurants include tip? Unlike in America, cafes and restaurants in Paris, and the rest of France include a 15 percent service charge in the check, which is required by French law. The words service compris indicate that, the tip has already been included, so take a good look at the bill when it arrives.

Can I just move to France? Yes, as with anything administrative in France, moving here as an American involves a lot of paperwork. However, those wanting just a taste of France won't need a visa, if the trip is for fewer than 90 days, (unless you're a diplomat, or a journalist). All you need is a passport that's valid for at least three months.

Which is the richest city in Europe? Luxembourg, the capital city of the small European nation of the same name, was named as the richest metropolis in Europe. The city is the richest city in Europe in terms of GDP per capita, according to the study.

The city of Marseille was created in the 6th century BC, when Greek explorers met with the local tribes, in the north bank of today´s Vieux port, and decided to settle taking advantage of the natural conditions to stablish a port. The colonist from Phocaea named the new town Massalia. Later on, in the year 49 BC, Caesar conquered the city in the expansion of the roman empire. The name changed to Massilia, and the economic activities focused on the port continued to expand.

Nowadays the city of Marseille is the second, urban agglomeration in France, after Paris. It has a population of 850 thousand inhabitants, and almost 1,8 million in the metropolitan area. The port still plays an important role in the economy, and the labor market. The city has stablish itself as an important tourism destination, and is integrated in the PACA region, (Provence, Alpes and Cote d´Azur), which is one of the most attractive regions for tourism, and leisure activities. The physical geography is typical from this part of the Mediterranean, with an accidental topography, including mountains entering directly into the water with very few flat area.

Marseille, the oldest city of France, overflows with cultural, architectural, and artistic treasures to discover. It is a tourist destination particularly appreciated by the French, and foreigners. Between tradition and modernity, the city of Marseille is waiting for you. From the Vieux Port (Old Port), to the Calanques (rocky inlets), by way of the Panier district, and the Corniche facing the sea, you will certainly be amazed by the beauty of the cosmopolitan city. Beyond the game of Pétanque, and its football club Olympique de Marseille (OM), Marseille reveals itself behind its emblematic monuments, such as the Château d’If, Les Docks, the Palais de la Bourse, the Fort Saint Jean fortification, Notre-Dame de la Garde, the Palais Longchamp, the Marseille Cathedral of la Major to name just a few.

European Capital of Culture in 2013, Marseille aims to be a destination of choice for art, and culture enthusiasts. Still in 2013, Marseille inaugurated the MuCEM, a museum dedicated to the Mediterranean civilizations of the 21st century. It is today one of the most visited museums. In the historic center of the city, you can also go to La Vieille Charité. There, you will find many cultural structures: the Mediterranean archaeology museum, the African, Oceanic, and Native American art museum (MAAOA), but also a cinema, a bookshop…

While exploring the city, alone or with a guide, immerse yourself in the local culture, and discover the traditions of Marseille. Relax on the terrace of a restaurant, under the southern sun, to taste Marseille’s cuisine. Let yourself be tempted by the bouillabaisse, a fish specialty, or by the pieds paquets, the panisses, etc. If you were to bring back only one souvenir of Marseille, no doubt you would choose the famous soap. Particularly effective, and renowned, it can be used to clean skin, hair, clothes, floors, walls… Ideally located, the Bouches-du-Rhône prefecture, in the Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur region, is a starting point for various tourist destinations accessible by train, plane and boat.

Shop at La Canebière. This famous avenue is the wealthy shopping heart of Marseille. It’s sometimes compared to The Champs Elysees in Paris, where luxury brands alternate with cafes and restaurants. This wide street starts from Le Vieux Port, and stretches all the way to the Capucin neighborhood. La Canebiere is not as glamorous as it used to be, but is still one of the most important streets of Marseille, and was featured in the movie French Connection 2.

Try the most famous Bouillabaisse soup. Bouillabaisse is Marseille’s most famous dish, and the way they serve it here is surprisingly different from what you may have seen outside the Provence region. Here, the broth is served separately from the fish, and the stew is made with 3 local, bony fish that originally could not be sold at the market. Many restaurants around the old harbor serve it the traditional way, but don’t be surprised if it’s not as cheap as you may think.

End the day at La Caravelle in the old harbor. End the day at the harbor where you started it, with a traditional anise-flavored spirit from the south of France called Pastis. A great place to conclude your exploration of Marseille, is by relaxing on the terrace of La Caravelle, with a view of the Vieux Port, and the illuminated basilica of Notre Dame de la Garde. The bar also hosts jazz concerts 3 times a week.

Corrupt, dangerous and brutal to its poor – but is Marseille the future of France? The truth is Marseille is the one city, that possesses the dynamism the rest of France seems to have misplaced. Mémain rhapsodises: “When my friends from Paris, and Bordeaux take the bus here, they start crying. C’est la force! Of hearing people struggling to survive, – it’s drama, it’s magnificent theatre. And it’s free. In that sharp light, you understand nothing, but you’re dazzled by everything. It’s very, very beautiful, and the political project is always to shatter this beauty. It’s appalling.”

Marseille is the place for people, that are not afraid to discover a real place, with real people. From colourful markets, (like Noailles market), that will make you feel like you are in Africa, to the Calanques, (a natural area of big cliffs falling into the sea. - Calanque means fjord), from the Panier area, (the oldest place of the town, and historically the place where newcomers installed), to the Vieux-Port, (old harbor), and the Corniche (a road along the sea), Marseille has much to offer.

Marseille-Provence International Airport is located about 30 km from Marseille. Buses, taxis, and a train connect in less than 30 minutes. Shuttle services from other European cities, have made more places available from Marseille. Airport buses go directly from the airport to the train station, (Gare de Marseille-Saint-Charles), and from train station to airport, every 15 minutes, for the cost of €10, (or €16 for a return ticket).

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Which drafted him in the ninth round that year

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