#the panels that launched a thousand fics...!

[everydaydenki]

[scraplette]

Omg OK so went to TFNation (great time 20/10) got to catch up with @decepti-geek and @decepticonsensual which is always wonderful and miss them already. DC gifted me with a fabulous fic just left me gobsmacked. DC really is a master for their craft.

Talked about some great AUs with Decepti-geek. I'm always awestruck by how much thought and care they put into their AUs.

Tabled with Rheic (my working account is @CraftyScraplet if you want to have a look) and that is always a wonderful experience. I'll post more about it on my other account.

The thing that left my brain buzzing is how MTMTE/LL would've continued if it hadn't been cancled. I went to the Lost Plots panel and I'm reeling. Bless my friends for asking if I was OK cos it did feel like an actual wtf moment.

(I'm kinda just all stream of conscious at the moment because I can't think of a clearer way to get my thoughts across. I'm so sorry)

The ending for mtmte/LL always sat a bit oddly with me. Rung is my favourite, and while I was disappointed at his death I had sort of been prepared for it. I'd made my peace.

What left a bitter taste was his final wish(don't forget me) and everyone failing horribly at that(YOU HAD ONE JOB) that hurt.

What Roberts had planned was going on a new quest to find Rung...

(from what I remember it involved Rung leaving a key or clue to finding him and the crew would've started to remember him)

I'm gutted. Just arrrgh what could've been! May this info launch a thousand AUs! I've bought the new notebooks he released so maybe there is more info but just that info at the panel left my brain buzzing for the rest of the day.

[ktwritesstuff]

The Professor (Pedro Pascal smut inspired by SNL)

Title: The Professor Fandom: RPF: Pedro Pascal, Hot for teacher AU Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Pedro Pascal (professor of Latin American Studies) x Reader (bedraggled PhD candidate) Word Count: ~2000 Summary: As if that SNL skit wasn't going to launch a thousand smut fics... As always, lovingly beta-read by @bs-fangirl. Additional notes below the cut.

Notes: This is my first "real person fic," may God have mercy on my soul. Additionally, my Spanish is virtually non-existent; I've relied heavily on Google Translate and asking my coworkers questions on the sly, my apologies for any errors! As we all know, this is not a story about actual human Pedro Pascal, but the fictionalized version which lives rent free in our heads. And as proper fan girl culture dictates, we keep this shit locked down. But just in case:

This note is for actual human Pedro Pascal and Pedro Pascal only. I don't know why you would click "Read More" on a post clearly labeled "Pedro Pascal, Hot for teacher AU" but if you have, I beg of you LOOK AWAY, SIR. LOOK AWAY. If you choose to proceed, I will not be responsible for any trauma you may suffer as a result. Thank you.

For everyone else, I give you:

The Professor

Professor Pedro Pascal was the head of the Latin American Studies department at your small college.  You had never been in his classes as an undergrad–Latin American Fiction and Poetry, and a special seminar on the Magical Realism of Isabel Allende–but it was well known around campus that his family had fled Pinochet when he was a child, which granted him unsurprising street cred among your communist-leaning circle of friends.  He had been appointed the interim director of the campus’s Literary Center–after his predecessor was ousted for exposing himself in a virtual meeting. 

As the Center’s Graduate Assistant Director, it meant although he wasn’t technically your boss, you were suddenly spending an annoying amount of time working around the throngs of freshman girls who flocked to his office hours.  You couldn’t really blame them.  He was, if not an outright heartthrob, a reasonably good-looking college professor.  A strong face, with a short, rugged beard, a striking Roman nose, and deep brown eyes with the most charming crow's feet.  He had a lean physique, with a hint of softness at the belly, just this side of a “dad bod.”

His modest good looks combined with a cheerful disposition and a penchant for quoting the love poetry of Pablo Neruda were like catnip for liberal arts majors.  And although you were a card-carrying bra-burning feminist, you weren’t entirely immune.

“Professor,” his office door was open, but you knocked on the frame.  

Pedro looked up from the stack of resumes you had been sent to review before the selection panel for a new director.

“Coffee?”

“Mi angelita,” he sighed, rising from his desk to graciously accept the warm cup from your hands.  “What time is the first candidate arriving?”

“Noon,” you said.  “You, me, Dr. Monroe, the Provost, and Assistant Dean are sitting on the interview panel.”

Pedro looked at his watch.  

“Shit,” he sighed.  “I have Intro to Creative Writing at 9:30.”

“I’ll set up the conference room,” you said as he shoved his papers into his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder, still carrying the open mug as he raced down the stairs.  

“Thank you, Angel.  Thank you!”

It was a six month process to find a new director.  Six months of staring across the conference table, chewing on the end of your pen, pretending not to be affected by the way he leaned in when you spoke and stroked his thumb across his lower lip in concentration.  Or the obscene way he spread his legs in a comfortable chair while speaking with candidates in front of a panel of students.  

And having to do it all over again when your first choice–a student favorite–declined the position, to stay in New Jersey of all things.  You knew Pedro was relieved to have reached a conclusion; he didn’t care for the administrative duties or politics.  He wanted to teach, to be with his students.  You admired that about him, he appreciated your organizational skills (and the fact that when you made coffee it counted as a meal.)  You worked well together, but now that was coming to an end. 

It was past 9pm and you had already closed up the Literary Center for the night, but Pedro was still in his office, reviewing students’ papers.

“I’m done for the night, Professor,” you said.  “Is there anything I can do to help you get out of here?”

“That depends,” he said, with a wry smile that had you convinced he was only half-kidding.  “How’s your Spanish?”

“Hmm,” you said, stepping into the light of the desk lamp.  “¿Dónde está la biblioteca? ¿Como estas?  Bien, gracias.  ¡Qué lluvia!  And that’s all I’ve got.”

Pedro chuckled.  “I’ve heard worse.”

“That and un tequila, por favor.”

“Tequila,” Pedro repeated, intrigued. He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a bottle of Patron.  “That I can help you with.”

Your mouth fell open in surprise.

“Professor,” you deadpanned.  “I don’t know if you knew this, but alcohol is not permitted in academic buildings.”

"Lucky for me," he said, picking up the bottle. "I have tenure."

You laughed and Pedro laughed; you offered to run downstairs to retrieve a pair of glasses and a salt shaker from the kitchen while he finished grading papers in record speed.

“I worry about these kids,” Pedro said, three shots deep.  “I do!  The moment they hear something the least bit troubling, they refuse to engage with the material.  Our world exists in shades of gray.  They want things to be ideologically pure, when what they need is to learn to discern.  To question.  To decide!”

“I understand what you’re saying, Professor,” you said. 

“Pedro, please,” he interrupted you.  “Pedro.”  

“Pedro,” you repeated.  “I agree, but there’s no reason we need to elevate and spotlight the same tired canon of bigots, abusers, and dead white men year after year when there is so much more out there.”

Pedro downed another shot and pointed an accusing finger at you.  

“Look who’s talking,” he said.  “Your PhD is in Shakespeare Studies!”

“I know,” you laughed, pouring yourself another glass.   “I know, I’m a terrible person.”

“You are not,” he said, suddenly serious.  “You have an incredible mind and the most beautiful way of looking at the world.”

You felt languid and relaxed and warm.  You liked the way Pedro looked at you.  There was something undeniably romantic about getting drunk in the richly furnished office, with its leather armchairs and oak bookshelves, debating the merits of Nietzsche and bell hooks.   

“Okay,” you broke the silence.  “Okay, here’s a fun fact you can pass along to your successor.  There are 3 prints signed by Allen Ginsberg in this building, and you can see them all from this desk.”  

“There’s the one on the wall,” Pedro said, pointing to the framed portrait hanging above the bookshelf.  

“Yes,” you said, rising from your chair and moving to the other side of the desk.  “And there in the hallway, on the right, that's an excerpt from "Howl" they set in the printshop downstairs.”

You perched on the arm of his chair to get closer to his eye-level, pointing through the open door.  You slipped, nearly falling into his lap and he placed a hand on your back to steady you.  He smelled amazing, like old leather and warm spices.  

“And there, in the stairwell, you can just make out the top of his head on that linotype,” you explained.  “Do you see it?”

“I do.”

When you turned your head, Pedro was looking at you.  Perhaps it was the tequila, but you were almost certain he was staring at your lips, his eyes heavily lidded, smiling lazily.

“You look tired,” you warned.  You should have gotten up to leave, but you didn’t want to.  You didn’t want this warm, lovely feeling to ever end.  

“Just thinking,” he said.

“About what?” 

“Kissing you,” he said.  

You were almost surprised; you had spent so much time trying to convince yourself that your semester-long flirtation was a one-sided puppy crush.  You had been so busy with your research and recruiting and planning, you had forgotten somewhere along the way that you were a stone cold fox with tits and ass for days and enough sex appeal to blow the top off Mount St. Helens.

“You can,” you said, turning your body toward him.  “I don’t mind.” 

“I shouldn’t.”

“Fine then,” you turned to stand.

Pedro seized you by the waist, pulling you back into his lap and into a long, slow kiss.  His lips were surprisingly soft and his mouth tasted like salt and lime as his tongue brushed into yours with careful, confident strokes.  

“That was nice,” your eyes fluttered open as Pedro finally pulled away.  “You’re a good kisser.”

“You, too,” Pedro said.  “Again?”

You tilted your chin, touching the point on your neck, just below your ear.  As Pedro leaned in, working the beginnings of a hickey into your neck, you guided his hands from your waist to your breasts.  You pressed against him, moving to straddle his thigh.

“More?” Pedro asked.

“Yes,” you panted. You braced yourself on the back of the chair, one hand on either side of his head, grinding against his leg, feeling hot and wet as he kneaded your breasts with reverent appreciation.

“Mi amor,” he breathed.

“Pedro,” you held his face, nipping at his bottom lip.  

“Dime, lo qué quieres.”

“Fuck.”  His accent went straight to your cunt.  You ran one hand up his thigh, groping at the crotch of his chinos. 

Pedro let out an obscene moan and hoisted you up onto his desk.  He slid his hands up your thighs, fingers slipping into your panties.  He ran his fingertips through your folds, tracing circles around the swollen nub of your clit with an absolute shit-eating grin.

“Qué lluvia.”

You howled with laughter.  “I know that one!  I know that one!” 

“A huevo.”   

Pedro rose from his chair, bunching your dress up around your waist.  You pulled his shirt free from the waistband of his pants, running your hands up the warm skin of his back.  

“Want you,” you sighed.  “Want you inside me.”         

“Whatever you want, Angelita.”  

Pedro pulled your underwear down to your ankles, pausing to retrieve a condom from the wallet in his back pocket, like an over-eager undergrad, pulling down his pants to roll it on.  He pressed the head of his cock against your clit.  You grabbed him by the ass, wrapping your legs around him to guide him into you.  

Pedro flicked his hips into you with short, quick strokes, sending jolts of energy through your core.

“More,” you pleaded breathlessly.  “Deeper.”

Pedro lifted your ankles onto his shoulders, pressing into you long and slow until you could feel him bumping against your cervix.  You gasped, reaching behind you, scrambling for leverage, knocking the computer monitor off the desk.

“Oh no!” You turned, trying to catch it before it crashed to the floor.

“It’s okay!” Pedro said, taking your face in his hands to guide your gaze back to his eyes.  “It’s a shitty computer.  It’s fine.”

You moaned, letting your head fall back, grabbing for his chest with one hand as he fucked you.

“So soft,” he moaned against your ear.  “So fucking good for me, Angel.”  

“Give me your hand,” you said, guiding his fingers back to your clit.  “Up and down, right there.  Oh God.”  

You grabbed Pedro’s shoulder to brace yourself.  

“I’m close,” he warned.

“Not yet,” you pleaded.  “Just a little more.”  

You could feel your own climax building inside you.  You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.  

“Oh God!”

Pedro came inside you with a gasp as your inner walls clenched around him.  He slowly withdrew, supporting your legs, and easing you onto your back, scattering papers and pens onto the floor.  He kissed your neck and your breasts as his hands explored the curves of your body. 

You woke the next morning on the couch in Pedro’s office.  You were lying on top of him; your head on his chest.  He had his arms around you, your head was pounding as you squinted into the daylight.

“We got fucked up last night?” you said.

“Yup.”  

“It was nice."

"It was," Pedro agreed, kissing the top of your head as you blinked sleep from your eyes. 

"What time is it?”

You grabbed his forearm, turning it so you could look at the face of his watch.  

“Oh shit,” you gasped.  “I have Freshman Seminar in half an hour.”

“I already missed my morning classes,” Pedro moaned, letting his head fall back against the armrest. 

“Do you want to explain to Dr. Monroe why I can’t teach her class?” you said, rising from the couch and searching the office floor for your underpants.

“No,” Pedro said.  “She scares me.”  

You pulled your underwear back on, finding your bag, you used the satin scarf tied around the handle to cover the love-bites blooming on your throat and chest.  You dabbed concealer under your eyes and added a fresh coat of red lipstick.  

“Would you like to have lunch together? Not at the Caf. Somewhere nice, like a date.” Pedro asked, sitting up.  He looked endearingly child-like with his bedhead and giant brown eyes.  

You paused, checking your reflection in your compact mirror.  

“Can we do that?” you asked.

“I don’t see why not,” he said.  “You were never my student and after this week we won’t even work together any more.”

“Oh,” you nodded.  “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“I’ll pack things up here and meet you after class.”  

You smiled.  “I’ll see you then.”   

[notasapleasure]

Only ever just one night

Andor (TV series), Cassian Andor/Brasso, M, post-season 1, hurt/comfort, FWB with a smidge of regretful angst. 5-6,000 words.

Sometime after season 1. No, I can't remember if they say where they're escaping to at the end of Rix Road, so I just landed everyone in a refugee camp on an unnamed planet.

Cassian's just left a bad job behind, and he needs the kind of rocksure familiarity and comfort that Luthen just doesn't deal in. He knows his handler will track him down, but for just one night he has to snatch hold of the most reliable love left to him.

Author's note: the hug that launched a thousand ships, take two! I kept seeing people talk about how Cass and Brasso have definitely hooked up at some point, and I agree wholeheartedly. I understand there is An Audience for E fic rather than M fic. If the brain worms persist then I'm sure that can be arranged.

"I love him more than anything he could ever do wrong"

- Brasso, quoting Maarva Andor.

Midnight is getting nearer

I see you clearer

Now that you’re gone

The smoke towers rise all in a row

Shifting in the afterglow

I see the light I hear the sound

But I’m always on the wrong side of town

(John Boden - Wrong Side of Town)

---

There isn't really a knock at the make-shift door. More a scuffing of barked knuckles against durasteel, a quiet sigh that seems weighty enough to push the metal sheet aside. Two stumbling, shuffling steps in the dirt -

Brasso's on his feet beside his cot. He's unarmed, but most of the opportunistic thieves the refugee camp harbours don't need more than a quick look at him - and his empty shack - to know it isn't worth it. Still, he's tired, it's kriffing late, and his boiler suit hangs around his waist, half-undone in readiness for sleep, leaving his chest and arms chilled in nothing but a vest.

He holds his breath, a weary retort on his tongue ready for launch - and then he sees half of a shadow appear in the gap between durasteel panels. It's only a shoulder, a bowed head, one leg shaking with effort, one hand clutching the metal for support, but Brasso knows that half-shadow like he knows how to find the flaws in salvaged Beskar. He'd know any fraction of that shadow, and he doesn't hesitate to rush forwards now, his arms opening to catch his guest.

Cassian is shivering and doesn't even look up as he tumbles into Brasso's hold. He buries his face against vest and skin and Brasso feels the cool, damp air of night on Cassian's face and hair and clothes.

"Cass..." the syllable is squeezed from Brasso's lungs by the grip around his body. Cassian may be the worse for wear, but his strength hasn't ebbed. Brasso never could work out where he stored it all in that wirey little frame, but once again, just as it always was, he feels like he's caught in a vice when he's in Cassian's arms - his heart aches and breathing has become difficult.

"I shouldn't be here," Cassian says softly. His head is still pressed to Brasso's chest and his words tickle in the hairs of Brasso's body.

"No..." Brasso agrees. "You should have been on that transport with us. Where did you go?"

Cassian's hands are locked together behind Brasso's shoulders, desperate, honest in a way the rest of him so rarely is. He shifts at last, raising his chin above Brasso's shoulder and leaning his head into Brasso's as he sighs again. "I..." his throat moves against Brasso's collarbone. "I had a debt to pay. I can't stay long. I have to go back."

There's gravel in his voice, it's sandblasted and wind-beaten. The soft Kenari accent - Brasso's known for years it wasn't Festian, and Cass has probably forgotten the time he told him that story - is more pronounced, the way it is when he's tired or hurt or afraid. Brasso tightens his own hold and massages the neck of Cassian's jacket with his big hand. He leans back against Cassian's head, breathes in the familiar and the unfamiliar - there's a smell about a person's hair that's just them, no matter what ointments or perfumes they use after the sonic shower, no matter the remnants of the forge or the scrapyard caught in it. But mingled with that scent, the scent of Brasso's dear friend, there's something sinister. It reminds him of ozone and blood, of the strange sterile odour of fresh-laundered Imperial uniforms.

"You should stay," Brasso says automatically, emphatically, though he understands that Cassian won't. Can't. If he was here to stay, Brasso would have known it already.

Cassian lets out a dry laugh and his body judders in Brasso's arms, so Brasso has an illusory moment of victory, where it feels like he's able to squeeze Cass even closer. "I've brought you guys enough trouble," Cassian murmurs. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come."

"Cass..." Brasso repeats his name with all the gentleness he knows and tries to pry their bodies apart, to get a good look at his friend in the dim glow of the camp light.

It's like trying to get into a clamfruit with his bare hands - Cassian just clings to him for dear life. Whatever he says about the fact he shouldn't have come, he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to leave.

The ache in Brasso's heart is starting to feel like something piercing now, starting to spread through him and mutate into something as near to panic as he's ever felt. What's he worried about? Where Cass has been? Why he's back? What Brasso's going to feel all over again while he's here? He's trapped in Cassian's arms and he can't do anything except hold onto him just as tightly in return.

"Cass, Bix is just next door. Bee is with her. You should see how well she's doing. They're both doing. Wilmon's been helping, he's found a way to juice Bee's charger -" he's babbling and he knows it. Too long like this and he always starts to feel out of his depth, ready to do any rash thing he needs to do to keep Cass with him, to keep him close and talking and to get him to smile up at Brasso with that guarded, mischievous twinkle in his eyes. This is all too much, when - before tonight - Brasso had so little hope of ever seeing him again. But this is how it always is with Cass - he materialises from the dark night when he needs Brasso, and disappears again before he can admit to it.

"Come on Cass, Bix'll want to see you. She'll want to thank you," he tries to extricate himself from the hug once more, and this time Cassian allows him a measure of success.

Cassian steps back a little and looks up at Brasso: ever the thin-lipped, wary-eyed boy, his face gaunt with shadows. He blinks and the shutters he wears over his feelings seem to fall open for a breath - Brasso sees the longing, the thirst for company and for friendship, for love and connection. He also sees the red in his eyes and the blood at his hairline; the bruised cheekbone and the high collar that doesn't quite hide further damage.

"I can't," Cassian murmurs. He holds Brasso's gaze, and all the words they've never needed to say out loud underscore his point. "I don't want to...remind her. Especially if she's doing well."

"Remind her?" Brasso feels the words between his teeth, wavering with horror and protectiveness. One hand is still on Cassian's arm and it grips Cass with contrary force - though Brasso swears his brain is trying to send it signals to let go.

Cassian's lips all but disappear in his grimace.

"What have they done to you? Who did this?" Brasso jogs him a little by that one arm. He doesn't know what he'd do with an honest answer, but he knows he's got to ask nonetheless.

Cassian shakes his head - that funny, rolling movement of his neck where it's like he's nodding and saying no all at once. "Can't..." he begins.

Brasso dips his chin and raises his brows. "Can't tell me? Ok. What can I do?"

Cassian's mouth moves again, a puckered argument between emotions tying up his words. "I know he's going to find me here. It won't take him long," he says hoarsely.

"No Cass, we'll hide you, we'll -"

What else is Brasso meant to say? He's no idea what this is about - the same trouble as before? It's more trouble than a few Ferrixian refugees can do anything about. But he's got to offer anyway.

"No. He'll come and I'll go with him. He won't touch the rest of you. But I just...before I go back, I just wanted to remember what it was like," his voice has gone even quieter.

Brasso frowns kindly at him. His thumb moves reassuringly over Cass's shoulder, his fingers grip his arm and offer strength. "What's that, then?"

Cassian snorts again, no humour in it. But there's that glint in his dark eyes that Brasso's been dreaming about, and his vibroblade-sharp mouth quirks up at the corner. "You remember the nights Maarva and I would row."

The pain in Brasso's heart has become a burning furnace, a roaring white heat inside him. He stares down into Cass's rich brown eyes and gives a brave nod. "I remember. Remember the night Bix kicked you out. And the other one, what's her name -"

"Yeah," Cassian licks his lips nervously and finally breaks Brasso's gaze. "Yeah, that too."

"I'm here, Cass. What do you need?"

Brasso hears his own voice too loud in his ears, too gruff, too ruffled by emotion. His cheeks feel hot, so does the skin above the neckline of his vest.

"Just one night," Cassian says hollowly. He blinks up at Brasso, his eyes unexpectedly glassy.

Brasso merely nods - it's only ever just one night. The first time it happened he believed those words and afterwards, ablaze with memories of that one night, he had come to regret agreeing to it - he'd burned through the long sleepless hours between the first time and the second, convinced that he'd just learned what it was he truly wanted only to be denied any repeat of it. Then there had been a second 'just one night'. A third. Brasso had begun to understand that just one night actually meant something else when Cassian said it. It meant I trust you. I need you too much to ruin it by staying longer. I'll be back. I'll always need to come back.

Brasso brings him close again and Cassian sighs in his hold. They lean their cheeks together and Brasso closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on what he remembers of Cassian from before the job that changed it all: his tense, slim body and his silken hair, the urgency with which he cleaves to Brasso. Not the lingering damage that's been done to him, not the sense that there's some kind of...ownership there never used to be, tugging like a leash round Cass's neck the whole time.

Gently, slowly, Brasso leads him to the bedside and by the glow of the lamp he peels Cass's greatcoat back from his shoulders.

Cass winces but shrugs the heavy, dark cloth back. Here, Brasso can see the waxy darkness beneath his eyes, the subcutaneous blood in the bruises on his hands.

Cass doesn't want to remind Bix of what she went through. Torture. Brasso names it in his mind. That's what she went through and that's what's been done to Cass, too.

Brasso is hot as a forge with anger - if he had the people who did this within reach he's confident he could break them apart with his own two hands.

Cass knows it too and doesn't meet Brasso's eyes as he tugs at the fastenings of his tunic. He flinches and takes a sudden gasp of air when Brasso's patience gives in and he reaches for Cass, taking his biceps in his big hands, bending intently to look in his eyes before he kisses him.

There's no hesitation or surprise in Cass's response - this is what he came for. He's silent, but he leans back into the kiss, all sharpness gone from his lips, tension fading selectively from his muscles.

His fists press against Brasso's chest and then his fingers twine round the straps of his vest. The fabric just stretches when Cass tries to pull Brasso near by it, so Cass has to step into him again, craning up into the kiss, his mouth open, his urgent breath the only sound he makes.

Brasso's not as good at being quiet - never has been, not under these circumstances. He draws Cass into his arms and murmurs sounds of appreciation at the feel of their bodies warming up together. He's firm but gentle with his hands, conscious of the bruising he saw hints of, needing, even so, to let Cass know how much he's loved and wanted.

And he is so very loved.

Brasso's known there's no other word for it since the beginning, really. There's never been anyone else like Cass in his life - anyone he could communicate wordlessly with, anyone he could repeatedly offer everything to, and know that they'd never abuse that offer. He knows Cass has no one else like him either, no one else who can do this and ask no more of him.

They don't speak now - there's nothing to say. When the rest of Cass's injuries are laid bare, Brasso runs delicate fingertips over the bruises, his expression heartbroken. Cass just lifts his hand away, kisses the palm, and replaces Brasso's touch elsewhere on his body. They carry on as before, and Brasso tries, once more, to think of what hasn't changed instead of what has.

Cass still kisses like it's his last night in the universe - fierce and hungry, his beard catching in Brasso's stubble, his moustache tickling his nose. He's still scrawny and still strong - a stitch cracks in protest when he tugs on Brasso's vest again and Brasso lets out a grunt of surprise at the force with which Cass's hand on his arse pulls him close. His fingers are clever, rubbing circles in the hollows of Brasso's spine, in the thick hair at the nape of his neck.

Cass steps back and squirms his arms free of his dark tunic. He holds Brasso's gaze, daring him to look away, to go searching his body for the damage that's been done to it.

Brasso just clenches his jaw, presses his lips together, and waits. Lets Cassian unbutton his own trousers, kick off his own boots, finish this striptease as quickly as he can. Cass's legs shake a little again when he has to put his whole weight on one and then the other.

Cass knows Brasso can see this weakness; he knows Brasso would sweep him off his feet if Cass's pride allowed it.

Brasso's too familiar with this routine to try it - Cass's guard comes down when Cass allows it to, and no sooner. They'll get to that point. Brasso presses his lips together and runs his tongue over them in anticipation of it. For now, he allows himself the softest touch on Cassian's arm, runs his fingers and palm against the grain of dark hairs, up past his elbow. Brasso encourages Cass to come back to him and Cass does, his expression still a mask, still a warning against any attempts to breach his defenses.

Brasso knows that'll change. That's another memory he can bring up: Cass at peace, happy in his arms. Brasso kisses him again, tasting blood and the staleness of deprivation - hunger, thirst, asphyxiation. He's going to kiss him until those flavours are banished, he's going to kiss him until Cassian forgets how they - no point asking who they are, when it comes down to it there's only ever one answer to that - starved him and isolated him and...and whatever else they did. Brasso cups his chin in his hands and feels Cass's body lean into the kiss, into Brasso's hold, drawn in like a wreck in a tractor beam.

Cass's fingers work beneath the hem of Brasso's vest, into the warm waistline of his boiler suit. He pulls the cloth up and Brasso feels that momentary tremor of doubt at the exposure - can Cass really want this? Want him?

It might not be clear from his expression yet; his eyes are low, watching his hands work away at the last fastenings of Brasso's clothes. His mouth is pinched again, but his breathing has picked up speed. Brasso can see that skinny, bruised chest rise and fall in the dim light, can see the hue of Cass's cheeks and tight lips - even if he couldn't see the more obvious sign of Cass's arousal he'd still know.

Only when they're both naked does Cass really come close, really let Brasso hold him like they've both been longing for. Brasso's touch sweeps down Cass's back and then he grips him under the arse and lifts him into his arms. Cass comes eagerly, his tired legs wrapping round Brasso's hips. He squeezes Brasso's body until his exhausted muscles shake with the effort, but Brasso's got him, his slight form is weightless in Brasso's arms.

Cass leans down to kiss him, their heights reversed, Cass's fingers making a mess of Brasso's short, sensible haircut. Brasso can barely taste the blood in his mouth anymore and he makes another tender sound as he lays Cass down on his tiny bed.

The thaw is starting in earnest now - Cass knots his hands in Brasso's hair, leans up into their kisses, pulls at Brasso's lower lip with his teeth and breathes with a ragged sound deep in his throat.

Brasso's worried about his battered body and holds himself above Cass, propped up on his thick arms, his hips slotted neatly between Cass's, though he doesn't let himself push down on the body beneath him.

Eventually, Cass is forced to let out a hoarse whisper: "Closer. Come closer, Brasso..."

The sound of his name on Cass's lips is almost enough to make him obey, but Brasso squeezes his eyes shut and nuzzles Cass's nose between kisses. "I don't want to hurt you, Cass..."

"You won't hurt me." There's no hesitation. Brasso can hear the need in Cass's voice now and he opens his eyes to drink in the expression Cass is wearing. His whole face seems to soften when he's here in Brasso's bed - there's new colour in his warm brown eyes, his cheeks look fuller, there's even the rumour of a dimple by the corner of his mouth. "You won't hurt me," he repeats, smiling.

Ok then - Brasso nods, he knows he looks dazed, like someone's dropped a kriffing anvil on his head. It's always a surprise to him that Cass wants to be here, it's always a wonder.

Cass lies back and pulls Brasso down on top of him and even moans a little when Brasso kisses him and nestles down against Cass's hips. Then that's that - no more dithering for Brasso. He has the lube in a chest beneath the bed and he fishes for it one-handed as he rocks against Cass and Cass arches up into him.

He's as gentle as he can be to begin with and Cass is a whole other person in his arms - all sharp edges gone, all barriers lowered, all disguises dropped. His hands seem to be everywhere at once, covering the territory of Brasso's broad back, squeezing the flesh of his thighs and his flanks, urging him faster, harder, closer.

Gentleness comes naturally but so does the frenzy Cass drives him to - Brasso responds to the open palm that strikes his arse, to Cass's short nails scoring down his shoulder-blades, Cass's teeth on his lip, his earlobe, his jaw. Brasso's sweating like he's been welding parts all day, his blood is pumping faster than its done since the funeral, he can't taste any of the recent hurt on Cassian's mouth anymore - it's just him, stripped of pretence and others' expectations.

He tries to slip a hand between their bodies, to make sure Cass is really getting all the pleasure he deserves from this, but Cass pushes him arm aside. "I don't need it, just you. Just...keep going. Harder." His voice is rough as his beard against Brasso's ear, but he leans his cheek against Brasso's with tenderness even as their bodies move recklessly together.

Brasso used to wonder what Cass was punishing himself for when he asked him to go harder, used to worry that Cass fantasised about Brasso without the gentleness he'd cultivated and nurtured and wore with such dignity and pride. But somewhere along the way he'd realised it wasn't like that at all - it was about Cass's trust in him, about Cass needing Brasso to insist he deserved this love, about Cass feeling it, feeling good, because Brasso could scale his defenses and keep him in a place where he let himself feel it. And it's hard to deny that, for all his prided gentleness, it feels good to know he can push himself with Cassian, to enjoy his body's strength and power in a place that isn't the scrapyard. It makes him ecstatic - the only feeling that's come close was when he'd heeded Maarva's command and kicked that Imp in the chest, smacked that other one in the chops with Maarva's funerary brick. That had felt good. Satisfying. But it wasn't as satisfying as this - Brasso prefers to use his body's power to bring Cassian pleasure rather than to bring pain, even where it's justified.

Cass is silent as ever when he comes, his face in Brasso's neck, his hands clasped behind Brasso's back. He just shudders, his legs tangled round Brasso's body, soft but clinging determinedly to him.

Brasso tries - he always tries - to be as quiet as Cass, but a grunt of effort so easily becomes a whine of release, and he presses his mouth to Cassian's skin to try to stifle the sound. Cass is holding the back of his head and arching into him with a gasp and Brasso feels his own body tremble, feels himself turn to liquid in the heat of the forge, ready to be remade, ready to remake.

They kiss, they're in no hurry to move apart. Brasso rocks his hips gently against Cass and Cass strokes over the scratches on his back and the stinging red skin on his arse. They don't need words for this part either - they'll clean up when they're ready, and then they'll make this narrow cot as comfortable as they can.

This is how it started, Brasso recalls as Cass tucks the thin blanket around them and reaches out to switch the camp light off. He'd needed a place to go when he'd made a fuss at home - he hadn't been letting himself mourn Clem and Force knows, Maarva hadn't been coping well either. He'd needed tenderness, not judgement, kindness without a lecture. He'd needed to sleep without the aid of nog or anything else, and Brasso's big arms were where he found what he needed. It had only been in the morning, when he'd turned to face Brasso beneath the covers and they'd both been blindsided by desire, that this ritual of just one night had really begun.

Now Brasso feels the cold durasteel wall at his back, but Cass's body is warm and vital in his arms, fitting snugly with his shoulder blades to Brasso's chest. Brasso snuggles his face into Cass's soft hair and into the crook of his shoulder, breathes him in, and Cass holds Brasso's arms closed tight around his body.

By the time Brasso murmurs, "Sleep well, Cass," he realises Cass has already dropped off. His breathing is soft and his head is a dead weight on Brasso's bicep, but for now there's no sign of the trauma he must have fled to come here. He's at peace, and that means Brasso can relax too.

The camp is never really quiet, but you get used to the nighttime sounds fairly quickly - none of them interfere with Brasso's sleep anymore. So he's not really clear on what wakes him to the purple darkness of the shack, long before morning comes.

Cass is still there in his arms, still sleeping heavily. So heavily that Brasso's fingers have gone dead and the nerve endings in his arm are tingling in protest. Oh well. It's worth it, Brasso thinks, gazing blearily at the spot where the shadows suggest Cass's cheek is. He plants a gentle kiss there and only then notices that the durasteel sheet he uses as a door was never put back properly. It's not open much, but there's enough of a gap that he can see the cold glow from the distant airbase's flood lights.

His pulse spikes so suddenly and so violently that he's sure Cass will feel his heart like a hammer in his back, but Cass is asleep and doesn't notice the figure at the doorway. Brasso's arm is trapped and he has no weapons anyway - what does this pervert want?

Brasso can't see much - the man (he thinks) is a silhouette, with a scarf drawn up over the lower half of his face. He turns a little to glance down the street and when he does Brasso can see his eyes, and they make him shudder. A spy's eyes. Hooded and expressionless, coldly assessing. Like Cass's were before he came to Brasso's bed.

He swallows bravely and waits to make sure the man knows he's awake, knows he's seen him. Then he says, as quietly as he can, "He's coming back to you tomorrow. He told me he was going back."

The silhouette is still and silent, and Brasso can't see his response. Cass sleeps on, oblivious in a deep rest he rarely allows himself.

Finally: "I know," says the silhouette. "Tell him to come to landing pad 4R-1."

He leaves, and pulls the durasteel across as he goes.

Brasso can hear his blood rush and he begins to doubt himself - what if this man is the one who tortured Cassian? Whose game has Brasso just agreed to play? Scenarios he can't possibly predict run through his mind with futile urgency until he drops off into a shallow, uneasy sleep, and by the time he wakes again it's light and he still has no idea what to say about the figure at the door. It can't have been a dream because the durasteel has definitely been closed with more care than Cass had been capable of last night.

Cass is sitting on the bed, tousled and sleepy-looking. The blanket is drawn round his slight shoulders and he's holding a mug of kaf - in the one mug Brasso owns.

"Are you checking the locks?" Cass asks, amusement making his voice warm, that Kenari lisp now smooth and sweet, polished clean of exhaustion.

Brasso turns from the door and folds his arms. He's wearing his underclothes in a concession to the cold bite in the morning air, and he contemplates saying nothing about the man who was there in the night. Cass seems so carefree right now - his smile is mischievous and his eyes glitter with wit. Maybe Brasso should just let him sort his own affairs out - he comes to Brasso to get away from them, doesn't he? Not because he wants a messenger?

Brasso doesn't give himself a chance to take this thought seriously though - honesty is as crucial to their friendship as anything else Cass comes here for.

"There was someone here last night. I was awake and I saw them."

Cassian's expression clouds over immediately. "What do you mean?" he tries to keep his voice light, but Brasso can already see him rebuilding the walls, bricking himself back into the suspicious, uneasy persona that keeps him safe. "A thief?"

Brasso shakes his head. "One of yours, I think." Whatever 'yours' means.

Cassian's brows rise. His expression briefly echoes Brasso's unspoken aside, but then he tucks his chin inwards indignantly. "Excuse me?"

Brasso sighs. "You said he'd find you. I'm guessing that's what happened. But that's all it is, Cass - a guess. If you don't tell me -"

Cassian tilts his head and gives Brasso a look that says: really? But he doesn't stand or rush to get dressed and leave. He clutches the mug of kaf and frowns.

"What did you see? What did he say?"

Brasso describes what little he saw and what little the silhouette in the doorway said. He describes his voice and his accent, and Cass is already nodding at his kaf.

"That's him, yeah. He can wait a while this morning."

The response surprises Brasso, who finally returns to the bed and sits down next to Cass. Carefully, he reaches over and plucks the mug from Cass's fingers and turns it so he can hold the handle, each gesture gentle and measured. "Want to tell me who he is? What all this is about?" He takes a sip of kaf, trying to act casual about it all.

Cass sighs and leans into Brasso's arm, though he doesn't look at him. "No... it's better if you don't know. I work for him, that's all. He wants a report on the last job."

Brasso glances at him, takes in the indiscriminate bruising on his body. "Hm. The job that you got those from." There's no point making it a question.

Cass snorts and gives a rolling shake of his head. "Of course. It's ok, I did what he needed me to do. The debrief isn't time sensitive. That's why..." he chuckles again at his own expense and looks at his marked hands. "That's why I came. Sorry, Brasso. I know it's not fair."

This really sends a chill down Brasso's spine - he's not used to quite this level of honesty from Cass, definitely not on the morning after. He hesitates, studying the greasy black surface of the kaf, and then he hands it back to Cass and wraps an arm around his skinny shoulders. "Fair? Fark that, Cass. I'm just glad to know you're still alive," Brasso sighs - there was more truth in that than he'd intended, too. "And...and I just want to remind you that if you need help, any sort of help, us Ferrixians won't hesitate, we won't -"

Cass snorts mid-gulp of kaf. "You can't help me, Brasso. And I don't want you to. I want you and Bee and Bix and Wilmon to stay far away from the guy you saw last night. It's not safe to know him."

Brasso notices the phrasing - not to know who he is. Just to know him.

Brasso works his jaw. He knows all about Cass's secrets - they're necessary because they keep his friends safe. But this knowledge is built on an unspoken acknowledgement that Brasso's here to keep Cass safe. Safe from himself, more often than not.

"Cass - you know..." Brasso sighs again. It's meant to be an unspoken knowledge. But something about this time, something about the man in the doorway...it really feels like this might be the last time. Best to be clear about these things, then. "You know I'd do anything for you, Cass?" there's a plaintive note in his voice that he tries to hold back, but there it hangs, needy and desperate as the way Cass holds onto him in bed.

Cassian puts the mug of kaf down next to the lamp. He turns a little and doesn't try to shrug off Brasso's arm, but he grips one broad knee and squeezes it meaningfully. He's not fully retreated into the defensive, closed persona he wears outside Brasso's quarters and there's a care in his eyes that makes Brasso's chest tighten. "I know. I know you would," Cass shakes his head, lifts a hand and cups Brasso's cheek in his palm. "That's why you've got to forget about it, Brasso. He"d take that and he'd use it. It's what he does. All your good intentions, all your kindness - they're his tools."

Brasso covers Cass's hand with his large palm. "What about your good intentions? Your kindness?"

Cass shivers, Brasso can feel him consider pulling away. But he stays, and laughs mirthlessly again, and bows his forehead to Brasso's. "Irrelevant. Long gone. It's all about the bigger picture, Brasso."

Brasso runs his thumb over Cass's hand and the arm over Cass's back tightens to draw him near. "Not long gone. Not irrelevant. Not to me. You wouldn't have come here if that was true, would you?"

Cass's body trembles again and he pinches his lips. He's starting to look haggard and troubled, like last night's spell is wearing off. "I just...I just needed to know if I could still..."

"I know," Brasso murmurs. "I understand, Cass." It's all he's allowed to offer, and he offers it in abundance, arms wide with generosity.

Cass presses their foreheads together and shifts his hand beneath Brasso's, grasping the back of his head and pulling him into a kiss - unexpected, forceful, an assault on Brasso's raw emotions.

He breaks the kiss and stands, looking down at Brasso with the nearest thing to regret in his eyes. "Just one night, remember?"

Brasso nods. He doesn't trust himself to speak, but he watches in glum, thoughtful silence as Cass dresses.

He doesn't look as unsteady on his feet today, that's certain. He's well-rested. Hopefully he's remembered he's more than the husk he needs to be for the jobs he's stuck doing.

As for Brasso - he'll go back to the routine, he supposes. Drinking tea with the other Ferrixians and reminiscing about their old lives. Negotiating to find a way out of this refugee camp and into work that's useful. They've all heard that rebellion is brewing and they're itching to play a part in it - even Bix is fired up by the idea, fuelled by Maarva's message, by her legacy. The hope that the connection she once had on Ferrix - distant, intangible - is evolving into some sort of coherent fight back against the people who since took everything from her is like a rope she uses daily to pull herself back from the horror of what happened. And they all have skills, they all spent their lives working - stagnating here in the camp forever is simply unimaginable, unconscionable.

Brasso looks up suddenly. "Should I tell the others you were here?"

Cassian straightens his belt over his narrow hips and glances sharply at him.

Brasso shrugs and spreads his hands. "I can lie to them, but not about everything, Cass..."

Cassian considers this and then steps over to Brasso, leans down and kisses him again. He lingers, and it makes Brasso want to grab him and keep him there, pull him back down to the bed and hide him from the man he works for. Instead he just grips the edges of the thin mattress and lets out a mournful sound when Cass pulls away.

Cass looks down, breathing hard and acting like it's not showing. "Tell them what you need. I won't be back, Brasso. Keep them safe."

"What about Bee -" he's on his feet. He didn't mean to be, but Cassian's already on the way to the door.

Cassian looks mortified - just for a moment, and then he shuts it down. "I'm sorry, Brasso. I don't have time for goodbyes. You explained to Bee before - you'll have to do it again."

And then he's gone, slipping through the durasteel sheets like they're a curtain he just has to brush aside. Like he's a gas, ephemeral, a spirit conjured from Brasso's dreams.

He stands there for a moment, sore and stunned, and then he takes a deep breath. He's done this before. He can do it again. There's precious little certainty in this galaxy anymore, and Cassian can close all the doors he wants - but Brasso has to believe that Cassian will always continue to find him when he needs him.

[mechanicalinertia]

STMPD Recommends Bubblegum Crisis Fanfiction: The Works of Jeanne Hedge

Ho ho ho ho ho, it's time to bring out an easy recommendation, or rather a series of recommendations, one I'm honestly surprised I haven't done before.

I mean, come on. It's Jeanne Hedge, baby. She didn't write much longer stuff compared to Innpchan or Ben Hutchins, but she wrote really good, really focused stuff. Moreover, the record of the sheer number of 90's-era fic writers who reference her suggest that she was the Carrie Fisher of alt.fan.bgcrisis, a real script doctor for everyone. Whatta character. Pity she died from pneumonia in 2020 - I would have loved to invite her to the more modern corners of BGC fandom, like the subreddit and the discord. Learn from the old masters, yeah? Yeah.

Here's Hedge's old website. For the more convenience-minded among us, here's her FF.net page.

So: Hedge. Sysop of a CompuServe anime and manga forum from 1985 to 2005. Mod for the old Fanfiction Mailing List. Moderator for the fanfiction panel at Anime Central (ACEN) from 2001-2006. In other words, a superfan from a time when Crunchyroll was a ripping site, Funimation wasn't Sony's pawn, when anime was an eccentricity among eccentricities on the old 'World Wide Web'. Incredible, no?

Oh, yeah, and she was a pretty good writer, too! Her writing style isn't particularly fancy, and her topics are usually more light-hearted explorations of the series save for two instances. We'll go through the short stuff first, then the two biggies.

Dear Mom: Not even two thousand words, a gag where some gaijin girl is living in an office building across the way from the LADYS633 and is navigating dealing with the locals while hunting for an apartment. The punchline is that it takes place between OVA 8 and Crash, so of course she sees the Knight Wing launch from the building, and when she brings it up at the LADYS big reopening party, Sylia is all 'whatever are you talking about' and promptly makes sure this woman gets an apartment across the city. "You'd almost think they couldn't wait to get me away from here!" is what's said in the last bit, which is funny as hell. Written, apparently, on a dare.

We Just Want To Help You: Jeanne is transported to what appears to be the BGC Universe, but is, in fact, not. Her attempts to convince Sylia otherwise don't go well. Another one-note gag, but in my mind not as funny as the other one.

Spin Cycle: Linna's power goes out, she needs to do some laundry, goes to a laundromat with a laundry-dispensary Boomer, said Boomer goes rampant and starts terrorizing people, Linna must evade the Boomer and help other customers. Short, silly, charming, and does a nice job of outlining the wider world of Megatokyo, the normalcy of life in the world's mightiest megacity, where clothes still need to be cleaned.

10 Questions: This is a weird one, since it's one of Priss's great-grandchildren asking her about an interview with her she found in the attic. Ten easy questions about what happened to Priss in her public life - the Reps broke up, she started a new band, she started a record company that eventually got to sign Vision, she lost both her legs during the last great Boomer Rampage - hold on, wait, what the fuck?

Yeah, despite Hedge saying in an afterword that she wanted this to be the fic where Priss got to have nice things, she still loses her legs, Linna, and Sylia. The last quarter of the fic, in fact, is her just musing about all the different choices she could have made when Sylia pulled her over back during the fateful night played out in Asu E Touchdown... and I think it's implied Sylia, in the end, walked into GENOM Tower with a suitcase nuke. So... happiness? Even then, it's an elusive thing...

Okay, that's the small stuff. The warmup. Now for the big 'uns.

Into The Shadows: Probably Hedge's most famous work, 19K words detailing, from multiple perspectives, the origins of the Knight Sabers, from Dr. Raven talking Sylia into recruiting other members, to those other members being recruited, and so on. It was cowritten with Andy Skuse of Raven's Garage, which... is kind of a detriment to its quality? I've been rereading Skuse's own multichapter epic, Bubblegum Cross, and it's Not Very Good. I'll probably review it soon.

Anyway, it's part mess of flashbacks, part training montage, part this, that, and the other. Each chapter is fairly short - shorter than I would have written, in all honesty - but there's a good bit where Nene is cool with her EW, where even Linna is scared for a short bit, where Priss is as violent and unhinged as you'd expect her to be. The characterization is really on point here, I think, at least for a certain rendering of the Sabers in their early days. I quite like this one.

True Love: Priss can't catch a break, can she? In canon or in fanon. I mean, holy shit, this fuckin' piece. It's good, but... damn.

It's mostly, Priss's story, a bridge between Crisis and Crash in the darkest sense. See, she's trying to finally get the Reps signed, right? Reasonable, even if the sleazy-producer cliche is coming into play even before Priss's stint at idoldom in Crash. It's not going well. She gets forced into a bad contract by 'Oomori-san' (geddit?) someone's stalking her - and then said stalker shoots her in the throat. Her voice is gone (explaining the change in voice to Ryoko Tachikawa in Crash), she's in protective custody, and... ugh. Look, I don't want to go any further, because probably the best way to describe this fic is a) disturbing (stalkers are creepy people!) and b) depressing (Everyone's mental state gets seriously altered by what's going on here). The other part of the bridge from Crash is that Nene kills said stalker, just picks him up in her Motoslave and drops him into the canyons, and that's kind of the lead-in to her being much more aggressive in Crash as well.

I don't want to spoil more, because this is a 'darkfic' in the best way, a deeply, perfectly uncomfortable way. It's the way that best shows what Hedge was capable of as a writer, and why her death was a tragedy in the truest sense. Read any or all of these, because they're all excellent.

[juurensha]

Ship meme: Dabihawks

So on Twitter, I started doing the ship meme, and then abruptly realized that I can’t ramble on and on about said ships on Twitter. So I then decided, why not make random ship posts on tumblr? Idk who is going to enjoy these posts, but I wanted to put some thoughts down regardless.

So to kick things off, we have of course, my #1 ship, the only ship to have made me write 17 fics for them so far: Dabi/Hawks from BNHA! (keep in mind, spoilers abound)

That panel that launched a thousand fics :DDD

Characters Involved:

Dabi (Todoroki Touya):

Dabi, presumed deceased son of #2 hero Endeavor turned villain, and hellbent on revenge/recognition of all the wrongs his father has done to their family.

I LOVE characters coming back from presumed/real death for revenge, so as soon as I heard the theory that he could be the dead eldest Todoroki son, I latched on and never let go.

Also, the reveal of Dabi as Todoroki Touya was the one and only time I went on the CTABB voice channel to just SCREAM. I love that chapter so much, and that “THE PAST NEVER FORGETS” line is so raw and I love that specific panel SO MUCH.

Hawks (Takami Keigo):

Hawks, #2 hero in Japan after All Might used up the last of his powers, and the double agent inside the League of Villains.

Hawks’ character design is very cool, but it’s really all his parallels against Dabi that made me begin to really like him. I also did enjoy with his initial appearance how a lot of the stuff he says doesn’t match at all what he is thinking. He puts on a carefree exterior, but there’s a lot ticking along in his head at all times.

The ship:

The two of them are foils in so many ways: son of a pro-hero vs. son of a small-time criminal, someone who was intended to become a pro-hero and becoming a villain instead vs. someone who was intended to become a villain and became a top pro-hero instead, despises Endeavor and hates his persistence in never giving up his goal to become #1 hero vs. fanboy of Endeavor who admires him for never giving up on that goal, underworld aesthetic vs. sky/angel aesthetic, black/white vs. gold, etc, etc, etc.

They are both people who have been caged by parental expectations in different ways (Dabi with never being able to live up to Endeavor’s expectations for him, and Hawks first being given away by his parents for not being as useful to them as expected and then being groomed by the Hero Commission to be their puppet), they’ve both got long-running plans going on, and when they interact, there’s always a charged atmosphere.

There is just so much potential to explore here about how the two of them could interact and potentially change each other. (For the better? For the worse? Up to you to decide!)

“But juu, they tried to kill each other!”

Yeah, that’s not going to stop me from shipping a pair, I love foe-yay (as you guys will soon find out from this series).

“But juu, isn’t Hawks’ personality in Hotwings fics mostly fanon?”

Okay, I will admit that may be a fair point. When Hotwings was first blowing up, not that many facts about Hawks in canon were set, so fans kind of did what they wanted to do. (Including me.)

Now I won’t say that Horikoshi went OOC with Hawks since he’s the manga-ka obviously, so it’s canon that Hawks is a good soldier who follows orders all the way through, no matter how distasteful, BUT I will say that I’m disappointed by the lack of exploring all the potential that was there in Hawks’ initial set-up.

He just found out that not only is the pro-hero who he looked up to so much a domestic abuser who basically ruined his family in search of the #1 hero position, but also that this villain who he thought he was tricking is actually said beloved pro-hero’s supposedly deceased son.

I feel like there should be some introspection going on at least here!

But nope, along with just shrugging that Twice had to be killed, Hawks just kind of brushes all that under the rug and works with Endeavor to go kill Shigaraki.

Suffice to say, I haven’t been very happy with the manga in awhile.

But after all, fic is fic, so if us Hotwings writers want to explore how Hawks should could have reacted to the reveal, and how that could have rocked his world view, I think it’s our prerogative to! And it’s what makes for interesting fic in the first place.

“juu, why do you make them use the pet-names ‘hot stuff’ and ‘pretty bird’?”

So “pretty bird” was mostly because when I first started writing Dabihawks, Hawks didn’t have a real name revealed yet, so I used that mainly as a placeholder for where I thought his real first name should be used. Also, I like the nickname ever since I heard it used for Black Canary by Green Arrow, and I thought it fitting!

“Hot stuff” was just to match the teasing tone of “pretty bird” as a good retort. I don’t think I made that up, I’m pretty sure a lot of other fics used it first, and then I ran with that one too. (Thankfully by the time I started writing Dabihawks, Touya’s name had been revealed, or who knows what I would have had to do then).

“juu, why do you write so many AU’s for them?”

Because they are SO GOOD for AU fics, seriously. Also canon is a mess right now, and the only way I’m touching it again is if Hawks dies, and I’ll go in to write a rebirth fic where he wakes up a week before the raid and does EVERYTHING I THINK HE SHOULD HAVE DONE INSTEAD.

So I guess that’s it! If you actually got through all this and enjoyed this word vomit, yay! If you have any questions, drop them in my ask box, and I’ll try to answer them!

[livelivefastfree]

have you been working on any new fics?? (your stories are wonderful, ive drowned myself in polyburners thanks to you 😔 its a good place to be)

Not really anything new, although I’ve been picking away at some older ones that I never finished!  Namely the plot-heavy sequel to my telepathic soul-bond superhero AU, the intimidatingly complicated sequel to Save A Horse, Ride A Dragon, and my Burnerswap AU where the villains are all our new Burners and the Burners are villains.

Unfortunately since I’m a nurse work has been kind of stressful recently and also my brain only likes to focus on one thing at a time which is currently original novel things.  So process is pretty slow, haha.  But I’m glad I could bring more people into the polyburners fold!

I do feel bad that I haven’t had the energy to post much for a while; revamping my burnerswap doc is the most recent thing I’ve gotten work done on, so here’s a little bit of scene-setting!

Deluxe is a mass of spires and platforms, shimmering in the sunshine outside Red’s window.  Red stares up at the ceiling, at the pale golden glow of sunlight on the pale polymer.  He can hear the sound of someone loudly imitating an electric guitar, and faint thumps and thuds through the wall; Duke is taking his traditional lengthy shower and using up all their precious hot water.  From the smells drifting up from downstairs, Jacob is already up and in the kitchen experimenting.  Kaia is probably upstairs on the roof, tending to her plants, and Abraham had to go back down to the undercity last night.  His absence is a hole; no sound of him talking to Jacob in the kitchen, working out irritatingly on Red’s balcony, yelling at Duke for using up the water.  There’s always something slightly off, a little bit wrong, when part of their team is missing.

Red sits up, buckles his patch on over the remnant of his left eye, and pushes himself up out of bed to see what’s for breakfast.

Jacob is stirring something in a pan when he Red arrives.  There’s a heaping basket of miscellaneous vegetables on the counter next to him, so probably Red’s in for some kind of veggie abomination this morning—but it’s a veggie abomination Red doesn’t have to make and then burn, and he doesn’t really have a sense of taste anymore, anyway.  Red drops into a chair, and Jacob piles up a plate of fried vegetables and sets it wordlessly down in front of him.

It’s quiet for a while. Red eats as much as he can manage, and Jacob knows him well enough not to frown when Red has to push the plate away half-eaten.  

“Quiet night?” he says, eventually.

“All quiet in the pit,” Red says, and goes to the cooler to fish out a nutrient shake instead.  “No calls from Abraham.  No alerts, no bots, no Dragon.”

“Mm.”  Jacob shakes his head, making an unconvinced grumbling noise.  “They’ll come.  They always do.”

Red can’t argue that. He stayed on the edge of the platform until the small hours of the morning, looking down into the dark city far below, watching every gleam of light and flicker of movement, waiting for the first flash of red glass eyes or matte metal claws.

The others drift downstairs eventually, one at a time; Duke grimaces at the vegetable mess, but Kaia piles in with every sign of enjoyment.  Red sits back and listens to Jacob and Duke bicker, Kaia’s laughing jabs at both of them indiscriminately, and lets the sunlight soften some of the harsh, nauseated fatigue.

He doesn’t realize he’s beginning to drift off, but when his comms light up red with an urgent chime, it startles him badly enough he almost drops his drink.

“Come in,” Abraham’s voice says, flat and low.  “Red.”

“Copy,” says Red, and pushes himself up, already moving. The rest of his team reorders around him, Jacob heading for the garage, Duke and Kaia immediately running for their rooms, their weapons.  Red picks up his gloves, feeling the circuitry inside thrum hotly against his palms. “Incoming?”

“How did you guess,” says Abraham dryly.  “Three Climbers.  Two on North Side, one coming up from the East.  And she’s sending up the Dragon.”

Red falters in mid-step, then growls and heads down the staircase to the garage, taking the steps two at a time. “Can you make it up?”

“I can try,” Abraham says, but Red knows that tone to his voice, rough and grim.  “I think she’s targeting the medical complex on platform 18.  Don’t get distracted.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Red says, and Abraham gives a brief bark of a laugh and then cuts the call.

--

Deluxe looks beautiful in the sunlight, if beauty is something to pay attention to; Red has seen it a thousand times, growing up from the old undercity of Detroit like an indescribably huge tree made of silver and marble.  The platforms that make up the city itself look almost fragile from a distance, hovertech and superlight polymers, gleaming with solar panels and greenery.  The massive support structure that holds the city up grows dirtier and more patchwork as it descends into the bristling thicket of ancient, blocky concrete buildings.

Whole civilizations have made their homes on the platforms along that winding trunk.  Around its base, built onto the rooftops of old skyscrapers, Red can see the distant gleam of the Casino King’s sprawling compound, gaudy with red and gold floodlights.  There are urban legends about an entire lost city, one that made its living in among the building-sized struts and cables themselves, before some unspecified calamity cut all communication with them short.

Some of the midway settlements are against Kane, some of them are only indifferent, but Red can only assume that trying to bargain her way through was too much trouble.  Kane took matters into her own hands, and had her R&D invent the Climbers.

Red has eyes on one of them now; a long, low shape, slinking across the platform.  Six-legged, with four glowing eyes each, moving with an unnerving, artificial grace—the mechanical nightmare-offspring of a wolf and some kind of insect.  The tips of their claws hum faintly, lit up—plasma-cutter edges, sharp enough to sink into the polymer like hot knives through butter.  Red is a platform above them, out of their field of vision, but he’s seen the way the things scale vertical surfaces, faster than anything that size should be able to move.

As Red watches, one of them opens its mouth, showing hundreds of needle-sharp fangs lit hellish red from the inside, and lets out an awful, scraping snarl.

“I’ve got eyes on one,” Red says, keeping his voice low.  

“Yeah, yeah, we see ‘em over here too,” Duke says, tight and sharp with bravado.  “Easy.  Let’s get it done!”

“I’ve got your back,” Kaia says.  “Let’s show these things what—”

“Hey, Red,” says a voice, and something taps Red on the shoulder.  “Tag.”

The moment of shock is enough to freeze Red in place for a single fraction of a second, and that’s a hesitation he can’t afford.  A blunt edge slams into his ribs, knocks him over off his feet; he rolls, comes up on his feet again and sends out a blind shockwave of energy—throws himself to one side as a staff sweeps past where his ankles were, and this time when he lashes out he feels the impact strike true.

The Dragon of Detroit takes the hit and lets it bowl him backwards, turns the motion into a back-handspring and comes to a skidding halt, shaking overgrown brown bangs out of his dark eyes.  He’s laughing, smiling as wide and wild as he always does; the deep scar that stretches crookedly from his cheekbone to his chin twists his smile into something just slightly crooked and bitter, but his laugh sounds irritatingly, insultingly genuine.

“Chilton,” Red snarls, and the man spins his staff behind his back and sweeps a bow, grinning.  

“I’m guessing you’re not interested in doing this the easy way, kid,” he says, and Red clenches his fists, lightning crawling up his arms.  “Yeah, I didn’t figure.  Can’t say I didn’t try.”

“The fuck I can’t,” Red snaps, and Chilton huffs out a breath and shakes his head, ever-present smile never fading.  “If you really cared about not hurting anybody you wouldn’t be working for that—”

It’s the flicker of Chilton’s eyes that gives it away, and the faintest sound of scraping metal; Red dives to one side on instinct, just in time to avoid the snap of jagged metal jaws and six sets of wickedly-clawed feet.  He comes up swinging, lands a few solid hits; the Climber shrieks as one of its legs spasms and cracks, red lightning and dented metal grinding in one of its back legs.

“Backup!” Red snaps into his comm, and then there’s only the fight.

He’s being distracted, he knows it even while it’s happening, but he can’t break his focus away long enough to care.  Chilton is gone, he has to be raiding that medical compound, and Red is stuck here, fighting some stupid robot—

“Heads up!” yells a voice, and Red glances up and then back-pedals abruptly as a huge, blocky shape comes rocketing off the next platform up and drops like a comet onto the Climber’s head.  The back half of the bot gives a meaty crunch as Jacob’s construction rig lifts back off of it, leaking nasty, thick, black fluid as it tries to drag itself forward on its two remaining legs; Red steps forward, grimacing in distaste, tears a dented plate away and buries his hand in the things neck to deliver one final, merciless jolt.  The Climber whirrs, gives a gurgling growl, and finally goes still.

“Jumpin’ Josephat,” says Jacob, from inside the clunky, ugly cube he calls a hovercar.  “You still in one piece down there?”

“Where’s Chilton?!” Red says, and then jerks and looks up at the sound of a laugh, echoing off the white walls and walkways around them.  

The Dragon is standing at the very edge of the platform, silhouetted against the sky; he makes eye contact with Red, brief and grinning, one hand on the side of a stolen transport pod. Then he throws off a brief, mocking salute, and launches himself backwards off the edge of the platform into thin air, vanishing over the edge.

“Criminy,” says Jacob weakly, because Jacob is an 80-year-old man in a 20-year-old body.  

“Fuck,” Red hisses, and slams a fist down on the ground, leaving lightning-jagged scorch marks across the white polymer.  Takes a few breaths and repeats, “…fuck,” soft and hoarse, poisonous in his mouth.

“Yeah,” says Jacob, and his boots thump softly as he slides down, his hand settles carefully on Red’s shoulder.  “C’mon. Let’s get back to the others.”

[thenamesblurrito]

Record: Bumblebee about meeting one of the heros?

Record: give us an in-character blurb about x thing or event in this AU, from history, from the plot, etc!

Here ya go, the very first time Bumblebee meets one of the heroes! Can you guess who the hero is by the end? This fic occurs in S1E13 All My Friends Are Food! An Upgrade to Cannibals.

Now on AO3!

Content warning: child in peril

Bumblebee lost track of what turns he had taken. He’d never been this far from the compound without another Pax member with him! His suspension jostled painfully on another hard skid around a corner, leaving tire marks clear enough to track. He hoped someone would follow his trail and find him soon… someone that isn’t the creature hunting him right now.

A shimmer and a click gave him enough warning to roll out of the way of the monster’s lunge. Its jagged magenta armor scrabbled against the street where he had been just a second before. Bumblebee transformed to scramble up a ramp to an access port in the nearest building’s maintenance tunnels. He was small, and fast, and he could get away. He had to get away. All the streets were empty and all the windows were dark. He had to get away.

The close air in the tunnel made his already whirring vents work harder. His mouth hung open, but he made little noise, having shut off his vocalizer awhile ago to try and keep from crying. He didn’t know how to turn it back on. Aunty could do it for him, if he could get away.

If Aunty was still there when he got back.

His quick pedefalls echoed in the small space, but not loudly enough to drown out the shifting, buzzing, cackling thing chasing him. The whisper of a thousand moving needle points filled his audials like static. He shook his helm, but it wouldn’t go away. He kept taking random turns down different tunnel branches, but it still wouldn’t go away. Why, why wouldn’t the monster just go away!

Something caught the tip of his doorwing and sliced. His engine squealed and he stumbled over his own pedes. It hurt! The tunnel went fuzzy with pain for a second but he kept moving. Something made a delighted hiss, and he glanced back for only a moment.

A skittering swarm of scarlet scraplets made up the monster now, a hundred permanent grins filling the tunnel top to bottom, gnawing at a small, yellow, familiar piece of shrapnel.

He couldn’t feel his left wingtip all of a sudden.

A hard crash into a mesh vent covering knocked him flat on his back. The tunnel terminated here at the other side of the building, a wide street visible just beyond the cover. Even if he had been looking where he was running, it wouldn’t have helped him. The only path was back into the smiling fangs of the monster. He grabbed at the mesh, trying to tear through fibers too tightly woven for even his small claws, and felt his vents hitch over and over. The rustle of too many legs and grinding dentae made his audials ring. There wasn’t anybody on the street. His vocalizer wouldn’t turn on. His caretakers were missing.

He shook the mesh over and over, armor rattling in lieu of sobs. Where was everybody? He just wanted help!

A scraplet nipped at his pede and he kicked it back into the swarm.

Somebody! Aunty! Star Convoy!

A dozen more started creeping forward. He plastered his back to the vent cover, doorwing leaving droplets of energon against the mesh.

Orion!

A rumble and a snick was the only warning he had before the world fell out beneath him.

He was jostling, and moving, and wincing at a million shrill shrieks drowned out by a deep bass roar, and tumbling backwards entangled in suddenly loose mesh, and then he felt the familiar steady grip of someone carrying him in one arm.

“Far from home, bitlet?”

His optics opened and he saw a smouldering crevasse in the wall of the building he had just been trapped in. The tunnel was blown wide open, scraplets charred black littering the space as far back as the light could reach. Not one of them twitched. He gaped through the smoke at them.

Fingers larger than his arm curled into his view and he was lifted up to the warm purr of a chestplate he’d never seen before. He could see his own shocked face in the shiny windows. Looking up, he saw a mech as big as Aunty, with smiling optics, broad pauldrons, and a solid presence that made him start shuddering in sudden relief.

“Hey now, Bumblebee,” the mech hummed, bringing his other hand up after folding away a still-glowing cannon. “You’re alright. The mechannibal is gone. You’re just fine.”

One finger brushed over the missing wingtip and he spasmed away from the touch with a gasp. The mech’s expression darkened. “You will be just fine.”

He turned and strolled down the dark street, sparkling in hand. Very few lights had come on even though it was dusk, and shadows draped themselves across every available surface. Several corners and crannies had shapes of greyed metal peeking out, but Bumblebee could never get a good look before the mech turned and blocked his view. His engine was very deep and steady, even compared to Star Convoy, so he leaned in to rest his audial against the armor and just listen.

After a moment the mech started talking again. “Your Compact is okay. Star Convoy got most kids away from the swarm in time, and Aunty kept them back long enough for everyone else to get to safety. You were the only one who got cornered. Aunty wanted to come after you, but they had started to nibble her.”

He jerked up, clutching at his own stinging doorwing in sympathy.

“She’s got much thicker armor than you, she barely noticed.” He rapped his chestplate with the knuckles of his free hand. “Almost as good as mine.”

Bumblebee opened his mouth to ask something but only the click of his glossa came out, and he remembered his vocalizer was shut off. His face screwed up in frustration as he pawed helplessly at the seams of his neck.

The mech’s brow furrowed. “What’s the matter, bitlet? Glitched your volume control?”

He shook his helm and tried to act out the decision to turn off his voice with only his face and servos. The mech snorted, and he scowled. How else is he supposed to talk without words!

“Hm. Open up for me.” One huge fingertip gently tapped his tiny chestplate.

Bumblebee obliged, folding away the highest panel of his chest and collar. He had to tilt his helm all the way back, just like when Aunty did this. With servos that large, there wasn’t much interior medical work that could be done, but something about it just helped him. The mech was very careful, pressing lightly at the top of his vocalizer box. Bumblebee tried doing a hard reset and spat out some static.

“You aren’t fractured or overheating… have you tried turning it off and back on again?”

He huffed. It’s the second part that’s trouble!

“Try again.”

One last fritz of static and Bumblebee’s vocalizer was back on. He buzzed a few times to get used to it and then beamed. Before the mech could draw his hand away, he used it as a stairstep to launch himself bodily at his face, going for the biggest hug he could muster.

“Thank you thank you I thought I’d have to wait all the way ‘til we find Aunty again ‘coz the monster kept laughing when I cried so I turned it off but I can never figure out how to turn it back on again!”

His loud laughter was even nicer to listen to up here than through his chestplate. “Oh, now you’re the one jumping me? Bumblebee, how could you!” His hands came up to cup his back so he didn’t fall.

“You’re too big to hug all at once!” He sat back with a gasp at a sudden thought. “You knew my name already!”

“I did.” The mech’s optics were twinkling.

“Did you know about me before you came to get me?”

“I did.”

“Am I famous?”

The mech couldn’t stop his surprised snort. “Your caretakers certainly told me enough when they asked if I could find you.”

“Have I met you before?”

“Perhaps you have.”

“What’s your name?”

“You’ll figure it out here soon.”

“Why do you have five fingers?”

“I—” He blinked and flexed one of his hands, puzzled. “Well why not?”

“Are we home yet?”

With a roll of his optics, the mech muttered, “I knew you’d ask that eventually.” He plucked Bumblebee from his collar and tucked him back in the crook of one arm, never changing the steady pace he’d been walking at the whole time. “Give it a few cycles, bitlet. We’re almost there.”

Bumblebee settled back with his audial against armor, listening to his engine thrumming. His injury still stung but it had crystallized now, no longer leaking. Soon enough, mecha started appearing on the streets again, peering inside broken windows and switching lights on. They all watched as the large mech passed. Even an Enforcer stepped aside with a nod. Despite fewer lights than usual, he recognized where they were now.

A familiar wall appeared around the next turn, scored from many sharp needle legs, but still standing. Rocketing out of the gate, Star Convoy drove towards them before transforming and skidding to a halt on his pedes before them, already reaching for Bumblebee. He giggled at the impressive move and leapt into his patron’s arms to be crushed in a hug. He let Star Convoy’s relieved murmurs just wash over him, suddenly exhausted.

“His left doorwing was bitten, and his vocalizer needed a hard reset, but otherwise he seemed perfectly fine on the surface,” the great mech rumbled. “The mecannibal has been taken care of.”

“Thank you sir, thank you,” Star Convoy said, not loosening his grip on Bumblebee. “We didn’t know how to track him down. Thank you.”

“Anyone left without a means to help themselves should be provided assistance, no matter who they are. Sparkling or adult, junker or noble, all frames and functions.” His voice was no different than before, but it filled the street all of a sudden, and Bumblebee lifted his head to watch and saw several bystanders do the same. “No Enforcer barricade should stand between a child and safety. What kind of person would stay and do nothing if given the power to choose the moral thing instead of the legal thing?”

The mech ducked his head to catch Bumblebee’s optic and held out a fist. Bumblebee tapped a giant knuckle enthusiastically, and he quirked a smile.

“What kind of Decepticon would I be?”

“Thank you, Galvatron,” Star Convoy said again as the mech turned to leave, unaffected by the gazes of everyone around him.

Bumblebee watched him go, drowsy but fighting off recharge. Decepticon, huh?

Maybe he could be a big heroic Decepticon one day.

[youtuberswithalex]

PRVL, Volume 3, Chapter 1: Round One

A/N: I TOLD Y’ALL I WASN’T GIVING UP!!!!!  I'm not going to promise there are going to be weekly updates again like there were with Volume 1, but what I *can* promise you, and you hopefully will trust me on this, is that it WILL come in time!!!

Also, be on the lookout for links throughout this fic-- I’m trying to compose more music for this fic!!

Summary: Four schools. Thirty-two teams. One hundred twenty-eight students. One winner.

It's the weekend that everyone has been training for, but not everything is as ready as it seems. Between Virgil's ever-growing disrupting anxiety, Patton's fear of his parents, Roman's brother-despised relationship, and Logan's mysterious threat, chances are that something is bound to go horribly wrong. But with their friends and families surrounding them, Team PRVL is confident that they're going to make the most of the three biggest days ahead of them.

Welcome to the Vytal Festival Tournament!

Word Count: 5,350

Warnings: Fighting (in a tournament), panic attack, cursing

PRVL Tag list: @faithfulcat111​​​ @haikyuupaladin​​​ @virge-of-death​​​ @nose-to-meet-you​​​ @themysteriousinternetentity​​​ @will-iswriting-again​​​ @capripian-light-of-my-derse @isabel3710 (I’m going to be revamping this after this chapter, so please let me know if you would like to be added/kept on!)

Masterpost -- Volume 1 -- Next

-----

Virgil was certain he’d never felt his heart beat any faster in his life than in this moment. It was practically vibrating out of his ribcage. He couldn’t believe the others didn’t hear it. It was sending his head in a spin, his hands into a sweat, his jaw into a clench so tight he swore it could break through his own armor.

Not that he thought it was without reason, of course.

Despite the locker room being clear of any movement outside of PRVL putting on their armor, the chaos of the crowd outside refused to be silenced. It mixed sweetly with the heavy excitement radiating off of the other three, creating a buzz in the air that only seemed to make his pulse race even faster. From the corner of his eye, he could see Roman’s hands shaking, Logan’s stiffer-than-normal posture, Patton shifting his weight back and forth between his feet.

Each of them had an excited grin on their face. Virgil couldn’t find himself doing the same, but he couldn’t blame them.

After all, it was the day they’d been training for for so long.

The Vytal Festival Tournament.

Slamming his locker shut, Patton whirled around and held his fists to his chest. “Guys, it’s almost time!”

“We’re right here,” Logan responded, little venom in his voice. “You don’t need to yell.”

“I think there’s plenty of reason to yell!” Roman exclaimed. He lifted himself off the ground and twirled. “We have the first fight of the whole tournament! Have you any idea how much of an extravagant privilege that is?!”

“Privilege isn’t the word I’d use…,” Virgil breathed.

Logan crossed his arms. “While I do agree with you that this is an excellent opportunity, we can’t let it figuratively cloud our minds so much that we forget how to fight,” he stated. “We must remember to keep our guard up, regardless of whomever we’re against, and remember our training.”

“Oh, c’mon, Lo! This is gonna be fun!” Patton said. “We get to meet new people, make new friends—”

“—And represent Beacon as skilled, promising Huntsmen to the rest of the world,” Logan interrupted. “We cannot forget that.”

A shiver ran down Virgil’s spine.

“Plus, with you refusing to use your Semblance, despite any and all reasoning, we need to be extra careful about our tactics,” Logan finished.

Patton frowned. “Lo, I’ve told you, my parents are going to be watching. They’ll be furious if they see that.”

“I have to agree with the Grimm Sleeper, here, Pat,” Roman said. “What does it matter if they see when you won’t be speaking to them again?”

“I…”

The speakers screeched to life. Virgil felt his stomach leap to his throat.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, and everyone in between! Welcome to the 40th Annual Vytal Festival Tournament!”

The crowd erupted into cheers above them, amplified by the close, metal walls. Patton threw his hands over his ears while Roman let out a squeal.

“This is it!”

“We’re broadcasting to you live from Amity Colosseum, floating high above a beautiful day in the Kingdom of Vale! And boy, do we have a crowd today!”

“Yes, Peter, I’d say this is one of the best crowds we’ve had in years! It seems almost every seat is filled with someone on the edge of their… well… seat!”

“Oho, and why keep them waiting? Please welcome our first two teams of the tournament!”

Patton gasped and started to run for the door. “Come on, we better get out there!”

Roman and Logan were hot on his heels; Virgil took a second to take a shaky breath before following suit.

“Hailing from the Kingdom of our last Vytal Festival Champion, Shade Academy’s Team JTTT is here to uphold their title!”

“We got this guys,” Patton stated.

“And, representing our very own Beacon Academy, we have our promising Team PRVL to kick things off!”

The door slid open.

Screaming and bright, stadium lights nearly knocked the four off of their feet, but they managed to press forward towards the stage, however slow their pace. It was hard to not stare at their surroundings.

Dr. Oobleck hadn’t been kidding when he’d announced how packed the crowd was. Thousands of people were staring at them, waving, cheering, anything imaginable. From where they stood, the faces beyond the first few rows of the first level were far too small to distinguish, but was it loud.

Roman was quick to soak up the attention, twirling and sending kisses and waving right back. Virgil couldn’t shake the tremor in his hands.

By the time they made it to the stage, Team JTTT was lined up, weapons at the ready. PRVL scrambled to do the same.

With a wave, Patton grinned at the opposing team. “Hi! I’m Patton, and this is Roman, Logan, Virgil! It’s nice to meet you!”

“Pat!” Roman hissed. “You’re not supposed to befriend them until after the match! We’re enemies right now!”

Across the way, one of the members burst into a hearty, full laugh. He nearly dropped the camera in his hand. “Nah, c’mon! We can be friends now! It’ll be a friendly competition!”

“Of course you’d go for that,” the person next to them retorted, a smirk on their face.

“Did you expect anything else?” said the member furthest left.

“I sure hope not!” the first guy laughed. He beamed at PRVL and waved. “My name’s Thomas!”

The person next to Thomas scoffed before looking back at them. “Sorry, he’s like a big dog. I’m Joan.”

“Terrence,” said the guy on the left. He waved with two fingers before adjusting the baseball bat on his shoulder.

The person on the far right peered over their shoulder. “I’m Talyn.”

“It’s nice to meet you all!” Patton exclaimed.

“Just don’t expect us to go easy on you,” Roman shot.

Thomas made eye contact and gave a confident grin. “Trust us,” he said. “We won’t.”

“The rules of the tournament are simple,” Professor Port announced. “As per tradition, we will once again be breaking the competitions into three categories: Teams, Doubles and Singles.”

“The winners of the Team battles will choose two members of their team to progress to the Doubles, and whichever team wins that chooses one member to progress to the Singles!”

“From that point, the remaining combatants will fight their way through the final bracket in hopes of achieving victory for their kingdom!”

“Yes, and it is crucial to note that the only attribute being tested is skill!” Dr. Oobleck shouted. “Age and school year are completely irrelevant in this tournament!”

“Thank the gods for that,” Joan muttered.

Screens popped up around the stage, each with a rainbow of icons rapidly scrolling around them. Patton’s grin faltered as his eyes fell on them.

“What is that?”

Terrence blinked. “Have you never seen a tournament before?”

“Uh…”

“Don’t judge him. You know how hard it can be to watch these things,” Talyn pointed out. “Especially in Vacuo.”

“I grew up in Atlas! How am I supposed to know that?!”

The screens slowed to a stop. Behind Team JTTT showed a silhouette of a sun high above jutted structures. Patton turned in time to see silhouettes of geysers appear on their screens.

The ground rumbled.

Gasping, Patton stumbled back, both Roman and Logan grabbing an arm to keep him from falling to the ground. He saw Virgil drop to a crouch out of the corner of his eye; somehow, Team JTTT was hardly phased.

Aside from the middle panel they stood on, the floor began to recede into itself. Patton watched in awe as two environments rose out of the ground: one covered in high mountains of sand, and the other full of rocky geysers that blasted boiling water as soon as the floor settled.

When the stage stopped shaking, Roman shot him a grin. “That’s what those mean.”

“Students, are you ready?! The Vytal Festival Tournament is about to begin!”

The teams were quick to get into their fighting stances before Patton and Joan offered curt nods.

“In three…”

Roman’s wings fluttered.

“Two…”

Joan smirked.

“One…”

Patton smiled back.

“BEGIN!”

Patton reeled back and hurled his shield as hard as he could.

It soared across the gap between the two teams until it came just in front of Thomas’s face, who was quick to flip back just out of its reach. He eased into a backhand spring before lifting his camera and snapping a photo.

A flash of light blinded PRVL, and they threw up their hands to cover their faces. As soon as Virgil blinked his vision back, Talyn was flying towards him, sword extended; it split in the middle and spread apart, and red bubbles pelted him in the face, exploding into fire. He stumbled back, but had the quick intuition to throw his pole up just before they slammed their sword into it.

There was a blast of air next to them as Terrence leapt into the air. His baseball bat snapped into a scooter, which he was quick to put under himself before landing. He sped into the geyser field before anyone could react.

Logan launched his book at Joan, prepared to catch them while they weren’t paying attention, but they threw up their gloved hand and snatched it out of the air. A yelp escaped him when they gripped it tight and yanked it towards them, sending him tumbling in their direction.

Thomas beamed at the sight until a shadow loomed high above him, and he glanced up just in time to see Roman diving towards him, sword extended; he was quick to snap his camera into a tripod and hold it above his head. As they collided, a blast of air burst around them, sending dust and gravel flying everywhere.

Patton’s shield wedged itself into a sand dune far behind the others, and he sprinted to get to it before anyone else could. The wind toppled him over; he somersaulted to keep his momentum, only stumbling a bit before steadying on his feet. As soon as he was close enough, he yanked it out of the sand and snapped it back onto his gauntlet, whirling around to see who he could fight.

In the distance, a small figure wove through the geysers. Patton lifted his shield and fired.

“What an explosive start to this year’s tournament!”

Terrence kicked onto the flat, middle ground of the stage and sped towards him, dodging the bullets with ease. The closer he got, the more Patton’s heart pounded, and the harder he focused on firing bullets.

He leapt into the air and swiped the scooter out from under his feet; it transformed back into a bat as he held it above his head. Patton threw his shield up just in time. The resounding CLANG! Caused him to throw his hands over his ears, and Terrence took the opportunity to smash the bat into his side and knock him to the ground.

As soon as Logan was close enough, Joan thrust their bare fist at his face; he was quick to duck back and grab their wrist, pulling it over his shoulder to smash the heel of his hand into their jaw. They snatched his hand and spun until he was behind them. They launched him into the air, over their shoulders, but Logan ripped himself away and landed steadily on his feet. He threw up his arm just as they threw a punch, blocking it and repeating the action a few times.

Joan took a step back, pulling their right arm with the motion. The glove began to crackle with electricity. Logan shielded his eyes from the flashing lights, only for it to collide with his chest a second later; the jolt sent him flying through the air, and it took every muscle in his body to get him to slide to a stop on his feet, one hand on the ground for balance.

He shot a glare. They grinned back.

Gritting his teeth, Logan gripped his book and charged forward.

Talyn flipped over Sangria Salvia and landed neatly on their feet, switching their sword back into a bubble wand and shooting more bubbles; Virgil was quick to respond this time and spun his pole to block them. As soon as the fire was gone, he gripped it with both hands and swung. They matched his motion and blocked the attack.

The two hit, blocked, hit, blocked, back and forth until Virgil shoved his weapon between Talyn’s arms. He yanked it back towards him and knocked their sword out of their hands, sending it flying through the air and onto the ground far out of their reach. They watched it go before looking back at his beaming face.

Virgil couldn’t help but feel his anxiety dissipate just a little. We might actually be able to do this!

Talyn glared and held out their hands on either side. Claws shot out from underneath their nails.

His face dropped.

Roman let out a battle cry as he slammed his sword into Thomas’s tripod. The steel clashed back and forth until he leapt into the air and twirled above his opponent, landing behind him and kicking sand into the air. He swung, but Thomas was quick to snap the back of his camera open; film ribbons shot out and wrapped around the blade, and he ripped it right out of his hands and sent it flying. Roman lurched for it, but Thomas pointed an open palm at the ground and lifted his hand, and a giant column of sand rose up and knocked him away.

As quickly as he could, Roman twisted to right himself, coughing and spluttering to get the grains out of his mouth. He growled and dove towards his sword, but another blast slammed into his stomach; by the time the third was hurdling towards him, Roman was quick to spread his wings and use the wind to soar around it.

Seeing his opportunity, Terrence switched his weapon back into scooter mode and drifted around where Patton was pushing himself off of the floor. He shot him a grin and a wink.

“Catch me if you can!”

With that, he shot back towards the geysers. Patton beamed and jumped to his feet with a laugh, sprinting after him.

“You bet I will!”

As he ran onto the rocky, uneven ground, he dodged and jumped over the cracks and geysers that Terrence seemed to be skipping over with ease. He couldn’t figure out how, or how he was going to catch up to him in the first place, but… He couldn’t find himself caring. Despite the thousands of people watching in the stadium, and millions around the world, and all of them putting all their expectations of Beacon on PRVL, he didn’t have any care over which team won. This was fun. His heart was full of sunshine and joy over meeting new friends and getting to spar with them like this.

A little too full of joy.

Energy started to flow down to his feet, and Patton skidded to a stop just in front of a geyser, heart leaping into his throat. He looked down in time to see little patches of grass forming where his footsteps had landed.

Ice seeped into his veins.

Millions of people included his parents.

Semblance.

The ground rumbled in front of him, and he stumbled back just in time for the geyser to blast boiling water into the sky.

A green light formed around it, and the stream twisted and turned around itself. He blinked and glanced to the side to see Terrence holding his hands out in front of him, eyes shining a bright green.

“Oh!” Patton yelled. “Your semblance is—!”

Boosh!

The water slammed him directly in the gut, and he was sent flying high into the air, tumbling and twirling at almost the height of the second level of seating in the colosseum. Briefly, he caught a glimpse at the whole field from a birds’ eye view, watching as Virgil and Talyn parried, Joan and Logan battled hand to hand, and Roman bobbed and weaved through the sand Thomas was blasting into the air.

Roman caught him out of the corner of his eye, and he froze. Quickly, he calculated where it was Patton was going to land, and—

“Patton!”

He shot out of Thomas’s sand trap as fast as he could and dove for his leader, snatching him in his arms just before he hit the floor just outside of the battlefield. They each let out an oof, but recovered without a second to spare.

“What a save performed by Roman Reptilia!” Professor Port exclaimed. “Team PRVL’s lucky to have someone so quick-thinking on their side!”

Patton beamed up at him as he flew them back towards the battlefield. “Thanks, Ro!”

“Of course, Padre! Can’t have our leader losing from something as silly as falling out of bounds!” he replied. “Just be careful, alright?”

“You know I will, kiddo!”

Before Roman could say anything else, a blast of sand slammed into his side, and he was sent tumbling through the air; Patton fell towards the main stage, but, prepared this time, he tucked and rolled before sprinting back towards the geysers. A boulder came flying at him, covered in green light, and he was quick to throw his shield up to block it as he continued on his path.

Roman landed in the sand with a poof, skidding and sending sand down the inside of his shirt. It scratched and burned at every inch of his skin; as he pushed himself into a sitting position, he cast a quick glance to the big screens at the very top of the colosseum.

He found his name on the left side, second person down, and checked his aura levels.

27/100

He had a feeling.

A flash of light blinded him, but he leapt to his feet, reaching for his sword that was still stuck in the sand on the other side of the field. He cracked his eyes open just in time to see the tripod heading straight for his face; all he could do was throw his arms up to take the attack.

Roman formed a shield of light, but it shattered within the next blow. With a battle cry, Thomas jumped and held his tripod high above his head.

Thwack!

“Oh, and there’s our first knock out of the tournament!”

Logan gasped and cast a glance over his shoulder in time to see Roman staring up at the big screens, brow furrowed and mouth set in a slacked, deep frown. Next to him, Thomas was cheering and throwing his hands in the air, waving at the crowd. If he’d been facing him, Logan figured he would have seen a huge grin on his face.

He threw up an arm to block Joan’s punch, and, with his other, gripped his weapon’s strap tight, flinging the book as hard as he could at Thomas. It hit him square on the back and knocked him out of sight.

“And our second, just a second later!”

“It seems that PRVL and JTTT are evenly matched against each other! There’s no telling who will win this fight!”

“Ah, but whoever it is will clearly be worthy of going on to the next round!”

Virgil swallowed thickly as he blocked another scratch from Talyn’s claws. “That’s debatable,” he whispered to himself.

“Not so confident now, are you?” they snarked, shooting a smirk.

Glaring, he shoved them back as hard as he could, and they fell to the ground; without missing a beat, they did a backwards somersault, snatching their sword off the ground and firing bubbles at him again.

Virgil snapped his pole into its shotgun form and shot at each of the bubbles, letting them explode in the air instead of in his face. He crept forward as quickly as he could at the same time. Talyn inched back on their own with each step he took.

Finally, he ducked, snapped his weapon back into a pole, and swiped it under their feet. They hit the ground with a thud, and the buzzer sounded through the arena.

The crowd cheered. Distantly, Virgil heard Dr. Oobleck and Professor Port announcing the win.

He should have been happy, or at the very least, on his way to helping his teammates. But he couldn’t.

His eyes were glued to the people and cameras surrounding them.

Patton grit his teeth as his and Terrence’s weapons collided. With a grunt, he shoved him away, but Terrence kicked him in the chest and knocked him to the ground. He gasped pushed himself up, only to pause at the sight of an unsettlingly still figure.

“Virgil?” he muttered.

He glanced up at the screen to check his Aura level. 56/100.

Virgil realized with a start that he couldn’t breathe. His chest squeezed to the point where it felt like each breath was restricting his lungs even further, and his heart was feeling it. Pain started to run down his left arm as he broke into a cold sweat.

Something was wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong, and he was going to die, right here, in front of all these people, on live TV.

His legs trembled under his own weight, even though he felt like he was going to float away. All of these people were going to watch him die, and—and they were going to be traumatized. And all that panic and trauma was going to attract Grimm, maybe so many that the Atlas Military couldn’t hold them back, and everyone was going to die and it would be all his fault because he couldn’t handle a single, stupid fight in front of some people—

Virgil’s knees buckled.

Patton’s heart leapt to his throat. “Virgil!”

“What’s this? It seems Mr. Vengier is exhausted from the fight!”

He snapped his gaze towards Logan and Joan, just in time to see Joan staring at Virgil with a calculating look in their eye. They strategically hit Logan in the gut with a charged punch, and then they were running.

Patton glowered.

He whirled around and slammed his shield into Terrence’s shins just as he was raising his bat above his head. As he toppled forward, Patton leapt to his feet and smashed his fist into his chest as hard as he could.

A streak of flames followed Terrence as he flew out of bounds. Patton hardly registered the buzzer, as he was already sprinting as fast as he could.

Joan leapt into the air, their glove crackling with electricity and aiming right for Virgil.

Patton felt the ground rise under him with each step he took. Fire engulfed his fists.

They made eye contact.

Joan’s face fell.

With a scream, Patton slammed his fist into them, and they were sent flying through the air; when they hit the ground, they smashed through a rock formation in the sand before skidding off of the stage and slamming into the far wall.

“AND THAT’S THE MATCH!”

“TEAM PRVL OF BEACON WINS!”

Patton landed back on the ground and stumbled, cloak landing over the top of his head and blocking his vision. He yelped and scrambled to get it off; by the time he could see and whirl around, Talyn was already knelt next to Virgil, gripping his arm tightly.

“Virgil, right? Try to focus on me,” they encouraged. “Can you hear me?”

Logan dashed up behind them. “What’s going on?”

“Is he okay?!” Patton asked.

They shot them a quick glance, but kept their focus on Virgil. “He’s having a panic attack,” they stated. “I’ve got this. Virgil, if you can hear me, I need you to breathe in through your nose for four seconds…”

A hand rested on Patton’s shoulder; he turned to see Thomas giving him a gentle look. “Has he ever had one of these before?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Logan replied.

“Mine, either.”

Thomas nodded, and then he offered them a smile. “He’ll be okay. Don’t worry. If anyone knows how to help, it’s Talyn.”

“We need to get off the field soon, though,” Talyn pointed out. “Help me out?”

“You got it.”

Carefully, Thomas and Talyn lifted the trembling Virgil to his feet; when his knees buckled again, his weight caused Talyn to drop as well, and the other three scrambled to grab them both before they could fall. Patton held Talyn steady while Logan helped Thomas with Virgil.

“Aura depleted?” Thomas asked.

With a groan, Talyn could only nod. They leaned almost their full weight against Patton, eyes squeezing shut. Weakly, they pointed at Virgil and frowned.

“Help him do my breathing exercises.”

Thomas nodded and started to softly speak to Virgil, leading them carefully towards the locker room. Patton was about to do the same, but he stopped when he heard footsteps running up behind them.

“Talyn!”

They immediately turned and drooped into Joan’s arms the second they were within reach. Joan let out a breath, and then they lifted them bridal style, pressing their head carefully into the crook of their neck.

“I think you pushed yourself just a little too far today,” they muttered.

Talyn let out a moan, shaking their head. “’M fine.”

“Um…”

The two looked at Patton as he glanced back and forth between them and the locker room. He shifted on his feet, gripping tight to his cape.

“Are— Are you okay?” he asked.

Talyn hummed, dropping their head back onto Joan’s shoulder. “I have EDS,” they explained. “My Aura lets me fight without it hurting too bad, but once it’s gone, it hits full force.”

“We should probably go take a nap or something,” Joan said.

“No— No, I want to make sure Virgil’s alright.”

They blinked.

“What do you mean?” they asked. “Did something happen?”

Talyn raised an eyebrow at them. “Uh, yeah? He started having a panic attack in the middle of our match!”

Horror spread across Joan’s face, and they looked at Patton. “Wait, so—that’s why he collapsed?! Shit, I had no idea—”

They bolted off towards the locker room, holding Talyn tight in their arms; Patton let out a breath and followed.

------ 

Virgil lowered the water bottle from his lips, making sure he kept his eyes shut to avoid any eye contact. “Thank you,” he wheezed.

“Are you feeling any better?” Thomas asked.

He let his head drop and gave a non-committal shrug. “’M not dying, so…”

“Not that you ever were in the first place,” Logan stated.

There was a soft thwack!, followed by a yelp.

“Not now,” Roman hissed.

“It was intended as a reassurance!”

A weak laugh escaped his lips, and he cracked his eyes open to look around the locker room. From where he sat on the bench, he could just barely see Logan and Roman glaring at each other off to the side. Terrence was watching them with a raised eyebrow, and Thomas was next to him, still focused on Virgil. Next to them, Joan leaned against the lockers, holding a steady hand on Talyn’s shoulders, who was sitting cross-legged and exhausted right in front of him.

By process of elimination, that left Patton as the weight pressing against him. Not that he’d ever had any doubts on that.

“Was that your first panic attack?” Talyn asked.

Swallowing thickly, Virgil lowered his head again. “I-I guess.”

“They’re pretty terrifying the first time. I know,” they said. “But you learn how to handle them.”

First time?

“I’m really, so sorry for attacking you like that,” Joan said. “I really had no idea that was happening.”

“S’fine,” Virgil groaned. “Didn’t even notice you, honestly.”

“And you have Patton to thank for that. That final blow was awesome,” Terrence pointed out.

The grip on his shoulder tightened a bit, and then Patton let out a nervous laugh. “Uh… Thanks.”

“No, he’s right! I didn’t see that coming at all!” Joan added. “Was that your Semblance? How many years have you been—”

Virgil quietly sucked in a breath too big for his lungs to handle at the moment and threw himself into a coughing fit. Talyn leaned forward to push the water towards his lips; he took a swig and tried to ignore his burning lungs.

“You okay?” they asked.

He swallowed and slowly nodded. “Thanks.”

Talyn nodded back before pointing to his pocket with a shaking hand. “Let me give you my scroll number,” they said.

“What for?” Virgil replied. Regardless, he pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to them.

“If you’re ever having a panic attack, or just want to talk, you can always call me. I’ll help as much as I can.” They typed in their number and moved to hand it back, but Thomas stepped forward and held out his hand before Virgil could take it back.

“Let me put mine in too,” he ordered, “Just in case Talyn can’t pick up.”

“Oh, I want your numbers, too!” Patton exclaimed.

“So do I!” Roman added.

Joan pulled out their scroll. “Why don’t we all just exchange numbers with each other? Maybe we can hang out later during the festival.”

Patton grinned. “Would that be okay?!”

“Of course! You guys are cool,” Terrence said, “Even if you did beat us up and knock us out of the tournament.”

After they all exchanged and returned scrolls, Joan helped Talyn to their feet and looked at PRVL. “Do you guys want to get something to eat? I hear there’s some great ramen down on the fairgrounds.”

“As much fun as that sounds, I’m afraid we already have plans,” Logan stated.

Patton frowned. “We do?”

“Yes. Team CTLN asked us to watch some of the matches with them, remember?”

Waggling his eyebrows, Roman leaned in. “Oh, of course you’d remember.”

“Maybe some other time, then,” Thomas said. “We’ve got three days before the festival ends, so there’s plenty of time to plan. Let’s meet up again soon!”

“And don’t forget to call if you need anything,” Talyn added.

The two teams headed out of the locker room, each waving goodbye as they headed in different directions down the hall. Roman was quick to hop into the air and hover in front of Logan as they moved.

“So, skipping out on new friends to spend time with Thamir, hmm?” he said.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Do not assume it’s for any hidden reasoning. I simply wish to support them during the tournament,” he replied. “The members of Team CTLN have seemed to expressed remorse that they were unable to qualify to compete, and I’m certain that being with friends will help their emotional states.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

Taking a shaky breath, Virgil slowed to a stop and glued his eyes to the ground. “Guys? Uh… I-I think I’m just… gonna go lie down for a bit,” he softly admitted. “I’m kinda tired after all… y’know. That.”

The others stopped and looked at him; they cast a quick glance at each other, and then Patton stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. “Do you want us to come with you?”

Virgil shrugged, swallowing thickly. “I don’t want to keep you guys from CTLN, or from watching the tournament.”

“I’m sure they’d understand,” Logan replied.

Roman nodded. “And we could always watch on our scrolls.”

Offering a gentle smile, Patton tipped his head to the side. “I don’t really want to be in the colosseum, anyway, if I’m honest,” he said. “It’s a bit too loud for me in there.”

“And crowded,” Logan added.

Virgil chewed on his lip, looking between the three. “Are you sure?”

Shooting forward, Roman threw an arm around his shoulders. “We are certain, you nervous little Nevermore!” he exclaimed. “Now, let’s head back to the airships before this match ends! Best time to beat the crowd!”

A weak smile formed on Virgil’s face. “Okay.”

The group turned and began to head the other direction, towards the light at the end of the hall and the rumbling of the airships.

(https://youtu.be/-0E3bheVYRQ)

[nomadicbeard]

I've never read the comics so can you tell me about the Oath and the Confession thing so I can visualize RDJ n Chris (daydreaming about them helps calm my anxiety no lie)

oh boy oh boy I can do you one better I can give you the full glorious panels combined with the backstory. The Confession and The Oath are so unbelievably important to any stevetony shipper, as it basically confirms that the two of them are so irrevocably in love with each other. No I’m not even exaggerating, the word love is explicitly used, but we’ll get to that. 

So The Confession was a coda to the main civil war arc in the comics in 616 (the ending is much worse than MCU civil war–Steve almost kills Tony but can’t bring his shield down at the last minute, Tony arrests Steve, Steve dies on the courthouse steps, taken down by a sniper on the day of his trial) It basically of Tony talking to Steve’s dead body and confessing his love for Steve the fact that Steve’s death is the one thing that he was always trying to prevent with all the shit that went down in Civil War. The Confession is a pretty big deal for stevetonies because it’s basically the thing that kickstarted this entire fandom way back in the 00s. The sixth ever stevetony fic was uploaded to Ao3 in August 2007 and is a long and glorious masterpiece that is a highly recommended read and is basically 90k of dealing with the fallout from the Confession (and in context of the ship, cemented Steve and Tony’s characterisation in fic forever, but that’s a whole different post). 

The only other context you need for the panel is the last conversation between Tony and Steve (also included in the volume of The Confession) where Steve asks Tony “was it worth it?” and Tony turns away and responds “well you’re a sore loser Captain America”. These are the last words they say to each other before Steve is shot on the courthouse steps.  There are a bunch of other things in the issue, like Tony’s “I was willing to get into bed with people we dislike” which directly contrasts with something Carol says to a (resurrected) Steve later, “it sounds like both of you (Steve and Tony) got into bed with the wrong people”. I’m not a huge comics buff (I mainly just keep up from what’s going on through fic lmao) but the Confession is super short and so iconic in stevetony history that even if you have no intention of ever reading the comics, I’d still recommend you give it a read. 

Without further ado, here is the crucial panel:

There’s a general consensus among fandom that Tony meant to say something along the lines of “I love you” with that long agonising build-up but chickened out at the last second.

There it is…the panel to launch a thousand fics but then Marvel gifted us once more. In the middle of the frankly awful Hydra Cap arc (Steve is ‘reborn’ but comes back thinking he’s a HYDRA agent and spends the entirety of Civil War II (this time a conflict between Carol and Tony) guiding the team into destruction, eventually resulting in Tony in a coma) we get, 10 years after the release of The Confession: The Oath. 

It was even marketed as a counterpart to The Confession, there’s even deliberate visual parallels between the two. 

But this time, it’s Steve talking to Tony’s comatose body. And you have to bear in mind that this is evil!Steve. He’s angry, he’s furious that Tony isn’t around and he’s begging and taunting Tony, wake up, come fight me, just wake up. 

Yeah and then evil!Steve starts spilling all of good!Steve’s secrets and uh…he has quite an important one to get off his chest. 

“Every thought he ever had about you” seems weirdly intimate or is that just me

So yeah! This is The Oath and also where my otp tag otp: he loved you comes from. You may also have seen otp: it wasn’t worth it tags in conjunction with stevetony, so no it’s not us regretting our shipping choices, it all stems directly from the Confession. 

So we know these two are desperately in love with each other, now we just need them to both be awake to hear it. 

For real though we were robbed of a re-enactment of The Confession by RDJ that’s an automatic Oscar right there.

[amydancepants-peralta]

#28 from the Fictober prompts! I absolutely adore your fics! Xo

Here’s a little bit of fun for you, Anon!  😊

#28 -  “Enough!  I heard enough.”

Set in S7 😝.   (A thousand thank you’s to @b99peraltiago for helping me with this one!  You’re the best Adele 😃)

classified information

“Enough!  I’ve heard enough.”  Shaking his head in defeat, Jake slaps one hand across his brow, wedding band feeling cold against the bridge of his nose.  Taking in a deep breath, he tries to regulate his thoughts before letting his hand slide further down.

The knife-twisting-in-his-gut feeling that came from a betrayal like this didn’t seem to be subsiding.  If anything, as his hand slides down towards his neck and Jake looks over at his wife, the feeling was only getting worse.

She has the decency to look morose as she watches him react to her news, eyebrows knitting together to form that are you okay expression that has pulled so many confessions out of him in the past.  Her eyes and wide and sincere, and he knows - he knows - that she never intended to hurt him.  

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” she whispers, eyes full of regret as she takes a tiny step closer.  Instinctively, Jake takes a responding step backwards.  “I wanted it to come from me.”  Her voice firmer, she shakes her head.  “It should have come from me.”

Jake shakes his head.  “Doesn’t change what happened.” He’s being petulant, he knows.  But he just can’t believe what he’s just heard.  He tells her as such, shaking his head as both hands land on either hip.  “I can’t believe you didn’t call me.”

Amy’s shoulders drop, her hands moving to fold in front of her chest as she watches him carefully.  “I couldn’t have, Jake.  You know that.”

Realistically, she’s right.  He knows that she’s right.  And what’s worse - he knows that she knows that he knows she’s right.  But the truth still cuts like a knife.  “Not even a text, Ames?” he mumbles, casting his eyes to the floor before looking back up.  “A sneaky photo or two?”

She sighs, her shoulders rising and falling with the action, and suddenly he’s desperate for the feeling of her arms around him.  “I’ve told you already, babe.  It was - ”

“Classified information.” They say it in unison, Jake’s tone noticeably less interested in the importance of such a concept.  

There had been less than an hour left in his shift when he first heard the whispers - that there had been a theft at a film set not far from the precinct.  He’d shrugged, less than interested - Brooklyn was often the go-to location for film shoots.  This was New York, after all. And after his less than favourable foray into TV sets, Jake had made it a personal rule not to get involved in the trappings of Hollywood. 

Then the rumours began to grow.  It’s a High Profile set.  A big star is involved, they said.  So big, that only the Sarge is involved. 

And to be honest, when Jake heard Sarge, his mind went straight to Terry.  To him, Amy was just Ames - his wife; his moon and stars … the love of his life.  He rarely referred to her as Sarge. (Except, you know, occasionally.  For Sexy Reasons.  Because, when somebody as sexy as Amy Santiago stands in front of you in full uniform and tells you to start stripping, you comply.)  

And then he remembered that Terry was a Lieutenant now, and that the Sergeant they were referring to was most likely Amy, and Jake grew a little more curious about this supposed Big Star.  He’d even sent her a text, mentioning the whispers, and when she replied only a moment later with an It’s no big deal, babe - nothing exciting, he’d pushed it all out of his mind.

Turns out it was, in fact, a big deal.

A big deal, because the secret celebrity that Amy met with today, was none other than Bruce Willis.

Bruce Willis.  

AKA, John McClane.

Jake’s wife, Amy Santiago, had met Bruce Willis today.  And she hadn’t even called him.

Or texted.  

Or snuck in a sneaky selfie, immediately-erasable-via-Snapchat-stylez.  

She had touched the brightest star in the cosmos, and hadn’t even brought him back a sparkle.  

There were so many things wrong with this situation, Jake genuinely didn’t know where to begin.

In the end, it was Gina who spilled the beans.  Which was impressive really, considering she didn’t even work at the Nine-Nine anymore (and there would be some who debate if she ever really did).  Sending Jake a text about how ‘ya wife had just upped her cool points by spending the afternoon with Bruce Willis’, and ‘also do you think Arnie could ask Bruce if he would attend my next book launch party?’ - a text that Jake had stared at for a solid five minutes, distracted only when Amy swung open the front door of their apartment, finally home after what had obviously been a huge day.  

Her smile had been bright, and on any other day Jake would have pulled her in for a kiss, but the idea of Amy meeting his childhood hero and not telling him was still hanging over Jake’s head, and he found himself rooted to the spot.  

It had taken her mere seconds to confess, in a way that in hindsight made Jake realise that she had, in fact, wanted to tell him all day - but hearing the details was turning out to be worse than not knowing at all.

Because not only had Amy met Bruce Willis, she got to walk around a film set ALL DAY with him.  Met his co-stars - interviewing various actors for information regarding the case; having lunch with him when the clues took longer to catalog than she had anticipated.  Shared his salad, in fact, when she realised that she was allergic to all the options available at craft services.

All of this, while Jake was sitting at his stupid dumb desk, writing up boring paperwork for his mundane grand theft auto case.  

Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair.  And so he raised his hands in surrender, calling out Enough!, and for now their apartment was quiet.

He feels his head drop, and in a second Amy’s gentle hands are on his arms, and it’s like a drop of water in the middle of a desert.  Jake’s arms are around her waist in a millisecond, pulling Amy closer, sighing as the comfort of the touch of his favourite person.  They stay like that for a few minutes, both of them too comfortable to move, until Jake pulls away with a mumble about taking a shower.  

She offers her company, and he shakes his head no - unable to push away the morose feeling that was hanging over his head, a heavy storm cloud threatening to break at any second.  It must be obvious to her, how he’s feeling (and in a way, it probably always is), and he watches her face turn from contemplative to confused, arms returning to their crossed position in front of her chest.  “Are you … angry at me about this?”

Jake shrugs, noncommittal in his response.

Amy’s eyes narrow into an all-too-familiar look.  “Jake, I was assigned this case because of my discretion.  Of course I thought of you when I realised who I was interviewing today.  But I had to be careful, babe.  If we’d compromised such a publicised case like this … it would have been disastrous.”  Her forehead creases as she looks down at the floor.  “What’s more, it would have reflected poorly on me.”

Jake feels his heart drop down to his feet as the realisation that his reaction to Amy’s day has only made her doubt herself.  He knows that in the larger scale of things, he was probably overreacting to it all.  Perhaps it was the fact that his birthday was around the corner, and he was getting closer and closer to facing that number 40.  Or that whenever he’d brought up the topic of the upcoming celebration for said birthday, his friends and colleagues seemed less than enthusiastic about doing anything with him.  Whatever the reason, he just couldn’t shake the feelings swimming around his mind.  Clearing his throat, he looks up at Amy, waiting until her head has lifted before speaking.  “I’m not angry at you, Ames.  I’m not.  I just … it just kills me that I wasn’t there.  And that I found out from Gina.”

Amy’s mouth twists slightly.  “I get that.  I was trying to get home to tell you as quickly as I could.”  She hesitates.  “Honestly, if anything I would’ve expected it to come from Boyle.”

“BOYLE?”  Jake replies, eyes widening.  “Charles was there?”

Her teeth sink into her lower lip.  “Kind of, yeah.”

Will this horrible day EVER end?  He shakes his head, despondent, repeating his need to take a shower.  Perhaps, if he tried hard enough, he could wash this whole thing away.

*

An hour has passed when Amy runs her hand along the back of Jake’s shoulders, the familiar scent of her favourite perfume wafting over him as she moves from the back of the couch to stand in front of him.  He looks up, trying his best to plaster on an I’m fine face, a mask he knows she can see straight through, already feeling ridiculous for such petulant behaviour earlier.  

She smiles, reaching her hand out for his.  “You and I need to get out of this house, babe.”

His hand grabs hers, as automatic an action as breathing by now, and shakes his head.  “I’m not sure I’d be the best company tonight, Ames.”

Her fingers squeeze, tugging slightly until he’s being pulled from the couch.  “You’re the only company I could ever want, Peralta.  Now come on, let’s just grab dinner somewhere.  I’ve got the perfect place in mind.”

Jake’s nose is buried in a game on his phone for the majority of the drive to their destination, and when Amy pulls their car into the parking space he looks around in confusion, eyebrows knitting when he doesn’t recognise any of the storefronts his eyes catch.  “Ames?” he asks, turning towards his wife, cocking his head to the side when she winks in response.

“So maybe I’m not thinking dinner after all,” she giggles, pointing towards the sign just slightly outside Jake’s peripheral.  An oversized panel, with flickering fluorescent letters spelling out Johnny’s Laser Tag lights up the otherwise dark carpark.  “I think that maybe you need to blow off some steam.”

He smiles, the first genuine smile in what feels like the entire evening, nodding enthusiastically when she mentions that she’d also ordered a pizza to be delivered to the same address.  She really is his Dream Girl.  And it was ridiculous of him to have reacted the way that he did.  

The apology is still forming in his head as he follows her into the building, not noticing the lack of literally anybody else until they’re well past the front lobby, Amy’s hand tugging him towards the central game zone with an eagerness he hasn’t seen all night.  He’s trying to slow her down, pull her back towards him for a second, when suddenly there’s a bright flash of light, and an overwhelming shout of SURPRISE!

He’s blinking in confusion and Amy is grinning and he can hear the unmistakable squeal of an overexcited Charles somewhere in the background, and when all of the elements finally merge together in his mind, Jake realises that just about every person he has ever met is standing in front of him, smiling from ear to ear.  There are happy birthday banners and balloons and streamers and music playing in the background, and he’s so happy that he could just about burst.  Without hesitation, he pulls Amy in for a kiss, so full of joy and love and gratitude for her that words have completely failed him.  

It’s another hour before he notices Amy checking her phone almost obsessively, brushing off his questions with her multiple methods of (admittedly successful) distraction.  He’s one more glance away from pulling her into a quiet corner so that he can finally figure out what is on her mind when she checks her watch and grins, pulling him to the centre of the room and using her best Librarian Shush to pull the room into silence.  

She announces to the crowd that while they had all been incredibly successful in surprising Jake that evening, there was still one more tiny surprise up her sleeve.  Boyle, doing a terrible job of keeping his cool, saunters through the crowd until he reaches the front door, swinging it open with such a flourish Jake wonders if perhaps his friend’s true career path is on stage in Broadway.  

The thought is fleeting, however, because immediately after that, his heart stops - jaw dropping in shock.

In the doorway, smiling and holding out a celebratory bottle of wine, is none other than Bruce Willis.  

Bruce Willis, his favourite actor ever and the man behind the character that convinced Jake to join the NYPD, was at his birthday party.  

In the days to come, stories would be retold of Jake’s party at the local laser tag.  They would mention how drunk Gina got before challenging Boyle to a dance off (which ended, predictably, in disaster); how handsy Amy got after a few drinks and kept pulling her husband into the darker corners; and how Terry had challenged Rosa to a row of shots before failing terribly three hits of tequila in.  

But Jake’s favourite memory, and the one he will treasure forever, is of him and Bruce (because they’re friends now, and friends call each other by their first names, just like he and Bruce do), strapping on laser gun holsters, McClane Stylez, and dominating the Laser Tag zone like they were saving Nakatomi Plaza all over again.  When he retells the story, Amy will roll her eyes, telling whatever audience that the two of them took things way too seriously, and that by the end everyone had just given up and let Jake play out his Die Hard dreams.  

Afterwards, the actor had told Jake about how incredibly good Amy was at her job (information that was not new to Jake at all), and that when she had solved the on-set theft so quickly and discreetly, dropping by to meet her husband (or his number one fan as Amy had put it), seemed like the least he could do.  Even admitted that maybe the stories he had heard from Reginald VelJohnson had stemmed from a misunderstanding, promising to set the story straight next time the two met.  

Later that evening, when everyone had returned to their homes and Amy’s Holly Gennero costume had made a welcome resurrection, Jake would hold his wife close to him, whispering apologies for his earlier reactions.  She understood him, in a way that nobody ever really had, and having her beside him was truly the best part of any day, hands down.  And the fact that she had managed to pull off the greatest surprise ever, only made him love her all the more.

Plans to get in contact with Will Shortz before Amy’s birthday in September run through Jake’s mind as he closes his eyes, the soft sound of Amy’s gentle snores lulling him to sleep.  If he got to meet his hero, it seemed only fair that Amy would get to meet hers.  

(With any luck, this puzzle master would be a little less gorgeous.)

[whipplefilter]

Fic about the life of a Carsverse Subaru test car?

So, for context! My friend recently started working for Subaru R&D and he found out that manufacturers crush their prototype cars–probably so like, state secrets don’t get out or whatever. But anyway. THE HORROR. DDDDD: This fic is slightly modified from that premise. It seemed like a good day to explore some potential Sally backstory. 

Content warning for somewhat discomfiting discussion about at what point a car becomes a car–like, an actual living machine–and not an appliance.

They’re not alive, Sally reminds herself. Not really.

She watches another car go through the crusher. It comes out with its grille still distinctive, though the engine bay is only half as tall as it used to be and everything from the hood up is gone and flattened.

But it’s not a car, she reminds herself. It’s a prototype.

This is no different than sending the bodies of wrecked cars through, after their ghosts have gone and all that’s left is wire and metal, rubber and glass. A car is more than its parts and these prototypes are just parts.

“I mean, they’re basically toasters,” says Jayden, whom she’s shadowing. Jayden is the most junior of the corporate lawyers at Subaru R&D, and therefore it falls to him to entertain the most junior of Eckel & Barnes’s new recruits–that is, Sally. She passed the California bar eight months ago. Top of her class at Loyola. She’s a Porsche, he’s an Audi. And he is interested.

“I wouldn’t waste your tears on ‘em, sweetie,” says Jayden. He gives her nearest tire an encouraging nudge.

“I’m not crying,” says Sally.

They watch another prototype drive flat out towards a test wall. From one end of the building to the other, it’s probably a couple hundred feet. He’s easily going 45, maybe 50 before he plows into the wall without ever once lifting.

His front explodes piñata-like, fascia catching air as it unclips and fenders bowing out. It looks nasty, but it’s supposed to be like that, Jayden’s already explained to her. It’s dispersal of force. It’s supposed to save more critical components. Body panels can be replaced, after all; but subframes are harder. Still, things don’t go right. There’s a hiss, a billow of steam as the radiator takes the hit. Sally can see the coolant running out, writhing towards them like a glistening snake.

Jayden sidesteps it neatly as he goes to inspect the crash. Sally stays put.

Jayden whistles. “Oh man, yeah. Not good. Like, the entire engine’s pushed through to like… we’re talking past the front diff. That wouldn’t fly at all–major opening for a lawsuit. Sally, come over here. This is the kinda stuff we need to look for! HQ’s gonna have a cow when they read my brief. Ha!”

Sally blinks rapidly. She can’t get the sound of screeching tires and shattering glass out of her mind. She stares at the prototype until her eyes glaze into soft focus.

There wasn’t any shattered glass. There hadn’t been any screeching tires, because he’d never touched his brakes. Not this time, and not this car. The sound comes back to her anyway.

She can feel a lump at the back of her throat, pricking at her tongue. It feels as sick and green as the snake of coolant still coming for her.

“Look,” Jayden says suddenly. “I mean–it’s not– It’s not really a crash, you know? It’s a crash test. This is a prototype. They do this kind of thing so when the new models go into production they can be as safe as possible no matter what life throws at them. They dump tons of money into these prototypes so 2005’s hottest new… sports utility sedans or whatever the heck these things’re supposed to be–so Billy and Jane Outback can live nice long lives even if they launch into a few walls. This is saving lives. And as lawyers, we’re making sure that saves their asses.”

Sally watches the next prototype line up, dark eyes vacant, lips slightly parted. The prototype blinks. Sally looks away. She just–

It’s breathing. Blinking. Its engine’s rumbling. It beeps as its doors lock and its headlights flick on–it’s not dark, it’s just an autonomous reaction, a piece of a system that’s wired but not quite programmed–and it’s not alive she knows it’s not but it just feels so, so–

That time the prototype does brake, too late and too brief–it plows into the wall just like the one before it, but askance. Its right side catches more of the damage, crumpling sideways. From Sally’s vantage point it almost looks like he might’ve been okay, though of course Sally knows better. His A-post is bent, and Sally knows that means there’s a lot more wrong–a lot more that doesn’t get fixed easy.

He blinks slowly.

Doing 90 in the cul de sac. He’s a 911, showing off for the kids. He’s fearless until he isn’t, until he realizes he’s made a mistake, and then all Sally remembers is tires screeching. Glass. Then nothing. She remembers being locked in the garage with her cousins for a long, long time.

By the time they’re let out, everything is cleaned up and quiet. That tree had always been a stump, and don’t worry about the branches waving from the Dumpster. Don’t worry about the glitter to the pavement when the light hits it just right.

“They don’t feel pain,” Jayden assures her. “Was a little weird, though. We’re not doing braking tests ‘til next Thursday. Huh.”

Sally already knows they don’t feel pain. They’re not alive. They’re not yet cars. She’s reminded herself a thousand times. She’s still not sure if it matters.

She wants to ask the prototype if he’s okay. He’s just sitting in the rubble, blinking. Mission accomplished.

She’s afraid he’ll answer.

“When does a car become a car?” Sally asks. “Like, is there a set point where we start being–you know–us? What if right before–”

Jayden snorts. “Man, you know I can’t answer that. I’m not a scientist. We’re lawyers. If we start asking questions like that, we’re probably doing the client a disservice.”

Another prototype lines up at the end of the test trip.

It’s just a machine. Basically a toaster.

But what if, in an instant, she’s not? What if–

Screeching brakes, the moment you’ve realized your mistake.

Or what if she would’ve come alive tomorrow? Or next Wednesday? The moment she puts out, drives through that wall, that’s all gone. All those maybes–they don’t matter. They hiss up like radiator pressure, and vanish.

“Sally,” says Jayden, suddenly sharp. Like he’s decided he lies his job more than he likes the idea of going out with her. “We’re looking at the big picture here. We’re talking thousands, tens of thousands of lives banking on these tests, and these noble, mindless little machines. We’re not looking at that one in a million outlier of a chance that–”

“I know, I know,” Sally interrupts. “We’re not focused on the one in a millions.”

Jayden relaxes. “Good. If you can focus on that, you’re gonna last a long time in this business.”

–

The next morning, Sally follows the signs for I-40.

[tsthrace]

Fandom & Falling in Love (part 2)

(Part 1 is here.)

But it’s hard to fall in love with a moment, a sound, a feeling that I can never touch, hold, or look in the eyes. They’re not quite illusions because I can take them in—they have substance for my eyes and ears, and even my skin if I turn the volume up—but these moments are not of this world. Though they open me to my power and joy and mystery, as any profound relationship should, these moments, like stars, are their own.

They don’t even belong to their creators, though I often trip over that fact. After all, love is love, and I just want to get closer. So I latch onto the people who embody that moment, that sound, that feeling. I scour the internet for any time Maggie Rogers mentions Fallingwater—how she wrote it, its story, what it was like to perform it on SNL. I watch endless interviews and con panels with Eliza Taylor and Alycia Debnam-Carey, hoping they’ll say something about what it was like to be part of that scene. (Maybe they even enjoyed the kissing? Why do I hope that?) The same goes for Piper Perabo and Lena Headey. It’s been a little easier with Tori—I’ve loved her a long time and have seen her live many times, and being in her presence, her piano ringing through the space, seems to satisfy my longing.

But I still write her letters (and sometimes I send them). I tweet at actors and musicians, hoping my clever comment catches their attention. I secretly hope they read my fic. I want them to see me. I want them to know how they’ve affected me. And I want them to reply.

I know it’s not really fair. However thoughtful and talented and intentional they are, I know it’s not Maggie or Alycia or Lena that I love—it’s what they create.

(And I know it’s not just them. It’s also writers, other musicians, producers, sound-mixers, and a host of people who came together to cause me to fall in love—but that’s not very romantic.)

I often try to imagine the moment when their creation launches out of their orbit and into the gravity of so many other people’s experience, what it’s like when someone like me takes their work for themselves, when someone like me assumes (or hopes) so much about who they are because of the way I experience their creation.

I imagine it might be like a drug—the affirmation and adoration. But then comes the expectation of creating more so the drug doesn’t run out. Maybe it gets tiring trying to keep up. Maybe it means more to the fans than it does to you. Maybe it gets lonely when people constantly conflate your creation with you. It was just one scene out of a thousand that season... I wrote that song at a very specific moment in my life…

But there I go again, assuming, trying to get closer.

How to love these moments without needing more from them?

--

Then again, needing more from these moments is what brought me into fandom. The endless longing to get inside them has introduced me to some of my best friends. I travelled to Belgium once on a whim to hang out with other fans for a weekend. Left on a Thursday and came back on a Monday. One fan I met many years ago was in my wedding party last summer. Another new fan friend and I talk Christianity and being queer on Tumblr. Fandom has given me my people.

The endless longing to get inside these moments leads me to write: fic, letters, this. I pull from own world, my own struggles, to fill the space they leave me with. These moments have sparked a life in me I didn’t know I had.

So maybe the real question is: what holds me back from making these moments completely my own?

[maychorian]

Weekly Voltron Fic Recs #45

It’s been more than a year since I started this weekly rec list. No, I didn’t quite do it every week, otherwise there would be 52 now, but I’m pretty impressed that I kept it up this well. I honestly wasn’t sure how long I would keep wanting to do this, but my obsession with Voltron fanfic is still going pretty strong, though it’s waxed and waned at times. Let’s see if we get another year out of it. Thank you to everyone who likes and reblogs these rec lists, and especially for reading the fics and letting the authors know that you appreciate them. That’s why the list exists.

Rules: You can find past weekly rec lists here, and non-list recs in my general fic rec tag. Also follow @maychorianrecs for individually tagged posts, the easier to search and reblog. This is stuff I like, and I have a huge bias toward Lance, hurt/comfort, and general fluff, in that order. Gen unless otherwise noted. Please comment on the fics if you read and enjoy them!

Returns and Lost Belongings by Itsjez Words: 8,986 Author’s Summary: Shiro curled up in his small bunk, legs tight to his chest as he stared at the control panel on the wall opposite. Even now, days since he’d “returned”, everything felt different. Oh sure it wasn’t as if he’d been gone for a year or worse ten, but still. Just where had he gone?That question weighed most on Shiro’s mind. My Comments: Angsty and suspenseful post-Season 2 fic in which Zarkon is an incredibly present and dangerous threat not only to Shiro, but to the entire team. Great resolution and great comfort.

Back to the Future (With a Dash of the Past) by SteamPowered514, theeyesofthestorm1848 for (the entire discord) Words: 11,914 Author’s Summary: Haggar gets mad, messes up, and sends the Paladins back in time one day before they leave earth to fight the good fight against Zarkon. The paladins get to say goodbye, make their peace, and go back to their lions for the first time again. Too bad Commander Mitch Iverson sees the dramatic changes in his students and jumps to the conclusion that they have to be alien spies. My Comments: I love the fact the paladins get a choice time, and they want to go. They have time to prepare, time to grab hold of each other and jump. Hopefully everything will go better this time around. The addition of a tenacious and genuinely concerned Iverson was a very fun touch. What a great fic.

Whump Week by bookwormgir1LH Words: 2,400 Author’s Summary: A collection of triple drabbles written for Voltron Whump Week. 1. Fever: Lance 2. Hypothermia: Pidge 3. Blood Loss: Keith 4. Torture: Shiro 5. Insomnia: Hunk 6: Poison: Allura 7: Head Injury: Coran 8: Free Day: Pidge & Coran My Comments: Can you believe I’m STILL finding gems from Whump Week to rec? Good grief, what a gift. Enjoy this lovely variety pack of whump.

The Space Race Is Over (And I’ll Never Get to The Moon) by Schistosity Words: 14,939 Author’s Summary: The garrison trio stumble into trouble on an undercover mission after they uncover a surprising and eerily familiar piece of space junk. But with the harsh reminder of how far they are from home comes an opportunity to, in a small way, help it. A fic about kids who love space, miss home, and don’t know correct museum etiquette. My Comments: This is such an incredibly fun and good fic. There’s some angst, some action, some humor, some great characterization, but mostly it’s just about how cool space is and how cool humans are for wanting to be in space. It brought up a lot of RL feelings for me, haha, things I feel when watching videos of shuttles launching or visiting the Air & Space Smithsonian. Highly, highly recommended.

Swear On It by EdgarAllenPoet Words: 7,449 Author’s Summary: “Geez, Keith. You kiss your mother with that mouth?” My Comments: Absolutely wonderful Dads of Marmora fic with a sometimes angsty, mostly humorous Lance POV and wonderfully protective Kolivan. And curse words. So many curse words.

A Former Shade of Blue by F-117 Nighthawk (F117_Nighthawk) Words: 8,590 Author’s Summary: The Blue Paladin crash-lands on Earth after Alfor sends the Lions away and is trapped in her healing pod for ten-thousand Altean years. When she wakes, she must come to terms with the Galra Empire. This was started before season three was released. You can take the three generations of paladins headcanon from my cold dead hands. My Comments: Really angsty and action-packed look at the life of the former Blue Paladin, Keith’s mother. I’m still kinda sad this theory got jossed, but at least we have fun fics.

Catch Me If You Can by wingedflower Words: 3,485 Author’s Summary: Hunk only wanted to make a pie and Lance only wanted to be a good friend. What could possibly go wrong? My Comments: Aww, so cute! There are not NEARLY enough fics in this fandom of Hunk and Lance just hanging out and being adorable together. I’m begging you, fandom, more like this please.

Too Little Too Late by EdgarAllenPoet Words: 3,890 Author’s Summary: “That was where Kolivan found Keith, spacesuit big enough to pool around his feet and flap over his hands, both of which were curled tightly around a sword as he stood in front of Pidge like the fiercest little warrior Kolivan had ever seen.” My Comments: Urgh my heart. Tiny, deaged Keith is distrusting and wary of adults, probably for some extremely good reasons, but Kolivan manages to win him over in the most Blade of Marmora way possible. The ending gave me cavities, and I’m happy about it.

It’s a Losing Battle - No Need to Feel Ashamed by kyanve Words: 6,849 Author’s Summary :While the Castle’s getting its final repairs to leave, Shiro spends some time in the Arusian village helping rebuild, and finds out one of the Arusian elders has been around long enough to know better than to believe his assertions that he’s “fine” - and that the Black Lion is stubborn, opinionated, and also not falling for it. (Occurs around chapter 3 of Truce.) My Comments: Stand-alone companion to a previously recced fic. I loved this view of Shiro and Black early in the series, and the worldbuilding for the Arusians was really cool. This author seriously excels at the worldbuilding, I highly recommend their stuff.

A Life in Pink and Blue by Sand_Cursive Words: 4,796 Author’s Summary: So long in stasis had done a number on her faculties, on the only ones that mattered, and for a few brief, blissful moments she had forgotten that there was a war. That her people were being decimated, that the horrors of the galaxy had descended upon her home, that she had great cause to be afraid. An Allura Character Study My Comments: A great look at Allura’s thoughts both pre-series and during some key moments in Season 1. Good backstory and worldbuilding for Altea, too.

Singularity by acestriker Words: 8,201 Author’s Summary: Nothing feels right anymore, and Keith finds an unlikely ally in Matt Holt. Things go downhill from there. A face gets punched, and the team is in tatters. (formerly “Unravel.” I thought this title fit better.) My Comments: Angsty post-season three fic with Matt and Keith teaming up to figure out what’s wrong with “Shiro.” It’s a little rough on everyone, but I really enjoyed the relationship between those two, very supportive no matter what.

Let Me Be Your Shelter by StarryFeathers Words: 5,780 Author’s Summary: What happens when the one who always saves needs the saving? They are used to following, used to him doing the saving, but this time it’s their turn to bring him home. Alternatively: Shiro should really trust his instincts but the Paladins make him proud. My Comments: Really great, tense fic in which the other paladins fight against time to save an injured Shiro, plus some backstory for Keith and Shiro. Very emotional.

A Bone To Pick by Ahhuya Words: 9,557 Author’s Summary: It started as a tingling sensation. Keith shoved it off as training in the Red Lion for too long. Soon enough however, he started to lose control of both his own body and his lion. My Comments: I’ve never seen this particular way to whump a character in fanfiction before. Poor Keith is much too stubborn for his own good, but his motivations and actions make sense. Still, he has to accept help in the end.

Get What You Need by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) Words: 3,114 Author’s Summary:“Shiro taught me everything I know about being a pilot.” A look back at the beginning. My Comments: Thoroughly enjoyable fic about Shiro giving Hunk some pointers, not just on piloting but how to deal with things in general. I absolutely adore how they were help each other here and the development of their relationship throughout. Extremely satisfying.

To Love a Lion by aurumdalseni (kyo_chan) Words: 1,403 Author’s Summary: Just as important as the bond among paladins is the bond the paladins have with their Lions. In this, a kiss for each of the Lions who have accepted them for who they are. My Comments: Sweet and short collection of bonding moments between the lions and their paladins.

Space Tortuga by ozbian Words: 1,379 Author’s Summary: Allura chats with an alien monarch, then decides to let her hair up. (What happens on Space Tortuga stays on Space Tortuga) My Comments: You know what’s more fun than diplomatic Allura? Allura deciding to go, “Screw diplomacy, I’m gonna have fun now.”

Don’t Commit Felonies, Kids by fandomsnstuff Words: 2,858 Author’s Summary: When Sam Holt gets rescued from the labor camp the galra put him in, he’s reunited with his daughter a whole lot sooner than he expected. My Comments: Wonderful Holt reunion with some great banter to lighten it up at the end.

Garrison Trio for Life by A_Zap Words: 1,261 Author’s Summary: Pidge had made her decision: she was going to stay. That doesn’t mean that she stops reflecting over her decision and her team as she sits in front of Lance’s cryopod. Luckily, the third member of the Garrison Trio knows what to say. My Comments: Nice missing scene with Hunk and Pidge talking while Lance is healing in Season 1.

The Moments When You’re (Not) Alone by Voidfish Words: 2,809 Author’s Summary: Five times Lance comforted the team (and one time the team comforted him) My Comments: Sweet fic, all the way around. Love everyone being open with each other.

Take A Break by WildWolf25 Words: 2,223 Author’s Summary: They drew a shuddering breath and released it. “And no matter what I do, no matter how much code I write or what kind of enhancements I make or how many numbers I crunch in whatever way… none of this looks good for us. None of it. And… I’m scared. I’m terrified, and I don’t know what to do besides keep trying to make more improvements to the lions, decrypt more Galra tech, do more even though I know that what I’m doing will barely even make a dent.” They sniffed and leaned into his hold more. “Why does the universe have to be so big?” They asked, voice watery. Lance hugged them from the side and rubbed their opposite arm. “I don’t have an answer for that.” He said quietly. “None of us do.” Pidge groused. “That’s the problem.” Lance took a deep breath. “I’m scared too. We’re all scared.” (Lance finds Pidge working late again due to stress, and does what he can to help) My Comments: Aw, Pidge gets herself worked up thinking about the odds of their fight, and Lance offers some comfort. Lovely fic.

In Your Arms by Copiel Words: 6,286 Author’s Summary: In which Lance gets sick, the team takes care of him, and Keith realizes a thing or two. (And yes, there is some cradling in arms sprinkled throughout) My Comments: Endgame Klance. I just love feverish, delusional Lance and a worried team so much.

Beneath a Sky of Orange Leaves by Zurela Words: 36,366 Author’s Summary: Thanks to the druids, Keith and Lance are launched through a corrupted portal and crash onto a mysterious planet. Stranded, alone, and with no one else to rely on but each other, they quickly realize that rivalries don’t last long in survival situations. My Comments: Engame Klance. Great characterization and bonding in here, some very deep discussions about why Keith and Lance both push others away when they should be seeking in help. In the middle, Lance get desperately sick and Keith has to care for him. Excellent survival fic with teamwork and dumb boys learning to take care of each other.

Rough Week by taylor_tut Words: 2,517 Author’s Summary: It’s been a rough week for the paladins, especially Lance. My Comments: Lance is too self-sacrificing, and too stubborn, and his team loves him very, very much.

Turn Up the Heat by Copiel Words: 2,546 Author’s Summary: Lance just wants someone to make his room warmer, and he gets more than he bargained for. My Comments: I’m always up for weak, feverish Lance and a worried team. This is a great fic for scratching that itch.

Previously Recced Fics That Updated:

Light on the Dark Side of Me (26634 words) Water and Blood (27612 words) Coran's Guide to the Care and Keeping of Earthling Humans (33273 words) As Color Fades Away (138083 words) The Field of Blood (22769 words) The Machinations of Perception (53464 words) I'm not the Lance You think I am (59352 words) Little Crystals (2304 words) The Ones Who Were Left Behind (44569 words) The Lion in Winter (29107 words) - now complete

[sandstonesunspear]

The Budling, part 3

Or alternatively known as: The third part of that obligatory accidental baby acquisition fic.

Sorry that this has taken so long. School, work, and writer’s block got to me.

@nerdsbianhokie​ consider this a birthday present, friend.

-

1 Year later…

-

“Kessel?” Reinhart piped up.

“Yeah?”

“Where’s Astra?”

Kessel waved his hand towards the makeshift crib. It had been a gift from Bob, though he’d refused to reveal where or how he’d acquired the resources to make it.

“They’re over there, kid.”

“Uh…” Reinhart glanced towards the crib. “No, no they’re not.”

Kessel looked up from his rifle and followed the Korugarian’s gaze. To his horror, the crib was noticeably missing its Saurian budling inhabitant.

“Oh shit.”

-

Astra toddled down the metal halls of the DEO. They stopped every so often to examine a particularly interesting wall panel or the occasional fake plant that Lyra had insisted be placed around the ship.

The corridors were relatively empty. A few crew members walked past Astra, but they took no notice of the tiny Saurian. Since it was the height of the duty day, they were engrossed in their datapads or rushing to get to another section of the ship. Astra didn’t mind. They understood that the DEO-family was busy. Besides, it meant that they could make their way through the ship unseen and hopefully find Alex-par or bud-par.

A furious shout caught Astra’s attention.

“What do you mean you lost my kid?!” Alex-par!

Astra couldn’t hear the response, but whatever it was, it only seemed to make Alex angrier.

“You had one job, Kessel!” The sharp clomp of boots as Alex paced was audible even in the corridor where Astra was making their way through. “No, I don’t want to hear it. Find Astra, now. Before Sameen finds out you lost them.”

Kessel and Reinhart stumbled out of the bridge. Astra watched from behind a potted fake plant as Kessel-uncle took Reinhart-person by the shoulders.

“Alright, I’m guessing we’ve got about 15 minutes before the Cap tells Sameen that we lost their kid,” he started. “So, you take the left side of the ship, I’ll take the right, got it?”

Reinhart nodded their agreement furiously. Kessel took off in the other direction while Reinhart stood there for several moments. Their eyes examined the corridor before stopping at the plant that Astra was hiding behind. They walked over.

“Hm…” They mused, crouching down. “I wonder what could be behind this really tacky plant…”

Astra fought back giggles and said nothing. Reinhart-auncle was fooled by Lyra-aunt’s choice of foliage!

“Let’s see here…” Reinhart reached out and gently patted at the air. Astra broke out laughing when their hand rubbed up against their head-nubs. “Aha! Got you!”

Astra squealed as Reinhart picked them up. They squirmed as Reinhart scratched at their backplates.

“Looks like I caught a tiny Astra!” Reinhart chuckled. They ceased their scratching after a few moments, knowing that Astra didn’t like being tickled for more than several seconds. “Let’s get you to the Cap, yeah?”

‘See Alex-par!’ Astra chimed, nuzzling into Reinhart.

Reinhart couldn’t stop the grin from rising. Astra had the entire ship wrapped around her forelimbs and didn’t even know it.

-

Alex was scowling at the map in front of her. She was waiting for either Kessel or Reinhart to inform if they had found Astra or not. They have 10 minutes left. Maybe she’d given the both of them too short a time frame. Teach them to lose a kid. Or not. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Captain?” Reinhart’s uncertain voice piped up from behind her.

“My kid better be in your arms, Reinhart.” Her tone brooked no argument.

‘Alex-par!’ Astra’s chirped greeting echoed through everyone’s minds. The tiny Saurian was, after all, still too young to fully control who heard their telepathic communication. Almost as one, everyone on the bridge, save for Bob, turned to look at an incredibly nervous Korugarian. Alex’s shoulders slumped in relief.

She moved to take them from Kessel. “Hey, there doodlebug,” she muttered. Astra nuzzled into her.

‘Ok, Alex-par,’ They said, trying to alleviate Alex’s worry.

“You have to stop doing this, okay?” she gently scolded. “You’re going to scare me into an early grave.”

-

This wasn’t the first time that Astra had managed to escape whoever was on caretaking duty, but it was the first time that a significant amount of time had passed before they were located. The DEO wasn’t an incredibly large ship by any means. Her crew encountered much larger ships on a regular basis. But what she lacked in size, she more than made up for in places to hide. Alex’s biggest fear, aside from not making it home, was that Astra wouldn’t be found until it was too late should they end up lost aboard the DEO. Sameen often pointed out to Alex that the kepesh-par bond she shared with Astra meant that, barring an extreme complication, she would be able to locate them.

-

Astra made a remorseful sounding noise. They hated it when Alex-par was worried. It made them feel anxious and more than a little said.

‘No scare, Alex-par.’

“I know kiddo,” Alex sighed. “Just...maybe cut down on the escape attempts for a bit?” Especially since this sector’s been pretty rough the past few days. The DEO had repelled four attacks over the last five days. They had been launched by small raiding parties, but something told Alex that they were just the opening salvo in a much bigger plot.

Reinhart coughed. “Um, Captain, does that mean Kessel and me are off the hook?” they asked.

Alex looked up from the tiny Saurian in her arms and fixed Reinhart with a glare. She took a small amount of satisfaction at the yelp it drew from them.

“Fuck, no.” She shifted Astra so that they could snuggle into her neck. Before she could say anything else, Kessel came stumbling back in, chest heaving.

“Cap, I searched the whole gods damned ship and I couldn’t still couldn’t find--” Kessel abruptly fell silent at the sight of a now-snoozing Astra in Alex’s arms. Her glare caught him full blast, drawing a very un-Boloxvian-like squeak from him. “Oh.”

Alex took a breath, mindful of all the people present on the bridge around her and the lightly snoring Saurian she was holding. She closed her eyes. One-one thousand, two-one thousand…Would she be justified if she bit their combined heads off? Yes, yes she would. But she doubted the message would stick if she did that.

Alex opened her eyes. She fixed a quivering adolescent Korugarian and a fully grown Boloxvian with a look that would have melted durasteel. As it stood, both individuals flinched at the cold fire present in their Captain’s eyes.

“Let me make something very clear to the both of you,” she started. “When I or Sameen as one of you, any of you, to look after Astra, we do so under the assumption that they will be looked after until either one of us can come retrieve them. We’re not just passing them off to you to avoid responsibility; we’re doing so because the areas where we work on the ship are not conductive to the safety of a budling.”

Alex’s voice was like ice. It was the tone voice that she had used during her regrettable date with Maxwell Lord. It was a sound that promised complete destruction at a future date, delivered with a happy smile and a serving of your own innards on a silver platter.

Kessel looked like he wanted to interrupt, but a sharp jab at his ribs from Reinhart silenced him as Alex continued.

“As Captain of the DEO, I have an entire ship full of people to worry about. And as the chief engineer, Sameen is busy making sure that we all don’t die in a giant fiery ball of doom. When Sameen and I are on duty, either here on the bridge or our areas of specialty, the last thing either of us needs to be fretting about is Astra’s well being.” She paused and glanced around. “I assume everyone here understands this, right?”

Heads bobbed as various crew members vocalised their confirmation. Alex looked back to Kessel and Reinhart, both of whom looked extremely contrite.

“Neither one of you will be watching Astra in the near future.” The ‘I’m disappointed in the both of you,’ went unsaid, but it was heard loud and clear nonetheless. Reinhart and Kessel hung their heads at her declaration. It would have made for a comical sight, were the situation not so serious. “Until further notice, you both will be working down in engineering with Sameen. It will be up to them to decide if, and when, you get to watch Astra again.”

Both heads dropped further at the announcement, but neither Kessel or Reinhart protested. They’d fucked up and they knew it. Kessel could hear practically hear his broodmother tearing him a new one for misplacing a child. Reinhart, for their part, was upset with themself. After all, they were supposed to have been keeping an eye on Astra and failed.

Silence reigned on the bridge. More than a few crew members were looking at Kessel and Reinhart with sympathy. It was true that Astra liked to and escape whoever was in charge of watching them. They did that with everyone. But none of them had actually ever lost the tiny budling. Losing the Captain’s adopted subunit wasn’t something that one easily came back from.

Alex let out a breath. She waved a free hand at the Korugarian and Boloxvian. “You’re both dismissed.” She looked down at Astra, who was still dozing. She shook her head. “What are we going to do with you?”

-

“Kessel and Reinhart informed me that you have assigned them to my command until further notice,” Sameen remarked as soon as they walked into Alex’s quarters. Astra was snoring away on Alex’s bed, surrounded by a mountain of pillows.

Alex looked up from her datapad. “I assume they told you why.”

“The guilt from them made it clear.”

“You think I’m overreacting.” It wasn’t a question. Some part of her knew that she had been more than a little harsh with them. But at that specific moment, the fear in her gut at the thought of something happening to Astra had driven her. It was response ingrained in her; the result of her years as Kara’s older sister.

“I do not.” A pause. “I believe that, had I been on the bridge when Kessel delivered the news that he misplaced Astra, I would have reacted the same as you did.” Or worse. Saurians were incredibly protective of their budlings, after all.

Alex sighed and put down the datapad. She looked out the window, watching stars slowly pass by.

“I am the Captain of this ship,” she said. “I am responsible for the safety and well-being of every person on this ship. We are light years away from Earth and out here, I have to remain objective. I can’t put one person’s live above another’s, regardless of what relationship we may share.” She took a breath. “At least, I’m supposed to be objective. When it comes to Astra...if anything were to happen to them, I would…” Do anything.

Maybe it was a parent thing. Or maybe was because over the course of her life, her core programming had gone from, ‘Be the best,’ to ‘Protect Kara, no matter what,’ to ‘Protect the people I love, no matter what.’ Alex’s time in the DEO had honed her into a weapon of protective destruction. Years of covert work and countless lies had blurred the lines she was willing to cross to keep the people she loved safe. Detain a man without a warrant because he’s threatening her sister? Easy. Become a fugitive to protect a man who had been a better father to her than her actual father was? Done. Try to strangle a snarky alien with a barstool after giving him a concussion because the woman she (unknowingly, at the time) loved was in danger? Piece of cake. Go rogue and take on racist, extremist organization without backup? Just another Tuesday.

“I believe the book that Lyra gave you, the one regarding how parenthood may affect an individual, had a chapter on how to properly react when one’s subunit is under threat, Captain,” Sameen said, trying to lighten the mood.

It worked. A smile appeared on Alex’s face. “I think I skipped that chapter, to be honest, Sameen,” she chuckled.

Before Sameen could say anything else, the ship lurched violently. Datapads went flying. Alex stumbled back and slammed into the window while Sameen was sent into the desk.

“Are you alright, Captain?”

Alex grunted and righted herself. “‘M fine.” She glanced over at the bed. “Astra?”

Both immediately looked over to the bed where Astra slept. They were relieved to see that the budling still lay relatively undisturbed, though the mountain of pillows that had been surrounding them was no more.

Lyra’s voice crackled over the comms. “Bridge to Captain Danvers, are you there?”

Alex slapped the comm console on her desk. “Danvers here, report,” she barked out.

“Unknown vessel appears to have opened fire on us, Captain.”

“Could they be any of our old ‘friends?’” she questioned.

“Unknown at this time. Scanners are up and running. Requesting your return to the bridge as soon as possible, Captain.”

“I’ll be right there.” She clicked the comms off and glanced at Sameen. “Stay here with Astra, I’ll send someone to guard this location.”

“We will be fine. Go.”

Alex grabbed her gun and her jacket and rushed from her quarters.

-

Alex’s boots pounded against the steel floors, sending loud echoes throughout the DEO’s corridors. Various members of the crew plastered themselves against the corridor walls as Alex raced past them. Others hurried alongside her on their way to their respective duty stations. The first time the DEO had come under attack, there had been panic. Now, everyone moved with a well-trained efficiency.

She broke off from the group and slid on to the bridge. “Status report,” she ordered.

Lyra handed her a datapad. “Results of the scans, Captain.”

Alex gave her a nod of thanks. She frowned as she looked it over. That can’t be right. She glanced back up at Lyra.

“Are we sure about these scans?”

Lyra nodded grimly. “Bob double checked,” she said. “Scans confirm that the ship matches the information Sameen provided regarding vessels commanded by the Katoh-Fel.”

“Fuck.” Sameen had shared their memories with Alex of just exactly what kind of treatment they endured at the hands of the loyalist forces. If she had thought Cadmus to be extreme, the Katoh-Fel were even more so. They were Saurian extremists who considered themselves to be loyalists to the deposed Saurian despot, Katoh. They were intent on “purifying” their species by any means necessary. Their sudden takeover of the Saurian homeworld of Soris-Vel was followed by a trail of devastation that culminated in an indiscriminate, system-wide campaign of genocide. Sameen was one of the few who managed to escape with their life.

“Do we have any idea where the Katoh-Fel vessel is now?” Alex demanded.

“No, they have some sort of cloaking device.” Lyra paused. She bit her lip nervously. “Captain, there are indications that the ship has been trailing us for some time now.”

Of course it had been. “I take that to mean that the raids earlier in the week were them feeling us out?”

“That would be apt, Captain.”

Alex took a breath. “Do they know we have a Saurian onboard?” She needed to remain calm. She had two Saurians on board, one of whom had escaped the Katoh-Fel and the other who was just a child.

“I doubt they would have fired on us if they didn’t.” But that didn’t necessarily mean that they knew there was a Saurian budling on board.

Alex moved to the Captain’s Chair and sat down. She closed her eyes. Lyra was right. After all, the Katoh-Fel were known to hunt ships across systems if there was even a possibility that a Saurian was on board. They were determined to eliminate any Saurian they perceived to be “impure” for standing against Katoh or who managed to escape the purges. Sameen had done both.

She opened her eyes. “Can we outrun their ship?” she asked.

“Unlikely, Captain,” Bob spoke up. “Their initial volley contained disruptor rounds. Shields were able to stop most of it, but they’ve managed to knocks us offline in the process.” His fingers tapped away furiously at the console in front of him. “We’re not going anywhere soon.”

Goddammit. She tapped the communication panel in her armrest. “Bridge to engineering.”

“Engineering here, Captain,” Reinhart’s voice crackled.

“How long until you can the systems restored?”

“We’re already working on it, Captain.” Alex could hear the tension in their voice. “But we’re going to need some time to--”

Whatever Reinhart was going to say was cut off by Bob’s panicked yelp of, “Katoh-Fel back on scanners and in range, Captain!”

“On screen!” Alex demanded.

Within seconds, a Katoh-Fel Cleansing Bird was in view. Alex had seen glimpses of a Cleansing Bird in Sameen’s memories before, but they did a poor job of preparing her for the actual sight. For a moment, she was reminded of the Narada from that Star Trek reboot film. It was an asymmetrical monstrosity that dwarfed the DEO several times over.

“Well, shit.” Alex wasn’t an easy person to intimidate. Her time in space had only bolstered her immunity to fear. Many unfortunate would-be pirates had picked the DEO, thinking they could scare her crew and Captain into submission, only to be met with guns, salvaged torpedoes, and Alex’s ruthless indifference. But the sight of the Cleansing Bird sent a shiver of fear down her spine. Every inch of the ship before her, if could even been called that, looked as though it had been designed both for maximum intimidation and destruction.

“Captain, they’re hailing us,” Lyra spoke up. She couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice.

Alex exhaled. “Put them through,” she ordered, working to keep her voice steady.

The face of a heavily scarred Saurian appeared before them. Their eyes were black with hate and disdain. Alex kept her expression neutral and did her best to appear unaffected by the sight in front of her.

“I am Salok, Overseer of the Katoh-Fel. You are harbouring an issala-bas. I demand you hand it over for purification.”

“I’m Alex Danvers, Captain of the Starship DEO,” she started. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Salok sneered. “Do not think me a fool, bas,” they snarled. “You will hand over the issala-bas!”

Alex scoffed. “You really don’t know how negotiation works, do you, pal?” she taunted. “Even if we did have a Saurian on board, which we don’t, there’s no way we would hand them over to you.”

Salok’s face twisted with rage. The scars marring their face only intensified the look. It was obvious that they weren’t used to their demands being refused.

“If you do not hand it over, then I will see your ship destroyed!” They thundered.

The crew exchanged unimpressed looks. Alex gave Salok a thin smile. Wrong move. It was never a good idea to threaten her crew. It was an even worse idea to threaten her ship. Do both, and you may as well have signed your own death warrant.

Alex leaned forward. “You obviously have no idea what it is we do,” she said. “So bring it.” She glanced at Bob. “Cut the channel.”

-

Alex let out a breath. “Alright, so I just entered us into a game of space chicken with a ship that’s armed to the teeth and looks to be the size of Delaware.” She glanced around. “Suggestions?”

“Kick their asses?” Jackson asked from his position at the weapons console.

Alex nodded. “Already planning on doing just that. Anything else?”

“Haul ass?” Lyra suggested.

“Kind of hard to do with everything offline, but great idea.” Movement on screen caught everyone’s attention. To their collective dismay, the Katoh-Fel Cleansing Bird appeared to be dispatching a shuttle. A shuttle that was the size of the DEO and headed for the hydroponics area of the ship.

“Jackson, please tell me weapons are online.”

Jackson typed furiously. He received a handful of sparks and a sputtering console for his trouble. He looked up.

“That would be a no, Captain.”

Fuck. Alex tapped the communication console. “Bridge to engineering, you have ten minute to get everything back online. Reroute whatever power you can to get shields, weapons, and engines back up.” She pulled out her gun and checked it over. “Kessel, report to the hydroponics corridor, you’ll be with me.”

She paused and looked around the bridge. She was met with looks of determination. She nodded before readjusting the communication channel. “Attention crew, this is Captain Danvers speaking. Get to your battle stations if you haven’t already. We have a hostile shuttle inbound.”

Alex clicked the channel off. “Lyra, you have the bridge. Bob, keep an eye on our Katoh-Fel friends and be ready to punch it as soon as the systems are back up.”

“Roger, Captain,” both of them said.

She headed to the doors of the bridge. “Good luck, Captain,” Bob said.

Alex glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t need luck, I have ammo.” A thoughtful look. “And Kessel.”

-

Alex was met by the security team and Kessel when she arrived in hydroponics. A look of murder sat on the face of a normally jovial Boloxvian.

“The boys briefed me, Captain,” he said in place of a greeting. “I assume that this Overseer and fellow ilk are about to be taught a very painful lesson?”

She gave him a look. “Do you really even have to ask?”

Kessel shrugged. “It’s always good to have confirmation.”

“Fair enough.”

“Bridge to hydroponics,” Alex’s personal comm crackled.

Alex tapped the badge that housed the mini-radio. “We read you down here.”

“30 seconds to breach, Captain. Looks like the Overseer’s on the shuttle.”

“Noted, Bridge. Prepare to lock down the ship.”

“Roger that.” A beat. “Good luck everyone.”

Helmets went on as soon as the line went dead. “Don’t forget to activate your mag-boots people.” Alex reminded. “Vacuum’s gonna last for a few seconds before the Bridge can lock us down.”

They all traded vicious grins. They took their positions along the wall. The rustling of readied weapons and hiss of helmets sealing were joined by the almost inaudible hum of mag-boots activating. Alex closed her eyes, centering herself. They had one shot to get this right. The ability of the DEO to protect her crew and turn the tide in this skirmish would be completely dependant on how well Alex, Kessel, and the security squad responded to the initial incursion.

One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand. Her grip tightened on her gun. Then the world shifted.

-

If you were to ask Alex later on, she would tell you that if there was one thing the movies got wrong about space, it was the explosions. They were always made out to be these loud, dramatic fiery balls of doom. In reality, the initial explosion was much quieter and much less dramatic. Or at least, that’s what it seemed liked.

Time seemed to slow down the moment that the Katoh-Fel breached the hull. In stepped various Saurians, with Salok at their head. Various looks of fury and hatred were on their faces. Then the vacuum of space kicked in.

In space, no one could hear you scream, but Alex liked to imagine that should could hear the screams of the Katoh-Fel as they were sucked out into the blackness of the cosmos. The sudden onslaught of a differential pressure change destabilised the remaining Katoh-Fel and made them prime pickings for the various potted fake plants that dotted the corridor. Now I realise why Lyra insists on having those things. A large metal crate came flying down the hallway, drawing a heavily muffled yelp from Belen. It promptly smacked into three Katoh-Fel who, up until that point, were doing an admirable job to trying to board. They too joined their fellows in space.

“Crate shot!” Kessel crowed through his helmet comm.

Alex smirked at blatant pun. It wasn't his worst, to be honest.

A loud hum shook through the DEO. Half a moment later, the emergency seals kicked in and slammed down on the breach. One unfortunate Katoh-Fel found themselves bifurcated as three tonnes of reinforced steel came slamming down. Alex and her squad shared a wince. That had to hurt.

The Katoh-Fel struggled to regain their footing now that the air was no longer howling around them. In the time it took them to adjust and properly, Alex and the others had already disengaged their mag-boots and aimed. The remaining Katoh-Fel and Salok looked up to see various weapons trained on them.

Alex grinned savagely behind her helmet. “Welcome to the DEO,” she said.

She opened fire. Kessel let out a roar and followed suit. The others joined in shortly after. Two Katoh-Fel hit the ground, bodies riddled with plasma, metal fletchets (courtesy of Kessel), and lead. Salok and their squad stumbled back, snarling. They scrambled to pull up their personal shields as Alex and her squad unloaded on them. They managed to get off a few shots in return, but it was nothing compared to the fire they were taking.

“Motherfucker!” Belen snarled when she saw the personal shields go up. They weren't a common occurrence because the technology involved was so costly. But when they did show up, it was cause for a massive headache as it make a simple shooting job ten times harder. “Captain!”

“Yeah, I noticed!” Alex fired back. She activated an experimental plasma shield and slammed it into the deck. A large orange barrier quickly materialised. “Belen, get to Sameen and Astra! The rest of you, split off and pull back! We can flank them in the galley!”

The squad voiced their agreement. “Try not to die, Captain!” Belen called as she and the others moved back.

At the same time, Kessel decided to pop up from behind the shield and toss one of his “fun makers.” The concussive blast sent the Katoh-Fel flying back.

“Haha! Crack shot!” Kessel whooped. He followed up the explosion with several blasts from his heavily modified rifle.

Salok let out a roar as they were hit by a blast.

Kessel and Alex exchanged looks. “Think they're mad?” He asked.

An inhuman roar was their answer. Before they could react, Salok came smashing through the barrier. Salok’s personal shield fizzled out when they made contact with the orange barrier but the damage was done. The force of the collision sent Alex and Kessel flying.

Kessel smacked into the wall, leaving a large crater behind as he slid to the floor. Alex hit the ground with a groan. Thank god for body armor. She rolled back onto her feet just in time to see Salok standing over her. Before she could move away from them, they grabbed her by her neck and lifted her. She felt the beginnings of a mental intrusion and immediately walled her mind off.

“How curious that you insist on resisting a superior power,” they mused. “It is obvious that the issala-bas has defiled all of you. I will put you of your misery and cleanse the filth that has taken refuge on this vessel.”

Alex choked and spluttered. Her legs kicked furiously as she struggled in their grip. Salok let out a low, menacing chuckle.

“Your display of struggle is pathetic, bas. You can’t even even speak.” Alex snarled as best she could with a hand gripping her windpipe. They leaned in. “What was that?”

Unnoticed by Salok, Alex had managed to get her hands on the knife worn on their sash. She glared at them defiantly as her grip tightened around the knife.

“Fuck. Off,” she ground out.

Alex ripped the knife from Salok’s sash and slammed it into their arm. Salok dropped her, howling in pain and rage. Her knees hit the deck. She doubled over, coughing and gasping for air as the life support system’s of her suit kicked into overdrive. Salok continued to roar as their hand scrabbled to remove the knife from their arm. They weren’t very successful in their endeavour.

She looked past them to see Kessel slowly rousing himself. He noticed a raging Salok and caught Alex’s eyes. He weakly nodded his head, motioning for her to get going. Alex scrambled to her feet while Salok was still distracted, leaving them with Kessel. Even semi-conscious, the Boloxvian would prove to be a difficult opponent for the Overseer.

Better not die on me, asshole.

-

Belen entered Alex’s quarters and immediately slammed her gauntleted fist onto the wall panel. The doors hissed shut behind her. She pulled off her helmet and looked up to see Sameen holding a still-sleeping Astra in their arms. She let out a breath of relief.

“Oh, good, you and the kid are okay,” she said.

“We are fine, Belen.” Sameen frowned. “What is going on? Where is the Captain?”

“Long story short, Katoh-Fel, dunno if I’m saying that right, found the ship and want to blow us all to bits,” Belen replied, distracted. “Cap’s fighting some Overseer dude, Sauron, Salok, Sa-somthing--”

“Overseer?” A feeling a dread settled in Sameen’s gut. “Salok?”

“Huh?” Belen glanced at them. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that sounds right.” She frowned. “Everything alright, Sameen?”

Sameen said nothing. Instead, they handed Astra over to Belen and moved her so that her back was against the wall.

“Uh, Sameen? Mind cluing me in here?”

“I must aid the Captain.” They moved towards the door. “You will remain here with Astra.”

“What? No!” Belen protested. “Cap sent me to keep the two of you safe! She’ll have my hide if either one of you gets hurt!”

Before she could react, Sameen was suddenly in front of her. They placed a clawed hand on her face. Moments later, Belen slumped against the wall, unconscious, with Astra still in her arms.

Sameen trilled remorsefully. It wasn’t something they enjoyed doing, but in this case, it was necessary. If Salok was indeed aboard, then there wasn’t any time to waste. But they couldn’t leave Astra unprotected. Leaving them with Belen wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

Sameen moved to leave. They cast a glance of their shoulder. Ancestors willing, they would return to their budling. But something told them that that wouldn’t be the case. They placed their hand on the door panel and input the security code. It would shut the door behind them and seal the quarters off to anyone except Alex or Lyra. Hopefully it would be enough.

-

Alex bolted down the DEO’s corridors. Not for the first time did she curse the size of the freighter she’d been stranded on. She angrily blew a strand of hair out of face as she rounded another corner. She had long since abandoned her helmet, having used it to brain a Katoh-Fel agent who’d been unfortunate enough to stand in her way. Crashing noises echoed behind her. Well, looks like Salok’s back. She picked up the pace. She had to get back to her quarters.

Alex turned right and slammed into someone. She looked up to see a Saurian looming over her. She pulled her fist back, ready to strike, only to stop at the last minute when she realised just exactly who was standing before her.

“Sameen?” What are they doing here? Her heart dropped. Did Belen not make it?

“Belen is fine Captain. I came to assist you,” Sameen informed her calmly.

Alex shook her head vehemently. “Sameen, these Saurians, they’re Katoh-Fel,” she explained. “The Overseer is right on my tail. You need to get going!” She checked over her gun. It was back at full charge. “I can buy you some time, so go!”

Sameen simply walked past Alex. “Sameen!” She protested.

“I will be fine, Captain,” they said curtly. “It would be best if you fell back.”

“They’re here to kill you!” Alex stressed. “You need to go!”

“No.” Salok was approaching. It was time to stop this madness. The Katoh-Fel wouldn’t take another of their family away.

“Sameen!”

Salok appeared before Alex could do anything else. The scarred Saurian’s chest heaved with exertion and anger. They had seen better days. Their armor was missing entire chunks. Blood was dripping from a vicious cut above their eye. Alex could see their tunic slowly, but steadily, turning a dark green; the result of a stab wound that found its way past their chest plate.

“These bas have proven most troublesome. I was beginning to believe that I would have to cut my way through this ship,” they rumbled. “But then the Ancestors saw fit to deliver the issala-bas to me so that it may be purified, as an act of providence!”

Alex snarled and stepped forward, gun at the ready. “Like hell, asshole!” The Overseer and the Katoh-Fel would take Sameen over her cold, dead body. And even then her corpse might still put up a fight.

Sameen raised her hand to stop Alex. “Enough.” They turned fully to address Salok. “Cease, now.”

Salok scoffed. “The issala-bas dares address me? It is not worthy enough to do so!” They thundered. “It is filth that must be purified and the things it defiled, purged!”

“Your people have perished. You are all that remains. You cannot hope for victory.”

“The fire of Katoh still burns aboard our Cleansing Bird! It shall purge this tarnished space!”

Alex and Sameen’s ears twitched. The halls of the DEO hummed. It’s about time. A slow smirk spread across her lips.

“Are you sure about that?” she spoke up, catching Salok’s attention.

“The Cleansing Bird will destroy your ship.”

“Uh huh.” Alex tapped her comm badge. “Danvers to Bridge.”

“Bridge here,” Lyra’s voice crackled through. “Standing by for your command, Captain.”

Alex glared defiantly at the Overseer. “Jackson, fire!”

The DEO lurched as she fired off modified disruptor torpedoes.

“And just what do you think that will do, bas?” Salok demanded. “Your weapons will be unable to sully the Cleansing Bird?”

“They will if they hit that spot just under the bridge.” Alex’s smirk spread. She knew, from Sameen’s memories, that that spot was semi-exposed due to a design flaw shared by all Katoh-Fel Cleansing Birds. Judging by how Salok’s eyes widened in horror, that weakness was still there.

Jackson’s voice echoed over the intercom. “Attention, crew of the DEO, prepare for an imminent proximity detonation!”

“Bob, punch it!”

The three of them stumbled forward as the DEO’s warp drive kicked back online. Salok shouted their outrage.

“You filthy vashedan-bas!” They howled.

Alex’s smirk turned into a cheeky grin that her sister would have been proud to see. “Don’t get too upset over this, Overseer, this clusterfuck’s entirely on you.”

“I will strike you down for your insolence!”

Sameen took a step towards them. They could see the madness slowly filling Salok’s eyes. Saurians were dangerous enough opponents while sane. Facing one that had been driven to madness and fueled by an unquenchable rage could easily spell disaster.

“You are welcome to try.”

-

A haze of red clouded Salok’s vision. How dare they. How dare these bas stand in their way!  How dare they resist their noble attempts to purify the issala-bas! Did they not know what they were harbouring? It was filthy. It was disgusting. It didn’t deserve to exist. It had to be purified. It had to be.

Destroy it. Destroy it. Destroy it! The only way to purify such a corrupted thing was to destroy it. Katoh’s mercy would see it reborn into a loyal member of the Katoh-Fel. It would be worthy of being a Saurian. But it had to die.

Blood pounded against their ears. The destruction of the issala-bas and the bas that harboured it were the only things their mind. The Ancestors delivered it to me. I will see it gone. Suddenly, they caught a glimpse from the mind of the bas. The bas was holding a budling.

Inhuman snarls left Salok’s mouth. The issala-bas had managed to produce a budling! It was spreading its corruption! This could not stand. It was their duty as an Overseer of the Katoh-Fel to purge all issala-bas.

Salok let out a bullish roar. They would kill the issala-bas, the bas that harboured it, and its perverted budling. Then, and only then, could this space be considered cleansed.

They charged forward, death and destruction all the remained inside of their mind.

Destroy and purify!

-

Alex took a step back at the noise that came out of Salok’s mouth. It was unlike anything she’d ever heard before. It was a sound of utter madness that promised nothing but destruction. She lifted her gun, ready to fire, but was pushed back by Sameen. She could only stare in disbelief as they intercepted the Overseer with a snarl of their own.

Sameen had caught the tail end of Salok’s thoughts, or at least, what remained of them anyhow. Fury filled them. The Katoh-Fel had taken everything from them: their family, their homeworld, their people. They would not take anymore.

They caught Salok and slammed them into the deck. The force behind their throw left a dent in the steel floor. Sameen caught their punch. They retaliated with one of their own before taking an arm to the gut. They went crashing into the wall.

Alex’s gun was trained on the two brawling Saurians. The speed of a fight rarely proved to be a problem for her. She had fought Kryptonians, Martians, and extremely athletic humans with little trouble. But the speed and intensity at which Sameen and Salok clashed at was enough to put all three groups to shame.

Sameen rolled to their feed and narrowly dodged a swipe from Salok’s knife. When Salok had pulled it out, they didn’t know. What they did know was that it left a large gash in the wall, and if it could do that, it would go through their plates with ease.

Sameen, despite being unarmed, had a slight advantage in this fight. Salok was worn down from having had to fight their way through Alex, Kessel, and other crewmen of the DEO. Sameen, on the other hand, was relatively fresh. Salok was driven by madness and rage at this point. Sameen was fueled by their own anger and an intense need to protect their found family and budling. Neither was willing to back down. The Overseer was past the point of being able to be talked down. Sameen had no intention of allowing the Saurian before them to pass. This would end when either one, or both, of them lay dead on the floors of the DEO.

Salok thundered out their fury as Sameen avoided yet another blow. This would not stand. Though their sanity was waning, they had enough remaining to know that this fight had to end soon.

Sameen could see Salok lagging. There! They made their move. They lunged. It proved to be a mistake.

Alex could only watch as Sameen lunged. She saw them stop short and stiffen suddenly. Her eyes widened with horror when wet cough broke from Sameen.

Salok’s knife buried itself deep into Sameen’s chest plates. They had misjudged the knife’s position had paid dearly for it. They coughed wetly. Despite the knife in their chest, they managed to meet Salok’s mad, hate-filled gaze head on.

The madness that had taken over began to recede once Salok realised that the issala-bas stood dying before them. A twisted smile spread slowly across their face. They lifted their head to the ceiling, taking their eyes off the issala-bas as they began to chuckle. That proved to be Salok’s undoing.

With what little strength they had left, Sameen shoved their hand through Salok’s chest plates. The laughter abruptly stopped. Salok’s fingers scrabbled at Sameen’s arm, but they weren’t to be deterred.

“Y-your kind…” Sameen rasped out. “Will never...touch my people...or my family again.”

Slowly, their hand inched deeper and deeper until their claws poked through the soft spot on Salok’s back plates.

-

Not possible. Not possible. Salok could think of little else. How could an a filthy issala-bas kill them? They were an Overseer of the Katoh-Fel. They were pure. They were true Saurian. It simply wasn’t possible.

-

And yet, it was. Salok let out a choked noise the moment Sameen’s claws shredded through their heart. Then, the madness and hate faded from their eyes. In its place was blankness. Salok’s chest did not rise. It did not fall. It simply went still.

Sameen eyes burned with defiance. The Overseer was dead. The ship was safe and her crew were safe. Astra was safe. It was done. They felt their knees weaken.

-

Alex rushed to Sameen. She managed to catch them before they hit the ground. She kicked Salok’s body aside. Why wasn’t I faster? She pushed her anger aside. This wasn’t the time for it. Sameen was her priority right now.

“I-I believe that...I may have e-errored, Captain,” they coughed out.

“Yeah, no kidding.” The knife had gone in deep. She couldn’t recognise the material it was made out of, but it was obvious that it was designed to specifically for Saurian physiology. She pressed her ear against against their chest plate. Nothing. Shit. The lung had collapsed and Sameen’s chest cavity was filling with blood as a result.

“H-How bad, Captain?”

Alex bit her lip. Sameen’s chest was filling with blood. She didn’t have the equipment on hand to relieve the build up and they were two decks down from the medbay. On top that, the knife was still in Sameen. If Alex took it out, Sameen would bleed out. But if it stayed in, every jerk of their chest as they gasped for air caused it to slip around and do more damage.

“It...it could be worse.” But not by much. She tapped her comm badge. “Danvers to medbay.”

“Medbay here,” Zar’ya responded. “Where are you, Captain?”

“I’m two decks down with Sameen. They’ve sustained a severe stab wound to the upper left quadrant, and as a result are suffering from a hemo-pneumothorax.” The language of medicine was familiar to Alex. It kept her grounded and objective. “I need a medical team to our location. I don’t have the equipment to treat this and if it isn’t resolved soon they’re…” Her voice caught.

“Understood, Captain. A medical team will be down in five. Zar’ya out.”

Alex looked down to Sameen. They didn't have five minutes. They were losing a worrying amount of blood. She had to do something.

She shrugged off her jacket and tore at her shirt. She packed it around the knife and its resulting wound. She moved quickly, hoping it would be enough to staunch the worst of the bleeding and keep the knife from shifting any further. It’s not enough. I need gauze. I need a chest tube. I need to stop the bleeding. I need--

“Y-you must not worry, Captain,” Sameen rasped out. “They…they will be here soon.”

Not soon enough. Sameen was starting to lose colour, greying out the skin under their pates even more. They’re losing too much blood, too fast.

Sameen, for all the strength they were still trying to show, seemed to know their odds. They had known them the moment they stepped out of Alex’s quarters. They closed their eyes.

“No no no, keep you eyes open!” Years of treating severely wounded and dying agents in the field had taught Alex that eyes had to stay open. Keep the patient awake and responsive until backup arrives.

“I was...I was merely resting them, Captain,” Sameen protested tiredly.

“You can rest them later,” Alex fired back. “Just keep them open until you get to the medbay!”

Sameen mustered a weak smile. “I believe...we know that the s-seconds,” they coughed harshly. “The passing seconds make that...unlikely.” Zar’ya had said five minutes, but five minutes was an eternity to they dying. Despite their earlier reassurances to Alex, they knew it was time they didn’t have.

Sameen took a deep breath, despite the pain that it caused. “I must ask something of you.”

“Ask me later,” Alex said. “Right now, just focus on keeping your strength up, alright?”

This couldn’t wait. “A-Astra. You are their kepesh-par--”

“I know, Sameen, I have been for the last year, stop talking!” Alex pressed her hands down harder around the wound. The doctor in her knew it was futile, but she had to at least keep trying.

Sameen ignored her. They kept talking. “Look after them, please. You--” Their body lurched as harsh coughs wracked through them. “You are their family now.”

Now? “Sameen--”

“P-promise me, Captain, please,” they pleaded. “Look after them.”

“You need to stop talking and--” Alex wasn’t going to talk about this, not now. She was Alex fucking Danvers. The medical team was going to show up any moment now and she was going to get Sameen to the medbay, alive, no matter what the doctor in her was saying.

Sameen gripped Alex’s arm to draw her attention to them. “Promise me.”

Tears that had gathered in her eyes with her notice finally started to fall. “I promise,” she said. She angrily wiped her eyes. Where was the goddamn medical team?

Sameen gave a quiet sigh of relief. Their grip weakened. They were so tired. They didn’t want to leave. The crew of the DEO was their family. But they had no say in the matter. The Ancestors had decided some time ago that they wished for Sameen to join them.

Alex felt Sameen’s grip loosen. She moved one of her hands to grip theirs. “Stay with me, Sameen, that’s an order!” she demanded.

Sameen tried. They could hear the urgency in Alex’s voice and felt her panic. But they were just so tired. Their head lolled to the side. A soft breath left their mouth. And then, nothing. No rising chest. No pained cough. Just, nothing.

“Sameen?” Alex reached out and gently shook their body. No response. “Oh.” Why did I think I was going to get one? She bowed her head. Her body shook with silent sobs.

-

The loud pounding of boots signaled the arrival of the medical team. Zar’ya was at their head. They all stopped suddenly at the sight of their Captain on her knees, head bowed.

Zar’ya stepped forward cautiously. She took in the scene before her. The body of a dead Saurian lay in the distance. That must have been the leader. Good riddance. Her eyes landed on Alex. She was kneeling next to Sameen, tears quietly making their way down her face. For a moment, the image threw Zar’ya. Alex, after all, rarely shed tears. The only time she did was when a member of the crew…died.

Zar’ya signaled for the rest of the team to stay where they were. She quietly approached Alex. Every step she took echoed down the corridor. She stopped behind Alex. Her heart clenched. Sameen looked so peaceful. The final calm expression on their face contrasted to the knife in their chest and the destruction around them.

She reached out and placed her hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Captain?” Aside from a flinch, there was no other reaction. “Captain, we’ll take it from here. You should go check on Astra.”

Alex’s head lifted. “Astra.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Right. I...I have to go and…” She glanced back down at Sameen.

“We have Sameen, Captain,” Zar’ya reassured her. “Go.”

Alex stood still for several moments before stumbling off in the direction of her quarters.

Zar’ya looked down at Sameen once Alex was out of sight. She sighed. She signaled for her team. I hate this part of the job.

-

Alex made her way back to her quarters in a daze. She was angry. If Sameen hadn’t come for her, they would still be alive. She could have taken the Overseer by herself. She had killed a Hellgramite barehanded, after all.

She removed her comm badge as she approached the door. She pressed it into a small, barely noticeable indent just above eye height. It whined as the security system ran the override codes. Moments later, a loud beep echoed in the abandoned corridor and the door hissed open.

Alex stepped into her quarters. Her eyes did a quick sweep of the area. Datapads were still scattered about, though a few had been pushed off to the side. She froze. Astra was nowhere in sight.

Alright, stay calm, Danvers. The door had been locked with a security code that could only be implemented by either herself or Sameen, and only if Astra was Alex’s quarters. Sameen had been the one to use it, which meant that Astra was still here. They had to be alive, as hydraulic doors were untouched by the Katoh-Fel because none of them were able to make it this far.

She looked around. She caught a glimpse of Belen slumped behind her desk, holding a bundle of something in her arms. Her stomach clenched. Shit. Alex knelt down next to the Thanagarian. A quick examination made clear that she was just unconscious, not dead. She continued to check Belen over and found that the bundle was a still-sleeping Astra.

Belen stirred. “Mmph…gods what hit me?” she asked groggily. She remembered Sameen handing Astra over to her and then nothing. Wait. “Shit. Sameen!”

She bolted to her feet, nearly bowling Alex over. It was Alex’s quick reaction that kept the Thanagarian from tripping over herself and dropping Astra in the process.

“Captain!” How long had she been out for? “Sameen walked out and--”

Alex cut her off. “I know.”

Belen’s eyes finally caught up to her mouth. For the first time since she’d been roused from her sleep did she notice just how filthy the human was. Alex was sporting a split lip. Bruises, in the shape of a hand, were slowly forming on her neck. It was the green blood covering her that ultimately drew Belen’s full attention. Alex’s hands were a dripping green. Her shirt was torn, but also showed signs of green. Belen’s heart dropped.

“I,” Belen started. “Are they…?” She didn’t know how to else ask. She, like many others on the ship, had found the Saurian to be incredibly intimidating at first glance. But as she got to know them, she found that they had hearts of gold. She and Sameen had grown closer in the year since their budding and Astra’s entrance into space. The two never got further than close friends. And now, they never would. Now, Sameen was gone. Why didn’t I say something sooner?

Alex said nothing. Instead, she reached out and quietly took Astra into her arms. She pressed her nose against their fringe and closed her eyes.

“Oh.” Belen looked down. It felt like she had just been punched in the gut. “Oh.”

“They’re in the medbay,” Alex said quietly. “If, if you want to say goodbye. Before everyone else gets there.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” The ship’s scuttlebutt meant that it wouldn’t be long before news of Sameen’s death reached the rest of the crew. She moved to leave.

“Belen.”

Belen stopped to glance at Alex. “Captain?” She worked to keep her voice steady.

“They knew.”

Belen choked back a sob at Alex’s words. The kepesh-par bond that she shared with Sameen meant that she and they shared much. If Alex was telling her that Sameen knew, it meant that they also returned Belen’s affections.

“Thank you, Captain.” Belen hurried out of Alex’s quarters, leaving the bloodied agent alone.

-

Alex sat on the edge of her bed with Astra in her arms. She looked down at the tiny Saurian. She felt numb. Another member of her crew was dead on her watch. A part of Alex sorely craved a bottle or three of Caledonian ale. Only the snoring buddling in her arms stayed her hand. They don’t need a drunk for a parent.

Astra made a chuffling noise. They stirred. Alex stiffed as their eyes opened.

‘’Lo, Alex-par,’ they greeted sleepily.

“Hey, doodlebug,” Alex murmured. She fought to keep her voice steady.

Astra looked around. Something felt off. ‘Where bud-par?’

Ice settled low in Alex’s stomach. How was she going to explain this?

‘Alex-par?’ Astra could feel the indecision making its way through Alex. What was she holding back? ‘Where bud-par?’

“They, uh…” Her throat suddenly felt much to dry. She had delivered numerous death notices over the years without issue. More often than not, it ended with a sobbing spouse or parent and Alex sitting stiffly as J’onn reiterated just how sorry he was for their loss. Now, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. But she had to. The longer she kept Astra in the dark, the more it would hurt later one. The kepesh-par bond meant they would find out anyway, and Alex preferred that they hear it from her.

Alex cleared her throat. She took a breath. “You remember how your bud-par told you Samar and what happened with them?”

‘Samar gone.’

“Yeah, kiddo. Samar’s gone.” According to Sameen, Samar had given their live trying to protect them from Cadmus. “And a little bit ago some bad people decided to try and attack the DEO.”

No one on the DEO had hidden the fact that the ship often came under attack from Astra. There wasn’t any point in doing so.

‘Alex-par and bud-par win?’ So far Astra knew, Alex and the others always managed to beat the aggressive forces that were foolish enough to attack.

Alex choked back a sob at how innocent Astra’s question was. “Yeah,” she confirmed. “We won, doodlebug, but…” She trailed off.

-

She and Kara are standing at the top of the stairs. The same men that came the night Kara took her out to fly now sit in the living room with their mother. The black man, Hank, she later learns, is saying something. What it is, Alex can’t tell, but it causes Kara to gasp. Alex absently shushes her. She doesn’t want to get caught.

Alex watches as her mother begins to sob. Next to her, Kara is stifling her own cries. The black man reaches out and takes her mother’s hands. She can just make out, “I’m so sorry, Dr. Danvers.” Alex frowns. Sorry for what?

The man and his fellows get up and leave. Not a single one of them glance up at the stairs where one girl stands frowning, and another quietly sheds tears. At click of the front door shutting, her mother folds in on herself. Her sobs echo throughout the house.

Hours later, Eliza informs Alex and Kara that Jeremiah is dead. That night, Alex sneaks out of the house and goes to the beach. She screams her rage out at the ocean. Eventually she falls to her knees. She pounds her fist into the sand as she curses a god that won’t answer for daring to take her father from her. She weeps. The ocean spray mixes with her tears. She weeps harder.

-

Alex exhaled harshly. “Your bud-par, Sameen, they didn’t make it, doodlebug. They’re gone.”

‘Gone?’ Astra didn’t understand. What did Alex mean by ‘gone?’

“They’re gone like Samar is, Astra.” A lump caught in her throat. “They’re dead.”

Astra finally understood just exactly what Alex was saying. They made a noise of distress. It turned into a low keen before becoming high-pitched, broken cries.

Alex wasn’t fairing much better. The walls that she tried so desperately to raise came crashing down as Astra’s sorrow flooded the bond. Tears slid down her cheeks as she wept. Her quarters were filled with sounds of grief as human and Saurian mourned the loss of a close friend and parent, respectively.

[domina-alba]

Domina Alba

Hey Everyone, These are the chapters that were initially posted to Ao3 and FFN so if you’ve already read Domina Alba feel free to skip! If you haven’t read Domina Alba you can find information about the fic Here.

XIV

Vitus, the specific name for the human I  have “borrowed” from Pinks zoo, seems rather more intelligent than I had initially suspected. He’s curious about the kindergarden process and has made several observations likening it to the human’s agricultural process, some research will need to be done into this “Crop rotation”. He has been allowed, monitored, free range of the ship, something that will continue once we land on 19-H25.

Pink’s Pearl mentioned that she found him in the Quartz’s training room yesterday, apparently holding his own against one of the Milky Quartzes. Perhaps on earth he was some sort of soldier? My efforts to talk about his past life have been... less than successful, as he seems more interested in prying into mine. The next few planets on this list will be focusing on gem production for the other two’s court’s, Blue has requested sapphires and--

Domina was pulled out of her reading by the door to the storage room opening. Connie was standing in the doorway and she blinked slightly when she saw Domina sitting in the corner. The ship had been in FTL for nearly 6 hours and Domina had been avoiding the group for almost all of it.

“Hello.” She said, minimizing her screen.

“Hey.” The girl said awkwardly “Steven was wondering if you were ok, but Pearl said you were probably just sleeping, and then said that someone should wake you up and I volunteered.” Domina smirked and got to her feet.

“How brave, I’m awake, are we close?”

“Yep! The Rutiles said that we’ll be landing in a few minutes.” Connie said.

“Excellent.”

“Why were you in here?” Connie said. Domina gestured to the rest of the ship as she exited the room with the girl and began to head towards the bridge.

“You’ve seen this place, it’s intimidating. I feel like....” She trailed off and stroked her chin in thought.

“A pebble in a shoe?” Connie prompted Domina nodded.

“Yeah that works, fitting.”

“Your not how I thought you would be.” Connie said

“I rarely am, why what did Steven tell you?”

“Not much, he said that you were kind of.. Un diamond like?” Connie looked hesitantly at her, then continued when Domina looked at her interestedly. “It’s just, he’s told me about the other two diamonds and they both seem really strict and not like they would just offer to take a bunch of people home in their biggest ship.” Domina snorted.

“I grew up in a fleet and things are a little more lax when you get away from Homeworld Proper, besides I like Steven.”

“That seems to be a common thread for a lot of people.” Connie said. Domina nodded.

“Well he’s very likeable.” Connie blushed.

“Yeah he is.”

On the bridge Steven was excitedly catching Lars up on everything that apparently had been going on on earth while the boy had been gone. The Rutiles were manning the controls and looked at Domina nervously when she stopped to stand next to them.

“Not to disparage your piloting skills but I would rather land the ship myself.” She said. Left Rutile nodded frantically.

“Yes of course.“ Right Rutile said as they slid out of their seat. Domina settled into the chair and set her hands lightly on the console.

“Where should I land Steven?” Domina asked.

“Uh, in Beach City, on the beach probably.” He said. Domina brought their approach up on screen. They were coming in fast so Domina pulled back and listened to the sounds of the ship’s stabilizers straining against the atmosphere. The ship was plenty steady, it was hard to move but it was approaching Beach City now slowly decelerating into an easy landing.

The scene changed and Domina frowned before realizing Pearl was messing with the controls to show Steven a view of the beach. There was a very very old gem temple built into a cliff face and in front of it, in parallel to the large group of humans on the boardwalk, Domina could see a small group of figures that were clearly gems in stances that meant they were probably panicking.

“I see Pearl, Garnet, Amethyst and oh Peridot and Lapis are there!” Connie said.

“Uh, do we have anyway to call down to let them know it’s us?” Lars said.

“If someone will take over the communications panel Fluorite is sitting by we should be able to call down.” Domina said focusing on keeping the ship balanced through the last of the atmospheric turbulence. It was then that something Connie had said caught up to her.

“Wait did you say Lapis? As in a Lapis Lazuli?” She asked seconds before a massive watery hand impacted the side of the ship. Everyone lurched to the side as the ship almost went horizontal.

“Oh no oh no Oh no!” Rhodonite panicked after she had pulled Padparadscha out of the air.

“Hold.. On... everyone!” Fluorite said grabbing everyone that fallen into her. It was only by pure force of will that Domina managed to hold onto the console, Pearl had grabbed her arm as she had fallen sideways and had now transferred her grip to the back of the chair. Domina fought to restabilize the ship.

“Domina-” She said.

“I’ve got it I’ve got it! “She said, ask she lurched with the ship yet again to avoid another watery fist. She heard the sound of a steering engine failing from the quick turn.

On screen there was more panicking going on down on the beach. The gems seemed to be arguing amongst themselves. The ship was losing altitude faster.

She needed to do something. Something quick. Something that would protect them. Domina could feel her heart racing, her gem burning.

Then everything just stopped. Domina looked around and saw that she was no longer on the ship, she floated in blackness and saw thousands upon thousands of pictures, all of which showed snippets of scenes, some were of Steven, some of Connie, one showed a Pearl and a Ruby dancing. Everything was connected with a series of threads, Domina felt like she could reach out and touch them. Then one scene caught her attention from the corner of her eye. A tall, blindingly white figure stretched out a hand towards Pearl. Her mother. Domina felt her head slam forward and suddenly she was back, people were screaming.

“Steven, Bubble!” Connie shouted.

“Hold on!” Steven shouted he was reaching for Domina and Pearl.

“No I’ve got to cut the power otherwise we’ll crash full force!” Domina said. “Whatever your going to do do it now!” Suddenly she felt herself being ripped from the seat and she was tumbling towards the pile of gems. Before she had even impacted Fluorite the group was encased in a pink bubble. Seconds before the impact Domina looked up and saw Pearl cut the engine power. “Pearl!” Domina launched herself towards the gem only to ricochet off the bubble.

The ship was impacted by one final attack, this one broke look the hull sending pieces of debris flying,a piece hit Pearl, spearing her through the shoulder. She poofed, her gem fell to the floor and rolled to the side.

Then the ship lurched yet again and was held steady.

Steven’s bubble fell and Domina scrambled out of the pile to find Pearls gem. the ship still moved, like it was being carried before finally some latent vestibular sense let Domina know that they had been set down and had stopped moving. She could hear the door open and people shouting but she was still searching, amongst the pale debris it was hard to pick out Pearl’s pale pink circular gem but finally she found it, falling to her knees and clutching it to her chest in relief.

“Domina!” She heard her name, spoken in a tone that suggested that this wasn’t the first time that it had been called. She turned around wiping her eyes to see Steven staring at her worried.

“Is Pearl ok? Are you ok?” He asked. Behind him she could see a horrified looking blue gem. A Lapis Lazuli. The one who had caused this. Domina felt rage begin to trickle through her veins as the winds began to pick up. White Diamond felt herself rise and sneered.

“You.”