#Alien Stage is so good i will never recover | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

owl-with-a-pen · 9 months

Note

I don't remember when, but there was a headcanon post from someone about Brainy falling asleep on the job sometimes because he overworks himself, and Winn and some of the other people at the DEO being startled by it, so what if he started falling asleep out of nowhere at the Tower too and Nia would find him and help him get more comfortable as well

This is so stupidly late at this point but anon, if you're still out there, this one's for you 😉

Nia should’ve seen it coming, all the signs had been right there.

As someone who could take the gold medal for ignoring her body’s needs when it came to sleep, Brainy came in at a close second – and that was only because he wasn’t susceptible to random fainting spells.

Usually, anyway.

There’d been one close call that morning, down in the lab. J’onn had been going over the details of their latest alien convict case when Nia had felt it. That dream-like gut punch that told her something was about to go very wrong.

Brainy had been stood at her side, arms tensely folded across his chest, all but smothering the Brainiac insignia on his shirt. To anyone else, he would’ve looked focused on the task at hand, but Nia could read between the lines.

He’d had maybe one solid thought track reserved for J’onn’s briefing, and that was being generous. It was no secret that their lack of leads over the last few weeks had been grating on everyone’s nerves, but none more than Brainy’s. She was pretty sure he’d manipulated his image inducer just to hide the extent of it from everyone. His eyes had been far too bright ever since they’d left the apartment that morning, the heavy shadows she’d seen lurking beneath them conveniently absent.

It was only when Brainy started to tilt in her periphery that Nia had realised what that gut punch had meant. She hadn't needed a vision to fill in the gaps, not when Brainy’s eyes flickered shut and he'd tipped abruptly towards her.

Fortunately, Nia was quick. Before he'd had a chance to fall, she'd caught his shoulder with her own, gently bumping him back into place. To his credit, Brainy recovered in record time, blinking quickly to recalibrate his surroundings.

The whole thing had lasted maybe two seconds, tops, and if any of the Super Friends had noticed, they didn't say a word.

So, Nia hadn’t mentioned it either.

She really regretted making that decision now. If she’d just called him out on it that morning, maybe she wouldn’t have found Brainy at his desk just a few hours later, head cushioned across folded arms, all but dead to the world.

The research Brainy had been working through was still visible on the Tower’s television screens, though the only sign of activity came from the steady flash of the stationary cursor. Brainy’s own computer screen had gone dark some time ago, which at least gave Nia a good place to start in terms of figuring out exactly how long he’d been like this.

It wasn’t too late, just past lunchtime, and while any other member of the Super Friends might have been alarmed by Brainy’s impromptu nap, Nia knew what the others didn’t.

Brainy hadn’t slept that night. And it wasn’t the first time, either.

Some nights, she’d rolled over to find his side of the bed empty by 3am. Others, Brainy had tossed and turned so restlessly that Nia had been forced to grumble out half lucid complaints just to get him to quit it. By the time she came-to, she’d find him flat on his back, perfectly still at her side - eyes closed but flickering fitfully behind his lids, never quite unconscious.

In the early days of their relationship, Nia wouldn’t have known what that had meant. Now, though? Now, she was very well acquainted with the stages of a Coluan sleep cycle.

First, there was the short but succinct restorative process that lasted anywhere between one to three hours. The Coluan equivalent of a human sleep pattern, she supposed. In that time, he’d shut down all thought tracks, all non-essential processes, and allow his body and mind the total freedom to recuperate uninterrupted. His eyes never moved in that state, there was no REM cycle going on, no dreams at all. His mind retreated somewhere far beyond the realm Nia might catch glimpses of in her own dreams, a state of being linked solely with his life core, a shared space within the Big Brain. Wherever it was, wherever it took him, Nia knew he always found peace there.

The other sleep state – the one Brainy often fell into now he shared his nights with her – was something akin to a light doze. He was freer with his choice of positioning during that time, often cosying up to her instead of lying Nosferatu-style on his back. Those were the hours Nia liked best, where she could curl up into his chest or wind herself around him, feeling his breath in her hair, his hands on her waist or tracing patterns across her spine. His mind was open to her in that state, so much that the edges of their dreams would often blur and coalesce into one still life portrait that they could share.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him inhabit either of those states.

As she watched Brainy’s back rise and fall with each heavy exhale, she knew that this was more of a light doze situation than anything else. His fingers were curled tightly against the table, a level of strain pulling his shoulders taut. Nia couldn’t see her boyfriend’s face beneath his folded arms, but she could imagine the pinched expression that might’ve greeted her. She knew this nap wouldn’t bring him any peace, not when it hadn’t been preceded by the restorative process he clearly needed.

Her skin prickled at the thought.

She should’ve said something sooner. She’d felt it in her gut, why hadn’t she just…?

“He’s not okay, is he?”

Nia turned sharply at the sound of Alex’s voice. She hadn’t even noticed her come up from the elevator, let alone sneak up behind her.

Nia tightened her arms around herself, ducking her head. “He’s not been sleeping,” she said carefully, trying to hide the strain in her own voice.

“Again?” Alex asked. She took a step closer, peering over Nia’s shoulder, reviewing Brainy with a doctor’s eye. She frowned her concern. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this bad since he first started working at the DEO.”

Nia smiled grimly. “That tracks.” When Alex looked at her in confusion, she sighed. “Brainy used to tell me how difficult it was in the early days adjusting to this time,” she explained. “It really used to stress him out. And that’s the thing— he’s been stressing a lot worse since he took off his inhibitors, especially after…” Nia shuddered, gritting her teeth at the memory. She closed her eyes. “While he was working for Lex, I mean, he hardly slept. In fact, he would’ve done anything to avoid it. So now, any time he starts stressing over something…”

“The pattern repeats,” Alex finished. She watched Brainy sympathetically, worry lines etched into her brow. “I really don’t want to wake him, but he deserves to be resting properly. This—” she waved her hand over his head, “isn’t exactly ideal.”

Nia’s lips twitched. “I’ll handle it.”

“Are you sure?” Alex asked, turning towards her. “Do you need any help?”

“It’s fine. Trust me, I got this.”

Alex hesitated. It was weird, seeing that protective older sister instinct take over in real time. It practically glued her to the spot. Nia tried not to smile at Alex’s expense. She knew it couldn’t have been easy handing her duty of care over to someone else, especially if this had become her area of expertise in the early days of Brainy’s career.

She wondered if his sleep cycle had ever come up with Alex before. It was probably on his medical file somewhere, but Nia sincerely doubted Brainy had given up that information lightly. It had taken her weeks of sleeping in the same bed as him just to broach the subject casually.

Eventually, Alex cleared her throat. “Well then, take him home,” she told her, holding Nia’s eye for an uncomfortable beat. “And tell him he won’t be fit for duty until he’s had a proper Coluan-fit sleep. Doctor’s orders.”

Oh yeah, she definitely knew what was up. Nia felt bad for ever doubting her.

“Noted,” Nia said, saluting with two fingers as Alex headed back down to the lab, but not before giving Brainy’s hair an affectionate ruffle. Surprising neither of them, he didn’t so much as stir.

Once she and Brainy were alone in the loft again, Nia bit her lip, shuffling a little closer to the table. She took up Alex’s old position, watching Brainy’s posture for any change, any reason to think he might have been aware of his surroundings at all.

When Brainy remained unresponsive, she took his shoulder with one hand, ignoring the tension knotted there, and brushed her fingers across his forehead with the other, knocking a few feathery strands of golden hair across his nose.

“Querl?” she asked softly.

On Brainy’s more difficult days, Nia always found it easier to reach her boyfriend by using his given name. Just as she’d anticipated, he shifted slightly, making a muffled sound into his arms. As he lifted his head, Nia tried not to smile at the imprint left behind on his cheek by his sleeve. His lashes flickered slowly as he tried to blink his eyes open. They were dark and bloodshot and extremely heavy lidded, but he was awake. He was with her.

Nia let her fingers travel up to the roots of his hair, scratching his scalp in the way she knew he liked. Brainy responded immediately, an appreciative hum rumbling somewhere in his chest. Nia did smile then. “Hey Wildcat, how’re you doing?”

“Nia?” his voice was a little dry, crackling heavily around his modulator as he became reacquainted with those muscles. He raised his head towards her, the first tell-tale flicker of acknowledgement whirring behind his eyes. “Apologies, I—I must’ve--” At that, something inside of him snapped to life and he straightened so quickly that Nia’s hand slipped from his shoulder. “I—don’t know why I—” He cleared his throat, and while obviously disoriented, his hand still found the keyboard reflexively, gripping it for purchase. Immediately, his screen turned on, although Nia didn’t miss the way he shied away from the bright light. “I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I can bet it won’t.” Nia took his elbow, leaning in towards his ear. “Because you’ve just been benched.”

It was adorable watching those cogs start to turn again as Brainy tried to figure out what she meant. She rarely caught him out like this, which really spoke volumes as to how exhausted he must’ve been. Brainy opened his mouth as though to refute her, only to close it again when he took further stock of the room. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Alex was here, wasn’t she?”

Nia snorted. “Doctor’s orders,” she repeated, rubbing his shoulder sympathetically.

Brainy’s quick burst of energy was already beginning to wane. He leant into her touch without hesitation, his eyes flickering shut again.

“Hey,” Nia said quickly, cupping the side of his face. “Listen, you’re exhausted, Brainy. Can you honestly tell me when you last slept?” She gripped his arm tighter, just for emphasis. “And not just cat naps, I mean your last restorative cycle.”

No more secrets, it had been both their promise and mantra to one another ever since Nia had saved Brainy from Leviathan’s ship. It wasn’t always perfect, and she could tell that Brainy was uncomfortable admitting to it now, but his exhaustion was clearly winning out.

After a few seconds to process, Brainy lowered his head in defeat. “Seven days, fourteen hours.”

Nia’s mouth fell open in surprise. “A week? You haven’t slept for a whole week?”

Brainy’s shoulders drew together defensively. “I have gone far longer without sleep before, my species are—”

She lifted her hand in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. “Querl Dox, Colaun or not, nearly eight days is a push and you know it.” When Brainy failed to meet her eye, she sighed, rubbing circles into his back with her thumb. “If there’s something on your mind, you can tell me.”

Brainy made a derisive sound at the back of his throat “That’s the problem,” he muttered irritably. “Everything is on my mind. I- normally, I can compartmentalise, control and distribute any thought or calculation I wish to hone my focus on. But, but right now?” He laughed through his teeth, baring them into a tight smile. “I can’t.”

“Can’t- compartmentalise?”

“Can’t think.” He rubbed at his eyes in frustration. “Recent stressors have been a factor, of course, but I find now that the simplest answer to a problem feels like a mile long task.”

“Lack of sleep can do that to a person,” Nia considered. She dug her knuckles into some of the more compacted areas of Brainy’s back as she spoke, watching his jaw tighten as he struggled to remain functional. “Why don’t we head home for the day?”

Brainy scoffed at that, rolling his shoulder away from her. He scowled down at the table. “Do I have a choice in the matter? I suspect you will remove me either way.”

Nia shrugged. “Well, it is the logical choice, unless you wanna take it up with Alex.”

Brainy only groaned in answer.

She stroked his hair, flattening out the top of his head before planting a kiss against his scalp. His skin was warm against her lips, not quite feverish, but a little more than a Coluan’s natural heat signature. She had her suspicions that he’d been dipping into power reserves normally meant for his doppelgangers just to keep himself on his feet.

But, that was a conversation for later.

“We’ll figure it out,” Nia promised, resting her chin on his head, letting that warmth bleed into her jaw. She wrapped her arms around his front, grinning when Brainy began to relax against her again. “If my mom taught me anything, it’s that things always look a little brighter after a good night’s sleep.”

Brainy perked up curiously at that, his dark eyes flickering up to meet her. “It’s two thirty in the afternoon.”

“Semantics.” She drew back, giving his shoulders one final squeeze. “Come on, ready to go?”

Brainy’s response was a grumbled mixture of Coluan and English, but he pushed himself onto his feet regardless. Nia untangled herself from his shoulders before heading out in front of him. She was halfway to the elevator when she sensed what he was about to do.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned.

Behind her, Brainy dropped the tablet he’d been trying to surreptitiously stow inside his backpack. “Your precognitive abilities are growing stronger, I see,” he commended with a dry smile. “It’s annoying.”

Nia laughed. “Let’s go, sleepy head, before Alex kicks us both outta here.”

Once they were home and Nia had finally managed to coax Brainy to bed, she could tell he was still too restless to sleep. He eventually agreed to let her douse him with a little extra dream energy, lulling him into a part of his unconscious mind where any unruly thoughts would have trouble following.

She stayed close to his side as he struggled to get comfortable on the bed, keeping an eye on the ever-present tension in his arms as he folded them over his chest. He’d lifted any illusions from his image inducer the second they’d stepped foot inside the apartment, and now Nia could see the deep shadows beneath Brainy’s eyes, sinking like sallow bruises into his cheekbones.

It must have felt impossible at times to sleep with a mind as crowded as Brainy’s. The restorative process was meant to be an escape from that, a total surrender to the Big Brain, but that escape didn’t come naturally to Brainy, not after so many years without it, especially when he’d worked himself up like this.

Nia knew this would be a bigger conversation somewhere down the line, but Brainy was still hesitant to share his anxieties with her, especially anything that related to his time working for Lex. Kelly had offered her office to him if he ever wanted a professional ear, but he still had a way to go before he’d feel comfortable sharing like that.

Still, every step was progress.

For right now, Nia knelt by his side, stroking her hand through his hair, across his forehead. She let her other drift over Brainy’s chest and stomach, feeding lazy swirls of dream energy into his projectors. After a while, Brainy’s eyes fell closed, a stuttered breath passing uneasily through his teeth.

She knew he was starting to slip towards the restorative process when he began muttering things in Coluan. The words were disjointed, his accent far too thick and heavy with sleep for her to pick up exactly what he was saying. Eventually, even those words mellowed into a purr-like hum courtesy of his relaxing modulator. His fingers loosened across his front and – just like that – he was totally out, the Big Brain sweeping any latent concerns away as it pulled him safely inside, his projectors pulsing brighter as a result.

Nia maintained her dream energy for a while longer, although the more she leaned into that power, the more she felt her own consciousness begin to slip away. It wasn’t abnormal for a Dreamer to get pulled under by her own energy, and while she’d fought it for a long time, she knew now that it was as natural and welcoming of an entity as the Big Brain was to Brainy.

Before she gave in completely, Nia quickly tucked herself into Brainy’s side, resting her head against his shoulder. She kept her hand poised over his central life core, holding their connection until the very last moment.

Her power washed over her like a calming tide of seafoam, turning the darkness behind her eyes into a familiar shade of blue.

Brainy would need to rest under his restorative process longer than normal to get the full effect, which gave her just enough time to paint the perfect picture inside her dreams. Like watercolour on canvas, she willed a series of soft oranges, yellows and blues to spill forth onto the page, bleeding into each other like the hazy landscape of a liminal space. From there, she began to build, turning ink blots into hilltops, marking stars around every empty spot the paint left dry.

It kept her mind at work, her body at peace and, most importantly, it gave her the perfect dream destination to take Brainy once the restorative process was complete. Somewhere that rest on any level would come easily for them both.

All she had to do was wait.

#supergirl #brainiac 5 #nia nal #brainia #alex danvers #querl dox #supergirl fanfiction #my writing #anon #my asks #i wanted to expand on more headcanons about coluan sleep patterns. and this is sort of the opposite to a previous headcanon i once wrote #i think. but i think i like this one better.#brainy x nia #dreamdox #oh yeah and happy new year!

24 notes · View notes

sanstropfremir · 5 months

Text

best choreos of 2023!

not gonna lie, this year was a rough one for choreos. like with the actual music itself, this year was profoundly complacent and very few choreographies were truly inspired and willing to do something original. i was actually afraid for a bit that i was not even gonna be able to fill out a top ten list, much less having any runners' up. so here's a list of runners' up:

new dayz - trendz

spotlight - yunho

wormhole - n.ssign

neverland - nine.i

baggy jeans - nct u

koong - xikers

vuja de - yunho

bouncy - ateez

journey - woodz

and my favourites:

circle - onew

youtube

i have a bit of a love hate relationship with the circle choreo bc on one hand i LOVE it, the imagery and idea is beautiful i think it's one of the few choreos this year that actually embodies what the song and the cb were trying to say. but on the other hand, as a contemporary dance enjoyer it is.........let down by the fact that kpop is a predominantly hiphop based genre and the backup dancers are not up to snuff for this type of choreo. kaspar did a pretty good job choreographing it but hiphop and contemp/modern are notoriously hard styles to slide between for dancers, and i really think they should have actually got a modern choreographer and a modern troupe. it would have significantly upped the quality and given the stages that extra gut punch.

grl gvng - xg

youtube

honestly you really could sub in any xg choreo from this year here bc they were all stellar, but the commitment of grl gvng clinched it for me. the costuming, the makeup, the style of movement all tell such a clear story that i would have included it on my list regardless of what the album was, but the transition from hesonoo to xgene to grl gvng is fucking UNREAL. it's so refreshing to see a gg actually commit to a concept that isn't pretty bubbly straightness and to not compromise on it regardless of how much people bitch, right down to the choreo. there's something immensely satisfying about seeing a choreo about how these girls are alien cyborgs and have it actually LOOK like they are alien cyborgs, the intentional clunkiness and 'offputting' movements and all. i've been begging for an actual real concept like this for years and finally. finally it has been delivered.

chrome arts - onlyoneof

youtube

its not a choreo list by me if there isn't an ooo one, and once again they came right out of the gate at the beginning of the year with something batshit insane. the knee walk move is crazy. i love it 10/10.

killer - key

youtube

unlike a lot of the other entries on this list, i don't think killer has as concise of a concept other than "the 80s", but the great thing about it is that you absolutely can successfully pull off a more abstract concept if you do it well. this is such a strong choreo with good images and composition, plus a lot of 80s references in the moves themselves, and sometimes that's all you need if you put the right care into it. this is actually one of the few choreos that i've seen that correctly capture the feel of an mj choreo from the 80s, which seems to be a real challenge for a lot of idols. i will say that i think it would have made more sense to me if this had been a repack to bad love, bc it has the same vein of nostalgia vibes and a very similar feel in the shapes of the choreo, but really they're all part of his retro series so it's not a substantive complaint.

the rizzness - taemin

youtube

don't speak to me don't look at me i'm literally never recovering from this in my entire life. i cannot fucking believe he made me say with full conviction that ""the rizzness"" is one of the best taemin bsides but also of fucking course he did. this is black rose but eviler (complimentary). it's so interesting to see how versatile taemin's style is and where his true strengths lie. obviously his title track choreos are perfectly tailored to his body and his abilities and they are all unreal choreos on their own. but there's something about the way that he carries himself when he does more hiphop based choreo that has such a natural power to it. it's so clear that this is the style that he started learning dance in and especially now that he's become much more settled in his body since he got back from the military, it's so obvious how much love he has for this song and this way of movement that i don't think any of his title tracks will stack up in the same to it in my eyes.

don't call me - dkz nine to six

youtube

insane. insane insane insane. i love everything about this. it's weird its creative it had very clear imagery that supports the song, it says fuck capitalism, what more could you possibly want. honestly one of the best choreos of the last couple years. i'm also gonna include nod here too bc it was the bside they promoted and it has crazy choreo also, and highly recommend ppl listen to digital love, the other bside. very strong release from dkz this year despite all the shit they went through.

here's hoping 2024 is better!

#kpop dance #end of year posts #best of 2023 #i will be thinking about the baggy jeans dance practice on the stadium stage for the rest of my goddamn LIFE thats a LEGACY!!!#i feel kind of conflicted putting both journey and circle on here bc they are very similar in a lot of ways #i actually think journey is a better choreo in terms of meshing with the dancers strengths #but i admire the ideas of the circle choreo more #text #spoiler alert: 2024 has not been better thus far😔

7 notes · View notes

mlmvoreconfessionals · 2 years

Note

What about a super “hero” who just can’t help swallowing every civilian he knows he can get away with digesting? He’s still celebrated as a hero despite having digested more people than any villain could ever dream of

Oh that sounds so good. Writing really cruel/evil preds is great.

It's...addictive, is the word. The feeling of someone weaker than him giving into him always fills him with a sense of euphoria nothing else can. They can cry and beg all the want, but in the end, he's the powerful one and they...are just food for him.

The hero lets out a sigh as his hands roam along his stomach, feeling it bubble intensely as it snuffs out his latest meal. To everyone's faces, he's the powerful superhero who's sworn to protect their city. Every time some alien species invades of a villain with a mask attacks, he's always there to save the day with a smile on his face. The people love him...the people cheer for him...

He grins wide as he pushes his hand into his stomach, feeling it sink right in. There's nothing solid left, just a bubbling slop of meat and bone. The looks in their eyes when they thought their beloved hero was here to save them...just to realize they're nothing but his prey...it always sends a shiver down his spine. He loves it. He just can't get enough!

No one expects him to save everyone. He's still just one man, as powerful as he is. So when some people go missing on the streets or some hostages can't be recovered or some casualties are left unfound...no one can blame him. Even if they should...even if they'd be right to. At this point, his stomach may as well be a mass grave for the citizens of this city. He's long since lost count of how many people have disappeared into him and melted alive. There's no point in trying to remember. They're just food.

The villain he'd 'interrupted' looks away quickly when he accidentally catches the hero's gaze. The only people who know what he really is are the ones no one would ever listen to. After all, would you listen to the villain threatening to blow up the city, or the guy who stopped him in his tracks? Some try...and those that do never make it to jail. "I looked away for one second," the hero would often say, even as his stomach boils away the last bits of meat from that villain, "but I doubt he'll ever cause trouble again."

The ones that stick around are the ones who know their place. They stage some big attack, kidnap a few people, and let the city's wonderful hero enjoy his well-earned feast. They sit in a jail cell for a month or two before the cycle starts over again. So long as they provide, they get to live.

The villain is shaking when a gloves hand gives his shoulder a squeeze, just a little too tight to be friendly. "Well, back to jail for you," the hero says with a toothy grin. "But next time...I expect double." His hand squeezes tightly and his bubbling stomach is pressed against them. "Or I'll have to let everyone know how you got away from me like the rest."

#v.ore #male vore #mlm vore #m/m vore #gay vore #vore story #oral vore #digestion #fatal vore #superherovore #ask

96 notes · View notes

infinitemercy · 2 years

Photo

Alien Existence by Philip Best (Infinity Land Press, 2016)

Extracts:

WALKING WOUNDED

I sing of war, of holy war.

Torquato Tasso Gerusalemme liberata, 1581.

The state is to get hold of those who never had — or no longer have — a right to live in the state, and the state must turn their strength while it lasts to the good of the state. They must be fed, sheltered, and treated in such a way as to use them as much as possible at the lowest possible cost.

Charles Reznikoff Holocaust. Black Sparrow Press, 1975.

GOD'S NAME EVERYWHERE

We must accept the eventuality of bringing the USA to its knees; accept the closing off of critical sections of the city with barbed wire, armored pig carriers crisscrossing the streets, soldiers everywhere, tommy guns pointed at stomach level, smoke curling black against the daylight sky, the smell of cordite, house-to-house searches, doors being kicked in, the commonness of death.

George L. Jackson Blood In My Eye. Random House, 1972.

REPETITION REINFORCEMENT

"Do you hear that blubberer?" said Korablyova, drawing Maslova's attention to the strange sound coming from the other end of the room. It was the smothered sobbing of the red-haired woman. She was crying because they had called her names and hit her, and not given her any of the vodka she wanted so badly. She was crying too because all her life she had had nothing but abuse, jeers, insults and blows.

She tried to console herself by thinking of her first sweetheart, a factory hand whose name was Fedka Molodenkov, but when she thought of this first love of hers she also remembered how it had ended. It had ended one day when this Molodenkov was drunk and for a joke had dabbed vitriol on the most sensitive spot of her body and then roared with laughter with his mates while she writhed in agony. She remembered this and felt so full of pity for herself that, thinking no one could hear her, she burst into tears and wept as children do, moaning and snuffling and swallowing the salt tears.

Leo Tolstoy Resurrection (1899).

THE PUSH

woe to the bloody city full of lies and robbery today i hear the beat of death in all things i hear it in the streets and in the parks you will all die you will all die you will all die from mayfair and westminster to camberwell and peckham rye riverwheel aflame london capsized and at night father when i pray you are not there you are not there you are not there all hail to the creatures and the sluts and the poor in guarded isles of midday devils all prancing to war money may fall and towers may fall and bodies will fall but they'll still want it all and they'll still take it all politicians profiteers all poison the well ride their rough horses headlong pell mell over layer upon layer of metropolitan sick

it's a trick it's a trick it's a trick

so, woe to the bloody city that covets fresh fields and flesh within the cauldron this time is evil woe to the bloody stage and final blank page of the failed state that hoards its wealth and arms itself against the stranded and lost at whatever the cost whatever the cost whatever the cost

o gods, break their teeth o gods break their teeth i mean it's the attitude that counts as well as everything else it takes you with me? i mean we should never compromise we won't get anywhere in life accepting second best you get it yet? if you don't taste it if you don't feel it, baby we haven't come a very long way have we?

so what exactly is it? this grand unified theory of female pain and wet cement could it be the face that would sell condoms in a cunt? or better yet i had a lover once some men came by shot up the house she lived in tore up the place broke every fucking window burned her out she couldn't tell me why i hate men and their violence their weak murderous minds

TWENTY MINUTE TEST

1) Undeveloped rolls of film. 2) Two last shots. 3) Leg fracture. 4) More film, recovered then processed. 5) Betamax. 6) FC = Fuck. 7) Some in colour, good quality. 8) Punishment beating. 9) Deep black bruising. 10) Witness stated "His body was normal". 11) Expressed preference that girl should be "flat". 12) Wanted to see her stumble and fall. 13) "Bring her down" 14) Failed to pay attention and the lights touched her naked body. 15) Found burns exciting. 16) Had Houston amputation film (HWA). 17) Traced trauma to childhood accident. 18) Tension barely perceptible.

MIRROR WORLD

Julie was curling a young girl's hair when I came in. She was styling it to be just like her own: wavy all round the sides and flat at the crown. But the girl's hair was shorter and brown in colour; Julie's was pure blonde. They were grouped around the mirror. Julie smiled over. He was a mechanic, but he'd always wanted to try his hand at writing. He was telling me this, and fixing coffee, as the girls continued to do their thing at the mirror. There were pictures of dolphins and killer whales on the walls.

VOICE-OVER: I'd been having a recurring nightmare. I'm three years old dancing on my mother's grand piano. I'm wearing her gold spiked heels. The grownups are clapping, stomping in rhythm. My ankles twist in the big shoes. I want to stop dancing but they cheer even louder. IMAGE: PRESCHOOLER IN UNDERSHIRT AND UNDERPANTS, DANCING FOR THE CAMERA VOICE-OVER: I don't know what they want from me.

The shell landed near a food queue and several children died. A burning bus with a scattering of limbs and blackened body parts. Later in the day the queue formed again and the government forces fired again.

I am so fucking up to my neck in debt & so badly need to do well. This is not a bad thing to do with JJ & I'm really happy for him. JJ gets everyone falling over themselves — I get fake numbers & stood up. Johnny's so well into it — making heaps of friends & as usual no matter where I am — I feel alone. It's not San Francisco, it's me. I can't explain this feeling to anyone, this feeling of COMPLETE DETEST for myself & this feeling of being so average. I've tried so badly to understand why & to make mother & JJ understand — but they think I'm being so silly — but I really feel like this so much. It's a feeling of being so invisible, being no-one, feeling like I'm never a part of something & never quite fitting in. I know Johnny has been all over the place since leaving, but he never has that feeling of no self worth. The most beautiful people become spellbound. He always feels he deserves the best & BECOMING MORE RADIANT and confident all the time. I really am not joking & this sounds stupid but I am so exhausted with feeling this shit & feeling so lonely despite being with JJ every day & feeling so low & so up to my eyeballs with debt — I sometimes really can't be bothered to wait & find out what happens. I just want to disappear. I feel like I'm reeling & I don't know what to do. I feel so outside. I've nothing anywhere.

#philip best #whitehouse #consumer electronics #collage #poetry #book

70 notes · View notes

stormkobra-5 · 2 years

Text

The Heir of Djarin

Episode 3: Mandalorian Healer

Summary: There’s only one person in the galaxy Din knows who can tell the Djarins where the Resistance is, and that’s easy enough. But getting to D’Qar is the hard part, especially in a ship as old as the Slave. And then there’s always the problem of fitting in, which Laylah is sure will be difficult enough without her absurdly grand entrance in view of the whole damn base.

A/N: Hey look, Poe’s finally arrived! And there has to be a gif for each character, because it sets the MoodTM.

Notes: I know absolutely nothing about how the Slave flies, by the way. It’s just a damn awesome spacecraft that is necessary for the story, so... There’s probably a lot of stupid inaccuracies in this chapter. Not to mention, because my lazy ass doesn’t feel like scrutinizing the cross-sections of it, the Slave has had a lot of internal remodeling...

Warnings: This story is rated 14+ for canon-typical violence, action, and language. The main character is recovering from a traumatic backstory for the sake of the plot, so there is mention of distrust, social anxiety, self-doubt, and emotional damage. Later chapters may involve mature themes for drug usage (spice), excessive alcohol consumption, and clubs that imply adult entertainment (the main characters do not take part). Nothing explicit in any chapters.

_______________________________________________________________

Takodana is beautiful. A small, lonely planet, it’s fairly uninteresting to an organization like the First Order, despite the conjuction of races which give it a colorful air even from above. The vast emerald forests and shining silver lakes are reminiscent of a fairytale, and the fortress of dark stone doesn’t help that impression. Din and I are instructed to land practically in the forest, and once we’re both out of our respective ships he leads me into a throng of unusual aliens and humans alike. Din’s encyclopedia holos and books have helped prepare me for some of them, but I’m just glad my face is covered. “Whatever you do, don’t stare,” Din told me as we’d met up at the end of the Slave’s exit ramp. “Don’t acknowledge anyone. This is your first time off Yëa, and it might be your final resting spot if somebody pulls a blaster on you.” I try to remember that now, as we navigate toward an ancient, imposing castle. People are staring at us-- of course they are. One Mandalorian is rare enough, but two? Unheard of. I fight to stay looking ahead as a humanoid with four fishy eyes and a mouth in the center of its face leans over to whisper to a furry thing with the face of a spider. A hulking creature with no discernible face wiggles something like an elephant trunk at us. Twi’leks watch us curiously, and an ugnaut scrambles out of our path. Jawas exclaim to each other wildly while gesturing at us. I struggle not to cling to Din’s arm, because that shows weakness. I walk with confident strides and remember my promise to the Mand’alore. Then I smell it. I haven’t smelled it in three years, but damn do I recognize it immediately. I stop in my tracks, and Din stops too. “What is it?” “I smell chocolate!” I whisper excitedly. Din leads me over to the stand with a chuckle, looks around a bit, and then purchases enough for the three of us. He shrugs. “Been awhile since I’ve had it. I don’t think Grogu’s had it at all.” “You’ve never had chocolate?!” I’m still buzzing from the sad fact that that is the closest I’ve come to getting ice cream with a father. It’s a good feeling. I feel like a kid again. “Badu,” Grogu admits, very seriously. “We’ll just have to amend that, won’t we?” Din gives me a look, so I add, “But later. After we’ve completed this very important task.” Finally, we’ve come to the archway of the castle. Music blares out over-loud, and inside people gamble at tables, sit around a bar and laugh, and there’s a stage where somebody’s singing very loudly. And out of tune. In either case, Din and I head inside without hesitation. Din goes straight for the dog-faced bartender. “We’re here to see Maz Kanata. Tell her it’s Djarin.” The bartender nods, and Din guides me to a table in a quieter corner where we can sit all mysteriously. “You going for full Aragorn vibes here? Why don’t you just pull a hood over your head and smoke a pipe?” Din stares at me blankly until I sit down, sighing. “Yeah yeah, my genius Earth-based references are totally lost on you.” Din sighs. “You know... I’m really gonna miss having you around back home. I got used to you.” “How weird do you think it’s gonna be for me? I’ve gotta get used to waking up without Grogu throwing his gruel at me.” Grogu giggles, his face covered in chocolate. Somehow, he’s gotten it from our very surprised father, who just sits back in exasperation. “Guess you and I will have to buy more. If he doesn’t throw it all back up and ruins it for us forever.” A Twi’lek waiter comes by to hand us a menu. Most things look like the equivalent of squid tentacles in rice, which, eugh, and then I see it. Something that looks an awful lot like cake. I lean over and point to it. “What’s this?” “Cake,” He replies with a half-shrug. “Y’know, soft and fluffy. Comes in different flavors. Covered in icing.” You don’t have cheeseburgers, but you have cake? I set the menu down as slowly as possible and smooth it flat. “...Got a budget on you, Dad?” He snorts under his breath, trying to cover up a laugh “Don’t go over twenty credits. And don’t overfill yourself.” Of course, I don’t listen. I eat with my helmet half-raised and by the time I spot Maz making her way over to us, I’ve totally ignored the savory items and have focused solely on devouring eight whole pieces of a cake that tastes suspiciously like blueberry pancakes. Even Grogu looks surprised. He could only stomach one piece before hurling all over himself, and yes, ruining me for ever wanting chocolate again. “So...” Din says, having watched me probably kill myself on all this sugar, “You have a sweet tooth.” I’d respond, but I’m finishing off my eighth piece. “My, Din Djarin,” Says Maz right behind him, making him jump. “Do you even feed the girl?” I’m wiping my face with one of the few napkins left after Grogu’s mess, wondering what the hell I just did to myself. I can feel my body asking me what the kriff what the kriff what the kriiiiiiff after having eaten only wild game for three years. Sugar overload is probably a bad thing. A hyper Mandalorian is the last thing anybody needs. “Hello Maz,” Din says. The little lady takes a seat, shaking my hand with a smile. “So, you have become a Mandalorian. How does it feel?” My stomach twists. I’m seriously fighting the urge to run around her fortress twenty times to get rid of the jumpy feeling. “Being a Mandalorian feels great. But I just gorged myself on cake, so I’m prematurely excusing myself for suddenly running off to hurl it all back up again if needed.” Maz laughs, her eyes squinting beneath her goggles. “You’re forgiven.” She spreads her arms. “Tell me, what do you think of my castle? It’s my pride and joy, you know.” “It’s beautiful!” I reply honestly. “I love it! I wish I had a castle like this!” She chuckles, sharing a glance with Din. “I’d offer you a job, but I doubt you’d take it. You’re not here to join a bounty hunting guild, are you?” “No ma’am,” I lean forward, not wanting the fact that I want to join the Resistance heard by all these strangers. “I’m following my path, just as you and Dad have told me to. My path is leading me to the Resistance-- I want to join. I want to be a doctor.” Maz leans back in her seat. “A doctor, you say? An interesting path indeed for a Mandalorian. Although I’m sure there were many Mandalorian healers that were unsung heroes, yes?” She continues before either of us can say anything. “Leia would be glad to have you. Help is help, after all, and I’m sure she’s eager to meet you.” She turns her eye on Din. “What of you, Djarin? The princess could use your leadership qualities.” “My goal is only to protect Grogu. Now that Laylah is my heir, his safety is ensured and I can live out a peaceful retirement on Yëa.” My heart sinks. I’d still been hoping that he would change his mind and come with me. Being surrounded entirely by strangers is an idea that I’m not exactly open to. I still have social anxiety, clearly, because this crowd is making me uncomfortable, although having my helmet and armor does help a little. Din and Grogu I’ve become accustomed to, but total strangers? I don’t want to be alone near them. I can only picture myself just like I’d been when I’d first arrived on Yëa: meek, shy, distrustful. I want to at least have somebody with me that I know. The thought of being all alone... Just like on Earth... Maz nods and passes me a chip. Gingerly, my hands shaking from the obscene amount of sugar I’ve just consumed, I take it. She pats my hand, smiling warmly. “The Resistance base is currently on D’Qar. Do you know it?” “I know of it,” Din replies, “I can easily point it out on her navicomputer.” “Good. Then I wish the best of luck to both of you.” She stands up in her chair to pat me on the head. “Bo-Katan would be pleased that her armor has found a capable bearer. It was nice of you to keep the scars she earned.” I bow my head to her. “Thank you, Maz Kanata. For everything.” She waves me off. “Bah. Off with you both!” With that, she leaves us as she hums a merry tune. Din and I return to our ships. We go slow, taking our time. We even take the time to buy me two more outfits to use while with the Resistance. When we do get to the Slave, he takes fifteen minutes to input the coordinates into my navicomputer, while I hold Grogu right beside him. “There,” He says, albeit reluctantly, and steps away from the cockpit to stand in front of me. “You’re all set. Now that you have more than one destination, a prompt will appear for you to choose a specific one. Yeä and D’Qar. Come to visit me as often as you can, please.” I hesitate. I don’t want to be alone. All I can think about is Earth. My family and I were always alone. I can’t have a repeat of life on Earth, I can’t... “Dad... I know I... I know I’m supposed to be strong, for our people. But... I don’t want to be so alone somewhere so... new. With all those people I don’t know. Can you come with me, please? Just for a month or two, while I get settled in? I mean, besides Yëa, there’s no safer place to be than the Resistance, right?” Din puts a hand on my shoulder. “You are supposed to be strong. But there’s no shame in asking for help to get there.” I look up at him hopefully, mentally begging him. Please... Please... “...I’ll go with you to D’Qar, but only for a few months.” I let out a whooshing breath of relief. Even after three years, Din doesn’t know my whole story. He knows that I’m a severe introvert and have extreme social anxiety-- I hardly said a word to him during my first few months on Yëa-- and he knows that until him, everyone I ever met outside of my family ended up being cruel to me or abandoning me at some point. He knows about my negligent biological father, and I’m even still always talking about my good family. But that’s just the surface. I don’t think I’ll ever tell anyone everything. He accepts the fact that I have these issues and need to work through them, in my own way, although being an introvert seems to be a Mandalorian trait anyway. It took me months after I started talking to hear any stories of Din’s past. I lift my head up and pass him Grogu, excited now more than ever for the path ahead. “To D’Qar?” “To D’Qar,” He agrees, and departs from the Slave.

- - -

As soon as we exit lightspeed over D’Qar, a beautiful green orb of a planet, we’re met with a squadron of T-70 X-wings. Two flank Din’s little starfighter, and two pull up on either side of me. I glance back-and-forth between the white-and-blue and the black-and-orange worriedly, resisting the urge to keep my hands up like I’m being confronted by cops. “Uh... Dad?” “Stay calm, kid. Just a security escort. Answer their questions.” I’m very aware of the fact that the pilots can see my every move. I can also see theirs. In the blue-and-white to my right, the pilot watches me warily. In the black-and-orange to my left, the pilot leans far enough over in his cockpit to look at the turret on the bottom of the ship. A comlink crackles to life, nearly scaring me enough to jump. I only tense, refusing to let them see that. A jumpy Mandalorian. That’ll be a nice story to tell. “Modified Firespray-31-class, please identify yourself,” The pilot in the black X-wing says. Oh hell, human interaction. I nearly panic before reigning myself back in. Din can’t always speak for me. I take a deep, calming breath, count to five, and open the channel. “I’m Laylah Vhaene-Besu of Clan Djarin.” I keep my voice level, calm, and force myself to speak clearly instead of too low or too loud. I’m tempted to say, Who is this?, but it’s not my place. “Odd to see not one, but two Mandalorians show up at once. What’s your business here?” I swallow hard, hard pounding and throat dry. Once again I’m thankful for the helmet concealing my expression. “I’m here to join the Resistance with my father.” “Join? Mandalorians?” The pilot to my right asks, “Isn’t that against your rules?” I glance between them, and end up blurting the first thing that comes to mind. “Last I checked, the First Order has some influence on almost every race in the galaxy, including Mandalorians. What exactly is it in the rulebook that forbids us from joining in the fight for freedom?” “A little bold of you to be getting smart,” The pilot in the blue snaps. “Bold of you to assume the rules to the Mandalorian Creed.” “Easy,” The pilot of the black says, but he’s looking down so I can’t see his face. I get the distinct impression that he’s laughing. “We’ve got new allies here, maybe.” I hear a new channel open. “How about the other one, Jess?” “Says he wants to join up with his daughter there, commander... He’s got some little green thing behind him, though.” “Easy on the little green thing,” I say before I can stop myself, a little defensive, “That’s my baby brother.” “One odd family you got here,” Says the pilot in the blue, almost suspiciously. I can’t bring myself to respond, feeling a little concerned about how brash my words were earlier. I’m overthinking everything I’ve said, but I try to keep breathing normally. Just breathe. Be yourself. And try not to say anything stupid. The pilot in the black glances to me before pressing some buttons. The little orange-and-white droid behind him whirls its head about. “BB-8, run a check on their ships.” In a few moments, the pilot is nodding. “Off the radar. Nice. No tracking signals or anything. You’re both clean.” He opens another channel. “Ground control, this is Commander Dameron. We’ve got some new recruits here.” The blue X-wing pilot scoffs in disbelief. “Poe, you can’t just--” “I can just. My just-ing is what gets us a lot of our new members.” “We were shown the way here by Maz Kanata,” I interrupt, and I have their full attention all of a sudden. Hell. Not the plan. “O-on Takodana. She said she knew Leia.” “She does,” Commander Dameron replies, shocked. “If she sent you here, she must trust you. Where are you from?” Uh-uh. “Well, if I told you that, I’d lose my reputation as a mysterious and vague Mandalorian, now, wouldn’t I?” I know that Din told me to answer all of their questions, but I’m not going to give up his safe place with Grogu to anyone. I’ll guard that secret with my life. “You’re taking her word for it?” The blue pilot sounds appalled. The pilot in the blue is really pissing me off. With respect. “No sir, you are taking Maz’s word for it. Go on, call and ask. I’ll wait. It’s comfy in here. I’ve got snacks. I’ll just chill. Not a bad view, either.” I make a show of crossing my legs and arms, acting a lot more confident than I feel. Kriff. Was that too far? They gonna blow us out of the sky now? Commander Dameron does laugh this time. “How ’bout we take the general’s word on it? If Maz really sent you, General Organa will know.” “Sounds good to me.” “You’ll be given landing instructions by ground control. We’ll escort you down to the tarmac, and there you’ll be given further instructions.” I salute commander Dameron and the other pilot, despite having been mouthy to him. “Thank you, sirs. I’ll follow your lead.” I’d always respected military of any kind-- in fact, my social anxiety wasn’t as bad around them-- but I held pilots in the highest regard. My brother, Tristan, he was going to be a fighter pilot; Thomas already had been one for two years. I’d spent a good portion of my life on Earth around aircraft in museums as my brothers learned about them, and I came to take comfort in them. It had been my dream to become a doctor on a C-17 or C-130 hospital-ship, but then I’d been whisked into this world, where I’m something far different. “Nice ship, by the way. How is she?” Dameron asks. I try to relax. Pilots are okay. I can talk to pilots just like I talk to Dad. I beam, though I know he can’t see it. “It’s my inheritance. The Slave. Belonged to the bounty hunter Boba Fett before me, and I pilot it in his honor. Flies like a charm. Helluva lot better than Dad’s little starfighter.” I can see Dameron’s smile even from here. “You’re flying the Slave. The Slave. Boba Fett’s ship.” “Yes sir.” He shakes his head in astonishment. “I’ve heard stories, but never though I’d get to see her in person. Damn, she’s beautiful.” I’m beaming at the fact that he’s gushing over my ship. “That she is. Can’t ever bring myself to change her paintjob, though.” “Don’t ever. Makes her who she is.” “Indeed it does.” I look over at him. “Your ship’s pretty badass too, if I may say so. T-70 X-wing, right? Nice choice of colors.” Why am I still talking? I want to shut up despite him being a pilot, but... I can’t. It’s fun talking to this Commander Dameron. Someone besides Din or Maz, or even baby Grogu. “Yes ma’am, that’s correct,” I see him pat the dashboard like it’s his pride and joy. “This is Black One. Black One, meet Slave. Slave, meet Black One. There, now our ships are properly introduced.” I see a glint of his smile. I can’t help but laugh. “Good, now she knows she’s got a friend.” Dameron’s comlink crackles to life. It’s Jess. “Commander, Djarin wants to be able to open a channel to his daughter.” “Let him.” Din’s voice comes through my comlink loud and clear. “Laylah, remember what I said earlier about doing what I say?” “Yeah.” “This is your first entry into an atmosphere. You need to do this right or you’ll crash and burn.” I pause, taking in what he said. “Wow. Thanks for the graphic images and immense fear of turning into a fireball, Dad.” “You’re welcome. Now do exactly as I say.” Dameron speaks up. “You’re a new pilot?” “In space,” I admit, “Most of my flying’s been in the air, within the atmosphere.” “Laylah,” Din says, “Ease up on the thrusters. You go the speed you’re at now and you’ll go out of control. Do not lock the wings.” Flames start to erupt on the transparisteel. On either side of me, the X-wings go smoothly, but the Slave shudders dangerously. “Uh... Dad, how long’s it been since the Slave’s entered an atmosphere?” “About twelve years.” “Maker!” The blue pilot exclaims. The Slave is shaking. A crimson light starts blinking, and an alarm simultaneously starts beeping loudly. “I-I’m redlighting.” “I wouldn’t let you in it if it were unsafe,” Din promises, and I know he’s telling the truth. “Just stay calm. Ease up and adjust your trajectory... There you go.” Then something happens. On the belly of the ship, right under the cockpit, a whole panel tears right off the Slave with a horrible screech. “Dad!” “Just stay calm,” Din replies, but he himself sounds worried. “Djarin,” Dameron says by way of warning, “The whole front section of your protective steel just tore right off. You’re exposed and burning up. It’s about to get real hot in there real fast.” “So I’m feeling,” I say, as the cockpit starts heating up and glowing red. Lights are flashing and alarms are beeping and blaring in cacophony of noise. The controls start smoking, and then they explode in a burst of sparks. I scream and flinch away, shielding my face on instinct as sparks fly onto me and pour onto the canopy. I feel the engines cut, and then I’m free-falling. “I just lost the main repulsors. And the secondary engines. I have no control, I’m falling!” The height gauge is declining, rapidly. I need time I don’t have to start up the systems again.

“Laylah,” Din says, trying to remain calm but clearly worried, “I’m gonna put my starfighter on autopilot and bail. Grogu will land safely. I’m gonna come and get you.” I’ve seen his jetpack, and I’ve seen how effortlessly he flies with it. I know he can do it. But I don’t want him to.

“You ever hear the phrase the captain goes down with the ship? I am not letting the Slave just crash!” It survived years under Jango, years under Boba. I’m not going to destroy their legacy now. I mean, really. It survives two bounty hunters and then is destroyed by a new Mandalorian who supposedly will revive Mandalore? Just kriffing great for my people’s morale.

“You really think that dying is what you’re being pulled to?! Get out of that cockpit and open the ramp!” I have an idea. One that might give me enough time to fix the engines. I’m flipping switches and preparing for the stunt I’m about to pull. “Dad, you know how you said to do everything you say?” “Laylah--!” “I’m about to not do that.” I lock the wings and slam on the brakes. The Slave seems to stop in midair. The X-wings speed by for a few seconds before realizing what’s happened, flaring their wings to slow down themselves. “What the hell is she doing?!” I hear the blue pilot exclaim, and I see Din’s starfighter wheel around despite the X-wings flanking him telling him to stay on course. He’s yelling at me, but I hardly hear him. I interrupt and try to talk casually to disguise my own terror, fully aware that all the nearby fighters can hear every word I say. “You ever been to an airshow, Dad?” I twist the wings. The view of D’Qar’s forested, mountainous surface disappears, leaving my only sense of ground in my fellow flyers and declining gauges. The Slave smoothly flips, turning turret-over-top to ride the wind on its flat side. “Sometimes the jets’ll fly real high, cut their engines, and fall. They’ll level out flat to catch the wind and give them drag, give them time to bring the power back to them. Some pilots are good enough to glide the jet to a perfect landing without any engine power at all.” “A jet is a lot different from the Slave!” Din yells. “First time for everything, right?” I kick the underside of the panel hard. “Dameron, where the hell is the runway?” I see the black X-wing come up beside me, leveling out to fall with me on my left. “What are you trying to do?” “Restart the engines, but if I can’t I need to already be in the glide for one rough landing.” A prompt appears on one of the screens: trajectory and height, in case I can’t hear him over the comlinks. I adjust, but the Slave is being practically held still by the momentum, so it’s difficult. Din appears on my right, and I see Grogu banging at the glass of his little secondary cockpit. “Don’t worry Gizmo, I got this. It’s all cool. I’ve done this a thousand times in video games.” Of course, I always crash, but I’m not gonna tell him that. I hear him squeal unhappily, and I add, “Just watch, buddy. This is how you fall with style.” Within the primary cockpit, I see Din watching me intently as I kick the panel and toggle switches. I change up power distribution and try to put everything I have into the engines. At least, I entered the atmosphere awhile ago, so it’s not so hot in here. Nine hundred feet. I’m either going to crash or glide. “C’mon, work dammit!” Seven hundred feet. I kick the panel. “Come on...” Six hundred feet. Again. “Come on!” With the next kick, there’s a shower of sparks and at first I’m scared I’ve only done more damage. Then the control panel whirs to life, lights returning and alarms calming down. The engines sputter and burst with a roar of thunder and fire, and the Slave slows down significantly. Now I’m flying, not falling. “HELL YEAH!” I hear Din’s distinct sigh of relief as he and Dameron pull away. Dameron even cheers. “You’re one hell of a pilot, Djarin. I should buy you a drink.” “I’d like that!” I laugh, turning the Slave so I can make an actual landing. “We’re glad to have you, Mandalorians. We need people like you. See you on the ground.” The whole X-wing squadron pulls away in formation with Black One at the helm, as Din and I pull in for a landing on the tarmac. He lands much quicker, but I have to circle around and swing the Slave onto its flat side in order to land properly. I’m shaking as I unbuckle from the seat. I lay there, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down. The calmness of the fall is gone, replaced with the overwhelming fear that washes over me. I’d pushed it away, but now nothing is blocking it. I almost freaking died. Social interaction and almost crashing? That’s too much in one day. I’m glad Din came with me. “I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m alive.” The ramp opens, and I turn to hear the sound of Din’s jingling armor as he runs for the cockpit. I lean over just as he reaches me. “Dad...” I all but fall out of the seat. He helps me stand and engulfs me in a bone-crushing hug. “I’m okay.” “You’re shaking.” “But I’m alive. Therefore I’m okay.” “You almost weren’t.” He pulls back, probably scanning for injuries. Grogu reaches for me and I pick him up out of the satchel at Din’s waist. I actually manage a breezy laugh. “Guess I’ve gotta get used to this, right? Death-defying stunts? That’s what the Resistance is all about.” Din lets out a sigh of relief, nodding. “Yeah.” He keeps a hand on my shoulder. “Guess you are okay, kid.” “Sir,” Says an impatient voice, and we turn to see a young woman, her blonde hair drawn up in twin buns, standing between two men with blasters aimed at us. “Ma’am. Your weapons.” “Oh.” Weapons are a part of our religion. They define us. But Din and I pull off all our blasters, rifles, knives, and set them in a pile on the floor. Fat lot of good religion is gonna do if we’re dead, or refused here. Neither of us mention our flamethrowers or whistling birds, though. One of the men comes to collect the pile at our feet. “I know every item that’s there,” Din says by way of warning, and the man nods respectfully. “We’re just taking precautions,” The young woman says. “I’m Captain Connix.” “I’m Din Djarin. This is my daughter, Laylah Vhaene-Besu Djarin, and this is Grogu.” “Why are you here?” Connix asks. She keeps her hands behind her back and her demeanor very controlled. I can’t read her. Which makes me nervous. Friendly or hostile? “Maz Kanata told us where to find you,” I answer without thinking, and she looks surprised. “I want to be a doctor, and I want to help free the galaxy from the First Order. So Maz sent us here.” Connix looks between us maybe trying discern how truthful we are but unable to with our armor. A bit reluctantly, she draws herself up and nods. I can tell that if we were to do anything, she would take full responsibility for what happened. “I’ll have to take you to General Organa. She’ll decide what to do with you.” “If we’re denied, will we be allowed to stay long enough to fix her ship?” Din asks, and Connix nods curtly. “I’m sure that something can be arranged.” We follow Connix out of the ship, flanked by the soldiers, and I’m thinking about how absolutely useless they are. After all, if a lightsaber can’t get through beskar, what do they think a blaster’s gonna do? I don’t say anything though, because that could be perceived as a threat. The Resistance base is full of a mix-match of ships from ages past and current. The Slave and the starfighter fit right in. Pilots in orange flight suits rush to-and-fro while maintenance crews work on their ships. Droids of all kinds meander about. People of all races have gathered to fight for freedom, and we’re two of them. Seems like not many people have seen Mandalorians, though. People are watching and whispering and staring in awe. I pretend to ignore it, though I’m self-conscious of every individual step I’m taking. Everyone staring reminds me of Earth: that’s what people would do. One person that disliked us could spread false stories and everyone would believe them, and so we were watched. Judged. Thankfully Din strikes up casual conversation. He grabs my elbow-- outwardly, just a father-daughter gesture. I know, though, that he can tell I’m nervous. Apparently I have a different walk and bearing; Din says I act like a wary deer, ready to flee at any second. Back when I first arrived, I flinched away from any kind of physical contact Din tried to show me. Eventually, though, having him near me became a comfort. I take solace in his grip now, trying to relax. I dunno, some part of me sees him as my protector, though I can full well take care of myself-- at least, in a fight. Against speaking? People talking to me that aren’t pilots? Din can help keep me safe from that. So long as he’s here, I can do it, but if it gets to be do much, I can do what I would do with Mom: subtly hide behind him so that they address what they’re saying to him, not me. “You asked me to come with you because you didn’t want to be on your own, but you seem to making friends pretty quickly.” What kind of parallel dimension has he been experiencing? “With who? I’ve been here all of twenty deadly minutes.” “That pilot,” He specifies, “Dameron. You got along pretty well.” I half-shrug in agreement. I hadn’t realized he could hear us. “That’s only ’cause you were there, Dad. You gave me the confidence to just... act natural. Besides, he’s a pilot. I’m always more comfortable around pilots. When I talk to them, it feels like talking to a family member.” Connix smiles at me over her shoulder. “Commander Dameron isn’t just a pilot-- he’s the pilot. The best in the Resistance.” “Really?” I glance up, knowing his squadron is probably still patrolling somewhere. “Not bad for a first impression, am I right?” “Not bad at all,” Din chuckles, and Connix adds, “You had the attention of the whole base.” I go silent at that. Kriffing great. Now everybody knows me. The whole base knows about the Mandalorian girl with the Slave who somehow managed not to crash. People might want to talk to me, ask me questions-- or worse, there’s always the jealous few with their cliques. Suddenly the Resistance base seems more intimidating, and I subtly scoot closer to Din. Connix leads us into a tunnel buried right in the side of the mountain-- the Resistance base has been set up in some kind of ruins, old and dusty but perfectly functional and rigged with hundreds of feet of extension cord to power old light fixtures, holoprojectors, radar observations, and the like. She takes us through a maze of dimly-lit corridors, control rooms, monitoring stations, and hallways fashioned out of old caves and structures, until we’ve reached a little archway guarded by a golden protocol droid with a red arm. “Hello, C-3PO.” “Why hello Captain Connix,” He replies in a soft, almost British voice. He jerks to look at Din and I in turn. “Oh! The Mandalorians. Welcome. Princess Leia has been expecting you.” Connix looks just as surprised as we feel. Din and I regard each other curiously, but say nothing. “Uh...” She gestures for the guards to leave, and then for us to follow C-3PO. “Follow him, then.” She and her soldiers leave immediately. C-3PO turns and walks with the small, whirring steps of a protocol droid, leading us through the archway. “I’m nervous,” I blurt out quietly to Din. “I’ve met her brother,” Din replies, patting my back in assurance, “He was the one that was going to train Grogu to be a Jedi, remember? If she’s anything like him, she’ll be very calm and wise. Though I don’t think she’s a Jedi.” “You’re quite right, Master Djarin,” C-3PO inputs, “Princess Leia never followed in her brother’s footsteps. She preferred the life of a senator.” “But she still has the Force?” I skip ahead a few steps to look at Threepio as I walk beside him. I remember what Maz said, about how Leia had sensed me too. And about that strange pull that brought me here. “Indeed, Lady Djarin. Though she does not use it.” Threepio stops, looking at something beyond me. “Ah, here we are. Princess Leia, the Djarins have arrived.” I turn to see her. She’s old, but not in the way of an old lady. In the way of an old, experienced starcraft that’s seen things most people can’t even dream of. Her face is wise and kind, telling a story of a lifetime that saw two rebellions and the end of the Empire. She stands before a holoprojector, strong and regal. Her gray hair is done in a royal fashion, but not overdone, and she wears robes of gray lilac. Her dark eyes are full of warmth and kindness, and I find myself bowing at the waist before I know what’s happening. “Princess,” I breathe automatically, “It’s an honor to meet you, my lady.” Beside me, Din mimics my gesture, but says nothing. Princess Leia smiles. “Please, no formalities. I’m only general here.” We stand straight. Her gaze lands on Din, then Grogu, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet. “Welcome, Din Djarin and Grogu. My brother Luke spoke of you. The Mandalorian with his Darksaber and the only survivor of my father’s assault on the Jedi Temple. Tell me, are you still traveling the galaxy as a bounty hunter?” “Those days are far behind me, general,” Din replies, mildly amused, “Though I’m surprised to be in such high standing with Luke Skywalker.” Leia turns to me. Something glitters in her dark eyes, but I can’t place what it is. “The Girl Misplaced... I saw your arrival here as clearly as I see you now. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you, adjusting to life here; but I see you’ve become one of us without question.” She smiles softly with approval. “May I see your face, Laylah Djarin?” I turn questioningly to Din. He nods. “You follow a different Creed than I do. You may remove your helmet.” I take a couple of steps forward and remove my helmet slowly. My crown braids remain intact, surprisingly enough, though I’m sure they’re messy. All my confidence has left me, and I can’t bring myself to speak without the shield of the helmet. Leia nods slowly, as if confirming something. “You remind me of me, once upon a time...” I at least manage smile a little-- it’s an unexpected compliment, to be told that. “You’ve come to join the Resistance.” “Yes, general,” I say past the dryness of my throat, “I want to be a doctor.” She raises an eyebrow. “Usually those who want to join us want to be pilots. You’d make an excellent one.” “I’ll fight in the Slave if necessary,” I answer reluctantly. I really don’t want to fight. I don’t want to kill. But if that’s all the Resistance will take me for... then I can be a pilot. Maybe I can even become a part of Commander Dameron’s squadron, so that I have at least some familiarity with my superiors. Leia, however, is nodding. “In the medbay, you’ll meet San Dia. We don’t have doctors officially, but some of our medics might as well be. Most of us can’t afford the years of college, and those that can are taken by the First Order to serve them as surgeons. Your training will begin tomorrow, but I advise that you don’t wear your armor unless you want a little too much attention.” Din scoffs as I turn to beam at him. It’s happening, Dad! “Promise me one thing, Laylah.” “What?” “That you’ll wear your beskar any time you go off-world.” Eagerly, I start nodding to try and emphasize the fact that I’ll hold to what I say. “I promise.” Leia smiles at him. “And you, Din Djarin? What will you do?” “I’ve come to accompany Laylah for a few months, until she’s settled... But in the meantime, I’ll offer what leadership aid that I can.” Leia inclines her head. “We’re glad to have you, Commander Djarin. C-3PO will show you to your bunks. They’re really nothing more than small closets with cots, but it’s all we have.” “We’re grateful for all you can give us, general,” Din replies, and then we bid the general farewell and follow C-3PO to our bunks. The maze of corridors is still intimidating, and I can’t imagine that I’d find my way easily here. “Tomorrow I shall retrieve you for breakfast and give you a tour of the base, if that is permissible,” C-3PO says as we stop at Din’s door-- basically just a small cave with a door fashioned to it, unlocked via a keypad. “Thank you,” He says, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder and taking Grogu from me. “Be watchful and wary, Laylah. Even here you may have enemies.” Visibly, I flinch. Yes, I might. There may be a few people who have grudges toward Mandalorians, who are often mistaken for bounty hunters only. “I know, Dad.” Separating from him puts me on edge, but I confidently follow C-3PO. “I’ve never met a protocol droid before,” I admit. “Oh! Well I am happy to be the first, Lady Djarin.” I ease up a bit. It’s far easier to talk to a droid than a person. “Is it true you know over a million languages?” “Quite right, Lady Djarin. I can translate almost any language into Galactic Basic, or in the reverse.” “Cool. Wish I could do that.” That prompted an unexpected explanation about how and why the human brain and lifespan would restrict learning such a vast amount of knowledge unless my entire life were dedicated to it, and even then I might not get to that point. Still, I’m grateful for him speaking so that I didn’t have to. I’d put my helmet back on, so no one can see my face, but that doesn’t stop everyone from staring at the Mandalorian following C-3PO. I’m waiting for an attack, and though no one has shown hostility yet, my mind is automatically assigning everyone to an enemy status. Suddenly I’m understanding why Din sleeps in his armor. My bunk is two hallways down from Din’s. It feels like much too far a distance. “Here we are, Lady Djarin. It is late, so I advise you get some rest for tomorrow. Resistance members start their days early and end them late, so it may take some time for you to adjust. Do you require anything to eat?” I’m surprised at how polite he is. “No, thank you. I have food with me.” “Very well. Goodnight, Lady Djarin.” “Goodnight, C-3PO. Thank you.” “You are quite welcome, Lady Djarin.” I input the code the droid had given me into the keypad, and the door can be pushed open noiselessly. The bowl-like room is dark, pitch black, but my helmet lightens it to a gloom of black-and-white. I reach in and tap the light switch, and the yellow cylindrical lightbulbs hanging from power couplings on the ceiling illuminate the little room. About ten-by-ten, it’s a very small room. It contains only a beside table, a cot with blankets folded underneath of pillows. The dark stone walls should be intimidating, but it’s comforting. I sit on the edge of the cot and eat what I’d packed-- demon-rabbit jerky and some river water-- and then lock my door. I unpack my bag. I fold my clothes and put them away in the drawers, set out my rock from Grogu on the nightstand, lay my pelt-blankets on the floor as rugs, and then go about the process of taking off my armor. In twenty minutes, I’ve gotten everything off and have set it carefully in my pack, storing it under my cot. Just down the hall is the women’s fresher-- there’s nobody in there tonight, so I enter a tiny stall and take a shower, for the first time in three years instead of bathing in the river. Hell, I’m even able to shave-- although instead of razors, they have bottles of cream that just wipes clean to reveal clear, shining skin. Sweet. I come out and immediately brush and braid my hair before changing into the old pants and shirt I’ve always used for pajamas, rushing back to my room and making my bed, and turning out the lights. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired. I fall asleep almost instantly when my head hits the pillow, but I’m dreaming of escape routes and how to fight somebody off if they try to attack me while I’m sleeping.

- - -

The next morning, I’m already dressed before C-3PO arrives at my door with Din. I keep the armor underneath of the cot, instead wearing an outfit the color of sand, one of the ones I’d gotten at Takodana: capri pants, a thin sleeveless jacket longer in the front than in back, and a tank top, along with a pair of shoes very much like hiking boots and thin, fingerless gloves that go up to my elbows. I’d brushed and rebraided my hair, returning it to the double-crown on my head, but this time I didn’t put on the headband. I’d pulled a couple of strands free to frame my face-- they were shorter, only just past my jawline, and curly from being in a braid all the time. This morning in the fresher was the first time I’d been able to look into an actual mirror instead of a warped piece of metal for three years. Last night I hadn’t really even registered it, too tired and excited to care. But when I’d caught a glimpse of myself this morning, I had to pause and look. I was so much different than when I’d first come here. Din’s training had worn any lingering baby fat away, so I’m fit and thin. My white skin is clear and smooth, and my dark hair soft and silken. Very different from the ratty-haired, acne-covered teenager that looked like she was about twelve. I’ve just returned from the fresher when somebody knocks on the door. Perfect timing. I hurry up to answer, and am greeted with the sight of C-3PO and Din waiting patiently. “Hi guys!” Not for the first time, I’m aware of how much smaller I am than Din. Even Threepio is taller and broader than me, and without the armor, I already feel vulnerable even though I’d only worn it for a day. “Ready to start an epic day of freeing the galaxy?” Din snorts with amusement. “Just so long as you don’t try to crash the Slave again.” “Shall I take you to the mess hall before we begin the tour?” Threepio asks, and we both tell him to lead on. I close and lock my door behind me and we follow the golden droid. “So how’d you sleep?” I ask Din. He shrugs. “I can sleep anywhere.” “Du,” Grogu says as he reaches for me, and I let him hold my hand with a smile. “I slept great!” “Good. You’ll have plenty of energy for today.” The mess hall isn’t very big, and it’s not very busy, although over half the tables in the cave are full. Threepio leaves us, promising to return in twenty minutes, and we order our breakfast from the droid behind the makeshift counter-- they’re working on bare necessities here; stuff like dried meat, potatoes, corn, beans, stuff that’s easy to keep. I’m nervous, so I only order something small. The droid gives us each a tray and we walk away with jerky and something like oatmeal. “I just seen you eat an entire cake’s worth by yourself. What happened?” Din asks as we take a seat on the far end of the mess hall. His helping of space-oatmeal actually takes up the larger space of the tray, and he has at least a dozen pieces of jerky. Grogu’s tiny helping of gruel is big for him, so his doesn’t count. My helping, however, is only about a handful of the space-oatmeal and a couple pieces of jerky. I nibble on the jerky. “Nerves. Can’t eat when my stomach’s jumping.” I try to take a sip of water, but my hands are trembling so badly I almost spill it. I wipe my palms down my pants, trying to dry the sweat on them. Din chuckles as he helps Grogu with his food with one hand and pulls his helmet up a bit with the other. “Good thing you’ve still got all that sugar in your system, then.” A ruckus from behind makes me turn slightly to see a bunch of pilots entering the mess hall, all wearing the orange flight suits but free of the white vests for now. One of them-- a man with a goatee-- says, “I doubt they’d be here, commander. They’re Mandalorians. Can’t they like, not show their faces?” Finally, I manage to start drinking the water, although I realize that the pilot talking is the one that had flown the blue-and-white X-wing yesterday based off his voice. I hope he’s not as truly irritated as he looks about me having mouthed off yesterday. “You heard the lady, Snap,” The one in front says, and turns to look at him. “Don’t assume you know everything about the Mandalorian Creed.” They start laughing at Snap, which is a good thing, because I’ve just choked on my water. Din and Grogu both jump. “What the--” “That’s Poe Dameron?!” “Uh...” Din glances over warily as I continue to cough up a lung. “I guess. Why?” “Poe Dameron?! They mean Poe Damneron, good Maker...” I glance over. He’s just... He’s just... Guh. His thick inky black hair and his tan skin and his perfect jawline and just Maker. GUH. He’s kriffing gorgeous, and I know I’m not even going to be able to so much as mutter around that man. “I’m moving.” I announce, and gather up my tray and cup. “Why?” “Because right now I don’t look like a Mandalorian, and you stand out of this crowd like red-on-black, and I do not want Dameron coming to talk to me!” I’m whispering frantically as I stand, so I’m surprised he even hears me. “You seemed fine talking to him yesterday,” Din points out, a little confused. “That’s before I actually saw him!” “What? What’s that have to do with anything?” I lean down, glancing over to ensure that they’re all still teasing Snap. “I am not going to be able to function properly and act like I did on the ship while talking to him. I’m gonna look stupid.” Din pulls his helmet down, but I still see his mouth twitch. It doesn’t help me that I’m blushing, hard. “Oh boy...” “Cover for me!” I race to a table nearby and take a seat. I’ve been here all along. Ignore me. Ignore me. For Maker’s sake, ignore me. I nibble on a piece of jerky, trying to act normal and hide the fact that my hands are shaking again. I can’t taste it in my dry mouth, and swallowing feels horrible. It takes all I have not to freeze up as Dameron starts to approach Din, who I can feel is trying not to crack up. And I’ve only heard him laugh really hard once. “Commander Djarin?” Says Dameron; he’s balancing his tray in one hand, and offers his hand to Din, who shakes it firmly. “I just wanted to officially welcome you and your daughter to base, sir, though...” He looks around, and I try to casually keep eating as his gaze scans over me briefly. For a split second we make eye contact before I look down at my gruel and make a show of messing with it with my spoon. “She was fine, right?” Thank Maker, he’s not looking at me anymore. “Yeah. She’s around here somewhere.” Din sounds amused as he looks around pointedly, pretending he has no idea where I am, but that’s all he says. Dameron smiles. I almost choke on my jerky. Kriffing HELL... I am so glad I didn’t wear my armor. I can’t imagine that. Or, maybe, I can. I’m sure he’s got a reputation. I wouldn’t be afraid to bet good credits that a story about a Mandalorian freezing up wouldn’t exactly be surprising. He has to be the heartthrob of the base, or I’m Master Yoda. “Well if you see her, can you tell her that I’m looking for her?” KRIFF YOU ARE WHAT-- “Gonna try to convince her to fly for you?” Din asks, a smile in his voice. Dameron nods a bit. “Maybe. She’s a good pilot.” Thanks, you obscenely gorgeous man. “Good luck trying to convince her. She’s here to be a medic. Starts her training today. If you’re still looking for her later, ask San Dia where she is; she’ll be her mentor.” Din pretends to cough, but he’s just cutting off a laugh when he sees my face. Why. The. HELL. “Thank you sir. I’ll do that.” Dameron leaves. Din is chuckling to himself as he wipes Grogu’s face. He gives me a little wave, and I avert my gaze. I don’t know this Mandalorian at all. Not in the slighest. A beeping at my left gets my attention and I look over, freezing in mid-chew when I see the droid from Black One. What was his name? BB-8? He’s stopped to look up at me inquisitively. I’m sure I look plenty surprised-- wide eyes, frozen like a statue. I manage a tiny wave. BB-8 bobs his head in what might be a nod. “Beebs,” I hear Dameron call, and glance up with my eyes. DON’T COME OVER HERE TO GET YOUR DROID PLEASE-- thank Maker he’s only calling him. He glances at me briefly and I feel my whole face blush from neck to hairline. I avert my gaze back to the droid in a panic. Get outta here, buddy, quick! Before he comes to get you! “What’re doin’, bud? Let the lady eat. Don’t stare at her.” To me, my whole purpose in leaving Din’s table is only narrowly avoiding being totally useless, because he says as his droid rolls back to him with a series of beeps, “Sorry about that, miss.” My jerky goes down the wrong way. RIFK--HELL-- I can’t even mentally swear properly. I mumble what might be a slew of different versions of “it’s alright, sir,” but I nod to make sure he understands before pretending to turn my full and complete attention to my food. I take a drink to help the jerky down and start eating with hands shaking more than that girl from Jurassic Park eating the jello. That’s it. Goodbye Resistance, goodbye noble life of epic deeds before reviving Mandalore, there goes my kriffing confidence, and damn has he blown any hopes of me ever getting a partner out of the water. Every man or woman I ever look at will seem inferior ’cause I’m just gonna think, What a kriffing shame they’re not Poe Dameron. Fifty years from now on New Mandalore I’m gonna be sighing about Poe kriffing Dameron. I nervously eat until C-3PO arrives, and then I’m going full panic mode. Dameron’s squadron is still here-- right beside the entrance, no less-- and Threepio’s going to be leading Din and I around him. I’m considering escape routes when Dameron’s squadron starts getting up and returning their trays to the counter; I hear a tall, blue woman with cat ears and a ridge on her head that parts her black hair loudly dare Dameron to try the move I did in his X-wing. They’re only just leaving as Threepio reaches Din, rambunctiously placing bets as Dameron cockily says he could repeat it in any ship, any conditions. Kriff. And this man is gonna come into the medbay later. To talk to me. When they reach me, I frown at Din. “Why’d you do that?” “You’ll thank me later,” Din chuckles, hoisting Grogu a little higher up in his arms. The little guy giggles, though whether it’s at me or not, I can’t tell. I smack the leather-covered part of his arm. “I’m not gonna be able to talk to him! Even from a distance I was freezing up!” “He’s the same guy you were talking to in the X-wing. The same guy who, if I remember correctly, said he’d buy you a drink.” I flush up to my ears. The idea of Poe Dameron buying me a drink is profoundly terrifying. “That’s before I saw him,” I mumble, getting to my feet. He is completely unfazed by my situation here. “Should I get you a poster to drool over?” “Dad.” Yeah, sure. Get me a poster so I can continuously wonder how he naturally came into being and how he was never cloned like Jango Fett for being the height of masculine perfection. Yeah. Nice. Thankfully, Threepio interrupts. “May I take you on the tour now, Master Djarins?” Din’s nodding, still chuckling, and finding this all really amusing in a really Dad-like way. “Yes, please.” So Threepio does. I force myself to pay attention, only relaxing when he takes us to the tarmac and I see that Black One is gone, meaning I have no chance of running into him. Yet. There’s a control room, a monitoring station, several hallways full of bunks, the mess hall, kitchen, storage, and that’s about it, save for the medbay, which is near to the entrance tunnel. All are stationed in repurposed ruined rooms from a time long past, covered in just as many vines as there are wires. Brush even creeps along the floor near to the walls and animals can be found skittering around. Inside the medbay, the old room smells of alcohol and bacta. Bright white lights give the area good lighting, and a hundred or so beds are set up with white sheets. There are a few medics rushing around to do their respective duties, while a few patients sit and work on datapads while their casted limb heals. Two or three seem to be in more serious conditions, hooked up to a bunch of equipment. “Here is where I shall leave you, Lady Djarin. Master Djarin, if you will follow me, I shall take you to your station.” Din pats my back. “Good luck, kid.” I take a deep breath. Here we go. “Thanks, Dad.” As him and Threepio leave, I try to pretend I’m wearing my confidence-giving beskar as I approach a medic. They wear normal clothes, only distinguishable by the fact that they’re monitoring vitals and standing, rather than on any of the beds. “Excuse me, I’m looking for San Dia.” The medic nods. “Right this way.” She’s on the other end of the medbay, giving a fishy-looking patient an IV. She’s an elderly woman, stooped from age, but with how quickly she moves, she’s awfully spry. She kind of reminds me of Maz. “Miss Dia,” Says the medic, and once Dia looks up, the medic nods and leaves. Dia steps away from the patient, pulling a white curtain closed to give them privacy. “Hello dear. How may I help you?” Deep breaths, kid, I picture Din saying, You got this. I think of Bo-Katan and Boba Fett, my Mandalorian people. Strength is life, strength is life... “I am Laylah Vhaene-Besu of Clan Djarin,” I introduce myself, surprised at how confident I sound, “General Organa sent me here to speak with you about medical training.” Dia all but sags with relief, clapping her hands together with excitement. “Finally, a new recruit that doesn’t want to be a pilot! We’ll get you started right away, Miss Djarin...” Excited, I eagerly followed Dia as she begins to explain the workings of the medbay.

- - -

Throughout the course of the day, Dia focuses on showing me what areas of the medbay are dedicated for what procedures and treatments, how to tend to stitches, and how to stop a wound from bleeding out. She shows me CPR, and begins to teach me how to take vitals. “If you’re good, it will only take you a few standard months to become a medic, though if you’re aiming for a doctor-level of knowledge, you’ll need training for far longer. Until then, you’ll work as an apprentice, under me.” People come in for mild injuries such as a cut that needs stitching or a sprained wrist or ankle. Dia always has me stand by and watch closely. She draws blood a couple of times and in the midafternoon, she gives me a round of vaccines, a birth control shot, and draws my blood. At one point, Din comes down, sent by Leia to receive his vaccines-- and with Dia watching closely, I administer them myself. He’d patted my head and said, “I hardly felt that, kid. You’re a natural.” Then, I work with my first child patient: I give Grogu his shots, too. He takes them like a champ, though, only whimpering a little. I spend my days, from morning until evening, in the medbay learning all I can from Dia. Luckily I’m never interrupted by Dameron coming to search for me, hopefully far too busy to bother with it. I see him from a distance at the mess hall on the rare occasion he doesn’t eat on the fly, but he pays me no more mind than he would any of the other hundreds of other Resistance members he doesn’t know. Din and Grogu and I only see each other at mealtimes, when we talk about our days. I promise him that I wake up extra early to keep up my physical fitness, although it’s a little hard to work out in my bunk. If there’s a gym on base, I haven’t seen it. Din tells me about how he likes this better than he thought it would. It gives him something to do other than hunting and fighting-- helping. He enjoys helping Leia strategize and thinks he might actually stay with the Resistance. This makes me happy, because I can’t possibly imagine being lightyears away from him and Grogu. Grogu absolutely loves it here, and everybody loves him. Random people will come and give him cookies and hand-made toys, and he’s absolutely eating it up. Din tries to limit how many unhealthy treats he eats, but with Grogu being a Force-user, it’s extremely difficult. Somehow he consumes at least ten twelve-packs a day. Which even beats my record of a whole damn cake. People leave me alone, which I’m thankful for. Besides Din, Leia, Dia, Grogu, and occasionally C-3PO, I don’t say much more than an “excuse me” to anybody, and they don’t to me either. Somehow nobody has put two-and-two together yet and figured out I’m the pilot of the Slave-- which everybody is still raving about three days later-- which I’m just fine with. I came here to help, not to make friends, and I’m still extremely uncomfortable around people-- I can only see the idea of friends as guaranteed betrayal and abandonment. In the evenings, when everything is winding down except for the skeleton crews, Din and I work on repairing and upgrading the Slave. It’s hard, long work, but we both enjoy being able to spend that time together. At nights, though, I explore the base. I find nooks and crannies and hallways C-3PO didn’t show us on the tour-- I’m not sure what I’m looking for. A safe place, maybe. On Earth, my “safe place” was the bathroom, where nobody would mess with me. On Yëa, it was in the shelter of two boulders, where nobody would find me if I curled up-- although I’m sure Din could have tracked me if he really wanted to. Sometimes everything is still overwhelming, and I need a safe place. Nowhere seems safe here. Anywhere I find anyone could come upon me and ask me what’s wrong, if I’m okay, what am I doing there. I’ve tried three different places, including the Slave, but someone has usually always come across me. Until tonight. I stop in my tracks and back up, peering into the barely-open door leading into the makeshift X-wing hangar. I’d never been down this hallway before. I thought the only way to get to the hangar was from the tarmac. So this is a pleasant surprise. Don’t go in there, I think, It’s not allowed. Personally, I have never received that memo, my brain argues back. I slip inside and stand there for a second. There’s nobody here. I relax. I breathe deep, inhaling the scent of iron and steel and jet fuel. It reminds me of an airshow or an aircraft museum. Just the kind of place I feel at home in. I smile, taking a few steps forward. It’s a little chilly in here-- D’Qar’s days are hot, but its nights are cold, and I’ve just had a shower. But I don’t care. I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of being so close to the fighters. After a few moments more, I make up my mind and come further into the hangar. The aircraft feel like old friends, though the only one I know by name is Black One. I see it, sitting further back toward the hangar as if it was the last one in. Farthest away from the door. It’s the only one I’m familiar with, and if it really came down to it, I think I could explain to Dameron what the hell I’m doing lurking around his X-wing since I’ve spoken to him once before, especially if I introduce myself as the Mandalorian with the Slave. Anyone else... I know they’d only be hostile. I take off toward Black One at a brisk walk. Once I reach it, I’m suddenly aware of how absolutely huge the X-wings are in person-- like the size of an F-18 superhornet, but with a wider wingspan. I try sitting under its wing, under its fuselage, but eventually I somehow end up perched on its wing with my legs dangling off, right next to the engine; and here I stop moving. I feel better here. Relaxed. I take a datapad out of the satchel I’m carrying and start to study what Dia’s given me for the day. A curious beeping makes me jump. Down on the ground, rolling up, is BB-8. I remember his name now, maybe because he’s just as beloved as Grogu. I panic, looking around wildly for Dameron because they’re rarely apart; but he’s nowhere in sight. “Hello,” I say, trying to act normal. “You’re BB-8, right?” He issues a series of beeps, and I frown. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know Binary yet. Just uh... nod. Can you nod?” He does, that little head-bop, and I smile. “Okay then, BB-8. I’m Laylah.” He makes a noise that I swear is wow, like WALL-E or something. I laugh a little, at ease enough to do so. “Yeah, the one with the Slave. I don’t always have to wear my armor, so...” He rolls closer, whistling in question. I tilt my head. “I’m not sure what you said, but if you’re wondering why I’m sitting on the X-wing, I’m trying to find a place to relax while I study. There are a dozen other places, but... I feel safest here. I spent a lot of my life around pilots and aircraft.” BB-8 whirrs, and I ask, “Is it alright if I sit here? Black One is the only X-wing I’m familiar with.” He nods, then rolls over to a crate and reaches up with a robotic silver arm to grab a datapad, pinching it between his two angled fingers. “Thank you for letting me sit here, BB-8.” He beeps and whirs. “It’s good to meet you, BB-8. I’ll make sure to learn Binary so we can talk next time I see you.” BB-8 cheerily beeps and leaves. I remain in the hangar for a few more hours before returning to my room for the night, and the next night BB-8 meets me again on the wing of Black One, this time carrying a datapad. I smile and climb down to meet him. “What’s this?” He issues a stream of excited beeps and passes it off to me. I power it up to find the screen says Binary, Lesson 1. I beam and pat him on the head. “Thanks, BB-8! Now I can learn what you’re saying!” And I do. Over the next two days I’m able to pick up bits and pieces of Binary when BB-8 meets me at the Black One. I start my nights with studying, and then BB-8 and I get to know each other. I feel so much more at ease talking to a droid rather than a person. Somehow, we become friends though communication is hard. We play games, I talk to him about how I feel sometimes, and he beeps away as he tells me his daily activities and how cool certain drills are and which are his favorite. He’s always gushing about Dameron, who I’m starting to realize is kind of like his dad. Sometimes, though, when a day has been too tough, I climb down from the wing to sit against the tire, and we sit there in comforting silence, just keeping each other company. My best and only friend is a droid, and I couldn’t be happier about that. Tonight, though, I’m anxious. Tomorrow Dia’s giving me an exam, and if I pass, I can move on to the next level of training. Din’s told me not to worry about it. Grogu has already given me his lucky knob, that I’m to return when I’m done under any circumstances. What if I don’t pass? I roll the metal knob between two fingers and try to ease my nerves. Certainly nothing awful will happen if I don’t pass; I’ll just have to keep learning at the level I’m at for another few weeks. But the Resistance needs good medics, all the medics they can get. Fat lot of good I’m gonna do if all I’m able to do is take vitals and tape sprained ankles. “Hey.” He doesn’t yell or sound angry, but the very human voice when I was expecting a droid makes me jump and drop the knob. I scramble to catch it, but it only bounces off my hands and plummets to the duracrete-- it’s old metal. I’m sure it will break. Lucky for me, pilots have fast reflexes, and Dameron snatches it before it can touch the ground. BB-8 whistles; that was close. I let out breath of relief, though now I’m frozen half-off the wing. Flushing, I straighten up and try my hardest not to look more stupid or weird. “Th-thank you, sir.” Dameron looks down at the knob curiously. I look to BB-8 for assistance. Help. The droid only whirs reassuringly. “What’s this? Looks old.” “It’s Grogu’s,” I answer immediately, contemplating whether or not to jump off the X-wing and run. Maybe if I do it fast enough he’ll think he imagined me sitting here, but I’m not the Flash. “He gave it to me for good luck for my exam tomorrow.” “Nice of him...” Dameron arches a brow at me, and my stomach drops. “You got an exam tomorrow?” I try to speak twice and my voice fails when looking at his face, so I avert my gaze and try to calm my heart, which threatens to break out of my ribs and make a run for it without me. “A-A medic exam...” He smiles then. My stomach drops. Kriff... “Oh. Well, good luck. Ready?” He holds the knob up, letting me know he’s about to throw it, then tosses it up. I catch it with both hands. Thank the Maker I didn’t make an idiot of myself and drop it again. Wary of that fate, I stuff it deep in my pocket. Dameron puts his hands on his hips, jerking his chin at me. “So you’re the girl Beebs is always talking about.” My eyes find the droid in a panic. “You uh... You always hang out on my X-wing?” Hell. This is embarrassing. BB-8, at least, is easy to talk to. But this is Commander Dameron, and I’m not wearing my beskar. I’m hurrying to scramble off the ship, but finding the footholds is difficult now that I’m flustered. I’m rambling a stream of apologies. “I’m sorry. I feel more comfortable around aircraft. It helps me study. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have--” I’m standing before I realize he’s amused, gesturing for me to stop. “No no, you don’t have to move. I get it.” Slowly, not trusting my legs to give out and make me fall right off the wing, I sit back down. I wonder if he notices the fact that my knees are shaking. Dameron takes a couple steps closer, scanning he fuselage of his X-wing. Kriff. Is he coming up here?! Effortlessly, he finds a couple footholds on the fuselage and then the engine to climb up and sit down beside me. I avoid looking at him, instead waving at BB-8, who chirps and rolls over so that he’s underneath our dangling legs. My heart is pounding, blood rushing in my ears and face flushed. It’s hard to breathe and my mouth is dry. He’s too close to me, almost brushing against my side, and my terror doesn’t just come from who he is. I’m so hyper-aware of the moment that suddenly the fine details of the X-wing’s metal seem prominent. I see the scuffs on his old boots and dents on Beebs that I hadn’t noticed before. When he talks, I’m trying to will myself to just blink away from here as fast as possible. “So X-wings help you study, and you’re not a pilot?” I stiffen. Kriffing kriff, don’t talk to me, I’m stupid. I have to calm down. He’s just a person. I just have to say a few words, right? This is the guy who I was talking to when I first got here. He should feel familiar to me. He’s a pilot. I should be comforted and at ease. Talk, dammit! Be a Mandalorian! My tongue feels like lead. “...My older brother’s a pilot, sir. My younger brother is well on his way. I spent my whole life around jets, so...” I can see Dameron nodding out of my peripheral. I still haven’t met his eyes. “So they comfort you.” He leans back on his hands. “You should bring your brothers here. We need good pilots.” “I can’t, sir... It’s... complicated.” How am I supposed to explain that I come from a wholly different galaxy entirely? Another time? To a stranger? Even if he’s a pilot? He nods, understanding. He doesn’t push anything, which surprises me. He offers me his hand to shake. I can’t tell if he’s oblivious to the effect he has on me or if he’s amused by it. “I’m Poe. Poe Dameron.” Hell. He’s offering to shake my hand. Then I register what he said. The fact that I mentioned Grogu earlier hasn’t clicked yet, I guess, and I wonder if he’s been wanting to meet me or has forgotten about me. I half consider a fake name. Hi, I’m Jeff, your average nobody. Absolutely nobody at all. I swallow hard. Guess we’re talking now, though. Might as well. I shake his hand. His grip is rough and calloused from years of working on his fighter, and has the strength of any soldier I’ve shook hands with. I start to feel a little more at ease. “I know. I’m... I’m Laylah.” I force myself to meet his gaze, though my whole body is screaming for me not to, because when I would do it on Earth, people only responded with harsh glares and harsher words. But in his face I only see kindness and warmth. Some of his dark curls have fallen onto his forehead and this up close, I can see he has day-old stubble that makes him seem more rough. And his eyes... I’ve never seen such dark eyes filled with so much light. They sparkle and glint when they catch in the dim spotlights overhead, like he has diamonds scattered in his irises. I can’t even bring myself to mentally curse about how gorgeous he is, because he just looks so... kind. I relax. My confidence returns a bit. My flustered state from meeting Commander Damneron has faded, because now he’s just... himself. Poe Dameron. The artist part of my brain takes over. Just like it’s been assigning aesthetics of vanilla and oranges to BB-8, it starts assigning one to Dameron. When I look at him I see warmth-- oranges and burnt siennas, desert sands, nostalgic sunsets. I see sparks and jetfire and burning stars. The scents of cinnamon and iron and jet fuel. Recognition flashes across his face, and he’s in disbelief. His eyes widen slightly and his mouth drops open a bit before curling into a faint smirk as he’s shaking his head a little. “Wait--” “Hello again,” I say, at ease, with just as much confidence as when I wear my beskar. “Nice to see you when I’m not hurtling to the ground.” Our eyes meet and hold for several moments as he lets it sink in, then he gives a quiet laugh. He has a beaming, contagious grin like sunshine, one that lights up the whole hangar. “I knew you didn’t look familiar.” “What?” Did I hear that right? He sits forward, gesturing vaguely to the expanse of the whole base with an arm. I can’t take my eyes off him now. How can someone be so bright in a war? “I’ve seen you around, in the mess hall. I wondered where you came from-- Beebs said you weren’t one of our long-time faces, so I figured you were new.” He faces me, eyes scanning over me for any sign of being a Mandalorian. He bites his lip. “Guess I just expected you to wear your armor all the time like Commander Djarin.” It strikes me then that Dameron and Din have been together more often that I’ve seen either of them. “I don’t follow the same Creed as my father. I can go without mine if I want.” He’s still in disbelief, and he pats my bicep with the back of his hand accusingly. I don’t even flinch away from him. “I’ve been looking for you!” “So I heard. Dad told me.” He nods seriously, though there’s a lighthearted air about him. He arches a brow. “Ah. You were avoiding me.” I shake my head, shrugging. I’m not overwhelmed by panic, but I do explain. “I was busy. I figured we’d run into each other eventually.” I may be at ease near him, but I’m still meek when I meet his gaze. My legs swing automatically. “Here we are. What did you want to see me for?” He leans back again. It’s like his body can’t go without moving. “To say your flying’s badass, honestly, and we need you up there,” He shifts again, forward, leaning closer with an excited smirk on his face. He takes something out of his pocket and I see it’s a small wrench. He fidgets with it; he can’t stop moving. I smile with amusement, the medic part of my brain wondering if he has ADHD or if he’s fidgety because he’s a fighter pilot. “I’ll tell you what I told the general: I’ll fly the Slave into battle if necessary. I’m a medic, not a fighter pilot.” “It’s in your blood, though,” He points out, and I know he wants to ask me where the rest of my Mandalorian family is. He’s been beating the wrench against his palm rapidly without really thinking, but his movements slow for a second as he regards me seriously. ��...Your family even know you’re here?” After a moment of hesitation, I shake my head. And suddenly I’m talking. I’m telling him everything, I don’t know why. Desperation for a human friend, I guess? I have no idea, but Dameron only listens until the end, when he starts nodding. “I was there when Leia saw you.” My eyes snap up to meet his. “She just... she had to sit down. She went silent for a minute-- we were in the middle of an important briefing and were short on time, so everybody noticed. It was over as soon as it happened, though I did manage to ask her about it later. I was scared it had something to do with Kylo Ren. All she said was she saw a girl... She saw The Girl Misplaced. She told me you’d come here, but she wasn’t sure when.” “She... She knew I was coming?” A horrible thought is taking shape in my head. “Then... do you think Ren--” “If Ren saw you, he’d have already been here. He’d have wiped us out and been waiting to ambush you.” He shifts so that he’s leaning with his back on the engine, facing me, tapping the wrench against his dangling knee. “I’m sure he saw you, but he probably doesn’t know where you are. Not yet.” I stare down at the duracrete, frowning. Why the hell does every Force-y person in the galaxy know me? Slowly, I come to the realization, one that I’d already known but have been denying. It scares me. I don’t want any part of it. “...I’m Force-sensitive.” I admit, and I see Dameron lift his head abruptly out of the corner of my eye. He goes eerily still. “Grogu and I, sometimes we can... talk. Without words. Sometimes I know what’s going to happen before it does. That’s why I came here-- there was just this pull that was driving me to come here.” Slowly, his wrench-tapping continues. “Uh... I’m pretty sure telepathy is bordering on Force-user.” Involuntarily, I shudder. “If I can use the Force, I wouldn’t.” The drumming on his knee falters. “Why not?” I hesitate. I dunno, because I have seventeen years of anger and hate that I had to bottle up that still hasn’t completely dissipated? That when I’m angry enough I get so bad I scare myself? “...Because then Ren would be able to make me into a Sith if he caught me.” Dameron is shaking a hand and his head simultaneously, shifting forward until he’s sitting right beside me. “No, you’d be able to resist him. Not many of us can do that when he tortures us with his mind-flaying outstretched hand of doom.” I meet his eyes. He’s just as easy to talk to as his droid. “...You don’t know anything about me, Dameron. Earth wasn’t kind. If I were caught, my anger would be my undoing, and I’d come out of there a Sith.” “Hmm.” He shifts so that he’s sitting even closer. He has one leg hanging off the wing next to mine and the other propped up on the edge. His weight is on one arm, the other balanced on his bent leg; he drums the wrench against his shin. “Maybe I don’t know you. But you’re a good person if you’re here instead of with the First Order, that much I can say without knowing you. Which I would like to, by the way. I’ve still gotta buy you that drink I promised.” He looks at me. I try to gauge his sincerity by his eyes, but all I see is kindness. I glance down at BB-8, who beeps in support. Softly, I smile, lifting my head so that he can see me nod for certain. “...I’d like that, Dameron.” “Call me Poe,” He insists, and starts to climb down. He pauses on the engine, standing in it almost. “Can I call you Bez?” I’m surprised. I introduced myself by my first name days ago. “You... You remember my names?” Poe scoffs, like this should be obvious. Somehow he’s balancing on the lip of the engine with his arms on top of it like its the roof of a car. “Kind of hard not to. That entrance made you unforgettable.” He smiles warmly and I can’t bring myself to turn away. Bez. That’s what he wants to call me. “Sounds fine to me. But why?” He continues to climb down. “Your name’s a mouthful. Pretty and badass, but a mouthful. I’ve gotta have something short and quick to call you on the comlinks.” The absurdity of his reason hits me a second after I’ve almost accepted it. “Poe?” “Yeah?” “Just say you wanna give me a nickname. Why in the hell would you be on a comlink with me unless I was in your squadron? I’m in the medbay.” “Okay...” He drops the last few feet in a crouch before standing with a smile, spreading his arms to emphasize his point. “I wanna give you a nickname.” He stands there for a second, then, “See you tomorrow, Bez.” I’m confused for a second, because I rarely see him off the tarmac. He puts his hands on his hips. “If the X-wings help you study, I don’t see any reason why you should leave ’em. I’ll come by tomorrow night to see how you did on your exam-- I’m sure you’ve got it though. Good luck.” I avert my eyes, because I can’t not smile when I’m looking at him, and my face hurts. A part of me believes his promise to see me tomorrow is empty; the rest is absolutely certain that I’ll see him again. “Thanks.” Poe jerks his chin at BB-8. “C’mon, Beebs. Gotta get you to your charging station.” I watch him go, and can’t help but laugh softly when I hear him muttering the lyrics to some half-remembered song; he glances down at BB-8 when he beeps in protest, and I just barely hear him say, “I know that’s not how it goes. I’m freestyling.” I stop looking for a safe place after that.

_______________________________________________________________

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*****************~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! New episodes are posted on Wednesdays. If anyone else wants to be tagged, just let me know!

Taglist:

@simonsbluee

#star wars fanfic #the heir of djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin #poe dameron #poe dameron x oc #oscar isaac #grogu #bb-8 #star wars oc #mandalorians #pedro pascal

79 notes · View notes

jackie-gremlin-ghost · 2 years

Text

@omniglitch-au Scenario: A Call from Mom

This happens after the Incursean Invasion, and the brothers (and Brook) rescuing Bullfrag from Attea. Brook is currently camping out in Bullfrag’s room in the med bay.

Brook startles awake at the sound of their cell phone ringing. They take it out of their pocket and sigh at the caller ID. They glance at Bullfrag, who’s currently asleep. They take a deep breath and answer the phone

Brook: *tired* Hey, Mom.

Mrs. Adrien: Brook! Oh, thank god! Are you okay?! I’ve been tied up at the hospital helping with injuries from the invasion, but your father’s been looking everywhere for you after we got word all those ships finally went away! We were so worried…

Brook: I know, Mom, and I’m sorry. I meant to call or at least text, and I’ll call Dad as soon as I hang up. It’s just… a lot’s happened the past few hours.

Mrs. Adrien: We heard Ben somehow made it back to Earth. Is he okay? And is everyone else?

Brook: Yeah. Aside from the usual battle scars, we’re all okay. Besides, we… *smiles* had a secret weapon.

Mrs. Adrien: “Secret weapon”?

Bullfrag: *wakes up, unbeknownst to Brook at the moment*

Brook: *chuckling* Mom, the Incurseans didn’t even know Bullfrag existed, let alone that he was Ben’s brother. Which made it pretty easy for him to slip into their ranks unnoticed.

Mrs. Adrien: So we had an undercover agent on our side this whole time… remind me to hug that boy next time I see him.

Brook: That might be a while, Mom. I’m in the Med Bay with him right now.

Mrs. Adrien: Med Bay? Why?

Brook: *hurriedly* Again, Mom, I’m fine. He just needs to recover from some… extensive injuries,

Mrs. Adrien: What do you mean by extensive?

Brook: …Minor electrocution…

Mrs. Adrien: WHAT?! What happened?!

Brook: Let’s just say Bullfrag… *glances up and finally notices that Bullfrag’s awake. They blush with embarrassment as he smirks at them* …is too charming for his own good.

Mrs. Adrien: Huh?

Brook: Well, long story short; Princess Attea, or rather Empress now that she’s overthrown her father, kinda took a shine to him. So much so, that she knocked him out with the Incursean equivalent of a taser and tried to force him into marrying her against his will. So, we had to stage a rescue. I… guess you could say I didn’t “forever hold my peace”.

Bullfrag: *quietly chuckles*

Mrs. Adrien: Brook… what did you do?

Brook: *sheepishly* I… maaay have landed a punch or two on her…

Mrs. Adrien: …BROOKLYN LYNDSEY ADRIEN!!! WHAT IN GOD’S NAME WERE YOU THINKING?!

Brook: *flinches away from the phone*

Bullfrag: *bursts out laughing then winces in pain*

Brook: *shoots him a look, equal parts sympathetic and “serves you right”* I know, Mom, I was reckless and dumb. I’m sorry. But I was completely decked out in alien ninja gear, she didn’t even see my eye color, let alone my face.

Mrs. Adrien: *sighs exasperatedly* …What matters is that you’re safe. *amused* And do tell Bullfrag not to laugh too much. I can’t imagine that it’d be comfortable with his injuries.

Bullfrag: Noted, Doc.

Brook: *smiles* Okay, Mom. I know you gotta get back to work, so I’ll keep you posted. And I’ll call Dad to let him know I’m okay.

Mrs. Adrien: Thank you. I love you, sweetheart.

Brook: Love you too, Mom. *hangs up*

Bullfrag: *snickers* “Brooklyn”?

Brook: *rolls their eyes* You’re one to talk. I wasn’t the one named by a 15-year-old boy.

Bullfrag: *good-naturedly* Whatever, my name’s awesome.

Brook: *smiles and blushes* Never said it wasn’t.

#ben 10 #ben 10 omniverse #omniglitch au #bullfrag #ben 10 oc #brook adrien #brookfrag

22 notes · View notes

thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years

Note

okay, I want to hear about your thoughts on Renesmee wanting to eat Edward?? What's up with that. Also would love to hear about your opinion on this child in general. All the people in her life are hardcore projecting on her, what's the alien child's perspective on all this shit. Thanks for all the twilight meta its wild.

Thank you, glad you enjoy my rambling, strange, thoughts.

What’s Up With Renesmee Devouring Her Enemies?

So, this one’s actually a bit of headcanon on my end, not really supported by anything directly. We’re going way into left field with this.

But I do have this. Renesmee is a highly efficient predator, perhaps in a way more so than the vampire (although she is weaker and slower than vampires) and Renesmee is... not human, for whatever that means.

Everything we see of Renesmee’s early biological development, and what we see happening in Nahuel and his sisters, makes a lot of sense from a biological standpoint.

The mother is turned essentially into a hybrid incubator, such that even if she wanted to abort she likely would not be able to or would not survive it. The child grows at a rapid rate in the room and has to eat itself out, at which point it has a starter meal of the human mother. The child then grows absurdly rapidly to the point where, mentally and physically, it can survive on its own. Growth then slows and then stops when sexual maturity is reached, presumably for reproductive purposes.

Vampires cannot do a few things. They are a half-sterile race, only able to reproduce through humans and the previously male half of the human species. They also need external help to kill a fellow vampire. In other words, they have to light a fire.

Until you burn the pieces, the enemy vampire isn’t dead. Now, using fire as a tool is to date something only the human species has figured out. It is not intuitive and an odd coincidence that vampires had this prerequisite knowledge (I have thoughts on what vampirism even is and where it comes from).

I imagine, just as Renesmee presumably has reproductive capabilities that vampires lack, she also a has a toolset that vampires lack: the ability to kill a vampire without the need for fire.

Given that Renesmee’s able to eat human food, this implies she has a digestive that is able to break down nutrients. The reason vampires can’t eat other vampires is they lack this. Edward swallows pizza, he’s vomiting that shit back up three hours later and it’s going to be very solid and very gross. Whatever venom did to his innards, most of his vital human organs aren’t working anymore.

Given that Renesmee’s this mix of venom and who knows what kinds of fluids I believe her stomach is capable of breaking down and digesting vampire flesh. This seems to me the most obvious way to eliminate an enemy vampire when no tools are otherwise available.

Hence, instinctively, if Renesmee wants to murder Edward she will eat him.

(Also, as you can tell, the image is just horrifyingly delightful to me, and so it’s my go to response.)

As for why she would want to eat him, see here and here.

The Family and Renesmee

As you note, everyone in Renesmee’s life projects someone else onto her.

Not so much Carlisle, he just seems very bewildered and overwhelmed by everything at first, and one of the few who openly notes how not human Renesmee is and the implications of this (given the chromosome experiment, I’m sure Carlisle was expecting a squid).

Even in the early stages though we see Edward, Bella, Alice, and Rosalie as primary offenders. (I’d list Esme except Esme is... being Esme about it, so, she’s just floating through Renesmee’s life like her Cullen ghost self and not even at the point where she can project anything onto her. Besides, that’s what Edward’s for.)

Edward sees the best of both himself and Bella in Renesmee, a little intellectual who reads War and Peace at a few weeks old when she has no understanding of the concepts of War, Napoleon, Russia, or Peace. As Edward always does, he so obliviously projects onto her, that I imagine it doesn’t matter what Renesmee says or does around him and she quickly figures that out.

Bella’s left the planet. Renesmee’s this beautiful thing, that looks like Edward, that is her daughter. Bella has no idea what parenting is. She’s floating through life preparing herself to become Esme 2.0. It’s not so much that she projects onto Renesmee but that she... completely fails to connect her to reality. Renesmee is a concept to Bella. Renesmee might figure this out, but given her feelings for her mother, I imagine she’s far more conflicted about it. She probably wishes things could be different between them, and often tries to find ways to make it so, it just never works.

Alice treats Renesmee much as she treated Bella, as her little doll that she can dress in cute clothing. Beyond that, Renesmee is a nuisance who messes with Alice’s gift. Oh, Alice likes her well enough, but I don’t see them having an actual meaningful conversation or connection.

Rosalie’s probably the wort offender in the projection domain. She is absolutely projecting the ideal human child she never had onto Renesmee. When Renesmee inevitibly fails to live up to these perfect standards, which even a human child wouldn’t, I imagine Rosalie will get increasingly upset. Acknowledging Renesmee isn’t what she wanted either would probably break Rosalie, so she’s not going to do that, and instead try to get Renesmee to behave correctly. For however much she cares about Renesmee, I imagine Renesmee sours on her growing up, as she knows she will never be what Rosalie wishes she was. Grateful that Rosalie helped keep her alive, of course, but... she would also probably wonder, as fandom does, just how much Rosalie was hoping Bella would die in birth (for the record, I think this might have been an idle fantasy of Rosalie’s, but I don’t think she’d go this far.)

Then of course, there’s Jake. Woof, Jake. As I linked above, I think Renesmee will slowly become more and more disenchanted with Jake. She’ll either learn about or suspect her own gift, have no interest in having a romantic relationship with him, or learn about his checkered past with her mother. More Jake is...

Imprinting, at a very large distance, sounds nice but imagine what that means. You have this person who is utterly dependent on you, who will do whatever you want and be whatever you wish them to be. In other words, you have this codependent person you can never get rid of who is never authentic. They will never say no to you, will always do what you wish, and if you dare to tell them you want a little time to yourself they will probably combust into flames.

That’s not a good relationship for anyone: imprinter or imprintee.

Jake, in a sense, ceases to be a real person when it comes to Renesmee. Renesmee will figure that out and then... why should she live her life just to make this miserable man who once tried to murder her happy?

What Does This Do to Renesmee?

I imagine Renesmee grows up feeling very isolated.

She doesn’t really belong in the Cullens, for all that they’re the best fit she has. She certainly doesn’t belong with other imprintees in the tribe (and whatever occasional function she goes to with the Quileutes is probably a complete disaster), and she’s not human either.

I imagine her strongest relationships are Charlie Swan (who beyond the surrealness of his life I imagine takes Renesmee at very face value), Carlisle Cullen (who also seems to not project onto Renesmee and takes her at face value), and Bella (who she desperately wants a stronger relationship with but Bella’s not listening).

Well, Charlie at some point will die. He will not choose immortality. I imagine Renesmee never quite understands why he was allowed to choose death or what the purpose of the human species even is. To her, they are caterpillars who never went into the chrysalis. Given to Renesmee the Cullen diet is the norm, to her it would seem obvious that, yes, everyone in the world can turn into a vampire and if they ration animal resources correctly there’s no problem. Or, if not everyone, then certainly her grandfather need not die.

I’m sure Charlie tries to talk to Renesmee about this but given that he’s one of her few strong relationships in this world the talk of “I’m going to die some day, sorry kiddo” doesn’t go well.

So, I’m sure it takes Renesmee a very long time to recover from that blow, if, in fact, she ever really does. I’m sure a part of her will always grieve Charlie.

In time, I think she’ll leave the coven to go on a journey of self discovery. The coven will just be too damn suffocating and she needs to find out who she truly is. Now, if that’s before or after the inevitable collapse of the Volturi and destruction of human society is hard to say.

I will say that whatever the future holds for Renesmee, just like everyone else’s, it is unbearably bleak.

456 notes · View notes

stuckybarton · 3 years

Text

Red Velvet Cake

Summary: Behind the sweet smile and angelic personality was a spitfire when someone dared destroy her little bakery in the heart of New York. Steve finds that out the hard way when his girlfriend's bakery becomes collateral damage in a small fight in New York. Warning: Profanities. Mild Violence. (Two Loud Slaps to be specific). Grammar Errors. Not Beta’d. Characters: Unnamed Female Character x Steve Rogers Words: 1,775 A/N: I don’t know, I just thought of this idea and thought why not. Masterlist

You had never thought your life would become this wild, but you've gone with the flow. Who would have ever thought that finally starting this bakery in the heart of New York. It was tough, with just a handful of employees, would bring you into so much chaos in your once peaceful life.

Meeting the Avengers had been a wild ride with a smooth beginning for you. First meeting Sam, a man that was looking for a quick snack post-work out. A man with a soft smile and quick quips that brought a smile on everyone's faces every single time he would come to visit. Then eventually, he came not alone, but with two of his best friend and your life changed ever since.

Bucky Barnes was the mellow of the trio, preferring to stay in the background while Sam would try his hardest to flirt with you and push his other friend with you. But he always had this charm on him that had a few of your female employees swooning just by the simply nickname of Doll he would throw at them.

But Sam's other friend had all his attention on you just as much as you had your entire attention on him. The dame that always spoiled him with sweets and made him enjoy morning runs more now that your bakery become their daily stop after.

It started out with the flirtation, at least that was what Steve believed it to be. Having been used to Sam's daily flirtation, you got so immune to it that it had become easier to hide the warmth in your cheeks or the heart eyes that Sam and Bucky were once quick to point out when Steve wasn't looking. Eventually it ended with him finally asking you out for lunch and the rest, as they say was history between the two of you.

Eventually, it had brought you into the circle of what was his team. The Avengers. Starting with one Tony Stark that had visited your bakery one fair morning and brought everything in your bakery long before the trio would come for their visit. It was an eventful day for you, that much you could admit. Everyone had the rest of the day to themselves and gave you time to spend with Steve, as annoyed as he was to not be able to have his usual treats. You made him your special apple pie as compensation, much to his enjoyment.

Then it was the rest of the team, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, and Vision. Visiting after getting a taste of your pastries that Tony Stark had generously provided for the team. Now like the trio, you now have another trio you can call as your regulars. Then there was Clint Barton, Thor, and Dr. Bruce Banner that eventually came to visit after everyone had egged them on and they would come for a few pastries and coffee, but not as much as the rest of the bunch. You were alright with that, being able to meet Steve's team and knowing each and every single one of them were good people in their own little way was enough for you.

Weeks turned into months, and months now turned to almost two years. Your life at the bakery was filled with ups and downs just as much as your relationship with one Steve Rogers. The constant fear you had when he was on a mission, uncertain whether he would come back alive or not. Then there was the more often than not times that you were too consumed with the bustling number of customers than you only had time to give him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before helping out on the cashier. It had once been a fight between the two of you because of your line of work, but you would constantly compromise. He was out saving the world while you were living the dream you had always wanted for yourself with baking. Instead of his apartment in Brooklyn, Steve was now living with you, in the humble little apartment you had above the bakery. Your little piece of heaven.

This life you had created with Steve was something you had never thought you'd have for yourself but you were enjoying it immensely. You would want nothing more in your life. Until things had gone horribly bad and you want nothing more than to kill Steven Grant Rogers and the rest of the Avengers.

Y/N was going to kill him. That much Steve had known while they continued on with the debriefing. A quarter of New York City was wiped clean by the attack of the alien overlord attempting their luck on the planet. As much as Tony had assured that they could stay in the tower while repairs were being made, He was still uncertain with what you would be feeling because of it.

Nothing hurts him more than seeing you sad or disappointed.

"What's the ETA on the repair?" he inquired as soon as the meeting was done.

"More or less two weeks. We've had our team assure Y/N that her employees would be paid full for the two weeks while we are doing repairs." Tony explained. "Last time I heard she barely spoke a word while she helped her employees with cleaning up."

Steve could only sigh, annoyance peaking through his mind. It was worst than he thought.

"Mister Stark, Ms. Y/L/N is on her way to the meeting room." F.R.I.D.A.Y announced.

Before the A.I could finish with the announcement, the sudden slam of the door had everyone's head turn, every single one ready for another fight. But the sight of the innocent Y/N looking displeased brought everyone to a slight calm. There was still a problem, but this was better than another alien attack.

"Babe-"

The resounding slap had everyone else wincing. So much for the Super Serum. Everyone could see the red imprint on Steve's face and your shaky hand responsible for the said mark on the Captain's face.

"Your fucking shield destroyed the ramekins." you snapped, Steve could practically see you shaking from where you stood in front of him.

You were nothing, compared to him, a Super Soldier. But just the sight of you, fuming to the nose made everyone believe that you can easily take him on. This was a genuine surprise for Steve. He had seen so much side of his girlfriend of nearly two years. Through many stages of emotional turmoil, happiness, sadness, annoyance, dysphoria, and that godforsaken puppy dog eyes that he could never say no to. But this, the sight of you angry, genuinely furious was the last thing he would have ever thought to see from you.

"Everyone has a long day, Y/N." Tony approached and the glare than now focused on her made it very well known that his presence and his response was the biggest mistake he has ever made in the moment. "Why don--"

Tony wasn't able to finish his sentence as he gets to experience the same slap handed to him by you. Without the Super Soldier Serum, the sound of the slap resounded even louder than the former. Everyone was left in a mix of shock and the need to hold in their laughter at the shock look than now lingered on Tony's face as he rubbed his red cheek.

"As for you," you snapped pointing your finger right into Tony. "You're going to pay for both the fuckin bakery and my apartment upstairs. Of all the places Stark, you just had to throw the alien on my newly renovated bathroom."

Tony could only nod.

"Your people also need to talk to my employees, some of them are injured because a big fucking green dickhead thought it would be nice to throw alien matters into the basement like basketballs through the hoops." you snapped side-glancing towards the guilty Bruce Banner that refused to make any eye contact with you. "You're covered for their hospital bills, therapy, and two weeks of their supposed shift."

Tony gaped nodding.

"Jesus, why the fuck does it always have to be New York, better yet, why the hell does it have to be in the US? There are so many fucking countries in this world." You ranted turning your attention back to Steve that now broke into a small smile at your outburst. "You're not off the hook. We're staying here, but you're sleeping on the coach until further notice."

What smile he had now comes falling from his face. Blinking, this was a dangerous situation. Far more dangerous than his earlier encounter with the aliens only hours ago. But all he could do was nod, not knowing if any protest from him would result in a worst punishment.

"Sam," you turned to the man that now looked scared to be your focus. "Can you show me to the kitchen? I'll try making everyone someone to eat. God knows you're all starving." you request, all signs of anger now slowly dissolving from your features.

Steve didn't know what scared him more at this point, your anger or how quick you were able to recover from said anger. As Sam escorted you out of the meeting room, the rest of the team also made their way out to help you in whatever you may need in the kitchen. It now left Steve and Tony alone, practically still feeling the aftermath of your slap.

"Having second thought about proposing, Lover Boy?" Tony finally broke the awkward silence.

Taking a deep breath, the first chuckle all day finally escaped his lips.

No, he was far from having second thoughts. The engagement ring hidden in his locker room made it evident to him what he was about to do on their 2nd anniversary. It would take some convincing on your part after what happened. But you loved him enough to forgive him for what happened, since technically it wasn't really his fault why the bakery was ruined.

"The proposal is still a go, Tony." he responds finally leaving the meeting room to making his way to the kitchen, already hard at work with cooking what he assumed was spaghetti and meatballs and his favourite red velvet cake.

"Steve's not having any cake right?" Nat asked as soon as she caught sight of him.

"You know what, Romanoff--"

"Not even a fucking crumb." Your response even with you facing away from him had everyone roaring in laughter and Steve rolling his eyes even with the smile on his lips growing bigger at the situations.

The things he has to endure for love.

#steve rogers one-shot #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x unnamed female character

262 notes · View notes

msviolacea · 2 years

Text

Devoured a novel tonight for the first time in a while - the latest in Tracy Grant’s Rannoch Regency mystery series, which I can highly recommend if you want Regency spy adventure and mystery with a bunch of romance and incredibly implausible but satisfying found family, and some very inaccurate but fun takes on European history around the end of the Napoleonic Wars. It’s A Lot, but I love it all the same, it’s like a crazy historical soap opera, and if that phrase intrigues you instead of horrifies you, then this is definitely the series for you.

But anyway. There’s a lot of father issues and questions of the influence of biological parentage versus who raised you, and since I was just talking about that sort of thing with my therapist last night, it’s got me thinking a lot about stuff.

(This got a little heavier than I intended, so cutting here.)

Like how hard it is to reconcile your feelings when your parent is neither a Very Good parent or a Very Bad parent - when you didn’t have an idyllic upbringing, but you were certainly never abused, you just for one reason or another had a very human parent who tried to do good based on what they knew and who they are, but screwed up in ways that they never saw or acknowledged and left scars on you they’d probably be horrified to know about, if they would even acknowledge they made them at all.

I’ll never be a parent myself, for many and varied reasons, but one of them is because of the emotional scars I bear from the grief he never recovered from. And at some point I hope to forgive him for that, but to forgive him I first have to let myself be truly angry, which is what the therapist is working on with me. That I’m allowed to be angry, even if he tried his best and loved me with all of his heart. And that I’m allowed to feel relief that I can move on to the next stage of my life without his grief hanging over me like a cloud.

(... you know, a ridiculous little video game side quest featuring a living stuffed chicken and and alien bug robot is still hanging over me a week later and factoring into this whole thought process. Damn whoever is writing that storyline for wielding that particular knife, which I mean in the most affectionate way possible.)

Anyway. Emotions are complicated and I’ve been sitting on unresolved bullshit for at least the last 15 years, and much of it for like 35 years. And I’m only really feeling like I can make sense of it now that everyone involved is gone. Maybe that makes me cold, just like he accused me of once, but whatever it means, it’s time to accept who I am and how I function. So that’s what we’re working on.

#jaime rambles #cw grief #and father issues #and parent issues in general #you know #all the fun stuff

5 notes · View notes

rosyfingereddawnn · 3 years

Text

That’s The Way

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: none, this is kind of an introductory/fluff chapter if you will :)

Story summary: Y/N Y/L/N, an ordinary seventeen-year-old girl, gets pulled into the world of rock and roll on a fateful night at the Marquee Club in London when she experiences the musical phenomenon of the Five Live Yardbirds. She grows up fast, navigating her way through the downfall of The Yardbirds, the legendary skyrocket of Led Zeppelin, era-defining decadence instigated by the ‘60s and ‘70s mindset of free love and personal gratification, and finding the courage to express how she fell deeply in love with one of modern music’s greatest guitarists.

Author’s notes (from Molly of rebel-without-a-zeppelin): Hi everyone! A little disclaimer on my part: this is the first story I’ve ever shared for public consumption. I’ve been toying with this idea in my mind for a very long time now, and I’ve finally mustered up the courage to share it with you all. I hope you like it. I am incredibly honored to collaborate with Syd on this project; this is truly our baby, as it has a very long, detailed, intricate plot, so saddle up for lots (and lots) of drama! This is also a sloooowwwww burn, like really, really slow lol. Over the course of the story, please feel free to send me your theories and comments; I would absolutely love to read them. Please enjoy, and happy reading!

---------

3 May 1965

The sound of a car horn beeped incessantly from the front of Y/N’s house. Dropping her backpack down on her bedroom floor with an annoyed huff, she sprinted down the steps. She never did get enough time to prepare, and it was no different today. With her friend Carolyn in tow, Y/N made a beeline for the front door, the click-clack of her Oxford shoes pounding across the hardwood floor. Y/N’s mum, who nonchalantly strolled out of the laundry room with an armful of freshly washed and folded bath towels, leant against the doorframe.

“Now remember Y/N: no drinking, no drugs, no sex. No going home with strange musician guys, nor are you allowed to go to their hotel,” her mum instructed calmly, knowing she’d receive an eye roll from the girl. Her stern expression at home on her gracefully-aged face, the girls receive the speech they get every time they go out. “You too, C. Even though I’m not your mother, I still worry about your safety.”

Both Y/N’s mum and dad had a very protective instinct over their eldest daughter, just like their other three children. Even at Y/N’s healthy age of seventeen, she longed for the freedom and trust that her older brother had gained at her age.

“Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Carolyn replied with a little laugh.

“Mum! This is literally the fourth time I’ve been to a Yardbirds gig, and nothing bad has happened,” Y/N huffed. Her mum raised her eyebrows.

Lillian, Y/N’s little sister, walked into the foyer and surprised Y/N with a big, tight hug around her waist. Y/N gasped at the sudden contact, but chuckled when she realized it was her younger sister, and reciprocated the hug.

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Y/N. Boys are icky. And stupid!” Lillian said in a whiny voice, her face muffled by being buried in Y/N’s stomach.

Y/N ruffled her sister’s muss of dirty blonde waves affectionately, rubbing her back to soothe her worries. “I promise, I will come back perfectly fine! I won’t let any boys mess with me, Lil,” Y/N said with a smile, “And when I come back, I’ll tell you everything that happened.”

Lillian gazed up at Y/N with a similar smile, her small teeth shining a bright, pearly white and her chin resting on the taller girl’s stomach. “Okay,” she said, content, before releasing from Y/N with a stuffed animal tucked under her arm.

“Where’s Charlie?” Y/N asked, hoping she could say goodbye to her younger brother before she left.

“I think he’s riding around the neighborhood on his bike with his friends,” Y/N’s mum replied with a shrug. Y/N felt a little disappointed, but she figured she’d talk to him tomorrow at breakfast about her night out.

Thomas, Y/N’s older brother, continued to honk the horn rather obnoxiously, growing quite impatient. It’s a wonder the neighbors weren’t at arms, knocking on their door. He was forced by his parents to be Y/N and Carolyn’s chauffeur to the Marquee Club in London.

“We have to go, or else Tommy will have my head,” Y/N said as she started to open the front door.

“Wait!” her mum said, sloppily placing the towels down on a nearby counter to dash to the door and give Y/N a hug and a kiss on the head goodbye. Finally pulling away her weathered hands flew to Y/N’s shoulders, and gripping them firmly, she continued, “Be good. Love you.”

“I know, I will. Love you too,” Y/N smiled, before dashing down the steps and to the passenger seat of the car. Carolyn was in quick pursuit, following her to the car and taking a seat in the back.

“It’s about time,” Tommy huffed impatiently, tapping his fingertips on the top of the steering wheel as he put the transmission into drive.

“Sorry. Mum was giving me and C a safety brief,” Y/N replied apologetically.

“Why are you two still in school uniforms?” he snorted, shifting to look over at the girls; their studious appearance of white oxford shirts, sweater vests, plaid kilts, white knee socks, and smart oxford shoes would be quite out of place among the audience at the show.

“No time to change, just like usual,” she replied, turning on the radio, soft melodies pouring out at a low volume.

The three drove in silence, except for the sound of the radio playing, until Carolyn had dozed off on the somewhat lengthy car ride. Occasional small talk between Y/N and her brother permeated the quiet that fell over the group, but it picked up when they were only a few blocks away from the venue.

“You gotta stay safe in there, Y/N,” Tommy said, looking straight ahead. His teeth clamped down sharply on his bottom lip: a dead giveaway to the nerves he must have been feeling.

“I know, Dad,” Y/N joked, punching him lightly across the shoulder. Her bright smile wavered and fell when she saw his grim expression.

“I’m serious, you know. I don’t want my sister being pestered by some wankers in a blues band.”

Y/N smirked at her brother’s sudden defensive behavior. “I can take care of myself. Trust me. This isn’t my first rodeo. You should’ve seen the first Yardbirds gig we went to. Utter chaos...” The tilt of her lips signalled that she was joking, and Tommy huffed out a laugh.

Carolyn, stretching with a grunt, had miraculously woken up just as Tommy pulled up to the front door of the Marquee. Glancing at the venue with awe dancing in their eyes, Y/N and Carolyn disembarked from the car, walking closer with the façade of calmness and competency.

“I’ll be back later to pick you girls up. Have fun, but not too much fun,” Tommy rolled his window down as he said this, winking playfully.

Y/N waved to her brother as Carolyn thanked him graciously for the ride. Arms linked, Y/N and Carolyn entered the famous Marquee. Nervousness and anticipation began to pool Y/N’s stomach as she was greeted by the decadent atmosphere of the club: the smell of smoke, alcohol, and sweat hung in the air as her eyes were flashed by many people mingling about, dressed in typical mod clothing. Y/N and her friend looked at each other, feeling like aliens in their intelligent dress. They tactfully made their way through the crowd as they found their way to their usual spot, a small leather-upholstered booth set against the wall near the stage.

“Today might be the day, Y/N,” Carolyn said as they settled into their seats.

“I don’t know,” she replied, smoothing out her skirt, “the idea of that is both scary and exciting to me at the same time. We’ll just roll with the punches, I guess.”

“Which Yardbird do you have your eye on?”

Y/N smirked as she thought for a moment. “Hmm...I’m not sure. I guess they’re all pretty cute in their own way. What about you?”

“Yes, I agree. But I must admit, I do have a very soft spot for Chris Dreja.”

“I’ll pray for ya, C,” Y/N chuckled.

~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, backstage, five live Yardbirds were performing some pre-show rituals in the hopes of easing the preliminary anxiousness. Jeff, Keith, and Jim were peeking out the little sliver of curtain that allowed them to see their gathering audience.

“Look! It’s those two schoolgirls again!” Jeff pointed to the two teenage girls in school uniforms, chatting in their booth waiting for the show to begin. They were huddled together in conversation, legs daintily crossed as their faint giggles floated over to them. Jim couldn’t help but smile at the sound, though he recovered quickly, not wanting his bandmates to get any ideas.

“What’s wrong with that? They must like us,” Keith replied.

“I think they’re both really pretty, especially the one with the Y/H/C hair,” Jim pointed out, trying to be as subtle as possible.

“Yeah, maybe we should invite them backstage after the show… have a nice little chat,” Jeff winked at the singer and the drummer cheekily.

After taking a final glance at the two conversing girls, the three returned to the backstage area where Paul and Chris were. Jeff immediately enlisted Giorgio, their manager, to complete the agreed-upon mission. Jeff loosely draped an arm around Giorgio’s shoulder before bestowing the request as politely as possible. Not trying to be suspiciously polite, of course, because everyone in the band and its entourage were firsthand witnesses of Jeff’s temper and stubbornness. Yikes.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to do me a favor,” Jeff said to Giorgio with a mischievous smile.

Giorgio rolled his eyes, knowing this “favor” would have to do with scouting girls from the audience. “What d’ya need, Jeff?” he sighed exhaustedly.

“Don’t complain, please,” Jeff deadpanned. “There are two pretty birds in the audience, wearing their school uniforms. They’ve been coming to our shows for a little bit now, and they seem nice—”

“You want me to bring them backstage after the show?” Giorgio interrupted, somehow telepathically knowing, by routine, what the guitarist’s request would be.

“You finish that sentence like you know what I’m about to say.”

“That’s because I do, Mr. Beck,” Giorgio retorted sarcastically, “this happens a lot more often than you think it does.”

“Whatever,” Jeff grumbled moodily, knowing he was right, before walking back to the group of musicians in preparation.

~~~~~~~~

Y/N and Carolyn continued to gossip happily about what was happening at school, not a care in the world. They felt the stares of older men in the club, who silently disapproved of their knee socks being scrunched by their ankles, because that wasn’t the “proper” thing to do. But they didn’t care. Who are they to judge?

Every teacher scolded girls at school who did the same thing, because they didn’t want their long legs to be “tempting” or “distracting” any boys. A bloody nuisance, is what it is.

The girls were snapped from their thoughts by the sound of a heavy guitar tone being blasted through the speakers in an opening riff. Their eyes were stapled, almost transfixed to the stage as they took in the five sharply-dressed men in front of them, singing their songs and playing their instruments.

As much as Carolyn enjoyed The Yardbirds and music in general, Y/N had a rather deep connection to it, odd enough as it was. She could play the piano fairly well, so she understood where these musicians were coming from cognitively and creatively. From what she’d read in magazines about current popular musicians, like The Yardbirds for example, she liked the same music they did. Y/N understood dynamics, tempo, tone, key, and musical notation, just like they did. Perhaps she’d be able to get into an intelligent musical conversation with at least one of them one day.

Two straight hours of hits, obscure songs, and blues covers from The Yardbirds’ catalogue were played for the Marquee Club patrons, hypnotizing its drunk and high onlookers with polished musicality and instrumentation.

As the final song concluded, both Y/N and Carolyn, unbeknownst to the other, felt a sinking feeling of disappointment that fell like a pit in their stomachs. They wouldn’t have the chance to meet the band. No one from the entity had approached them yet, and momentarily the five live Yardbirds would be exiting the stage for the night.

After they said their goodbyes and thanks to the crowd, they disappeared behind the curtain. The main lights of the club brightened to signal that the show was over, as the voices of all the patrons raised in rave of the spectacular show they had just witnessed.

Discouraged, but still in light spirits at what they had just seen, Y/N and Carolyn stood up from their seat and headed for the front door. Y/N expected her brother to be waiting in front; it was late, so might as well not make him wait longer than he needs to.

Y/N and Carolyn were merely a few feet from the door when Y/N felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Turning around to see a man with a dark beard already baring a jovial tight-lipped grin at her, the girl was quite surprised, maybe a little weirded out, but she reciprocated the gesture as genuinely as she could.

“Hello sir, what can we do for you?” Y/N greeted, discreetly nudging Carolyn to help her out and become a united front with her in front of this stranger.

“Good evening ladies, I was sent by Mr. Jeff Beck to offer you an invitation backstage to hang out with the band.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped and her face broke out into an obvious mad blush, much to her dismay. She was internally screaming. The Jeff Beck had spotted them in the crowd?! This had to be a dream. Wait, this could be a complete drunken buffoon trying to trick them. Y/N remembered what her mother had said, and took the proper precautionary measure.

Y/N smiled in the most composed way she could. “Thank you for such a gracious invitation! Could I ask your name, if you don’t mind?”

“Giorgio Gomelsky, manager of The Yardbirds,” he replied, in a seemingly proud manner.

Okay, this was real. Y/N knew that Giorgio was definitely the manager’s name. She turned to Carolyn, who looked just as excited as she was.

“What are your names, dears?” Giorgio asked, pulling them out of their daze of what seemed like a fake reality.

“I’m Carolyn, and this is my friend Y/N,” Carolyn piped up, excited that she finally got an opportunity to speak to someone close to The Yardbirds.

She internally agreed to let Y/N handle the “diplomacy” part of the introduction, knowing that she was best at that. Carolyn knew her friend was quite shy, so she knew to step in when Y/N was starting to feel anxious. She noticed Y/N starting to fiddle with her fingers while talking to Giorgio in the most collected way she could muster; as excited as Y/N was, Carolyn knew she was growing very nervous.

“Well, it is certainly lovely to meet you both. So, what do you say? Would you like to meet the lads?”

After one final glance of excited mutual agreement, Carolyn replied, “Yes, we’d love to.”

Giorgio led the pair of girls back the way they came, through a sea of inebriated people, but this time through the backstage door. Y/N made an appoint to walk behind Carolyn, in an attempt to collect and relax herself. She was starting to sweat a little, her stomach doing flips and her hands becoming cold and clammy.

~~~~~~~~

“Our guests should be arriving any minute now,” Jeff said as he was placing his guitar back in its case.

Chris was standing and chatting with Paul in a corner when he turned around in surprise at the news. “Guests? What guests?”

“We had Giorgio invite two girls from the audience to come back here,” Jim replied, walking over to sit down in a metal folding chair.

“And why weren't we made aware of this?” Paul asked, as he walked to get another metal folding chair to place near Jim.

“It was their idea,” Keith replied, pointing two fingers between Jeff and Jim. Paul and Chris just nodded in recognition.

“I didn’t hear you disagree, Relf,” Jeff clapped back. He then told Chris and Keith to get some chairs for themselves and the two girls that would be walking through the door at any second.

Before Keith could respond, a couple knocks resounded in the room, signalling the arrival of the guests. Jacket lapels and ties were quickly straightened, even though each person was still glazed with quickly-drying sweat from the show they had just played, before the room fell unnaturally quiet as Giorgio opened the rather squeaky door.

The initial tension in the room that lasted a split second could be cut with a knife. Y/N felt her heart pounding in her chest, a cold sweat already running down her back, as five pairs of eyes landed on her, Carolyn, and Giorgio, warm smiles following suit.

She felt like internally combusting.

“Boys, this is Y/N,” Giorgio broke the momentary silence by introducing her, “and Carolyn.” Y/N smiled shyly and sent them a little wave, a dusty shade of pink seeping its way to her cheeks. Carolyn’s greeting was much more exuberant than Y/N’s, as she took the initiative to go over and shake all of their hands amiably. Y/N realized she had to follow her friend in order to make a good first impression.

Knowing that the boys wanted to spend time with the girls without being chaperoned, Giorgio left the room to attend to other business affairs.

Upon first glance, Y/N was the most beautiful girl that four of the five Yardbirds had ever seen. Perfect features, long legs, a calm, gentle, sweet demeanor… Just an absolutely angelic young woman; a vision.

Jeff had obviously recognized her beauty, from seeing her at multiple shows, but he thought she was way out of his league. He decided to focus on getting her to laugh and relax around them, because he noticed just how nervous she looked. She was turning pale right in front of his very eyes! Paul and Chris began to internally question themselves, how have I not seen this girl before? She is so gorgeous! Jim had been glancing at her sporadically throughout the show, soaking up her faraway presence. He noticed how her eyes glistened in childlike wonder as she watched them do what they did best: perform the Chicago blues.

“Well, it is very nice to meet you both,” Keith replied enthusiastically. “I’m Keith,” he alluded to himself, then pointing to the other members of the group while giving their names, “and this is Chris, Paul, Jeff, and Jim.”

“I mean, we know who you guys are, but it’s so lovely to finally meet you,” Carolyn replied. Y/N nodded in agreement.

“Come and sit down! Make yourselves comfortable. We don’t bite,” Jeff joked, motioning to the open chairs. The girls smiled and accepted his invitation, Y/N taking a seat between Jeff Beck and Jim McCarty, while Carolyn took a seat between Keith Relf and Chris Dreja. The chairs were arranged in a circular formation, so each person could talk to the other with ease.

“Tell us about yourselves!” Paul initiated, “I think Y/N should go first though, because you haven’t said too much yet,” he laughed at the last part. Y/N giggled (a little too idiotically for her own liking), but she felt herself become starstruck at how her name sounded coming from one of their voices.

Y/N clenched her cold, clammy hands in her lap as a method to ease her anxiety before starting with a smile. “Well, I’m from Saint Albans. This is our fourth time, I believe, coming to see a Yardbirds gig. Carolyn and I came to see you with Eric Clapton once, and then this is the third time with Jeff.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic! I guess I see where your favor lies in terms of guitarists,” Jeff responded playfully.

“I guess you’re right,” Y/N laughed, “I will admit that I love what you’ve done with the body of work. Clapton was a blues purist, which I respect, and he’s great, but I think your playing is much more interesting and unorthodox.”

Paul, Jim, and Jeff all raised their eyebrows at Y/N’s comment. They were impressed with how she understood their musicality.

“Are you a musician?” Jim asked Y/N.

“Not in your sense of the word,” Y/N chuckled, “But I’ve been playing the piano for most of my life, so I understand music. Probably more than your average female audience member,” she added with a grin.

“That’s so cool! Are you classically trained, or is it just a hobby?”

“Classically trained,” Y/N admitted to Jim shyly.

“Oh wow, so you’re the real deal,” Jeff added.

“I’m not a professional, so I’d say no,” Y/N laughed.

“You probably know more about music than all five of us combined!” Paul said.

“Well, I know that you know much more about the blues than me!” Y/N answered playfully.

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” Paul smiled at Y/N. She cursed herself in her mind for feeling weak at Paul’s simple sentiment, but tried to keep her composure as best she could.

The four of them, especially Jeff and Y/N, began to bond over their love for different musicians. Y/N expressed her love for Chet Atkins and his fingerpicking style, Scotty Moore’s lively soloing style, and Robert Johnson’s slide technique and open tunings, rendering the three men shocked at her knowledge on the subject. Y/N loved how easily Jeff could make her laugh, and how interested Paul and Jim were at whatever she had to say, significant or insignificant. Chris Dreja, who was in a little group with Keith and Carolyn, occasionally spaced out of his conversation to hear what Y/N had to say.

They bonded for about an hour and a half about everything and nothing, until Y/N abruptly realized that Tommy was probably waiting for a while outside for her and her friend. She apologized to the band profusely for such a sudden departure as she and Carolyn walked towards the door.

“Say you’ll come visit us again after the show?” Jeff called to Y/N as she turned towards him in the doorframe.

“Absolutely,” she smiled brightly.

---------

Thanks so much, hope you enjoy!!

Taglist: @y0uth--anasia @reincarnated70sbaby

#jimmy page #led zeppelin #that’s the way #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #jimmy page x reader #led zeppelin fanfic #classic rock fanfic

61 notes · View notes

mythgirlimagines · 2 years

Text

ANON-CORRECT QUOTES

---------------------------------

(After Sparkle took Purple to see a stage show...)

Sparkle: (entering the con building) SO, LITTLE PURPLE ONE, HOW WAS THE SHOW?

Purple: (sighing) Nary a clue. All theatrical performances are virtually identical to me.

Purple: (dramatically) Whether it is "The Lion King" or "The Wiz", you can consider me one of "Les Mis".

Sparkle: (frustrated, but amazed) GUH! YOU ARE ATTACKING THEATRE, BUT THAT WAS A STRONG COUPLET!

Purple: (bowing slightly) Much obliged.

Sparkle: (curious) I HAVE TO KNOW, WAS THAT TROCHAIC OCTAMETER?

Purple: (matter-of-factly) Iambic pentameter.

Sparkle: (growling under her breath) CLASSIC...

Source: Sanders Sides

---------------------------------

(During a Hope's Peak-wide dodgeball game...)

Iris: (with an icepack on their face, after flopping their latest play) Sorry, Dream-senpai...

Dream: (encouraging) Hey! Don't worry, Riri!

Dream: (glaring at a certain someone in contempt) I'm glad SOMEONE is trying today!

Janon: (sleeping on the bleachers, having just woke up) Oh, sorry...

Janon: (sarcastically, going back to sleep) Woo-hoo! Way to throw those murder-balls! Go, team, go...

Dream: (sarcastically) Nice team spirit!

Source: Total Drama Island

Video Source: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krnouTvWefc)

---------------------------------

(In Scar's clinic)

Scar: (holding up an inkblot illustration) Now, High Demon of Heart. It's time to take the inkblot test. Tell me, what does this remind you of?

Myth: (without hesitation) Boys.

Scar: (showing another inkblot illustration) What does this remind you of?

Myth: (without hesitation) Girls.

Scar: (showing yet another inkblot illustration, irritated) What does THIS remind you of?

Myth: (after a long "uhhh") Crushes.

Scar: (frustrated) GRRR! You are obsessed with your CRUSHES!

Myth: (sassily) Hey, YOU'RE the one showing me all the sexy pictures.

Source: Animaniacs

VIdeo Source: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmF51rUwuH8)

---------------------------------

(Whenever Wyre and Nerd are alone in a room together...)

Nerd: (filled with contempt, to Wyre) You SUCK!

Wyre: (angrily) YOU SUCK MORE!

Nerd: (at the top of his lungs) I WENT TO CHURCH TODAY JUST TO PRAY ON YOUR DOWNFALL!

Wyre/Nerd: (metaphorical lightning between their eyes)

Curious: (sticking their head into the room) Myth-senpai and I made pancakes.

Wyre/Nerd: (walking to the dining room, bad moods instantly gone) Okay, coming...

Source: Unknown Audio

---------------------------------

Fusion II (and to a lesser extent, the younger non-mom-friend Ultimates): (exists)

Fusion: (internally, confidently) I have got this! I can be a good father!

Fusion: (thinking back to all the "dad/mom friends" he kins) I've seen a lot of television!

Source: Resident Alien

Video Source: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lufWRq6AZQ)

---------------------------------

Wet Sock: (spinning one of their knives around, casually) "They’ll never find the body" is a boring threat. Threaten that they’ll never STOP finding the body!

Egg: (polishing one of their pet eggs, equally as casual) They’ll be recovering pieces of you for at least THREE MONTHS. You’ll be alive for at least TWO of them.

Eldritch: (from the other side of the room) Y-Y'all are fricking t-TERRIFYING!

Source: Tumblr

Page Source: (3wyp4ajxhmg81.png)

---------------------------------

(The Fancy One/Mastermind dealing with their first ever KG hostage...)

The Fancy One/Mastermind: (smirking as they look down on their tied up victim) I'm not going kill you. Not in the mood. What do you think that's about?~★

The Hostage: (feeling they actually have a chance) In mercy, does your power lie?

The Fancy One/Mastermind: (sneering disdainfully) No, brainless...in torture, death, and chaos does my power lie.~★

Source: Buffy The Vampire Slayer

---------------------------------

As usual, I hope you like these quotes I've put out for all of you! And be sure to keep your eyes peeled for more content made by yours truly!

-Fusion Anon

---

Lol the TD one XD

#submission #anon #fusion anon #incorrect quote #fusion anon ii #purple anon #curious anon #dream anon #sparkling anon #eldritch anon #iris anon #just anon #egg anon #wet sock anon #anon nerd #anon scar #my evil twin #anon kg

2 notes · View notes

lilydalexf · 3 years

Photo

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with tatooedlaura (Laura Sprys)

Laura has 28 fics at Gossamer, but the big treasure trove of her stories is at AO3, where she has 193 fics. Thank goodness for the richness of the X-Files and for talented, creative people like Laura who can find so many interesting ways to tell tales in the show’s universe. Big thanks to Laura for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Maybe reading mine but reading older fic in general is something I still do and something I still find entertaining. I do wish i could get into my old fics and post a warning that some of those were written before the author: ever had a drink, ever had sex, ever had a boyfriend, ever lived on her own, ever had a real job, or ever experienced much of anything in the real world.

Then again, fanfic is a perfect time capsule for the age and it’s always fun to see where the originals started and how they’ve grown.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

Back in the day and up and through today, it has always been a fun experience. From it, I’ve learned to love writing. I’ve learned that fans are crazy, weird, wonderful, generous, talented, committed, passionate, and imaginative. In a fandom, you can think whatever you wish and write about anything you like and because I’ve been around so long, I’ve gotten to watch the storylines shift and the relationships change ...

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Originally, I never had much interaction with people other than ones who sent emails commenting on my fanfic … the internet at my parents house was dial-up and I had to access through the AOL free disks that arrived in the mail so, for the most part, I didn’t have the bandwidth or the connection speed to do more than upload stories and download episode guides.

Good lord, I remember submitting a story and having to wait upwards of two days to two weeks before the new batch of stories was posted ... then ephemeral came around and you could actually have your story up in under a day ... all ya'll who started on tumblr and ao3, you have it great, let me tell you :)

One thing that stands out in my mind still (and I’m still friends with her on Facebook) was a woman from western Canada who I stumbled across somewhere while looking for the blooper reels. She offered to send me her copies on VHS for my collection. I don’t think she asked for payment and one day, a package arrived from a lovely woman near Lethbridge, bloopers playable, tapes labeled in clear printing. I still appreciate that 20 some odd years later :)

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Fandoms are crazy places. Tread lightly at first but enjoy what you want, ignore what you don’t, rewrite what you hate, and write what you love. Don’t be an asshole when you don’t agree with someone … when you do, tell them …

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I was on board from the first episode. It was a show about two people who you felt were destined to be together but weren’t, and wouldn’t be for years. It was a cop show about aliens and a monster show with cops. I was in the right place at the right time in the right frame of mind and there was just something that clicked and I never looked back. Friends were not allowed to call me on Friday night and once it switched to Sunday, I made sure that my parents got us on early evening bowling league so we’d be home in time to watch. Even my boyfriend (eventual husband) knew to shut the hell up from 9-10pm, even if he was sitting next to me on the couch (with my parents in their chairs watching as well)

Also, my 56-year-old dad had a crush on Scully from the start so that was entertaining as hell as well

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I have been writing stories in my head for literally as long as I can remember. Watching some episode, I honestly don’t remember which one, I suddenly had an idea for a story about Mulder and Scully. I had never written a story with pre-existing characters before and it was totally foreign to me. How do you write a character with a current storyline. It was weird, it was difficult, it was some of the most fun I’d had writing up to that point.

Suddenly, I didn’t have to explain or describe the characters, think of jobs and mundane things … they already had those … and it was great.

Honest-to-God, my first fic was written, in pencil, on a yellow legal pad by flashlight while lying with my head at the foot of my bed so I could see my parents coming down the hall if they happened to wake up at midnight to go to the bathroom. Later fics were written by the light of an 10” TV/VCR combo with me still lying with my head at the foot of the bed. I still have those old legal pads somewhere and I remember having to type them in secret, having to wait until the house was empty for 20 minutes to an hour at a time. Uploading them was always unnerving because of the slow dial-up and the fact that I didn’t have my own email address, but had to use my dad’s. I’d have to make sure to check it whenever I could, intercept the feedback I’d get off gossamer.

I was such a damn rebel.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Well, I now know how to interact with people given tumblr and AO3 but it hasn’t changed much. I contribute a little more now that I understand posting on social media but mostly, I still just write like a fiend and post, read voraciously and give kudos and likes often, comment some and reblog.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

And nothing, absolutely nothing, has ever caught me like the X-Files did in regards to the fandom experience.

I have shows I watch and re-watch and re-watch but no two characters have ever had me writing and thinking and planning like Mulder and Scully. No other combo has ever made me write upwards of 300,000 or more total and still have plenty of stories to tell.

I’m okay with this.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Aside from Mulder and Scully and the gentlemen three of Frohike, Langley, and Byers … I love all Scully’s nieces and nephews in my ‘Life’ series … I also love Corduroy (picture books), Harold (purple crayon fame), Neville Longbottom, the characters from my own novels, Katniss (book not movie), Anne Shirley, Elnora (from the Limberlost), Will Stanton/Merriman/Barney/Jane from ‘Dark is Rising’ and 10,459 others …

I’m a children’s librarian so most of my favorite books are those written for the younger and YA crowd. I like my job :)

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I watch this show all the damn time. I will think about Mulder and Scully when I have nothing else to think about, normally writing and editing whatever story I may have in the hopper at the time about them.

My husband laughs when I have the show on. He knows all the episodes with me and it’s one of my comfort shows that I don’t have to pay attention to when it’s on. During it, I have edited books, decorated cookies, been sick, been recovering, simply wasted a perfectly good day because I could.

My 17-year-old daughter keeps it on while she does homework and works out.

It’s a staple at our house and no one is allowed to make fun of it, even though we all know that parts are completely ‘make fun-able’

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I read fic all the time … I have worked my way through AO3 starting from the beginning and if it was more easily readable on a phone, I’d work my way, once again, through gossamer.

Restated from above: I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I have all kinds of favorites on tumblr but right now, I honestly don’t remember most of the names … I pretty much read everything that comes through my dashboard and every few days, i read through the newest posts on AO3 … I love you all!!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Of X-Files fics, I love my newer stuff … I read “Life” and its sequels every few months … ‘Your Place or Mine’ is another one I will read … actually, I’ll just say it .... I read all my own fic over and over again …

With fic, you get to write the characters as you want to see them and write situations that you want to see … I write for myself most of all and I love to read what I wrote :)

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I write them all the damn time. I have tons of snippets and half-finished that I occasionally glean things from but while sometimes, old stuff morphs into new, sometimes, it just needs to gather that dust and live a quiet little forgotten life in some backhand folder on my dropbox account ...

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

First question is answered above.

As for other creative work, I have published two YA novels, have the third in that series in editing … I have five other novels in the hopper in various stages of ‘good lord this needs an edit or twelve’ …

I am writing things constantly in my head or on my laptop … most is crap … stome sticks … some turns into fic and some turns into books …

But the point is, I am writing, in some form, at all time :)

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Some two sentence conversation will spark an idea … the line of a song will inspire an idea … a word will start a sentence which will turn into a paragraph which will tumble straight into a story … and sometimes, stuff just pops in my head for no damn reason at all ...

What's the story behind your pen name?

On gossamer, I am L. Sprys because that was my name at the time :)

On tumblr and AO3, I’m tatooedlaura because my name is Laura and I have, now, six tattoos (yes, I spelled it wrong in my handle but that’s life) … when I decided on the name, I think I only had two

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

They do now … it took me years to crack and tell them … my husband has never read them, nor have any of the people I have told (as far as I know)

Now, I don’t really care who knows … I’ll tell them I write smutty X-Files fanfiction and family-friendly X-Files fanfiction …

I am too old at this point to be embarrassed by what I like to do. If they laugh at me, I tell them they only get to laugh when they’ve published a book and I pull up my books on Amazon … I’ve only had to do that once and it shut them right the hell up …

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Gossamer: L. Sprys

Tumblr and AO3: tatooedlaura

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I love you! I see you! I appreciate you! I hope you enjoy! Don’t judge me for my grammar issues! I will never be able to spell the word ‘excersize’!

(Posted by Lilydale on April 27, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #tatooedlaura #laura sprys

50 notes · View notes

autisticshadowthehedgehog · 4 years

Text

Team Chaotix found out how to Time-Travel and are (probably?) using their powers for good

[I.D.: Screenshot of Shadow the Hedgehog, the cutscene before “Mad Matrix.” Shadow approaches Team Chaotix, standing in front of Eggman’s computer. Vector says “Well, we need your help to hack into [Eggman’s] computer... and don’t ask why!” End I.D.]

What a title, huh? Let me complicate this more by explaining this is going to deal near exclusively with the 2005 game Shadow the Hedgehog and Chaotix’s role in it.

My thesis statement for this is as thus: In Shadow the Hedgehog, all endings are actually technically canon; the universe was reset back at the end of them all until the True Ending was reached, and the universe was reset by none other than Team Chaotix.

Is this theory going to make at least two insane reaches? Yes. Is it a crack theory? uuuuuuuuh depends on how people react to it

So, let’s get into the logistics of how and why I think this went down.

Part One: What was Team Chaotix’s Mission?

Team Chaotix appears very briefly in ShTH; Charmy is on a solo mission on “Prison Island,” the whole team seems to be in “Mad Matrix” with Vector in “Cosmic Fall”, and they appear briefly aboard the ARK at the end of the game. (Which... I don’t think they left? Were they up there when Shadow isolated himself inside? Is that why he wasn’t gone for long, did he get sick of their shit and pilot them back to the planet--)

The point is, from the few appearances of the team in the game, we know that they are on a mission, one so secret/confidential that no team members tell anyone what it is- even Charmy, who has the impulse control of a kid left alone in a room with a million buttons.

Of course, with their appearances, we can figure out some elements of their mission, and it becomes quite clear that their mission has something to do with the Space Colony ARK.

Charmy’s solo mission, for starters, in “Prison Island.” Charmy is there to collect five discs from GUN, discs that I don’t believe the player ever finds out the contents of.

[I.D.: Three screenshots from Shadow the Hedgehog, of Charmy’s dialogue in the “Prison Island” stage. He says, “Heeey, Shadow! I gotta ask you something! Vector told me that he wants to find five top secret discks... but, like... what’s a top secret disk?” End i.D.]

As the Hero Route of Prison Island immediately transitions to “Mad Matrix”, the implication is the GUN discs have something to do with hacking into Eggman’s computer.

Oh, yeah, the team needed to hack into the files of Eggman’s computer, with Espio having to gather data himself. Again, what they were looking for is never revealed, but Vector insists that it’s urgent.

[I.D.: Screenshots from the beginning of the “Mad Matrix” cutscene. Espio is sitting at a computer, attempting to hack. Vector says, “Are you done yet? At this rate, the entire day will be wasted.” Espio turns and says, “Hey, back off! Data retrieval isn’t exactly my specialty.” End i.D.]

Vector attempts to locate the ARK’s computer room, again for no stated reason.

[I.D.: Vector at the beginning of the “Cosmic Fall” route. He says to Shadow, “We’ve got to make it to the computer room before this place collapses!” End I.D.]

Upon it being found in the True Ending, Team Chaotix once again hack inside the computer. After Gerald’s video begins playing, we don’t see them again.

So, to recap: they are all gathering information from GUN- which was pretty much the only organization with any information on the colony- and Eggman, a member of the Robotnik family; with the fact they were later on the ARK and stealing GUN documents, it’s likely they were looking for information on Gerald on Eggman’s computer.

So, while we don’t have the explicit mission, we can clarify that it definitely has something to do with the ARK. An important question, though, which might be able to clarify their entire mission, is who is their client?

Part Two: Who Sent Team Chaotix on this mission?

Team Chaotix’s missions are almost exclusively client-based, and even if we say that they don’t have one, there has to be something that tipped them off that they needed to get to the ARK.

The client themself is a bit of a mystery- it can’t be any non-chaotix main character, as literally nobody seems wise to what they’re up to. And considering Charmy was, uh, pretty much literally stealing GUN files, we can safely assume they’re not working for GUN.

But their client had to be someone who knew there was important information on the ARK, which was pretty much unknown to everyone before SA2, and afterwards, even if we assume the ARK incident is common knowledge, there has to be something specific the Chaotix were sent after.

And something important.

In case you haven’t played ShTH, during the entire game, the world is being attacked by demon aliens intent on murdering and eating everything on the planet while also setting it on fire. You’d think that Chaotix would want to deal with that above a relatively unimportant mission. So whatever they were doing was more important than fighting/hiding from/investigating the apocalyptic monsters attacking them.

What would be important than the, as I said, apocalyptic demon monsters?

Potentially... a way to stop them.

[I.D.: Screenshots from a cutscene in the Last Story. Team Chaotix are attempting to hack into the ARK’s computer. Vector says, “Espio, we need you to focus, cuz if we don’t hurry all the data we recovered will be lost.” End I.D.]

So. You know how in every one of my metas there’s a part where I leap off the deep end?

Let me just say this outright.

What if the one who sent them on their mission... was none other than Gerald Robotnik?

So, here’s my mission statement.

Gerald Robotnik, sensing that something bad was going to happen on the ARK, made his video message for Shadow. We know this because of, you know, the content of the message.

After the ARK massacre, Gerald obviously cracked, but left behind some hint of the video’s existence, or a hint of a way to defeat the Black Arms that nobody picked up cause nobody knew they existed except the people on the ARK. Who, you know, GUN massacred. Thanks GUN.

What the hint exactly was I’m not sure-- in Sonic X he wrote a shitton of stuff on the walls of his prison island jail cell, maybe he left something there. [Something to note-- Sonic X begun airing before production of ShTH, and it second and third seasons, the ones featuring Shadow, would probably be being made while ShTH was in production.]

[I.D.: Screenshots from Sonic X of Gerald Robotnik’s prison island cell, which has multiple scientific notes scribbled across the walls. End I.D.]

We already know the Chaotix know of Prison Island and can get there from Charmy’s appearance in his route, so them being there and seeing something left behind isn’t impossible.

So this hint was discovered by the Chaotix, who pieced together that this ARK message would give the information needed to defeat the Black Arms-- I believe they knew that there was a message specifically, as they seem unsurprised and happy when the message appears at the end of the game, meaning it was among the things they were looking for, if not the only thing. They also figured out that the only one who could defeat said Black Arms was Shadow. Hence why they’re not only hacking into the computers of two Robotniks, but they, in different timelines, accompany and assist Shadow in his little angst party missions.

[I.D.: Screenshots from the end of the “Cosmic Fall” Hero Route. As Shadow walks away, depressed that he’s what he considers a failed experiment, Vector says, “Hey... don’t go there... yet! Things may not be what they seem. You could be...” End I.D.]

But then why wouldn’t they tell Shadow what they were up to? Sure, he has amnesia, so you can’t just say “your granddad might have a secret way to kill the demon aliens,” but you could say “we think there’s a message for you.” So why didn’t they?

Because, my dear friends, they only have twenty-four hours, and it takes quite a while to explain and prove time travel to an amnesiac hedgehog.

Part Three: What Route leads to the True Ending? The Time Travel One

Here’s where we get into crack.

Let’s put everything together and then go into Connie’s HellBrainMode™

The Chaotix’s mission is so secret that either they didn’t dare tell Charmy, or the ADHD 6yo understood that he had to shut up for once (and I say that with love) and thus not a single one of them dares reveal it.

The Mission definitely pertains to the ARK, Black Arms, Robotnik Family, and Shadow.

The Chaotix vaguely knew of the message that was needed to defeat the aliens, and so they were attempting to hack Robotnik computers to find it.

For some reason, they don’t even tell Shadow what’s up, even though due to their penchant for traveling with him and protecting him, they likely are aware he’s a bit important at the moment.

...so why does Shadow the Hedgehog have so many endings anyway?

On that last point... ShTH has an insane amount of routes, but really only eleven endings, with #11 being the final, canon ending. But all the endings are plausible routes, no matter how goddamn dark they can get. It seems the only thing that separates the endings is Shadow’s choices; whether he remains neutral, assists the Black Arms, or fights for Earth. Of course, the true ending involves him fighting for Earth, his friends, and Maria’s final wish, but the path he takes over the day of the Black Arms invasion needs to lead him there.

Does that mean he must follow a Hero route to reach that? By the time he gathers all the chaos emeralds, he can’t be in the depths of despair or convinced he’s an android, etc.; he’s definitely not in one of the endings where Eggman or Sonic die, seeing as they help him out in the True Ending. So if Eggman and Sonic are alive and Shadow’s not literally losing all hope in everything, we have to assume neither a Dark nor Neutral route was taken, as Dark tends to end with dead Sonic and Neutral tends to end with Dead Eggman.

Something interesting-- several Hero Routes involve helping the Chaotix. Gathering the discs for Charmy, helping Espio collect necessary data, helping Vector find the infamous computer room... Of course, most Hero Routes involve helping your friends when you see them, but the Chaotix specifically are looking for GUN/Ark/Robotnik/BlackArms information. While they will not share this information with Shadow, helping them puts him on the Hero Route, aka closer to the True Ending.

But which ending leads to the true ending? None of them, and yet all of them.

None of them end in the place where the true ending begins-- Shadow alone with the Chaos Emeralds, ready to discover the truth about his past, and about to be ambushed by an uninjured Black Doom while his friends are about to burst in to try and save him, having apparently discovered more about what’s happening.

Hero endings end with Shadow defeating Black Doom earlier, Neutral ends with depressed Shadow and dead Eggman, Dark ends with angry Shadow and dead Sonic. So a whole nother timeline was taken. Then what was the point of the first ten?

Well, through the first ten, you do learn certain information, don’t you? So who’s to say someone else going through the first ten endings wouldn’t learn something as well? If someone could, say, reset the day to the beginning every time Shadow has an angst moment and fails to save the world, and then use what they learned the last time in order to try and steer Shadow on a better path...

And in the True Ending, when Shadow and his friends are attacked by Black Doom, Shadow hears voices in his head-- voices from several different routes. Almost as if something in his mind clicks, something that feeds every route into him to make a final decision.

[I.D.: Gif from the Last Story of Shadow the Hedgehog; Shadow is on the ground, and voices are heard, represented here by captions, which read, in order: “I will avenge those whose blood has been spilled!” “Did I... die?” “That’s why you were created...” and “Please help me, Shadow.” End I.D.]

So what route leads to the last ending? All of them. All of them, so that the information gathered... gets the Chaotix on the ARK. To get the message out to Shadow.

Part Four: The Timeline of the Chaotix Time Travel

Every route begins with the same cutscene-- the beginning of the day, as the Black Arms invade... as their comet gets close enough to reach the planet. Let’s say, hmm, Gerald, for example, realized something might go horribly wrong when the Black Arms showed up if Shadow was traumatized and confused, and tried to make some kind of safeguard. The safeguard ended up being a reset button,* but it relied on the position of the Black Arms’ comet-- so thus, you can only reset to the beginning of its approach. The beginning of the day. And only the one(s) pressing the button remembers the reset, that could be an issue.

*Note: we’re using “reset button” as a general term, obviously it doesn’t have to be a literal button.

The Chaotix break into the remains of Prison Island sometime before the Black Arms attack; perhaps they sensed something was up, perhaps they noticed some weird stuff was going on, who knows. But they get in there, and find Gerald’s notes, and figure out some important stuff-- the Black Arms are invading, there’s a way to stop them on the ARK, and... oh, what’s this, this thing that the GUN scientists could never figure out how to use but hid away in case they figured it out one day. It’s a comet reset button?

Oh, comet, like the one right overhead-- oops.

The Chaotix are unable to stop the comet from arriving in the first place. So Vector puts together all the pieces-- “ultimate lifeform,” fifty-year timeskiip, whatever hints Gerald left-- and figures out that, likely, Gerald knew about the Black Arms, how to stop them, and that his ultimate lifeform, Shadow, is the key to saving the planet.

He sends Charmy to retrieve discs from GUN involving the ARK and Gerald on Prison Island, and then sets Espio to hacking into Eggman’s systems. Once they’ve got the info they need, they hop on a spaceship and race to the ARK. Thing is... each of these steps could go wrong in any way. Charmy doesn’t find the discs, Espio can’t reach the data, Vector can’t find the computer room, they fail to reach the ARK, or, above all, Shadow shows up and fucks up their shit.

Thankfully, the Chaotix have the day reset. Every time the planet starts to go to shit, Vector resets. Shadow just killed Sonic? Reset it, now, before those demons crash into Earth. Omega just texted Rouge to tell her that Shadow is convinced he’s destined to lead a robot uprising? Reset. Shadow is depressed thinking he’s a failed experiment that never should have been created and thus literally falls into such a state he can’t or won’t fight the Black Arms? Gotta reset that shit. They reset at least ten times, each time gaining more information and figuring out what they have to do. Charmy gets Shadow’s help in one route, then in the next timeline repeat remembers the locations. Espio knows how to break into Eggman’s computer. Vector figures out where they need to go. They figure out where the Chaos Emeralds are and where and when to get them to Shadow.

The eleventh and final reset begins, and Chaotix informs the Sonic Squad that the Black Arms need the Chaos Emeralds to destroy the planet and that they need to go keep an eye on Shadow. Somehow they get Eggman onboard-- idk they probably just namedropped Gerald and he listened to whatever they had to say. Once they’re sent off, they rush to the ARK.

Shadow, in the Last Route, has gathered the Chaos Emeralds off the ARK, somewhere on the below planet. Everyone else is on Earth, including Sonic, Black Doom, Eggman...

Everyone but the Chaotix.

The Chaotix, who continue working on this Big Case even after the Black Comet has descended through Earth’s atmosphere and the Black Arms are killing everyone on the planet.

The Chaotix, who are trying to hack into Gerald’s computer, looking for something important.

The Chaotix, who show absolutely no surprise or concern when Gerald’s message appears, implying that this could be what they were looking for.

The Chaotix, who are not seen again after the message is played.

Because their work is done.

Shadow’s choices lead him to make the right decision, but that final push he needs to defeat Black Doom is Gerald and Maria’s message. And once it’s played, he saves the goddamn world.

And then is stuck on the ARK with the Chaotix until the next game. Oops.

#shadow the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog 2005 #team chaotix #vector the crocodile #charmy bee #espio the chameleon #sonic theory #sonic meta #mine #connie writes #connie theories

212 notes · View notes