#because she was doing training modules in the office where I was working on some costuming

[sassmill]

Lmfao like a week ago after a bunch of new hire interviews my boss was explaining how one of the new hires explained to her that they are autistic and what support needs might arise in the workplace and she was like (kindly, playfully, because she is an absolute ray of sunshine) “am I magnet for autistic people? I think I might attract them” like please honey this is a museum this is the ideal place to turn a special interest into a career it’s just built in

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 3

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 6.3k Warnings: slow burn, canon rewrite, canon-typical violence, cursing Summary: You and Mando choose Sorgan as your place to lay low, only to get wrangled into a risky job. Notes: In my head, Cara Dune is Katy O’Brian.. Yes, I’m ignoring the fact that she plays one of Moff Gideon’s officers lol Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme​​ @beskarhearts​​ @dincrypt​​ @honey-hi​​ @just-me-and-my-obsessions00​​ @red-leaders​​ @zoemariefit​​

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

The three of you sat in the cockpit—Mando piloting the ship, you in the copilot seat behind him, and the kid perched on the console. He had slipped out of his own seat, waddled to the front of the cockpit, and managed to grasp the edge of the console with his tiny hands and scrabble his legs against the front of it to shimmy all the way up there. Honestly, it was an impressive feat for such a small being. Mando pretended not to notice, keeping his visor trained on the viewport.

You’d been sitting in silence for a while, watching the stars streak by. It was a fairly comfortable silence, considering you were complete strangers and still trying to feel out the limits of your tenuous alliance.

Looking at the back of Mando’s helmet, the surface of which reflected the bands of hyperspace that surged around the Crest, you thought again about how challenging it was to read him: there was so little to go on. No facial expressions, no significant looks, and very few gestures—even the cadence of his breathing was largely disguised by the helmet and modulator.

That was definitely part of his appeal: the mystery. He was an almost blank canvass where others were open books. Because your survival had hinged on your ability to read people, you had gotten so good at it that the task lost its fun rather quickly. Mando was an interesting new game.

In some ways, the armor forced the Mandalorian to be much more straightforward. Because it obscured his features, he had to ask for what he wanted outright—unless it was from a bounty. He could easily communicate threat with just his stance. Anything else, though, he had to verbalize. You were interested to see how this would play out in his interactions with you. You weren’t a job or his enemy, and you were really hoping that meant he’d eventually be slightly less withholding with you.

The baby, looking around, cooed quietly and reached over to flick a random switch on the panel to his right. Mando disregarded the action, pressing a few buttons in front of him. You stifled a chuckle.

The kid, clearly testing his boundaries, leaned over to flick another switch. It turned green when he activated it, and the sound of a machine whirring kicked in.

“Stop touching things,” snapped Mando, frustrated, turning to look at him. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face, grateful that Mando couldn’t see you.

The child lowered his ears and trilled sadly in response to the admonishment but recovered quickly: his ears pricked back up, and keeping his eyes trained on Mando in what seemed like a purposeful act of open rebellion, he leaned over slowly to flick yet another switch. This one turned red, and the ship rattled in response. You let out a sharp bark of laughter, slapping a hand over your mouth to smother the rest of your reaction.

This time, Mando pushed one large gloved hand past the baby to deactivate the switch and picked him up to set him on his lap. You smiled again, knowing this was likely what the kid was trying to achieve anyways. He wanted attention.

“Do you know his name?” you asked. You assumed he didn’t because he always called him “the kid”...but it also wouldn’t be a surprise if Mando did know his name and just chose to call him that instead.

“No,” he replied. “You ready to pick a planet?” Mando changed the subject abruptly as he reclined to look at you over his shoulder.

“Sure,” you agreed, standing to lean over the back of his chair so you could see the screen in front of him.

After some discussion and research, toggling through the nearby planets on the nav, you decided on Sorgan as your place to lay low. It was a rural planet, sparsely inhabited and undeveloped. Mando described it as “a real backwater skughole.” But there were some small settlements, so there would be food and fuel.

Your stomach gurgled loudly.

“I’m going to go eat,” you said, standing to leave the cockpit.

Mando, still holding the baby, stood to follow.

You moved toward the door just as Mando did the same, both attempting to walk through it together. He paused and stepped back, pressing himself against the wall as far as he could to let you by, gesturing you forward with his free hand.

Without thinking, you touched his arm lightly as you slipped past him in the tight doorway, and he flinched away, wrenching his arm back. You withdrew your hand quickly and looked up at him.

“Sorry,” he explained gruffly, visor tilted down at you. “Reflex.”

“I get it.”

He twitched his hand forward like he was considering reaching for you then decided against it, clenching it into a fist by his side.

You stood in the confined space for a moment, pinned by the mesmerizing void of his visor. Inches from your chest, he was so tall and imposing, somehow equally menacing and alluring as he towered over you. It was hard to ignore his intoxicating magnetism when you were this close to him.

He cocked his head the tiniest bit, and you realized, with a rush of embarrassment, that he was waiting for you to move.

Flustered, you turned and climbed down the ladder to find your pack. Mando followed and sat across the hull from you, after settling the kid into a makeshift crib—a storage box lined with blankets—on the floor beside his feet. He busied himself adjusting something on the complicated armor that covered his forearm, as you ate one of your ration packs.

You studied him as he worked. As far as you could tell—with the glaring exception of the presence of the child—Mando was the definition of a bounty hunter. He worked alone, and all he did was work.

He was clearly not used to casual, nonthreatening human contact, aside from that of the child.

You felt a deep, cutting sadness when you really pondered the solitude of his existence. The bulk of his interactions were violent confrontations. He had the child, but for how long? He seemed a recent acquisition. Did Mando have friends? When was the last time he felt at ease around another adult person?

When was the last time someone touched him, other than a bounty during a fight?

You’d been on the run for years and, at times, it had almost killed you—not the running itself, but the loneliness. No matter how much time you had to adjust, it remained a draining existence. You maintained only loose contacts and casual, fleeting relationships. How long had his life been exactly the same? Decades? Had he ever known anything different?

You looked down at the baby. The presence of the child spoke to the possibility that he at least wanted something different for himself.

The kid seemed to feel your gaze and turned his head to train his huge eyes on you. You smiled at him. He grabbed the edge of the box with his tiny three-fingered hands to haul himself over the side and toddled his way over to where you sat. He hugged your calf, looking up at you expectantly.

Mando was busy fiddling with the controls on his vambrace and didn’t notice.

“Can I?” You gestured down at the kid. Mando’s head flicked up.

“I guess,” he acquiesced hesitantly. He watched as you reached down to pick up the kid.

The baby settled happily into your lap, looking up to reach a hand toward your face. You met his hand with your own, and he was content to latch his little fingers around your much larger one and sit back. He babbled and wiggled the tiny green toes that poked out of the bottom of his outfit, which appeared to be made out of the altered sleeve of an old beige flight jacket.

Despite the fact that the child was more than happy cuddled in your arms, Mando was visibly uncomfortable. Abandoning his task completely, he sat forward with his elbows propped on his knees and watched you tensely.

He didn’t relax until you set the baby back down, turning him toward Mando, and he toddled his way back across the floor. Mando took the kid with him into his bunk when he disappeared to eat.

***

From the ship, Sorgan looked inviting: lush greens and blues, the landscape broken up by winding rivers. Clouds swirled across the atmosphere. Mando touched the Razor Crest down in a clearing of a pristine forest.

Mando wasn’t about to leave you behind with the kid—or with the ship, for that matter—so he informed you that the two of you would set out to the nearest village to find lodging, and he would leave the child behind. You understood that he didn’t have a lot of options, but leaving a toddler alone on a ship seemed like a terrible idea. You decided not to question it for the moment.

It was abundantly clear that Mando was accustomed to running the show and operating alone. He was used to making unilateral decisions...and that was going to have to change if the two of you were ever going to get to a place of easy coexistence. As someone who was also used to making unilateral decisions, you didn’t take well to being told what to do without even being consulted. You figured you’d give him some time to adjust to your presence before bringing this to his attention. You reminded yourself that this was a temporary arrangement.

Before leaving, Mando gave the baby a very serious, very stern talking-to about not touching anything and staying put. This was another instance that made it clear that he hadn’t been in charge of this kid (or any kid) for very long. You tried your best to conceal your amusement while Mando lectured the child. When he started to wag his finger dramatically to punctuate his points, you coughed to cover a laugh that escaped your lips.

As you both gathered what you needed in the hull, you asked, “How effective are your lectures usually?”

He let out a tired sigh, shoulders dropping slightly: “Not very.”

You laughed.

Sure enough, the baby shuffled up behind the two of you as the ramp of the ship lowered.

Mando looked down and sighed heavily.

“Oh, what the hell? Come on.” He strode forward decisively without a backwards glance.

You bent down to scoop up the child, not sure how Mando expected this tiny creature to keep up with his long strides, and followed Mando into the verdant forest.

***

The village was made up of a collection of circular wooden structures with pointed roofs. You ducked after Mando into the public house, the largest building in the small cluster. Good-natured conversation and the smell of something delicious permeated the air. You set the baby down on the floor to walk beside you.

A lothcat curled underneath a table hissed loudly at him as he waddled by, and he cowered in fear. You scowled at Mando, who didn’t react besides tilting his helmet down, and picked the child back up, patting him lightly.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you murmured reassuringly. Mando paused to watch you comfort the kid. You waited for him to pull the baby from your arms or say something to discourage you, but he didn’t. When you looked up at him, he continued forward to find an empty table.

Mando scanned the room carefully as he strode between the tables. You noticed an intimidating woman surveying him as he passed. You seated yourselves, and a woman in an apron approached with a friendly smile on her face.

“Welcome, travelers. Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth for the little one,” requested Mando. Then he turned to look at you.

“One for me too, please.”

“Very well,” replied the woman.

Jerking his head towards the intimidating woman, Mando asked, “That one, over there—when did she arrive?”

The woman hesitated, and then said, “Uh, I’ve seen her here for the last week or so.”

“What’s her business here?”

You studied the woman in question, noting her piecemeal armor and tattoos. She looked like a war-hardened soldier.

“Oh, well there’s not much business in Sorgan, so I can’t say,” the server responded noncommittally. “She doesn’t strike me as a log runner.”

Mando reached into his belt and threw some credits toward her on the table. She brightened.

“Well, thank you, sir. I will get those broths to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a flagon of spotchka for good measure. I will be right back with that.”

The server left, and the unobstructed view revealed that the woman he’d been asking about had disappeared.

Mando stood quickly.

“Stay with the kid?” he asked, looking down at you.

You hummed your assent, but he watched you for a long moment, as if assessing whether or not this was a safe idea. He was weighing the risk of leaving the kid with you against the risk of not neutralizing the possible threat of this stranger.

“I’m not going anywhere. We agreed to stick together for the time being, remember? Relax,” you assured him. It wasn’t much of a commitment, but what else could you say?

He nodded decisively and turned on his heel.

You and the kid watched him leave. The baby made a small whimpering sound as Mando disappeared through the curtain that hung over the exit.

You considered the baby as you waited for your food. He looked around, curiously taking in his surroundings.

What species is he? You’d never encountered anyone like him. Despite the fact that he was clearly a toddler, he looked a bit like an old man. And a tortoise? And maybe a frog? Whatever he looked like, he was really damn cute. Those big eyes and huge, expressive ears were undeniably adorable. You’d never felt a maternal instinct in your life, but in that moment, you wanted to pick him up and snuggle him again. You resisted the urge.

The server returned with two steaming bowls of broth and a flagon of electric blue liquor. The child immediately reached out for the broth, letting out a string of gibberish.

“It’s too hot. Let’s let it cool.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and let out a disapproving huff.

Despite his protests, you waited until the broth cooled a bit before setting it in front of him. He picked up the bowl and slurped happily.

You didn’t start to worry about Mando until you’d finished your own broth and the drink—you’d figured Mando wasn’t about to drink spotchka—and he still hadn’t come back. You scooped up the kid, who was still holding his little wooden bowl of soup, and slipped out the exit to look for Mando.

The loud sounds of a brawl made it easy to locate him.

He was locked in an intense hand-to-hand fight with the woman. They were both on the ground, Mando on top of her briefly until she used her strong legs to launch him over her body onto his back. He landed with a thud.

Ouch.

You set the baby down on the ground, but neither Mando nor the woman noticed. The two of them seemed fairly equally matched. To be safe, though, you eased your blaster out of its holster and held it loosely by your side.

Before you’d decided whether or not to intervene, the fight ended in a stalemate, both of them flat on their backs, having drawn their blasters simultaneously.

They panted on the ground, until Mando lolled his head to the side and saw you and the kid watching them, the baby slurping his broth loudly.

“You want some soup?” Mando deadpanned, looking up at the woman. You let out a sharp laugh at the unexpected question.

The tension dissolved, and they both brought their blasters back down to their sides.

You sheathed your blaster and offered Mando a hand, and—to your surprise—he took it without hesitation.

“Thanks for jumping in to help,” Mando grunted as he got to his feet slowly and dropped your hand to dust himself off.

“Hey, I was ready to step in,” you held out your blaster pointedly. “I probably wouldn’t have let her kill you.”

The woman chuckled as she straightened up then turned to walk back to the public house.

“Good to know,” retorted Mando, fixing you with an exasperated head tilt.

***

The four of you sat down together and talked for a while, sipping broth. Mando introduced himself to the woman, ignoring you and the kid. His manners seemed to come and go.

The woman shared that her name was Cara Dune.

“And who is this?” Cara inquired, eyebrows raised, looking from you and the baby to Mando.

Interested to hear how he’d explain your presence, you waited to see what Mando would say before answering.

“Long story,” replied Mando. Yep, that seems about right.

You introduced yourself, offering a fake name and sticking out a hand to shake Cara’s hand.

Mando’s head snapped to you: “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“You never asked,” you shrugged.

If Cara was confused that Mando didn’t know your name, she didn’t say anything about it. She shared that she had been a shock trooper in the Alliance, but she was trying to make a new life for herself, away from all that.

When she inquired, you shared a carefully curated set of details about yourself: born on Naboo, studied on Coruscant, now a freelance programmer with a diverse set of clientele and therefore stayed off the grid as a rule, with Mando at the moment to get from one place to the next and find more work—Sorgan was a temporary stopover.

You figured Mando didn’t love the idea of being described as a glorified taxi service, but it was better than disclosing the truth.

Mando leaned forward slightly and fixed you with his unwavering gaze while you spoke but questioned nothing. You knew he likely recognized the gaping holes in your story, considering he’d witnessed firsthand how well you could hold your own in a fight.

He shared little about himself, aside from the fact that he was in the Guild but not currently in pursuit of a bounty. Cara explained that she’d thought Mando was hunting her and that was why she reacted so defensively.

Understandable. That’s a much more reasonable reaction to his attention than flirting with him from afar liked I’d done in Nevarro. Whoops.

Finally, Cara stood: “Well, this has been a real treat, but unless you want to go another round, Mando, either you or I are gonna have to move on, and I was here first.” She turned to you and added: “You, on the other hand, are welcome to stay.” She winked at you and sauntered away.

You let out a surprised laugh, and Mando swiveled his head from Cara to you so fast, he probably tweaked his neck.

You couldn’t decide if it was hilarious or frustrating (probably both) that Cara had warmed to you over the course of a twenty-minute conversation while Mando remained aloof after more than twenty-four hours together.

Mando shook his head like he was willing away an unwelcome thought and leaned an elbow on the table: “Well, looks like this planet is taken.”

“Technically, that only applies to you.”

“You want to stay here?” There was a hint of unease in his otherwise even voice.

“No, Mando. You’re stuck with me for now, remember?”

“Right.”

You leaned forward and placed both your palms on the table: “But before we leave, I would like it on the record that I watched the kid for a full ten minutes without running away or harming a single hair on his wrinkly head.” You reached over to rub one of the child’s ears briefly, and he cooed up at you. “And I am electing not to ditch you and stay here with Cara even though she seems much more fun than you.”

A sound that might have been a laugh crackled through the modulator.

“So maybe you don’t have to breathe down my neck every second when we’re on the Crest?”

“You did almost let Cara kill me.”

You leaned back and laughed. “So, you admit it—you needed help.”

“No—I...That’s not the point.” You enjoyed how easy it was to agitate Mando.

“You’re right, it’s not. The point is that if I’m going to stick around for a while, you’re going to have to give me the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, this doesn’t make sense.”

He hummed noncommittally and rested a hand on the tabletop, gloved fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm.

“I could have abducted the kid and stolen the Crest while Cara took her time kicking your ass, but I didn’t.”

“It sounds like you considered it.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Mando.” 

You fixed him with an impatient stare, and he met your look with his impassive visor.

You huffed, and letting the levity fall away, so he knew you meant it, you asked, “Maybe it would just be easier for me to find some other way out of here?”

His fingers stilled. “No.”

“Okay... so, you’ll lighten up?”

In a well-timed interruption, the kid quirked his head at Mando and let out a string of nonsense that had the upward cadence of a question.

“He’s wondering the same thing.”

The child stretched his arms out toward Mando and wiggled his fingers. “He just wants to be picked up.” Mando scooped him up and tucked him under his arm. “But, point taken. Let’s get out of here,” he said, lifting his hand to flag down the server.

Mando seemed surprised when you reached into your bag and pulled out a small pouch of credits to pay for the food. In reality, it was one of three that you had on you at the moment.

You were a professional at disappearing. You always had a blaster at your back, a knife on your belt, another knife strapped to your ankle, and plenty of credits on your person. Plus, the roughly hewn necklace tucked under your shirt looked unassuming but was worth a small fortune—though, you’d have to be in a really tough spot to ever consider selling it. You were used to leaving places at a moment’s notice. Being prepared for anything was your default state.

Mando should understand that better than anyone.

***

When you returned to the Crest, Mando mumbled something about routine maintenance and disappeared outside with a heavy metal toolbox in hand. The kid was asleep in Mando’s bunk, and you were sitting in the hull, reading about potential planets on your datapad, when you heard strange voices approaching.

Setting down your datapad, you stood and walked down the slope of the ramp at the back of the ship quietly. You peeked your head around the side, staying out of sight, and watched two men speaking to Mando’s back as he continued working at an open panel on the side of the Crest.

The men didn’t look threatening, and Mando was clearly unconcerned. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Our whole village chipped in,” explained one of the men, a touch of desperation in his voice. The other man, who had longer hair, held up a pouch of credits.

Mando turned to face them. “It’s not enough,” he answered simply.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what the job is?” the man with short, curly hair continued.

“I know it’s not enough. Good luck.”

Rude.

The men were insistent, pleading. Mando’s harsh rebuff surprised you. He seemed to flip flop between being decidedly cold and cautiously warm with strangers, and right now he was the former. You weren’t fooled though. With a little more prodding, you were sure they’d convince him—well, you hoped they’d convince him to take the job and stay.

“This is everything we have. We’ll give you more after the next harvest,” promised the second man.

The side door of the Crest hissed loudly as it opened, and the two men jumped back in surprise. They looked at each other, resigned, when Mando walked up the ramp, ignoring them.

“Come on, let’s head back.”

No, don’t give up yet. He’s secretly soft. He adopts stray babies, protects complete strangers, and offers soup to people who have just thrown him on his ass!

They turned to leave, mumbling sadly to each other. You hurried back up the ramp to meet Mando in the hull. You stopped, settling your hands on your hips.

“What?”

“I mean... we were looking for a reason to stay, and they just gave us one. We were looking for a place to stay middle of nowhere... they just happen to live in the middle of nowhere...”

“Cara—,” he started.

“She seems like a reasonable enough person.”

He let out a long, dramatic sigh then turned to lean out the open side of the ship. “Where do you live?” Mando called after the retreating men.

One of them called, “On a farm. Weren’t you listening? We’re farmers.”

“You have lodging?” Mando clarified.

“Yeah, absolutely!”

“Come up and help,” he said to the men.

The two men paused when they saw you.

“Hi,” you greeted, turning to pull on your boots and grab your bag.

“Hello,” they both replied tentatively.

“She comes too,” Mando stated, jerking his head in your direction, as he began to pack up a chest of weaponry.

“Sure, that’s fine,” one of the men responded.

“And we have to make a stop.”

***

You waited with the two men—they introduced themselves as Caben and Stoke—at their speeder while Mando took the kid and tracked down Cara. They shared that they were krill farmers and needed help because Klatooinian raiders had been terrorizing their settlement.

Mando located Cara quickly, and they met you at the speeder, the back of which was full of weapons. You scooted over to make space for them as the speeder stuttered to life. It was cramped and when everyone was seated, your side was pressed into Mando, the kid settled on his lap.

Mando and Cara talked quietly while you laid your head back to watch the stars. You looked down when you felt something gently press on your thigh. The kid had climbed off of Mando’s lap and was looking up expectantly at you, as if asking permission to crawl into your lap.

You smiled at him and looked up at Mando, posing a silent question.

He nodded once, and you pulled the kid onto your lap. The baby cooed happily, wiggled around to get comfortable, and closed his eyes. You rested your head back again and let the movement of the speeder lull you into a light sleep.

Before you were totally out, you felt Mando adjust beside you, leaning back and stretching an arm over your head. Instinctively, you lifted your head so he could settle his arm down behind you, and you relaxed back so your cheek rested on his cold shoulder.

In a sleepy haze, you decided to capitalize on this opening and let your hand rest on the beskar plate covering his thigh.

***

You woke up when the speeder stuttered to a stop and opened your eyes, rubbing them in the brightness of the morning. You sat up and Mando did the same beside you, moving his arm from where it had been supporting your back. He hadn’t moved all night.

The scene before you was nothing if not idyllic: green and peaceful. Wind whispered through the tall grasses that lined the village, forming a natural buffer between the settlement and the forest. Circular wooden structures, the same pointed shape as the public house, were clustered at the middle of the clearing. Villagers, catching flopping blue krill in flat baskets, waded through square ponds that encircled the small community. Children giggled and called out, running toward the speeder.

“Well, looks like they’re happy to see us,” observed Mando.

“Looks like,” agreed Cara.

The children flocked toward you to see the baby in your arms, and you hopped down to greet them.

***

You spent the morning meeting people, learning the layout of the tiny village. The children took to the kid immediately, following you wherever you carried him. Apparently, Mando had accepted the fact that the child was safe with you because he didn’t object.

The gaggle of children showed you around excitedly, even demonstrating how to expertly sift krill from the ponds. They brought you to the long hall where food—stew and spotchka—was served. You sat on the ground outside, eating and enjoying the sun, with the children and the kid. They watched in enthusiastic disgust as the child caught and ate a live frog.

That afternoon, you and Mando followed the woman who introduced herself as Omera to your lodging. Though there did not seem to be an official leader of the small community, Omera clearly garnered respect. You watched as she gave easy instruction to those around her, and they complied reflexively.

She led you to one of the wooden buildings on the edges of the settlement. You noticed the way Mando stopped in the doorway to admire Omera as she raised a window covering and the afternoon light illuminated her beautiful face.

“Please, come in,” Omera invited warmly. 

You set the baby on the ground, and he waddled a few steps before plopping down to lean against a crate, his eyelids heavy after a full morning of play.

“I hope this is comfortable for the three of you,” Omera continued. “Sorry that all we have is the barn. There is a spare crib for the child.” She gestured at a well-made looking crib. You wondered when the last time the child had slept in a proper bed was.

You picked him up from where he sat dozing on the floor and settled him into the crib.

You looked around the open space of the barn. It was clearly used for storage: it was lined with baskets, furniture, crates, fishing equipment, and more, but a large space in the center of the room was clear. You hadn’t considered until this moment that you might be sharing one room with Mando. Neither of you would be comfortable in these close quarters.

“Oh, we’re not—,” you started.

“This will do fine,” confirmed Mando, cutting you off mid-sentence. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, surprised that he seemed okay with this sleeping arrangement.

“I stacked some blankets over here,” Omera pointed to a stack of quilts in the corner.

“Thank you. That’s very kind,” replied Mando as he turned to unstrap his rifle from his back.

A little girl crept up to the open doorway, looking down at her feet with her hands clasped behind her back. You recognized her from the gaggle of children. She was one of the quieter, shyer kids.

Mando, who was facing the back of the room, whipped around defensively at her movement. His hand hovered threateningly over his blaster.

The little girl gasped and jumped back, disappearing from view. Omera turned to follow her out the door.

You stepped toward Mando and put a steadying hand on his elbow in the space between his armor, drawing his arm away from his weapon. He looked down at where your hand gripped his arm.

“Are you okay?” you asked, under your breath.

He gave you a curt nod and exhaled loudly through the modulator.

You dropped your hand to your side when Omera returned, the little girl hugged tightly to her.

“This is my daughter, Winta,” she explained in her dulcet voice. “We don’t get a lot of visitors around here. She’s not used to strangers.”

Neither is Mando.

Mando stood awkwardly and said nothing.

“It’s nice to meet you, Winta,” you greeted gently. She smiled timidly against her mother’s stomach.

“These people are going to help protect us from the bad ones,” Omera said.

“Thank you,” replied Winta quietly.

“Come on, Winta. Let’s give our guests some room.” Omera took Winta’s hand and lead her away.

As soon as the two of you and the baby were alone, you turned to Mando. “How are we both going to sleep in here? You can’t sleep in your helmet.”

Mando stood frozen, staring at the doorway. He seemed not to have registered that you said anything.

“Mando?”

He turned to you. “I—uh, it’s fine. I didn’t want to inconvenience them any more.”

“But how is this going to work?”

“I can sleep in my helmet.”

“No way, that’s ridiculous. I’ll ask if I can stay with Cara.” You took a step toward the door.

He looked down at the floor. “I’d rather you stay here.”

“Ah...okay. I thought we were past the stage where you felt the need to babysit me,” you joked, hoping that wasn’t the reason for this.

“No. That’s not...” he started to explain but trailed off.

He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, and, despite the prickle of irritation you felt at the confirmation of his mistrust, you felt compelled to fill the uneasy silence that followed.

Avoiding his gaze, you looked over to where the kid was snoozing in the crib. “It’s fine. I’m going to go out for a bit if you want to take it off now. I’ll let you know before I come back in.”

“Thank you.”

You dropped your bag onto a crate and slipped out of the room and into the soft sunlight that shone through the sparse clouds.

Unwittingly, Mando seemed to know how to give you just enough reassurance to keep you around and just enough doubt to keep you guessing about why you were here with him. He was holding you at arm’s length, but not letting you go.

The potential between you was as enticing as it was confusing.

The more time you spent with Mando, the more of a paradox he seemed to be. He was constantly torn between a need to be hard and his instinct to be soft. You had an inkling that at heart, he was soft through and through. How else could you explain the presence of the baby?

His literal and metaphorical armor were clearly worn out of necessity—for several reasons, you guessed: to be successful in a brutal profession, probably as a result of past trauma, and simply because life is just fucking hard. You barely knew him, but you couldn’t help but want to be someone with whom he felt comfortable letting his guard down.

You pushed these thoughts from your mind as you stepped into the dappled light that filtered through the canopy of the forest. You were happy to explore the woods on your own, enjoying the serene atmosphere and natural beauty. It had been a while since you’d been on such a lovely planet. It reminded you of home.

***

When you returned a few hours later, all the villagers were gathering around the barn where Mando and Cara stood on the porch. You walked up to join the crowd and Mando’s visor followed your movement. You smiled at him, and he looked away abruptly, turning to Cara. They exchanged a few words then Mando stepped forward to address everyone.

“Bad news. You can’t live here anymore,” Mando announced. He declared this in an infuriatingly neutral, straightforward way, the same way you’d tell someone there was going to be rain.

They must have seen the same tracks in the forest that I saw.

The villagers broke out in surprised chatter: “What?” “Why?”

Cara and Mando muttered to each other. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you hoped Cara was explaining how callous he’d sounded.

Cara started forward, “I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”

Despite her slightly better manner, the villagers broke out in angry protests again.

“You took the job!” Caben cried.

“That was before we knew about the AT-ST!” exclaimed Cara.

Your stomach dropped. You had hoped you were somehow wrong about what those tracks belonged to. It would take serious preparation to successfully take on a band of raiders and an Imperial walker.

“What is that?” asked Caben.

“The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn’t mention,” said Cara indignantly.

That is a pretty important piece of information they had chosen to leave out.

More protests erupted. The villagers shouted pleas over one another. Mando was surveying the desperate villagers, saying nothing. You had a feeling that despite his initial refusal and these adverse circumstances, he would elect to help them anyways. Eventually one of the many heartfelt appeals was likely to sway him—listening to their pleading voices, you knew you would find it hard to refuse them.

Omera’s plaintive voice broke over the crowd, and you suspected she’d be the one to convince him.

“We have nowhere to go,” she entreated.

Mando met your gaze, where you stood silently at the back of the crowd. He cocked his head, and you knew what he was asking. You gave him an understanding smile, nodding your agreement. He bowed his head slightly in response.

You turned and walked away, not needing to hear the rest of the conversation to know that Mando had already decided to stay.

***

Chapter 4

[palidoozy-art]

The more I think about your recent post about the changes you made to Strahd, the more I wonder about those changes you made to the others mentioned (Rahadin, Van Richten, Ireena, etc). I'd absolutely love to hear what adjustments you made as you already shared some stellar ideas already. Like the Tome? -Chef kiss- Amazing.

Oh mannn I do love talking about my campaign. I changed a lot with them. Again, weirdly enough, I think Strahd wound up being the most like his original incarnation. I could talk forever about the changes I made so I'll try to be brief haha. IT STILL WON'T BE BRIEF.

Obvious CoS spoilers below

IREENA - I thought it was weird that the picture they gave her makes her look like such a badass, and then the module just kind of writes her as a damsel in distress to either get kidnapped or pulled into water or dumped somewhere. To me, she's like, the second most important character in CoS -- and the book literally gives you less direction to roleplay her than her brother. Furthermore, reading her ending actually legit made me mad.

So I said fuck all that. Ireena in my game was a 19-year old girl who grew and developed over the course of the campaign. Several of my players actually said they thought of her as "the main character," just because she experienced a lot of character growth and development, going from a sheltered meek teenager to someone who can fight and assert herself. The biggest change I made to her though was that I very specifically did not just want her to be "Tatyana with memory loss." Ireena is a unique individual who happens to be partially made out of Tatyana's soul. While she shares many similarities with Tatyana, they're separate people, and part of what Ireena has to grapple with is how to live up to that. She's in the post-campaign because of that distinction -- while Sergei offered her to join him, she declined, because she wants to experience life past her twenties. I didn't get to play it out because we were kind of rushing towards the end, but I honestly envisioned a scene where she talks to the portrait of Tatyana, apologizing to her because she knows she's being selfish remaining alive.

This also brings up a unique problem in the post campaign. If Ireena dies, she ceases to exist and may not be able to be resurrected. When her soul leaves her body, it's Tatyana's again. Ireena very much wants to live. Tatyana doesn't. A resurrection has to be made with the consent of the soul, and if Tatyana declines, Ireena's just... gone. Forever.

Related: because I wasn't sure what my players would ask, and Rahadin would absolutely know this information -- there have been 18 incarnations of Tatyana, including the original. I actually have a timeline of when they were all born and how they died. The curse manifests in that they always die or are killed before their 25th birthday. If Strahd attempts to marry them, they lose their minds and throw themselves off of the same balcony the original Tatyana jumped off of during the ceremony. Strahd can never have Tatyana. Vampyr will ensure of that.

But yeah, essentially: Ireena gained actual class levels; she wasn't just Tatyana with memory loss; she traveled with the party for 90% of the campaign and wasn't just a macguffin to be kidnapped/take to places; and I removed any of the "Sergei takes her into water/the sky and you never see her again" endings because I absolutely hated those.

VAN RICHTEN - Van Richten I tweaked a lot from his original incarnation. First, I started him off as Lawful Neutral. No, game, I know you tell me he's Lawful Good, but I'm gonna have to disagree with you that "training a racist tiger to genocide an ethnic camp" falls under the spectrum of Lawful Good. Second, I changed him from cleric to artificer (alchemist). I somehow just got the impression the dude was a godless man, and so he felt more fitting to be a man of science rather than a man of the church. Third, since I wasn't sure the other dread domains were ever going to be brought into 5e I moved him out of Darkon and into another world from the outside.

His backstory was also tied more into Strahd and the campaign in general, as well as the Dark Powers. About 30 years ago, he went into the mists with his own adventuring party (that included Escher) to try to rescue his kidnapped son, Erasmus. He found his son half-turned and begging him for death. Killing him, Van Richten hunted down the Vistani woman (Ezmerelda's mother) who sold the man, and in a rage strangled her to death. This gave him a curse. Ezmerelda witnessed it happen.

He went on a warpath against vampire spawn and vistani alike, until Strahd proposed a deal to Escher. Escher lured the group to a familiar dinner date with Strahd... only for Strahd to murder all of them, including Van Richten. Van Richten was approached by a dark power -- Vaund the Evasive, and given the option to return to life in exchange for the promise that Van Richten would eventually return to Amber Temple and free him. He took it, waking up outside of Barovia. From there he became famed vampire-hunter-book-author, until in his early 50's he decided it was time to seek vengeance and fulfill his promise. He brought in his hat of disguise, came up with an alibi, and headed into Barovia as Rictavio the Great.

He was absolutely played as a much more morally grey character at the start (the party's first encounter with him rather than Rictavio was him literally torturing a dude). He softened over the course of the campaign as he grew attached to the party, until finally reaching a point in the post-campaign where he's considered Lawful Good

Also: Ezmerelda was treated more or less as his adoptive daughter. She absolutely argued against this every single time, but he even slipped up and referred to her as his daughter on a few tense occasions.

RAHADIN - Rahadin I adjusted a lot, too. A LOOOOOOT. Strahd being comically evil makes sense -- the dude is a darklord, that kind of comes with the territory. With Rahadin, I wanted him to have more motivations to his actions, because the base game actually suggests that the dude is actually capable of caring. In the base game, you can find him at Amber Temple, trying to "petition the dark god into releasing his master from his torment." He screams in grief if he finds Strahd dead. Furthermore it felt like the game glosses over the fact that the dude was adopted as Barov's son. It doesn't bother addressing how Rahadin felt about Sergei, who would in theory be his other brother. I thought a number of things suggested in his backstory were interesting, but not expanded upon in the base game. So I took it upon myself to do so.

I changed how dusk elf society was built, which affected the three major dusk elf characters. It worked off of a pretty brutal caste system, with three kings at the top overseeing all of it. Rahadin was born in a lower caste, but actually brought into the warrior caste after a member of royalty was intrigued by his stature. Rahadin worked as a general, but grew frustrated by the inefficiencies of the caste system and its inequality. He started attempting to use his influence to petition other members of nobility into changing or loosening the strict system.

Patrina caught wind of this, and viewing it as a threat to her lifestyle + viewing it as an easy way to gain brownie points with those above her... tattled on him to the three kings, spinning what he was doing as treason. Rahadin was arrested and subsequently tortured. They attempted to execute him on a breaking wheel, breaking his bones against the spokes and leaving him in the town square as an example. He wound up escaping, crawling his way out of town until he was subsequently rescued by a group of human monks. The event pretty much broke him, morally. He went to Barov soon after and sold his people out, taking a personal hand in helping annihilate the dusk elves and conquering their land. Barov was so impressed by the man's loyalty that he adopted him as his son.

Part of this was done to make a connection as to why the hell Rahadin just absolutely fuckin' hates Patrina so much (since that definitely got played up during the campaign). When thinking of Rahadin's motivations, I tried to come at it from the angle that this man was evil... but legitimately cared deeply about Strahd, Sergei, and Tatyana. He was devestated from the events of the wedding, but saw Strahd's return as a second chance. As the lone surviving witness from the wedding, he desperately wanted to help the three of them. But his own blind loyalty to Strahd and his broken moral compass prevented him from doing so.

One of my favorite little additions was a sidequest I offered to the players (they wanted to redeem Rahadin). They were requested by him to retrieve (well, "not destroy or sell") one of his most precious belongings in his office. When they get there... it turns out it's a birthday card and a worn-out old amulet from Sergei and Tatyana that he's kept after all these years. They got Ireena to read the letter to him, to help him keep going after Strahd's death.

anyway i could ramble on about changes forever but i don't want this post to get too long haha. i have. many feelings. over this campaign. maybe at some point I'll do a separate post with some of the others.

i also kinda wanna do a comic of an event from Rahadin's backstory for my players but we'll see, I might deem it "too stupid."

[lunaekalenda]

heyy congrats on 500! 👄💰🥲 or 💖 (i can’t choose but maybe a mix of both?) with eren plz:)

obv! thank you so much for participating and i hope you like it! <3

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enemies to lovers + mafia au + romantic tragicomedia feat. Eren Jaeger

introduced original characters, mentions of blood.

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Eren Jaeger. The actual and young head of the Jaeger family. He wasn’t an easy prey, his family was one of the most important ones in this city. He moves a huge amount of money every day, heir of all the things his parents made on the past.

Unlucky him they have hired you. 

You’re the secret weapon of the Müller family. The child they trained since little to seduce and play with other’s minds to know all of them. You only need to get closer to him and discover all the Jaeger secrets. With which families are they allied. How many money do they count. How many of them are now.

If they hired an Ackerman to kill the clan that contracted you.

The Ackermans are also a really well known clan, famous for being silent and skilled assassins. Specially two of them. Levi Ackerman. The man who built again the reputation of his family. Mikasa Ackerman. The girl who protects Eren Jaeger, because the Ackerman clan knows how many benefits they can get just from protecting the young man. Your instructions are easy, but you know the plan isn’t it. Entering the Jaeger mansion is really complicated: there are guards everywhere. Eren rarely goes out of the mansion, so it’s almost impossible to make it like a casual encounter, the typical encounter between two people that ends with a coffee. You have to enter like every single soul that had meet Eren before: trough money, contracts and secrets. It’s the only way to treat directly with him. Negotiations. Dirty treats.

"I have information about the Müllers."

That false information is the key to your reunion with Eren. You're dressed for the occasion, really well-dressed. The man in front of you talks to a brown-haired girl, and she leaves, going to tell the info to a person who you suppose it's Eren. He listens the orders once she comes back and you look around, analyzing. There are big paintings on the walls, most of them from really famous painters. The corridor you're waiting in is decorated with huge glass lamps that make all the little cristal drops shine in all directions. You don't know who those two are. The tallest one, who has an undercut, nods to the other.

"You can pass." he says. "But he will make you a control. Please, take out your jacket and all the things we can easily found and claim as suspicious, such as..."

"I know, I know. Knifes, guns or another harmful things. I’m empty.” You put your bag in the tallest’s hands. He revises it while the other touches your body superficially, trying to find any hint of a weapon. The little stylet you have on your boot its cold against your leg, and it could hurt you with any abrupt movement. The boy with the bag gives it back to you. The other releases you arms. 

“Take the stairs and wait on the corridor of the second plant. Someone will call you to talk with him.” You nod quietly and make your way to the stairs. Quickly, a blonde boy appears, opening the door from Eren’s office.

“Come in. Boss waits for you.”

You enter before the blonde man, who closes the door fast, almost getting your leg with it. The movement made the stylet cut a little wound on your leg. You walk cautiously, trying not to get the stylet too close to your skin. The fact that you’re wearing the stylet without case is simple: Is a punishment. You had orders to kill someone on your last mission and doubted, so now they want the stylet to cut you, trying to make you regret the failed assassination. But you’ve learned, and you have strict orders to kill Eren Jaeger if he knows too much. The light of the room surprises you, the curtains moving quietly because of the wind that enters from the open window behind the desk, where a tall figure is sitting.

Even when you’ve seen Eren Jaeger before, on pictures the Müllers shown you, you never thought he’ll be so imposing. His dark hair is tied on a messy bun on the back part of his head, and he’s wearing a white shirt he has unbuttoned until the middle. His green eyes look tired, a little shadow under them. He takes his gaze far from the documents and tilts his head a little to thank the blonde boy, that does the same and disappears. He invites you to sit, moving his eyes from your body to the chair in front of him. You sit, your bag on your knees. Eren seems young, maybe he’s on his early twenties. His sharp jaw tenses when he sees you eyes looking the documents with curiosity. You got to read the title of some of them: they are hiring contracts with Ackermans and some transactions about enterprises being bought by the Jaegers.

During your training, they taught you how to read upside down, really fast. That’s because once you arrive on someone’s office to get info, the papers will be facing them. A normal person would take their time to read, making obvious they’re trying to get something. You can read them fast.

“If you’re here to try to get some information.” His voice sounds bored, maybe too tired, as if he doesn’t enjoy the fact that his family is one of the most important ones. Maybe he doesn’t like this? “You’re going to go back with empty hands”

It’s not time to feel compassion. You’re hired. You have a work. 

“I’m here to give information to you, not to steal it from you.” You talk. You know how to modulate your voice, try to make him think you’re nervous for being there, as if you fear for your life just for opening your mouth. Eren raises an eyebrow, as if he was inviting you to talk. “The Müllers.” Now, it’s time to make a credible story to make Eren feel curiosity. To make him want to know more. He’ll protect anything that would help him to destroy the Müllers, so he’ll probably protect you once he believes you can get information for him. You can make him hire you. Eren leans back on his chair.

“I’m listening.”

“They lost their protection. A bad made pact or something like that.” you don’t want to be really specific, that would just uncover your lie. “The clan that worked for them left because of a better work offer.” This wasn’t a lie after all. The Müller did lost their protection, but they quickly found another one, keeping that pact in secret for everyone. Eren looks to his fingers on the table, his head resting on his free hand. He nods quietly.

“You know this pacts from inside, don’t you?” his question, made with the same deep and tired voice, caught you by surprise. He sighs. “You entered and looked directly to my desk. This could be an unfortunate coincidence, you entered and felt curiosity about the papers, that’s just an human feeling. A normal person that enters my office looks down at the papers and then leaves them be, they’re upside down for them. You read them, quite fast i could say.” He takes the papers. “How many of them were you able to read?” You stay silent. He smirks. “Also, isn’t your leg hurt?” he asks. It’s impossible he knows you’re carrying a weapon with you. “I saw you had trouble landing that foot correctly when you walked in.” 

“Just a bad landing,” You answer. He nods, slowly. He knows something.

“How much do you gain with this mission?” he asks. His green tired eyes are looking directly to you. 

“Wh-what mission?” you ask, trying to act innocent. A sarcastic laugh leaves his lips.

“Stop fucking acting.” he takes out some papers. “Y/N, do you recognize this paper?” he gives it to you. 

“My contract?” You think for yourself. There it is: your name, surname, a photo, quantity you gain with this and your signature. 

“I should say, if this is permitted, that you’re much prettier now that in that pic.” He says, calmly. His smirk hasn’t disappeared. “I’ll give you a counteroffer.” He says. “I’m tired of playing hide and seek with all those bastards.” He knows too much. He discovered your plans.

You’re fast when you take the stylet out of your boot, your blood dripping from the file, getting up and leaning on the table to stab him. You’re fast moving it to his neck, but he’s faster. His hand gets your wrist, stronger than you think, making you unable to move it, and he takes the stylet out of your immobilized hand. He looks at it, with your wrist caged on his hand. You can’t sit, he’s pulling you to stay in that position - legs half flexed, the elbow against the table, his green eyes really close to yours.- It’s uncomfortable. 

“You took a risk, didn’t you, hm?” he asks. His voice is now lower. He stopped your stab. The price you pay for a bad executed assassination is death. 

They are going to kill you.

If Eren doesn’t kill you first. Tears start to run from your eyes. You don’t wanna cry, and less in front of him, but the thought of the consequences once you get home again scare you so much. Eren hisses. 

“The cute assassin is crying?” he jokes, his free hand getting some tears from your face. He doesn’t let your wrist. “I’ve heard the Müller are a really moral-questionable family, aren’t they?” he says. He knows about the consequences. “Once more, I have a counteroffer for you.” he leaves your wrist. You sit again, the skin where he grabbed you starting to change from red to a painful purple. He looks at it. “Sorry, used too much strength.” He takes out an empty contract formulary. 

You try to calm yourself. Should you accept it? The betray is also punished with death. They’ll kill you in any way. The green-eyed boy in front of you is your only way to scape.

“Only if you protect me from them.” Eren smirks.

“Granted.”

He doesn’t want to know the Müller secrets, he doesn’t have interest in that. His older brother, Zeke Jaeger, was the one that searched problems. Eren just wants to stay quiet and make easy money without getting his hands covered with blood. He doesn’t want to get in trouble with other families. He doesn’t want to kill, he’s tired of that.  He sits and starts to make your contract. You look how his hands write fast your information. 

“Why?” you ask. All the shock of the previous events didn’t let you think straight. He raises an eyebrow.

“Why what? Speak properly, hm?”

“Why aren’t you going to kill me? I tried to kill you. That’s how this works. One life for another.” Eren keeps writing, unbothered. 

“That’s how it works in Müller’s rules.” he says. “I don’t like that dynamics. Send someone to kill another one.” he answers simply. You look at him. He isn’t a bad person. He isn’t the man everybody talked about. That’s a fake Eren, made by rumors. The boy in front of you is just someone making business. Maybe not in the cleanest way, but at least he doesn’t kill. “I don’t like to kill. And less if the other person is just following orders, scared about the consequences.” He looks at you. It seems you started to calm down. 

“How are you going to cover me?”

“Faking your death. You know I don’t like to go out of the mansion, I saw you walking around it from the window this last days.” You are really surprised. He’s smart, so smart. “I need someone to help with my investments. You don’t need to go out of the mansion.” 

He was strangely calm to be negotiating with the enemy. 

“I could take out another knife and kill you, you know?” you say. He smiles.

“If you announced it, then you’re not going to do it.” He keeps writing. You nod quietly. “I need you to sign here.” He offers you the fountain pen. You could harm him with that. Your hand takes the pen in stabbing position. He sees you from the corner of the eye.

“I wouldn’t do that.” he says, calmly. “Remember that is your life the one risking, not mine.” He’s right. You sigh and sign the contract. Eren smiles.

“You should read the contract before signing.” he says, his voice being like a joke melody. 

“Whatever you’ve put there is better than the punishment of the Müller.” you say, throwing the pen back to him. He catches it easily. 

“Fine, then. You won’t get a single coin in the first year working here.” He says. Wait, was that in the contract? “You tried to kill me. I’m kind, but not that much.”

“But-” He gets up and walks towards you. His green eyes are now close to yours, his breath almost mixing with yours. He smells good.

“But?” he asks. One of his strands of hair move with him, touching your face quietly. He’s really attractive, and so near... 

“How am I supposed to eat?” Eren thinks.

“There are a hundred ways to gain extra pays, you know? Helping on the kitchen, reading my letters or preparing my baths.” he says. “Maybe I could be extra kind and let you have a bath with me.” You can hear the joke in his voice.

“I would politely decline it.” You say. He smiles.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll end enjoying it.”

“They never taught you to not empathize with the enemy?”

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Casually, it seems like you didn’t learn it either.

“Eren.” you call him quietly. You’ve been here for months now, almost eight. In that time, Eren avoided three different trials of murder from you and you got slightly punished for two of them. You ended accepting your fate and helping him, learning that he can be a soft and warm-hearted boy once he stops acting as a mature mafia head. This world isn’t for him.

“What?” he says, a little laugh following his words. He didn’t knew what to make with you, a problematic captive enemy that attempted to murder him multiple times. And your angelical aspect and sweet voice confused him. He ended understanding you, understanding the pain and the fear you feel since little, since the Müller bought you and obligated to train as a spy. He listened to your story and you listened to his, how everyone wanted him to became a good leader, one that wouldn’t doubt to kill for his own benefice. That made you understand each other, fall in love with the most human part of the other one. 

“Move.” you try to push him a little, but he offers resistance. He tangles one leg around yours. Your head is resting on his pillow. How did you went from wanting to pierce his heart with a stylet to wanting to treasure it? His arm tangles on your waist and pulls you closer.

“No.” he answers. You laugh and let you head meet his neck curve. You sigh. “You know? A lot of people want me dead.”

“So I did.” you laugh, and he does too.

“So you did.” he says. You remain silent. “At least say sorry, y/n” 

“Sorry for trying to kill you, Eren.” you say. He lets out a little laugh.

“That was the fakest sorry i’ve heard in years.” you hit his shoulder softly before pulling the blanket higher on your body, covering you two. “What would you do if they kill me?”

“I couldn’t kill you, so no one is going to do it.” You say. He caresses your hair.

“They could. And I don’t want you to be here. They could kill you as well.” His voice shows concern. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Some months ago...” you start, but he interrupts you.

“Some months ago we were just two persons with different ideologies.” he says. You sigh.

“I don’t care. I will stay here even if they point you with three guns and two knifes. I’ll be here with you, I’ll stay here by your side in any way.”

“Y/N”... he says.

“If they kill you, they’ll kill a part of me.”

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 106

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,350ish

Summary: Y/N gets a call. (Yep, that’s it.)

Summer came and went. Tony and Y/N spent every second that they could together. And when they weren’t together it was because Pepper had forced Tony into meetings and Y/N was at the new facility training.

Talks of having children never came up again, but that’s also because Y/N was doing everything in her power to avoid it.

Before they knew it, it was October. Y/N and Tony were currently laying in bed after another round of sex. They were both shocked when FRIDAY interrupted their peace with an announcement.

“Excuse me, Boss,” the AI started, “but someone’s trying to reach you using the private line.”

“The private line?” Tony repeated.

“Only one person uses the private line,” Y/N stated. “After six months, now is when he decides to call? Not impressed.”

“Ignore it, FRIDAY.”

“I have tried,” FRIDAY said. “But it had been ringing off the hook for the past hour.” 

Y/N groaned, burying her face into Tony’s neck. “Just answer it,” she said quietly.

“Y/N? You there?” Coulson’s voice filled the room.

“She’s here,” Tony replied. “Have you decided to finally call and apologize?”

“I have bigger issues right now.”

“Really, Phil?” Y/N questioned. “Like what?”

“Simmons is missing.”

~~~

Coulson went on to explain that Simmons disappeared about 6 months ago, after looking into the rock, the monolith, that was on Gonzalez’ ship. Fitz had been trying his best to find a way to reach her, but nothing. Coulson decided that he needed Y/N’s help on this one, to at least bring Fitz back to reality. That Simmons may never be coming back.

Y/N and Tony quickly dressed. Tony ordered for all the information to be sent to him so that he could also work on it. He gave her a kiss goodbye before she went through a portal to Coulson’s office in the base. 

There Phil also explained what had and was happening the Inhumans. Jiaying had killed Gonzalez, trying to start a war. Cal was forced to kill Jiaying in front of Skye, who was now going by Daisy. The crystals had fallen into the ocean and were absorbed by the fish. Causing people to start unlocking there Inhuman DNA without the risk of others dying.

“I do want to apologize,” Coulson finished off his briefing. “You didn’t deserve any of how you were treated. I’m so sorry.”

“Where is everyone?” Y/N asked.

“Skye—Daisy,  I mean, Mack, and Hunter are on an extraction mission right now. An Inhuman after terrigensis.”

“Do they know you’re bringing me in?”

“Not yet. Thought it might be a welcome surprise for them.” Coulson checked his watch. “I’m actually running late to meet them. You wanna come with me or stay here?” Coulson began leaving his office.

“You said you were just bringing me in to help Fitz.”

“Yeah, well, I have a new plane. You wanna see it?”

~~~

Y/N was in awe off the new plane, Zephyr One. It was definitely more suited to the team’s needs than the Bus was. Coulson told Y/N to stay hidden while he went to talk to Daisy. She couldn’t help but follow them.

“How’s he doing?” Coulson asked, speaking of the man in the containment module.

“Okay,” Daisy answered. “For now.” 

“Third incident already this month, but at least we were able to get our hands on this one.”

“The rate of new cases is increasing.”

“We knew it would after the initial reports.”

“A new inhuman could emerge anywhere, without having any idea what’s happened.”

“Only in the continental US so far. Plus, this new aircraft can stay in the air much longer than the old plane. Days, really, so rapid response anywhere is—“

“You love your new toy, don’t you?”

“I ver much love my new toy. But even with the mind-boggling range of this puppy—“

“Inhumans are still disappearing.”

“This is the first one in a while we’ve been able to secure.”

“Well, it’s no mystery who’s taking them. That black-ops group was there before us.”

“I know.”

“Again. Whoever they are. How many do you think they’ve taken?”

“We know of at least five sightings. Five individuals who vanished before we could get to them. But the real mystery is, who’s running that group?” Coulson and Daisy walked over to the monitors.

“Not if you did your part. How did it feel to join the paparazzi, Phil?”

“I think I might have missed my calling. I have every body, every piece of software, tasked with identifying that woman.” He pointed to the woman on the monitor. “So we can figure out where she’s taking inhuman and what exactly she plans to do with them.”

“Sounds like you need me for more than just hutting down Simmons and calming Fitz then,” Y/N stated as she walked up behind them.

“Y/N?” Daisy gasped with surprise. “How— why—“ She ran up to hug her. “I’ve missed you.”

Y/N welcomed the hug. “I’ve missed you, too.” She pulled back to get a look at her friend. “Well you sure have changed. Chopped your hair off and are going by a different name? Sure sounds like I missed a lot.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I called her in,” Coulson responded. “To help Fitz.”

“Anyone else know you’re here yet?”

“No,” Y/N replied. “Not yet anyway.”

~~~

Everyone was surprised to see Y/N back. But no one risked questioning it, not wanting to get on her or Coulson’s bad sides. She followed Hunter and Coulson to his office, waiting for instructions.

“They’re not HYDRA,” Hunter stated. “You know, I’ve been digging, and my street sources tell me HYDRA’s gone silent. Eerily silent.”

“Really?’ Y/N questioned.

“Yes, but—“

“Yeah, the HYDRA finances we track are static,” Coulson interrupted. “No money’s changing hands.” 

They entered his office, where Mack was waiting for them with pictures of the woman they were tracking up on the monitor.

“And by the looks of the hardware these gung-ho nutters are using,” Hunter added, “they’re well-funded.”

“So if this woman’s not HYDRA, what is she?” Coulson asked.

“Everything else,” Mack answered. “I mean, look at this.” He motioned to the monitor. “Two years CIA.”

“Is that MI6?” Hunter wondered.

“She really gets around,” Y/N muttered, reading off the monitor as well.

“Yeah,” Mack continued, “under which time, she was consulting with the CDC, apparently.”

“All under different aliases,” Coulson stated.

“Oh, I like her,” Hunter commented.

“Me too,” Y/N added with a smirk.

“Yeah, but how are you supposed to track down someone like this?” Mack asked. “We can’t look everywhere.”

“If we can trace that hardware,” Coulson said, pointing to the gun Hunter had brought in, “that could give us a place to start. Take that down to Bobbi in the lab.” Coulson moved over to an open briefcase underneath a red axe. “Have the team analyze it.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” Hunter quickly refused. “No, no, I’m— I’m…. Not going anywhere near Bobbi.”

“Really?” Y/N questioned. “Again?”

“Fine,” Coulson conceded. “Y/N and I will take it to her. Wouldn’t want you to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.” Suddenly, Coulson twisted off his left hand.

“Hold up! What is that? And when did it happen?” Y/N pointed at Coulson’s fake hand. “You lost your hand?!”

“Did I forget to mention that?”

“Uh, yeah.” 

“I know that’s sarcasm,” Hunter continued with his rambling. “And I’m choosing to accept your thoughtfulness at face value.”

“Mack, you should head downstairs,” Coulson ordered. “Assist Skye with intake.”

“Daisy,” the other three corrected.

“Daisy. Damn it. Hard for us to get used to, huh?”

“Mm… no.” / “No, just you.” / “I just found out and I seem to be doing okay.”

“Okay. So, what do we know about this Jose Gutierrez?”

“He goes by Joey,” Mack answered. “Construction foreman, motorcycle enthusiast.”

“Appears to be able to liquefy certain metals spontaneously at a distance of up to 3 meters.”

“Good thing I kept Tony home then,” Y/N commented.

“Yeah,” Mack agreed. “And understandably, that development has scared the living crap out of him.”

~~~

Mack headed down to help Skye while Y/N and Coulson made their way to the lab. As they entered, the base shook.

“New readings on the monolith?” Coulson asked Bobbi.

“Nope,” she responded. “That was Daisy firing a warning shot.” She turned to see Y/N standing next to Coulson. “Good to have you back, Y/N.”

“I’m not back,” Y/N responded. “Just visiting.”

“Anyway, there’s been no new readings, no new anything on the monolith in months. Fitz even stopped sending automated probes into that room. No one’s stepped foot in there since… Simmons was swallowed up by it.” 

Coulson was staring at the monitor, showing the fed of Daisy and Mack with Joey. “This was fish oil again?” He asked.

“What can I say? We pulled the product off shelves, but we can’t track down every bottle sold. The good news, if you want to call it that, is the deadly metallic elements sank to the bottom.” Bobbi led them to another part of the lab. “So the chemical contaminating the sea life isn’t deadly to humans just game-changing for inhumans. The bad news—“

“It’s not just in the fish oil. Where else could it have spread?”

“Other sea life. With ocean currents, it’s dispersed into the ecosystem.”

“I need to know how wide a range we’re talking.”

“Fitz and I have the team working on a computer simulation.”

“That biology degree’s finally coming in handy, huh?”

“Leaving me stuck staring at screens in here for all eternity.”

“I get it. Rehab’s a bitch. At least you’re not hoping your knee will grow back.”

They had stopped in front of a few scientists working and a glass box with a hand clutching a crystal in it.

“Is that—“ Y/N started. “Is that your hand?”

“Yep,” Coulson answered.

“Sorry,” Bobbi said. “I’m just frustrated. The simulation’s taking a while.”

“Have Fitz look into this, too.” Coulson handed her the gun from earlier. “If we can figure out where it came from—“

“We could narrow the search on the mystery girl.”

“I’m sure she’d prefer mystery woman. Oh, and by the way, where is he? Y/N’s been brought in to help him.”

“Fitz?”

“He requested yesterday to do some research at SHIELD archives, but I haven’t seen him all day.”

“All call him in. He’s chasing down on last lead on the monolith.”

“I’m guessing he’s had a lot of last leads,” Y/N said.

“Yes.”

“Call him in. Tell him I’m here. If you need to, put me on the phone.”

~~~

Daisy, Coulson, Mack, and Y/N were all in the common area, watching their new inhuman, Joey, on the monitor.

“He’s going nuts,” Daisy said. “Joey’s have a tough time. The change is hard enough physically. But emotionally, it’s a whole other thing. I tried talking him down, but I blew it in here. And Mack is not exactly coming off as a teddy bear.”

“You just told the guy I’m a teddy bear,” Mack defended.

“And then you told him the best case scenario was his head blown off.”

“Yeah.”

“I need help, and there’s one person who’s better at that than anyone.”

“Lincoln?” Coulson guessed. “You really want to go there again?” Coulson headed out of the room, the others following.

“He could help with intake. Plus, he understands the physical change. He’s a doctor, whereas we don’t even know what medical treatments to give.”

“Daisy’s got a point,” Y/N agreed.

“Last time you tried to sell him on it, he wasn’t exactly buying,” Coulson said.

“I’d like to try again,” Daisy said.

“Mack, what’s your take?” The paused in the middle of the hallway.

“I voiced my feelings about letting Lincoln roam free,” Mack responded. “I’d gladly drag him in here where he can’t hurt anyone. But if Daisy can talk him in… he might actually do some good.”

“Both of you go. Requisition a flight team and a quinjet.”

“You wanna come?” Daisy asked Y/N.

“I’ll pass on this one since I’m technically here for something else,” Y/N answered, throwing a glare Coulson’s way. “But that plan doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Now I’m wondering if this was all a ploy to get me back on the team.”

“Hey, Coulson,” Bobbi called from the lab. “Got her.” Y/N and Coulson followed Bobbi into the lab. They stopped in front of a screen with the woman pictured on it. “Weapon is a DARPA prototype. We tapped surveillance at multiple DARPA facilities, got a hit. The DC branch office. She visits every few days.” 

“A routine,” Coulson said. “Tell me there’s a window where we can get to her.”

“It’s a small one. Every night she visits, she leaves at approximately 9:00 pm, with a small security detail. They’re all three dropped at the metro station on 12th. Half an hour later, her escorts buy her a coffee on the walk to the platform. But she boards the 9:35 train alone. Sits in the middle, drinks her coffee, and answers e-mails. It’s the only time she’s alone all day.”

“You’re going in to talk to her aren’t you?” Y/N questioned. “Phil, where the hell is Fitz? And why the hell am I here?” 

“To help Fitz,” Coulson answered.

“Yeah, then where is he?” Suddenly, Y/N could feel Bobbi’s mind.

“Shit,” Bobbi thought, “Fitz is causing some real trouble. If only he would have stayed back like I told him to.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Coulson replied. “If I did, then you’d be helping him.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Y/N said. “It appears that I’m a little tired. While you are off meeting the woman, I think I’ll stay behind, rest and search for Fitz.”

Coulson was put off by the quick change in Y/N. “Okay… you do that. Let me know how it goes.” Coulson walked way and Y/N spun around to face Bobbi.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bobbi responded.

“Cut the crap, Bobbi. Have you forgotten that I can read minds? Where is Fitz?”

“He found a lead in Morocco,” she whispered. “I’ve been covering for him.”

“Is he safe?”

“Lost contact a few hours ago.” 

“Damn it, Fitz. Give me his number. I’m tracking him down.”

“Y/N, I think that—“

“I was literally pulled out of my bed to come here. And I was really enjoying retirement. So, you either willingly give me his number or I force it from you.”

~~~

Unfortunately, for Y/N, she had never been to Morocco. So she wasn’t able to create a teleport to get to Fitz. She was working on a tablet in the common area, when the team turned on the tv. President Mathew Ellis was on it, doing a press conference from the White House.

“Good evening,” Ellis greeted. “I’m here tonight to address growing concerns among out citizens of the threats we face that are not of this world. I don’t need to remind people of the catastrophes in New York, London, and, most recently, Sokovia. Tragedies that seem to be growing in number and scale. And the organization we had in place to protect us, SHIELD, brought airships raining down in our nation’s capital.”

“Every day, new dangers present themselves,” Ellis continued, “filling our peaceful streets with chaos. By executive order, I have created a special task force to neutralize these alien threats on our soil. The Advanced Threat Containment Unit, or ATCU, will be given full license to act with whatever authority is necessary. The laws of nature have changed. And until the laws of man change to reflect that, we must do what we feel is right.”

“I’ve never liked Ellis,” Y/N muttered. 

Her tablet finally showed Fitz’ flight. He was coming back. And so she’d wait. Coulson found her that night, waiting alone in the lab and joined her. Neither of them said anything. Suddenly, Fitz came through the doors, tearing off his suit coat as he worked on the small object in his hands. Rolling up his sleeves, Fitz turned and noticed the other two. They slowly come closer to Fitz.

“We’ve been waiting for a while,” Coulson said.

“Had to be done,” Fitz responded. “It’s my last shot.”

“What’s supposed to be in there?” Y/N asked, looking at the object on his desk.

“The answer.”

“You’ve thought you’ve had the answers before,” Coulson said. “I think you’ve considered every possible answer… except the obvious one.”

“That’s why you brought Y/N here, isn’t it?” Fitz continued to work as he questioned them. “To change my mind?”

“I’m only here to help,” Y/N stated.

“You thought Simmons was trapped inside the monolith, but every instrument scan showed the stone was solid all the way through,” Coulson explained. “After hearing about the Pym Technologies disaster, you even thought she’d been reduced to a microscopic level. But no evidence supported that. And now… 

“And now I think—I know—it’s a black hole,” Fitz said, frustrated. “It’s dark matter made solid. It can warp space-time. It— look, regardless— okay?” He picked up the object he’d been working on. “This is gonna tell us exactly what that monolith is. So…” 

Fitz slammed it down on the desk, breaking it open. Coulson and Y/N shared a worried look. Fitz took out an old, rolled up piece of paper.

“Should we scan it?” Coulson suggested. “See if the computer can decipher what the—“

“It’s Hebrew,” Fitz answered, not looking up from the paper. “It’s just one word.”

“What does it mean?” Y/N asked, stepping closer to look at it.

“Death.”

“Fitz,” Coulson carefully called, “I’m gonna make the trip to Sheffield. Jemma’s family to deserves to know that she’s MIA.”

“Ohh,” Fitz scoffed, getting emotional.

“They need to be able to move on. And so do we. You have shown so much heart, never giving up on Simmons, and I will always, always respect you for it. But look around. We need you. We need that big brain of yours and that heart here. Okay? I miss her, too. I’m having a hard time accepting it. All of it. I-I’m on my third hand. But nothing feels normal because nothing will feel normal. Y/N went into retirement, and I know she’s mad I brought her back. May took off on vacation and never came back. So I lost my right hands, too. We have got to accept it, to say goodbye. We need to say goodbye.”

“Jemma would want us to do that, Fitz,” Y/N quietly added, her voice filled with emotion. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Coulson walked away but Y/N stayed back to watch Fitz. He was clearly struggling with this. He paused at the door on his way out of the lab before quickly going in the direction of where the monolith was being stored. Y/N rushed to follow him.

“Fitz!” She called. “What are you doing?”

He grabbed a gun off the wall and marched towards the room. Fitz tore the caution tape away and broke into the room.

“Fitz! Stop!”

Fitz shot at the container, successfully breaking through the lock and straps.

“Fitz!” Y/N rushed up to him, standing in front of him. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing. But it’s not smart. Just think about it for a second!”

Fitz shoved her aside, causing her to fall to the ground, and quickly opened the door to the monolith. He stepped inside it.

“Do something,” he ordered the rock.

Y/N couldn’t do anything but watch. She knew and completely understood how bad he was hurting. It was the same when Bucky fell.

“Do something!” He shouted, breathing heavily. “Do something!” He screamed. “Do something!”

next chapter >

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[supremeleaderkylo]

Third Time’s A Charm

Read on AO3

Thanks to lockdown I had a lot of time for writing and now decided to post it on here too.

Just some Kylo x fem!reader porn, expect absolutely no plot. 

Warning: Dubcon, Humiliation (ish?)

5.7k words

This was the third time you found yourself between the Commander's sheets. Or rather on them. Technically the first time was nowhere near his sheets but in a hallway, the feeling of humiliation was still deeply ingrained into your brain. You were working on the bridge when he came into the room, most people there tended to avert their gaze whenever he was close, hoping he won't notice them but you looked. It was the very first time you saw him without a mask and you were surprised that he was not some hideous creature as you and your colleagues often speculated but rather a young man, dark hair framed his beautiful face, the scar that ran from his brow down to his throat did nothing to change that and neither did the snarl curling his plush pink lips. For some reason however you were the only one who did not manage to seem unphased by this, on the contrary. When he entered you let out a weird squeal, you immediately slapped your hands in front of your mouth but all the attention was on you already. How did nobody else react to his face? You just ached to run your fingers through his soft hair while his lips sucked on your collarbone but apparently it was just you imagining those things.

You still remembered how his head had snapped towards you, his dark eyes piercing you and an unbearable pressure started to build in your skull, threatening to burst it open and revealing your brain, you had to lock your jaw and grind your teeth in order to keep yourself from screaming which would have undoubtedly just drawn more negative attention towards you. The pressure was gone as quickly as it came, the next thing you remembered however was how Commander Ren yanked you to your feet and dragged you out of the room, through the hallway and past a number of Stormtroopers who jumped out of the way and watched on, internally you were hoping at least one of them would feel heroic and somewhat suicidal enough to stop the Commander and rescue you. Needless to say that did not happen.

In the middle of some deserted hallway Kylo Ren had stopped and pushed you against a wall, the cold seeping through the fabric of your clothes and sending a shiver down your spine. You heard the beating of your heart in your ears, everything seemed to spin around you and did he not have his hands on you you might have just fallen down. You were certain you were going to die here, just some miserable officer impaled by a lightsaber because she was so desperate to be touched that she dared to crave the Jedi Killer. To your surprise his lightsaber stayed where it was, securely attached to his belt, and instead he ran his leather clad fingers through your hair, dragging them over your scalp and he leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear and his breath hitting the side of your face.

"Do you really think I would allow you to put your filthy hands on me?"

His words were mere whispers and yet they pierced through the silence, he balled his fists, gripping your hair and pulling your head back, mustering your face. You swallowed, heat was pooling between your legs and rushing into your face at the same time, the embarrassment was unbearable and yet you melted under his touch, your breath ragged, his power over you caused excitement to shoot through you like lightning.

You remembered how he had spun you around, pressed your face against the cold gray durasteel wall, how he pressed himself against you, his chest flush with your back and whispered into your hair how lucky you should feel to even be allowed to breathe the same air as him, that you were just some useless low ranked officer who should feel grateful if he'd even just so much as let you lick his boots. You remembered how his hand landed on your hips, digging his fingertips into your flesh, how he yanked down your pants right then and there in the hallway, how the sound of the smacks of his hand on your ass seemed to ring all around you and finally how he pushed into you, filling your throbbing cunt, muffling your moans with one hand while the other was creating bruises on your hips. You remembered how he came in you, how after he pulled out he told you to thank him for this, how he watched you standing against the wall with your pants down between your knees and cum leaking out of you. And you remembered vividly how when you told him that you don't have anything to thank him for since you neither got to touch him nor to cum Kylo struck you across the cheek and left. Even now thinking about it shame was washing over you.

The second time he did take you to his chambers at least but was not any more giving than the first time.

You figured the third time would be a charm. Your mind told you it was madness, not only was he dangerous but he was also selfish and you were nothing more than a toy to him, what did you even get out of it? Your cunt however was aching for more and that was enough to shut your brain up and make you follow your needs mindlessly. And so here you were, sprawled out naked in front of him, Kylo stalking around you like a predator. He however was still in full garb, robes, gloves, boots and even his helmet.

"Can you at least remove the mask, please?" you asked him, only to be silenced by a smack on your thigh, numbing pain spreading through your leg.

"You don't get to make demands, whore" he sneered in response, making it once more clear that you were there for his pleasure, not yours.

His visor was trained on you when he pulled aside his robe, his hard cock was straining against his pants and Kylo did not waste another second to free it. You were unable to take your eyes off his cock as it sprung free, the tip read and glistening. His fingers ran over a vein on the top of his dick and he stepped closer, now being only inches away from your face and you licked your lips, mesmerized by his sheer size.

"Such an eager little thing" Kylo said, he grabbed your arms and spun you around onto your back so that your head hung down from the edge of the bed.

He gripped the side of your face, his fingers dug into your jaw, and he guided the tip of his cock between your lips. The pressure on your jaw increased and you were forced to open it, giving him full access to your mouth, the salty taste spread over your tongue, you couldn't help but use it to play with the tip of his cock to gather more of his delicious taste, your lips wrapped tightly around his shaft.

Kylo's hips started moving in a slow pace, dragging his cock over your lips. He barely made a noise so the wet plop when he pulled out of your mouth just to plunge back in was the only sound filling the room but it did not take long for him to pick up the pace and your gags whenever his tip hit the back of your throat mixed in with the sounds despite you trying to suppress them.

You could feel the veins underneath his hot skin as his cock was gliding over your tongue, a mix of spit and precum was pooling in the corners of your mouth and threatened to dribble out.

Kylo was grunting, at this point not even the modulator of his mask could hide that. Your own grunts were muffled by his cock deep in your mouth, the heat between his legs made you feel dizzy and beads of sweat formed on your forehead, you wanted to hold on to his thighs but were unable to, your hands were chained to the bed by seemingly nothing but air.

Strong fingers were digging into your aching jaw, the quick and relentless pace got a sloppy rhythm to it now and just as you feared he would suffocate you with his cock you felt it twitching on your tongue, Kylo snapped his hips forward as hard as he could, burying himself deep inside of you, your nose was pressed into him and he held your head where it was, seconds away from crushing it, and ropes of hot cum shot down your throat. Once he had emptied himself in you and his cock stilled Kylo pulled out of you, leaving a trail of tangy and salty taste on your tongue and you gasped for air, your now free hands found your jaw and drew gentle circles on the aching joint.

The Commander tucked himself away and you watched, disappointed that he was again not bothering to please you and instead simply using you for his own pleasure. Your cunt was still needy with desire, clenching and hoping for any touch it can get, you had to feel him in you.

You sat up, pushing your chest out and locked your eyes on his visor, you licked his juices from your lips, your tongue glided over them and gathered any fluid left, hoping watching you do this would arouse Kylo. His visor was trained on you, you wished you could see his face, know what he was thinking. With your thumb you collected what had dribbled down your chin and let it glide smoothly between your lips, you made a show of sucking and licking it, letting out a low moan. At that Kylo shifted, hardly noticeable.

"What are you doing?" His words sounded menacing rather than curious.

"Just cleaning myself" you answered, pouting and batting your lashes at him. "Am I not allowed to?"

"You know exactly what you are doing, slut!"

He took a few quick strides towards you, no doubt watching you behind that mask, his fists were pumping at his side, clenching and unclenching, the leather made a barely audible noise every time.

"What am I doing then?"

You loved playing the innocent, teasing him and earning yourself some form of punishment. The prospect of that made sparks go off in your chest and you clenched. Kylo however did not answer, instead one hand shot out in front of him and something invisible wrapped itself around your throat, applying pressure and making breathing impossibly hard. You tried to grab whatever it was but you just grasped air. The man responsible for this closed the little distance between you two and now his mask was mere inches away from your face.

"Do not believe for one second that I'm doing this for your enjoyment" he spat through gritted teeth.

You wanted to answer but the pressure of the Force on your throat made it impossible for you, you opened your mouth but nothing but incomprehensible noises fell from your mouth. Kylo took the opportunity to shove two fingers into your mouth as deep as possible and made you gag.

"You wanted my touch and now you have it, don't get greedy" Kylo continued.

Your lips sealed around his fingers, the taste of leather filled your mouth, your head was feeling light and the room started to spin around you and just as you were about to black out Kylo, or the Force, let go of your throat, his fingers slipping out of your mouth with a wet plop, making way for the air to fill your lungs. You coughed, gasped and swallowed, rubbing your throat where the pressure has been. The pain whenever you swallowed filled you with anger, he was definitely taking it too far for your taste.

"What the..." you started, intending to give your anger a voice but you were interrupted by the hiss of Kylo's mask filling the room, followed by a thump when he let it drop to the floor.

The sight of his face, those delicious lips and silky dark locks would never tire you, if you could you would stare at him all day. And in that moment you forgot about your anger.

His voice was much smoother without the modulator, hearing him like this had the power to make you wet if you hadn't been already. Not that you would be any less aroused when he has his mask on, knowing what was underneath was part of it.

"Whore..." he mumbled under his breath and to your surprise he was on you within a second, nibbling and sucking on the skin of your collarbone, drawing it between his teeth, licking it, planting wet kisses on it.

At first you were dumbstruck, the sudden change in his demeanor catching you off guard and leaving you confused but once you registered what was happening you shyly placed a hand on his head, fingers gliding through his hair, it was silkier and far softer than you had ever imagined, a soft sigh tumbled from your lips. This was the first time he allowed you to touch him and you wanted to enjoy every second of it, cherish it and above all cherish him.

You raked your fingertips over his scalp and he hummed against you, sending vibrations through your skin. A slight tug at his hair earned you another hum followed by a bite, his teeth sank into the curve of your neck and the hot tip of his tongue left a wet trail between the bite marks. Involuntarily you bucked your hips up and sighed, a reflex of your arousal, never in your dreams had you imagined being touched this way by Kylo Ren and yet here you were, squirming beneath him, his lips exploring your body and strands of his dark hair wrapped around your fingers. You became more daring, your hand slowly travelled down his neck, your thumb caressed his jaw as his lips kept attacking your shoulder and then you slid your hand over his shoulder, gently gliding down his arm and feeling every muscle shift beneath the fabric of his robe as he was flexing them to keep himself steady on the mattress.

You repeated the motions on the other side, caressing his biceps, squeezing it gently. Teeth sunk into the tender skin on your throat, soft lips sucking on it and you sighed into Kylo's hair as he licked the spots he made.

Your hand returned to his neck, fingertips brushing the exposed skin there and then it made its way down his back, here too you felt his muscles work and move beneath the robe whenever the Commander shifted to reach another patch of your skin. You reached towards the front and fumbled with his robe, trying to open it with one hand while the other was still occupied with exploring him but in one swift motion Kylo detached himself from you and grabbed your wrists, squeezing them so hard that you felt the joints pop.

"I just thought...." you stammered, his angry eyes filling you with fear.

"You thought wrong. From now on you keep your hands to yourself again" Kylo sneered.

Your heart sank, replaced by a sharp pain in your chest and your eyes stung, tears welling up. You came so close to getting what you have been craving for a while now only to have your Commander shatter them in his ruthlessness.

"Stop crying, it won't help you" Kylo said sharply.

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat and nodded, as much as his words had stung you'd still rather be here than being kicked out for crying.

Deep breath, you can do this, you thought, you're a grown woman.

Kylo inhaled sharply through his nose and looked you up and down, then he grabbed your breasts and squeezed, not very gently, pain shooting through your chest.

"Yes, you are" he mumbled, clearly having picked up your thoughts.

He pushed you back on your back and placed his arms on either side of you, the way he was hovering over you, massive and dressed in all black, like a creature keeping its prey trapped and away from anyone else who might try to steal it. You clenched.

Slowly he lowered himself, keeping his eyes locked on your tits and when his face reached them he immediately attached his lips to your nipple, sucking on it, flicking it with his tongue. When his teeth grazed the sensitive and hardened bud he looked up at you and his eyes of molten chocolate made you forget everything.

He moved on to the other breath, taking as much of it as he could into his mouth, tongue toying with your nipple and his hums vibrated through your skin. You arched your back, pressing your chest closer to Kylo, the need of being devoured by him sweeping over you, drowning you in lust and filling your chest to the brim, threatening to erupt any second and spill out of you.

If Kylo was seeing or feeling any of your feeling he did not bother showing, he kept giving his devotion to your breasts, peppering them with kisses and biting the soft flesh before he moved on, dragging his tongue between them, inch by inch exploring you, tasting you, trailing a wet line down your belly, dipping into your navel and further down, stopping just short before your cunt. You whimpered and bucked up your hips, wanting his face between your legs more than anything else. Instinctively your hands shot out to grip his head and push him down towards your core but they were caught midair by and invisible force and pinned down to the mattress.

"You are unbelievable" you groaned.

Kylo shushed you. "I'll let that one slide because you have those lovely lips but one more word and you are out."

Out how? Out the door? Out of this arrangement, whatever it was? Out as in dead? You did not dare to ask and instead kept quiet, rather playing along to get what you wanted. Kylo however set out to tease you, make you whimper and slowly go insane from the overwhelming lust and need.

He licked along your inner thigh, grazing it with his teeth, biting into the flesh where your thigh met your pelvis and then he dragged his tongue towards your aching cunt, licking up and down the outer lips and you bucked your hips once more.

Kylo grabbed them and held you steady, his fingers digging into you and surely leaving bruises but you did not mind, on the contrary, the way his large hands pressed you down simply turned you on even more. A moan escaped you when his tongue grazed your clit.

His eyes flicked up to you and he let the tip of his tongue glide over your clit once more, watching your reaction. Your mouth formed an o and more moans fell from it. You gripped the sheets and tried to buck up again only for him to hold your hips down, you groaned in frustration and Kylo seemed satisfied with it. In an instant his lips were on you again, sucking your labia into his mouth, rolling it around and playing with it with his tongue.

Kylo let go and propped himself up, his lips were glistening with your juices and his saliva. Slowly he crawled up to you and you wanted to protest, wanted him back between your legs but you knew better and instead a whimper left you, mourning the loss of touch and everything else he was denying you.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head up towards him, his lips violently crashed onto yours, teeth clanking together, he thrusted his tongue into your mouth and you were able to taste yourself on his lips. Feverishly you returned the kiss, your tongue toying with his, gliding over it and underneath it, a dance of lust, every once in a while your tongue left his mouth to lap at his full lips, gathering more and more of that sweet taste. The grip on your hair tightened and hurt your scalp, you stilled only to be met by more pain from his pulling so you gave in and continued the kiss, letting Kylo explore your mouth, your noses were pressed together and breathing became hard. Kylo pulled away just in time before you had to, he released the grip on your hair while you gulped in air, welcoming the loss of tension on your skin.

His hand slid down your side, caressing your skin in such a gentle way you did not think he had in him. His fingers glided over your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin, and dipped between your legs, brushing against your folds, the entire time he kept his eyes on you. One finger slipped between your folds and you couldn't hold back a moan. Kylo rubbed up and down, brushing over your clit, down to your entrance and back up, occasionally dipping the fingertip into you, collecting your juices to then spread them on your skin. He soon added a second finger and spread you open for his viewing pleasure, watching how his fingers got covered in your slick. He licked his lips, his eyes were blown wide with lust when they met yours.

"Stars..." he muttered under his breath before plunging both his fingers into you.

You let out a little scream, his fingers were thick and you were not prepared to be stretched out like this, especially since Kylo gave you no time to adjust and instead immediately pumped his fingers in and out of you, pushing in as deep as he could and his hand slapping against you.

The noises filling the room were lewd, your whimpers and moans mixed with the sound your wet cunt made every time Kylo slammed his fingers into you and pulled them back out and somewhere in there he grunted, evidence of the sheer force he was using to finger fuck you, almost painfully. His face was close to yours, his lips barely touching your skin but his eyes were fixed on you, watching you intently, catching every move you made, every change on your face. You knitted your brows, your gaze flicked from his face down over his body and to his hand between your legs and then back up to his eyes, your lips parted and twitched ever so slightly whenever the palm of his hand his your clit and sent a bolt of pleasure through you.

Kylo's breath was hot and ragged against your cheek, no doubt he was hard again, aroused by what he was doing to you. You closed your eyes, eager to project images of him fucking you into his mind, hoping he would pick up on your needs. If he wouldn't let you speak you needed to get creative to tell him what you wanted. A smack on your cheek followed by a sharp pain spreading over the side of your face pulled you out of it but you clenched and an involuntary moan escaped your lips. Shock and shame about your body's reaction flowed through you and you kept your eyes shut as if that could hide your feelings. From him but most importantly from yourself.

Leather clad digits grabbed your chin and buried themselves into your cheek.

"Look at me, whore!" Kylo spat at you.

Hesitantly you peeled your eyes open, the Commander pulled his fingers out of you to wrap his hand around your throat and straddle you.

"You enjoy it when I hit you, don't you? You are pathetic, do you get off on my power?"

You nodded as a reply and, smack, another blow to your cheek, this time your head fell to the side but he grabbed your chin again and turned your head to face him.

"Speak when I ask you something" Kylo sneered.

"Yes, I do, Commander."

"Yes, you do, slut."

His fingers dug deeper into your cheeks, forcing you to open your mouth and without a warning he spat into it.

"Swallow" he commanded and you of course obeyed, swirling his spit in your mouth for a second like a good drink before you swallowed it.

Kylo watched you, his eyes dark and full of lust but his mouth was still in a snarl, giving you very mixed signals, silence hung over you like an executioner's axe.

"Good girl" he finally said, words smooth as silk and causing you to clench around nothing, a whimper escaped you at the feeling of emptiness between your legs.

The Commander got off of you, you wanted to protest but your voice got stuck in your throat and you were unable to move, held down by the Force. Kylo's eyes were still glued on you when he fumbled with his robe, letting it drop on the floor carelessly next to his mask. You were hooked, there was nothing you could do but watch him getting rid of layer after layer. Finally his undershirt and gloves landed on the pile on the floor alongside his boots, his pants however stayed on and he simply freed his cock from the restraints, again as hard as it was when he had shoved it between your lips, tip glistening with a drop of precum.

You could not help yourself, you drank in the sight of him, the broad shoulders and chest, muscles rippling and shifting underneath the skin whenever he moved. Of course you had figured out that Kylo had to be strong, not only from what you felt under his robes but you also knew he was not just strong in the Force, he was a great warrior with his lightsaber. For some reason you still had not expected this.

He was massive. All those robes, armor, padding and such made him look gigantic and menacing but underneath it all he was no different, having a strong physique you now just craved even more to touch, let your fingers glide over his smooth and warm skin, explore the scars littering his torso, neck and face with both hands and tongue, peppering them with kisses. Though you were certain he would not like it. Still, you wanted to, needed to even.

Kylo stood at the end of the bed, watching you watching him, certainly seeing everything that went on in your mind.

"No, I would not" he said and grabbed your thighs.

He yanked and dragged you towards the edge of the bed, you squealed and felt the hold of the Force on you disappear and thus you were able to prop yourself up but Kylo had different plans for you. He turned you over so you landed on your belly and commanded you get on all fours. Not daring to object him you did as he told you, lifting your upper body off the mattress, your hands and knees sank into it and you awaited Kylo's next move.

A large hand was placed on your upper back and the feeling of his naked skin on yours spread goosebumps all over your body, a prickling sensation where his hand was. Kylo applied some pressure, forcing you to lower your upper back and arching it so your ass stuck out further.

With his free hand Kylo smacked your ass and you jolted forwards a little; when he did it again the pain shot through your whole spine and a groan escaped you.

He spanked you once more and then caressed your ass, getting closer and closer to your aching and needy cunt until his thumb brushed over your outer lips.

"You should be ashamed, being hit by your commander making you so wet, filthy thing" he whispered while his thumb glided up and down your slit, spreading your juices.

Whenever he slid it into your core you let out a whimper, clenching around him and raising your ass as high as you could, pushing it out and meeting his hand, trying to get as much of him as possible.

After a few more pumps however Kylo removed his hand and you whined at the loss of contact but he did not let you wait too long, only a few seconds later you felt the tip of his dick prodding at your entrance.

"Stars, Kylo..." The anticipation tingled in your core.

Again a smack on your ass. "What did you just call me?"

You groaned. "Commander."

"I'm starting to think you don't want this." And with that Kylo took a step back, leaving you with nothing.

You wanted to yell, get up and grab him by his beautiful stupid hair and make him fuck you but instead you took a deep breath, that plan would not work anyways. So you at least made sure he got a good look at your ass, making a show out of it you looked back at him, batting your lashes. That probably would not do either, you knew but you still hoped it would.

"Commander, please."

"Please what?" His voice was stern.

"Please fuck me, I need to feel you inside of me, Commander, I need you to fill me with your cum."

His eyes travelled up and down your body, stopping for just a second at your wet cunt on display for him, all the while his jaw was clenching and you wondered if he would really had been able to hold back and stop himself from fucking you if you hadn't played along or if he would have just taken you either way. The answer didn't matter, within seconds Kylo had one hand on your hips and the other was guiding his cock to your entrance, in one swift motion he was inside and a low groan fell from his lips as he situated himself in you, you answered with sighs.

Kylo's hips started to move, dragging his dick along your walls, spreading you open, filling you, stretching you out. Every inch pure bliss to you and when he picked up his pace you could not hold back, gasps and moans tumbling from your lips, mixed in with the noise of skin slapping on skin and Kylo's groans.

One hand went back to your upper back, pressing hard to keep you down and the other reached around to grab your tits, groping at them, his hands were large enough to reach both at once, the palm of his hand rubbing on your nipple with every thrust into you. He leaned so far forward that his weight added to the pressure on your back, his hips snapping into you relentlessly, his cock hitting that sweet spot whenever he pounded into you and his name tumbled from your lips, you had no control over it, the lust and passion were just washing over you, carrying you away.

He pulled on one nipple, yanking it hard and pain shot through you, so much so that you screamed out.

"You're not worthy of saying my name, whore. You are just some stupid slut lucky enough to be fucked by her commander" Kylo sneered.

This took a very sudden and far less pleasant turn, you wanted to speak up but you couldn't. Yes, he was fucking you. Yes, the pain and humiliation were a part of it, a nice little game to spice it up but he could not treat you like actual trash, that went too far. Obviously he did not hold back when it came to killing subordinated but this relationship was different, he was fucking you after all.

Your wrists got yanked together and bound on your back by the Force, the hand that was on your back was now pressing your face into the mattress and the other one was digging bruises into your hips.

"You are wrong" he spat through gritted teeth, his thrusting still relentless. "You are still below me, in any sense, and I can fuck you however I want."

Your mind was screaming and tears stung your eyes, your body however was complying and a tiny voice amongst the screams kept telling you how good he feels in you, that you are lucky to be fucked by someone like him. His power, his body, his face, those hands...

"Oh stars" you moaned, you just couldn't help it.

Kylo's groans became more frequent and guttural, his rhythm faster but also sloppier and you felt him twitch inside of you. He removed his hand from your head and placed it on your hips, holding on to them to be able to fuck deeper and faster into you and with one last loud moan he emptied himself in you, pumping it deeper while he was fucking you through his orgasm until he stilled.

Large hands still on your hips, Kylo dropped forward and his forehead touched your back, his ragged breath hitting your damp skin and his softening cock slowly slipped out of you, smearing the last drops of cum onto your cunt. Your muscles ached, you still were waiting for that sweet release but you were too exhausted to keep yourself up. Before you could let yourself drop onto the bed however Kylo snaked his arms around you, your back flush to his chest and you felt heat rising to your face, his chest was heaving with every breath, pushing into you and the warm feeling of comfort spread through your own chest. This was the position you wanted to cum in after having been used to your exhaustion.

"Don't be ridiculous" he whispered against your head and heaved you from the bed, carrying you to the refresher.

Shame replaced the feeling of comfort, feeling naive that you thought he was actually going to hug you and hold you tight. And make you cum for once.

Kylo let you down onto the floor of the shower and turned on the water, the heat melted the tension in your muscles.

"Your shift starts in 15 minutes", he said and left you to yourself.

[muesliforbreakfast]

Fabian Tactics

Part 1?

This one got a bit of traction on the sub, but is actually more of a salvage job of stuff I’ve had written down for YEARS but couldn’t get to work.

What are they running? Picture the Frontier Buccaneers by Johnsonting except with like a thick mesh cape type thing, and the rifle looks kinda like an RM277.

This doesn’t really matter, but I did a bunch of worldbuilding I’ll probably never get to use :’(

On an unrelated note - Look at this one by the same artist. If this dude had an EF88 I would actually lose my shit.

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

Cadet Ralek was the only one in his company behaving himself before the lecture. He came from a military family. Growing up he was steeped in discipline and tradition. But that wasn't his only reason for attentiveness. This weeks modules were focused on counterinsurgency, and todays lecture on the greatest insurgency of all, on that Ralek's uncle had been on the losing side of nearly two hundred years before. The Terran insurgency.

“HOLD FAST!” An NCO called, at the front of the lecture theater. The hall, full of chattering cadets fell silent as they all braced their upper limbs on their desks, whilst some officers went through their rituals, transferring command of the cadets over to the officer, who introduced himself.

“I am Second Lieutenant Orion, of the Federation Marine Corps. As part of today's module we have a very special presenter – Corporal Felix, of the Terran Heer.”

The class perked up at that – Terrans no longer had an army of their own; they hadn't had one for one hundred and seventy four years. The exact date that every race had been accepted into the Galactic Federation had been drilled into each and every one of them. They watched as an old, frail man was wheeled into the lecture theatre, ashy, paper thin skin hanging from his face. Civilian clothes in the Terran style, with several medals pinned on the left of his chest.

O1 Orion bowed politely and they whispered to each other. Then he pinned a microphone to Felix' lapel. He began to speak, with the thin, frail voice of a man nearing the end of his twilight years.

“Good evening cadets. I'm getting straight to the point because there's just one thing the Armed Forces of the Federation want you to learn from me. And because I want to deliver it to you. Before I drop dead.” The old man struggled to get enough air between his words.

The class laughed nervously. The old man gathered his strength, eyes closed, breathing slowly.

“We Terrans had inferior numbers and technology, and we were fighting a war of extermination, but we still beat the Empire. How did we do it? You.” Felix pointed at a cadet in the fourth row, with a bony, wavering finger. A Kelress, who looked like a four foot red panda.

“Sir, because humans are physically tough and aggressive apex predators, sir.”

Only the Ji Te who were in the theatre laughed at that. Only some of them. And only a little.

“Don't fucking swear at me, cadet. I'm a corporal, and I'm retired,” The whole class giggled that time, “You. You think that's funny. What do you think?” He said, as his frail finger pointed at one of the closer Ji Te, a hulking reptiloid in the second row.

“Because humans are sly, intelligent and patient, mister Felix. Your kind came up with tactics we simply couldn't counter. Over time frames we didn't anticipate.

“You could and you duh...did, cadet....... The empire was fighting a war of extermination; they blocked out our sun. And it only took us three years.”

The class had no answers to that. Felix pointed at another of the Isae in the room.

“You. Have you got answers for me?”

“I agree with the other cadets, Mister. But I would like to add, humans are willing to do anything to survive. Uh. Mister Felix,” The Isae replied.

“Mmmmm... A better answer. Maybe I should ask someone who knows,” The old man pointed at one of the Terran cadets scattered throughout the lecture theater, “You, young lady. What do you think?”

“Mister Felix,” she began, “In guerilla warfare and insurgency operations, all you need to win is to not lose. Classic Fabian tactics that go as far back as the Punic wars. Classic Maoist tactics of the 20th century. Deny the enemy resources and deny them battle unless it's at a time and place of your choosing. As long as someone survives, you haven't lost. Mister Felix.” The old retired corporal seemed to relax somewhat. He paused for a long while. His threat of dropping dead seemed like less of a joke by the minute.

“Straight from the pam. Good drills cadet.” He finally said, before pausing again.

“I was barely nineteen when the empire invaded. I was fresh out of basic training when the sun shield went up... I was lucky... I was evacuated by arkship less than a year later. By then we had been on less than starvation rations for months.”

The class exchanged looks. They were all thinking of the human reputation.

“What do we taste like?” Cadet Ralek couldn't help but ask.

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

Private Felix' section was running Personal Radios and Line of Sight communicators but for now they were doing it old school. Hand signals. They were patrolling their sunless planet, towards the location where the latest enemy incursion had been reported. As point man he was the first to see the glow of the enemy in the distance.

>Take cover

>Enemy contact front

>Enemy Squad 8-2-0m North North East

>Come here

His squad slowly lowered themselves to cover, and his squad leader made his way over to him.

“What do you see?”

“One of those wide slow walkers, being protected by a team of hunter-killers, I count 9. They're using spotlights and floodlights, they may not have optics.”

“They might have a team on overwatch that does”

“What do you think they're doing?”

“Science or harvesting, or drawing attention...” His section commander paused for a moment, “This kind of walker goes back to their smaller bases with a load, drops it off then leaves again... Stay here on overwatch, radio silence. Wait out for further instructions.”

His squad leader flashed hand signals, and left two of his squadmates with him, while they watched and waited.

Around half an hour later they had their orders.

Recon. Then kill them all, destroy the walker. Booby trap the bodies, hide and observe. Develop the situation.

His section commander flashed the hand signals for their orders. The squad took their positions across the walker and they awaited the signal.

A purple beam silently lanced from the squad commander's Modular Infantry Laser Rifle; the beam both squealed and thudded as it burst through one of the hunter-killer robot's bodies. The robot had barely begun to fall when each of the squad members rifle also lanced a robot body with their own beams. The robot corpses clattered and rattled lifelessly to the ground. The squad's aim then played across the legs of the walker where they attached to its thorax. It dropped to the ground with a prolonged thud, and then silence aside from the hydraulics within the walker trying in vain to move its legs. The squad took an all round defensive position around the area while the squad commander finished off the walker, his rifle punching a hole through the side for him to throw a plasma-grenade into. That done, they placed trip bombs under the HK bodies, accounted for everyone then moved off to their predetermined form up point less than half a kilometer away.

The whine of a dropship's engines steadily increased in volume over their whispers – the HK team's backup had arrived, in the form of another sixteen HK's, one of the nine foot tall crocs and a twelve foot tall mechsuit. The croc and the mechsuit was a lot of firepower. The squad quietly deployed from their form up point, crawling low and slow through the withered scrub towards the site of their previous victory. It had become easy to move quietly in the sunless dirt with the plants long dead. Their Matte Adaptive Camouflage absorbed a variable amount of light from the EM spectrum, from low energy IR to high energy UV. On their sunless planet, they were basically invisible.

A sharp crack filled the dark, and the croc dropped to the ground, briefly flailing in the dirt.

<honorless/shameless><brutes/thugs> have trapped bodies leave bodies be, take positions, bring <leaders>

The HK team had positioned itself in a perimiter around the fallen walker, the mech-suit stood lifelessly by it, and a pair of the three foot slugs were sliding towards the wreckage. One began to cut into the side of the walker with a plasma torch, while the other examined the legs that had been sheared off by laser beams. Not even the robots attended to the croc, which seemed to have bled out.

Felix looked to his squadmates and commander for orders.

>Squad rifles target HK's on my signal fire at will

>Squad heavy weapons target Mech on my signal three high impact rounds

>Extended File 10m spacing

Felix took his position in the formation and they began to close in on the invaders.

The squad commander's beam lanced out across the battlefield, scorching a hole through a robot body, and the squad unleashed a controlled burst of hellfire. In less than four seconds the hunter-killer team had been annihilated. Four seconds after that the mech-suit had been shorn it half at the waist by repeated high impact lasers.

The squad closed in on their hapless victims.

“Felix! Ballistic rounds on the slugs, fire at will! Heavy Weapons! Peel that Mech, kill the pilot! Alpha! Suppress! Bravo! Security!” The Squad commander was yelling now.

“Ten four!” He acknowledged his order, then drew his vintage Browning GP-35 as he closed in on the invaders.

mercy <owner/master/ruler> mercy let me live mercy

His universal translator filled his helmet with the slug's pleas for mercy. He sauntered to their cowering forms, their desperate clicking and screeching audible over the translation of their words.

He pumped three rounds into each.

“We eat tonight.”

At the mech, his squad had used their lasrifles to shear off the mechs arms and an ablative armour panel. A feeble, raccoon like creature about four feet tall had sprayed out the viewport with its small kinetic machine gun, but Zahn had responded with a short squirt of pepper spray. When the spray of kinetic fire stopped he simply reached in and dragged it out by the throat, its soft velvet fur ripped out through its ruined uniform as it raked past the broken viewport. Its screeching and whining unintelligible even to the universal translators. He drew his clearing knife and sliced across its throat, before driving its head against a corner of the broken mech once. Then twice. It fell limp, as if deflated, with the last sound it heard being Zahn's voice echoing into the dark “We eat tonight!!”

The Squad regrouped at the edge of a re-entrant, in the shallow valley the walker had been traversing.

The Commander quietly addressed the squad.

“I've called it in – we won't be rationed in for another week. Their reinforcements will be here within two hours, probably less, so we need to hustle. Zahn, Vorhut, store the badger and slugs. Forget the croc it's ruined.” The members of the squad fell out as they received their orders. “Kaiser, Ulan, Water and ammo. Felix, Erik. One AA mine and AP mines on that ridge there. The rest of you all round security. Ten minutes, Then we move.”

Felix and Erik both clambered up the hill with a sense of urgency, uncomfortably warm in their heat and light absorbing camouflage armour, despite the temperature being close to zero. They both hadn't eaten in days. Despite the bitter, earthy taste and the slimy, gelatinous yet tough texture, Felix was looking forward to his share of slug.

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

“You Isae taste absolutely vuh... vile...” He stammered out, then pointed at the Ji Te, “But you... You taste like salmon.”

[kilodalton]

So I see a post from TikTok making its way around Tumblr about how prior authorizations are awful and corporatist and stand in the way of mom, America, apple pie, unsuspecting patients, and their earnest and well-meaning doctors. Bring out the guillotines etc etc.

I made it through the first 5 seconds of that video before rolling my eyes because frankly, dude doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

For the purposes of this diatribe informational post, PA means “prior authorization” NOT physicians assistant. So if I say “PAs suck” please do take that into consideration before reaming me out.

Ok so what are my credentials to spout off on this?

1) You can call me Dr. Kilodalton. I’m a double-board certified clinical pharmacist with a doctorate in my field on top of 2 years of post-doc residencies.

2) I work for one of the largest single-payer government systems in the world. I have ZILCH to do with corporations, capitalism, or guillotines. (I’ll let you guess .. cannot confirm nor deny my employer lol) ... which leads to:

3) I evaluate prior authorization requests as part of my job every single day. I approve them! I deny them! I sometimes say “get a load of this boneheaded request!!” and make fun of them to my colleagues! YES SINGLE-PAYER SYSTEM USE PAS JUST AS MUCH IF NOT MORE THAN CORPORATIONS DO! Hell, I even submit some PAs myself if I think one of my patients can benefit.

All of this EMINENTLY qualifies me to say, much more so than some dude on TikTok whose voice hasn’t even cracked yet: PAs are (usually) a necessary evil.

Why do I speak this BLASPHEMY?! This SACRILEGE?!? Am I a corporate shill (who doesn’t work for a corporation) who hates patients (even though I devote my career to their care) and wants poor people to die (even though I work for a single-payer system that treats people regardless of ability to pay?)

The answer is easy: I actually ... kinda know what I’m talking about. Here are some facts:

PAs can save your life: PAs are usually required for risky drugs. Just because a drug is risky does not mean the underlying disease state it is treating always balances the risk. A lot of times, safer drugs are available.

PAs are almost universally required for shiny new drugs that Big Pharma is trying to line their pockets with: New drugs get advertised all the time. Patients ask their prescribers for the drugs. The prescribers often don’t know any better and put in PA requests for them. Stunningly often, there is no reason given for the request other than “patient saw the ad on TV and asked me about it.” Yes. Seriously. If you guys support that ... you must own a LOT of pharma stock.  

PAs make things less expensive (usually). Because PA drugs are usually brand new, brand name only, and expensive AF, requiring a PA brings down costs for the system as a whole. This matters a lot -- even in a single payer organization like mine. By giving everyone -- regardless if they need it or not -- expensive drugs, less money is available to help other people. Money doesn’t grow on trees, even in single payer systems.

Your docs -- especially your primary care docs -- usually know jack squat about drugs: You would (probably) be appalled to learn that your average MD takes 2 pharmaceutical modules in med school. That’s it. Usually (but not always), specialists are much better about knowing their stuff ... but your average first-line doc does not have the training to determine what meds should be used when, how to assess their efficacy, how to monitor them, and when to triage to a specialist.

PAs make sure your doc is monitoring you the way they should: This falls through the cracks A LOT. If you are on a fancy drug that requires a PA, you probably assume your doc is regularly checking to make sure that, among other things, your kidneys can cope with the dose. Shockingly few docs do this (well it’s not shocking to ME that they don’t check, but I see it every damn day). PAs help us make sure that requested doses are safe -- often, they are not.

PAs make sure you actually have the condition your doctor says you have: I cannot stress this enough. It seems crazy, but it’s true. If you tell your doctor “I have ABC condition” they will likely add it to your medical record, even without testing you for it or looking at previous medical records you have. The problem is, sometimes you really don’t have ABC condition ... so if they try to prescribe you a drug for ABC condition when they have not independently confirmed you have it, problems can (and do) arise.

Here are just a few examples off the top of my head of boneheaded PAs I’ve happily denied. Trust me, there are LOADS more where this comes from. My former office mate and I used to half-joke we should write a freaking book. Anyway, on to the dumb PAs that TikTok dude would have me rubberstamp because TheyComeFromADoctor:

The one that would have given a patient a stroke. One MD wrote a PA for short-acting nifedipine -- a blood pressure drug that is only given inpatient because, unless closely monitored, it basically causes your blood pressure to ping-pong, ischemia to develop, and voila a stroke. I denied it because I wanted the patient to ... uh, ya know, live.

The one for dementia in a patient who did not have dementia. Some drugs are basically one-trick ponies. Rivastigmine is used for a few things -- mainly dementia, but very specific kinds. It can actually WORSEN cognition in some kinds of dementia. Which is why docs are supposed to get an actual diagnosis before prescribing such things. If I had a dime for every time they don’t check ... I would have a crap ton of dimes.

The high-intensity blood thinner for a patient whose blood ... was thinning just fine on its own. For whatever reason, a patient thought they might have a clotting condition and told their doctor. Their doctor, who didn’t double check this, and ordered them a mega blood thinner that requires a PA. We asked for test results, and lucky we did -- the patient was clotting just fine on their own, and use of this drug in that population can lead to hemorrhage.

The one that was causing an autoimmune reaction in a patient. Some drugs cause the body to attack itself, and you need to check for antibodies before you prescribe it. One doc ordered the antibody test but apparently didn’t check the results before ordering the drug for the patient ... uh. Yeah. Hard nope on that one.

The one that would have caused an overdose. Some narcotics require PAs. One doc apparently can’t math very well, and ordered a huge narcotic dose for an opioid-naive patient. Luckily a PA was required: obviously, I quashed it.

The one that would have harmed a pregnant patient. Some drugs can’t be used in pregnancy. Some docs don’t think to ask if a patient is pregnant before trying to prescribe drugs linked to fetal malformations. Luckily, I picked up the phone to double-check with the patient when I saw no recent pregnancy test in her chart. Guess what?! 

Anyway. This post is not sexy. This post is not fun. This post is not pro-pharma, and this post is not pro-corporate (again -- hello!! I work for a single payer here!!) 

What this post IS -- is chock full of inconvenient information from a person who actually is in student loan debt to her eyeballs because she kinda knows what she’s talking about.

And hopefully - HOPEFULLY -- this post is also helpful to someone.

Much love -- Dr. Kilodalton

[starlightsearches]

Office Romance: Ch. 6 Incandescence

General Hux and Kylo Ren have found themselves competing for the affection of a lieutenant aboard the Finalizer.

Series Warnings: Language, some violence, near-death experiences.

Masterlist

The next morning, you headed straight for the coffee station in the officer’s lounge, pouring yourself the first of what you assumed would be many cups that day. While you were glad that you didn’t have your early training session with Ren to worry about, you were still low on sleep and were already looking forward to the end of your shift, when you could fall into bed and rest.

“Hope you enjoyed yourself, whore,” a voice called from behind you, one you recognized. Allecull. You turned to face him, careful not to let the sting of the insult show. He was sitting at the table with a few others, all of them glaring at you.

“What are you talking about, shit-stain?” you asked, moving towards the table. Allecull didn’t scare you, and his ridiculous taunts often served for great entertainment. Tired as you felt, it was always nice to take the major down a few pegs in a round of verbal sparring. At the same time, though, you felt a creeping nervousness inch over your body. Allecull was an asshole and a bit of a tyrant, but normally he criticized your work and abilities, not your personal life. You hoped he didn’t know about . . .

“I saw you leaving the general’s quarters last night,” another one of them spoke up, face warped with loathing, interrupting your train of thought. It was Lev Wintmal, one of the security officers. Shit. You had tried to be careful as you walked back to your own room, for this exact reason, taking less traveled corridors and checking around corners, but you had forgotten to be on the lookout for security droids or cameras. You schooled your face, knowing that if they saw even a hint of worry in your expression they would automatically assume guilt.

“You think I’m sleeping with the general?” you laughed, putting on an air of bravado. “Nice try, boys, but you don’t need to fuck your way to the top when you’re actually good at your job,” you paused for a moment before continuing, “and I don’t think it would work for you anyways. None of you seem like the general’s type.”

Allecull stood, grabbing your arm roughly. You threw his hand off, but faced him, his mouth twisted into a snarl.

“You little bitch-”

“As far as you know, Major,” you cut him off, your anger growing to match his, “I’m the general’s bitch now. Which means that you might want to be very careful about the words you say next.”

Allecull backed down, and for a moment, you felt you had won, until you realized that his eyes were on someone standing behind you. Don’t be the general, don’t be the general, please don’t be the general, you hoped silently before turning around. Captain Phasma was standing there, arms folded in front of her, towering over both you and Major Lindeas.

“A word, Lieutenant?” she asked, gesturing for you to follow. You walked with her out of the dining room and into the bustling mess hall, pure panic flooding through you. How much had she heard? Would she tell the general? You cursed yourself silently, wishing you had kept better control of your tongue.

You made it to Phasma’s office in silence, the guilt eating away at your nerves as the door closed behind you. She moved around her desk, taking a seat in her chair, all without speaking. It was more than you could bear.

“Captain, I-” you started, hoping to explain yourself, but she stopped you, holding up her hand for you to wait. And then, without warning, she reached up and removed her helmet from her head and set it down with a loud thunk on her desk.

In all the time you had worked with Phasma, over a year now, you had never seen her without her helmet, and for a moment, you were distracted from your fear as you took in her appearance. Her skin was pale and rosy; her features were softer and more gentle than you had expected—especially her eyes, which were large, blue, and framed by pale lashes. Her hair was light, whiter than her skin, and fell short and shaggy over her forehead and ears, uncombed and a little wild after being inside the helmet. She smiled expectantly at you, as if she just hadn’t done something totally insane, and gestured for you to take a seat.

“Captain, I’m really-” you tried once more as you sat down, but she once again cut you off with a wave of her hand.

“You don’t need to explain anything to me, Lieutenant.” Phasma always spoke with authority, but without the voice modulator, her voice sounded very nearly melodic. The whole situation was incredibly disorienting, especially after a sleepless night and an already difficult morning.

“I brought you here because I need to ask a favor, but given what just happened in the dining lounge I’d like to keep it private.”

“You’re not angry with me?” You asked, in disbelief. For as long as you had known her, you had looked up to the captain, and her approval meant too much to you for you to brush off the previous events so quickly.

“I, more than anyone aboard this ship, know what you go through, Lieutenant,” she responded, a fierceness in her gaze as she looked at you, “I chose to deal with it with my fists, and you fight back with words. As far as I’m concerned, you should defend yourself anyway you know how. We could use more women like you aboard.” Her praise hit you in the chest like a blaster shot, and you were too stunned to reply.

“Now, about this favor. There’s a gala tomorrow night for many of the First Order’s top officials, and I will not be able to attend with the general as I normally do. I would like you to go in my place.”

“I would be honored, captain, really, but,” you paused for a moment, unsure if you should bring up the conversation with Allecull again, “are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Of course I’m sure. This will give you an opportunity to meet more of the men in charge. And more importantly, they’ll get to meet you. These connections mean everything in our organization.” Her words were loaded with subtext and intrigue in ways that you couldn’t decipher, but you felt a thrill rise in your chest. You had never been to a gala before, and thinking about it now, you wanted to go, badly.

“Alright, Captain, if you insist,” you said, “but I don’t have anything to wear.”

Phasma smiled, her teeth brilliantly white behind pink lips. “I believe we can arrange something suitable.”

She didn’t want to show it, but Phasma was, frankly, exhausted. Not by you, of course, she enjoyed your company rather well. You were talented, capable, and always ready for a fight, which she admired immensely. But Hux’s obsession with you did tire her. For too long she had listened to him drone on and on about you, and she always gave the same advice. Stop being a bitch and do something about it. But the general continued to drag his feet, and now with Ren acting like a fool and Lindeas and his accusations, Phasma had decided to take matters into her own hands, for your sake, if no one else’s.

She led the way as the two of you walked. The Finalizer was large and often confusing to navigate, but there were many hidden resources for those familiar with the ship, and Phasma knew exactly where she was taking you. She stopped in front of a large hangar door and typed in her access code. The doors opened, and beside her, you gasped audibly at the sight.

The Wardrobe and Uniforms Department was one of the largest non-combative entities on the ship, and while Phasma had little use for the more entertaining services they provided, she did enjoy the view. The room was large, almost three stories, so deep that the back of it could not be seen from the doorway, and packed full of clothing. Large conveyors holding everything from tactical gear to nightgowns rose from the floor to the ceiling, taking up every inch of space in the enormous room. Phasma watched as you gingerly stepped through the doorway, taking it all in. A man sat at a small desk by the entrance, smiling expectantly as the two of you entered.

“Hello,” he said genially, “How can I assist you?”

“The lieutenant here is attending the gala tomorrow night and needs something to wear.” Phasma pushed you forward towards the desk as she spoke.

“Wonderful,” the man responded, grabbing his data pad from his desk and entering a series of commands. “What did you have in mind?”

“Where in the bloody stars is she?” Hux asked quietly to no one in particular, standing alone in the main hangar. A few workers puttered around, moving cargo or performing maintenance, and the general waited impatiently by the ship that was supposed to be taking him to the gala, which he was not looking forward to in the slightest. He was dressed in a simple suit made of rich black cashmere, and a stiff cotton button-down with terribly uncomfortable collar. He felt absolutely ridiculous, wishing that he could wear his uniform instead. At least that was something familiar. Comfortable, even, compared to this attire.

“The ship’s all ready, sir,” the pilot said, emerging from the loading area. Cas Kindi had been flying with the general for years, and, as of late, had acted as his personal pilot for events like these.

“The captain isn’t here yet,” Hux said, cooly, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. He wanted a cigarette. Or to be in his quarters with a glass of wine. Wanted to be anywhere but where he was, doing anything besides what he was about to do.

Kindi started to reply, but was interrupted by the perplexing clack of high heels on the durasteel floors of the corridor. The pilot and the general turned simultaneously to see someone running towards them down the hallway, wearing a ballgown and looking frantic.

Sorry I’m late,” you said, stopping before them, out of breath, “I went to the wrong hangar.”

He knew he should say something, but Hux’s brain had shut down. You were in a sleeveless dress of burnished gold that sparkled, even in the dim light. It hugged tightly to your torso, with the neckline low, exposing the delicate skin above your chest, which heaved as you tried to catch your breath from your run. The skirt was voluminous, and fell to the floor in layers of flowing gold fabric that darkened towards the bottom until they were pitch black, shimmering like the night sky. Your hair was also adorned with stars, and swept back away from your face, with gently curling tendrils framing your kohl-lined eyes. Your lips were painted a dark cherry red, and Hux overcome with the desire to know what they tasted like.

“Did Phasma not tell you . . .?” you asked, your brow furrowed in confusion. Say something! Hux tried to form a sentence, but his eyes were still on your lips, and his mind was elsewhere right now.

“We were just waiting for her,” Kindi cut in, to Hux’s relief.

“She asked me to come in her place, actually. Did she really not mention it?” Your concerned expression deepened, and Kindi looked nervously to Hux, the two of you waiting for his response.

“She didn’t say anything,” Hux finally managed to choke out some words. He knew he should probably be angry at the captain for not telling him about her little plan, but that dress . . .

“Oh,” you responded, “well I don't want to impose . . .”

“Not at all!” Hux was talking too loudly, too eager. Get a hold of yourself. He took a deep breath, trying to slow the rapid, irregular beating of his heart, and offered you his arm.

“I’m sure the captain had good reason. If you please . . .“ you took Hux’s arm, smiling brightly, and he helped you up the loading ramp and onto the waiting ship. Kindi followed closely behind, and then edged her way around you on the way to the cockpit.

The transport ship provided by the First Order had a small, plush sitting area, full of poufy couches, and a low table set with two glasses and a bottle of champagne waiting to be poured. Normally, Hux and Phasma used this travel time to get a little drunk and bitch about these ridiculous parties and the Finalizer crew, but in this instance, Hux didn’t think that would be appropriate. Still, he opened and poured the champagne as you walked around the small ship, taking in your surroundings.

You reached for the glass he offered, and Hux watched as you took it, your hand shaking. His eyes met yours and you gave him a tight lipped smile, your anxiety written clearly on your face. He felt sympathy for your nerves, which echoed his own, even if they stemmed from different causes.

“Have you been to a gala like this before?” Hux asked, taking a seat on one of the couches. You followed suit, sitting down next to him, leaning your head back and breathing in deeply.

“The last event I attended was my own graduation. And that’s nothing compared to something like this.” The Academy threw a ball for the graduating class each year, but they were small and intimate affairs, especially when compared to the pomp and circumstance of a First Order gala.

“Would it help if we went over protocol for tonight?” Hux asked, and you nodded gratefully, sitting up and turning your full attention to him. This would be good for both of you, Hux decided. It would hopefully distract you from your worries, and maybe blathering about etiquette and procedures would take the general’s mind away from the idea of reaching out and brushing his fingers over the soft skin of your neck.

“These nights always begin with two separate cocktail receptions: one for the men and married couples, and another for women,” you snorted in distaste, but he continued, “And then the procession to the ballroom will begin. The Directorate and their wives will enter first, and then the single men, by order of rank. After, the women will be announced, ranked officers and then guests of the First Order, and then there will be the socializing, dining, and dancing. Do you remember how to greet other officers?”

“Offer my hand and curtsy to anyone above my rank, shake hands and bow to other lieutenants,” you repeated mechanically, the information drilled into you at the Academy quickly coming back. Hux nodded in confirmation before continuing his instruction.

“I’ll be your chaperone for the evening, as your commanding officer, which means that I’ll introduce you to the others during the social hour, and any invitations to dance will go through me first-”

“That’s sexist,” you interrupted, your declaration serious but your tone lighthearted. Your glass was empty, and it was evident that the drink had loosened your tongue and quieted your nerves. Hux was worried that he might have offended you, but your eyes were bright, with no trace of anger, the way you smiled at him made him feel like the two of you were sharing a secret.

“I agree,” he said, “absolutely ridiculous. You should hear the captain talk about it. She’s refused to participate in most of the bullshit—her word, not mine—and the Directorate is too frightened of her to correct her.”

You giggled at his mention of Phasma, as unfunny as it was; the wine had gone to your head. Hearing you laugh, Hux raised a rare smile in response. He wanted to try and make you laugh again.

“There is a benefit to the whole inane system, though. No one will find you rude if I’m the one refusing the proposals, of which I’m sure there will be plenty.”

“But who will you dance with, General, while I’m off with my many suitors?” You giggled, and then looked him in the eye, suddenly serious. Your faces were closer than they had been before, your expression soft. As he looked into your eyes, he was sure that his desire for you was written everywhere on him. As if on impulse, he leaned in closer, the air between you electric with his want.

The ship jolted as you jumped out of hyperspeed, interrupting your moment. Kindi came out of the cockpit, peering around the corner.

“Sorry to interrupt, General, but we’ve made it,” she said, and then left to steer the ship to landing.

The two of you stood, and Hux was struck with embarrassment for his brazen behavior. Had you noticed? It was hard to tell; he watched for signs of it as you smoothed your dress and checked your hair in the reflective surface of the wall. He could see that the talk of etiquette had not completely erased your nerves, and you adjusted your appearance with a meticulous eye for detail. Hux offered his arm to you again, and you looked at him gratefully, clinging to him with a forceful grip.The door opened, and the two of you stepped out of your ship and onto the loading platform.

For a moment, the light of it all was blinding.

[dweemeister]

Blue Hawaii (1961)

Elvis Presley’s ascent to stardom struck the United States (and the world) like a lightning bolt. Hounded from Nashville’s Grand Ole Opry due to the country music establishment taking offense to his genre-blending musicianship, Elvis grew from being a regional phenomenon to a national sensation as he helped innovate rockabilly, a form of rock and roll. Movie producers, sensing an opportunity to cash in on Elvis’ skyrocketing popularity, gave Elvis star vehicles such as Love Me Tender (1956) and Jailhouse Rock (1957). Critics shrugged at these films – low-budget affairs where most of the budget went to Elvis’ salary – but his fans made them critic-proof, turning out in droves to scream and swoon at their slick-looking dreamboat. Grappling with television’s advent and the dissolution of the Old Hollywood Studio System, Hollywood’s major studios shifted their efforts towards more bombastic, showman-like films. Such was the situation in the early 1960s that longtime Warner Bros. producer Hal B. Wallis (1938’s The Adventures of Robin Hood, 1942’s Casablanca), now at Paramount, joked that, “a Presley picture is the only sure thing in Hollywood.”

To the horror of Elvis’ fans and movie studio executives but to the delight of those fans’ parental figures and teachers, the U.S. Army drafted him in March 1958. Elvis served twenty-four months before his discharge with the rank of Sergeant. During his service, Elvis nevertheless had plenty of singles in the can, many ranking high on the charts while he was at basic training and later his posting in West Germany. Looking forward to restarting his musical and acting careers, Elvis soon returned to the recording studio and shot G. I. Blues (1960) – he had discussed the film with Wallis months prior to his discharge – in short order. For the eighth film of his career and his fourth after his discharge, Elvis starred in Blue Hawaii, directed by Norman Taurog (1938’s Boys Town, nine Elvis films) and produced by Wallis. The film stars Elvis as an Army veteran recently discharged from the service, returning to his home state. I wonder where did they get that idea from? It also marks the unlikely beginning of Elvis’ association with the Aloha State – which shed its territorial status in 1959 and was ready for a Hollywood treatment that had nothing to do with the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

Chadwick “Chad” Gates (Presley) returns home to Hawai’i from his military service, greeted by girlfriend Maile Duval (Joan Blackman: “MY-lee”) and a flower seller named Waihila (Hilo Hattie in a cameo). Instead of immediately seeing his parents – mother Sarah Lee (Angela Lansbury, only ten years Elvis’ senior) and father Fred (Roland Winters) – he escapes to a secluded oceanside shack with Maile and his Hawaiian surf buddies. Chad is the son of pineapple plantation owners, and Sarah Lee wants him to succeed Fred when the time comes. But Chad is not interested in those plans, electing instead to work as a tour guide for Mr. Chapman’s (Howard McNear) travel agency – among other things, Maile works at the agency. The first tour he gives serves schoolteacher Abigail Prentice (Nancy Walters) and her four teenage students, all girls. One of those girls, Ellie Corbett (Jenny Maxwell), appears standoffish at first but then begins to flirt shamelessly with Chad.

If by that point in Blue Hawaii you are still concentrating on the plot, just note that your approach to watching Elvis movies is not advisable. Watching Elvis movies for a sensible plot is to invite frustration; accept the narrative drivel and enjoy.

Shot mostly on location on the Hawaiian Islands of O’ahu and Kaua’i, Hawai’i offers splendid backdrops to even the most mundane scenes of this film. Charles Lang’s (1947’s The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, 1959’s Some Like It Hot) camera allows characters to be dwarfed by the green mountains in the distance, the crystal blue waters extending to the horizon, and palm tree fronds wafting amid a gentle breeze. Scenes of breathtaking natural beauty abound in Blue Hawaii. In conjunction with the production (Hal Pereira and Walter H. Tyler) and set design (Sam Comer and Frank R. McKelvy), Blue Hawaii becomes, by default, the most colorful Elvis movie to date. The film, by design, partly becomes a tourism advertisement for the new state. Its white characters and filmmakers exotify and romanticize Native Hawaiian culture to fit their own expectations and perspectives – these sorts of depictions have endured across the last century, figuring heavily in cinema (1935’s Honolulu: The Paradise of the Pacific as part of [James A.] Fitzpatrick’s Traveltalks for MGM) and tourism advertising. This is the first live-action feature film from a major Hollywood studio to make even a minimal attempt to depict native Hawaiian culture since Waikiki Wedding (1937), another Paramount film.

Here are some more connections between Waikiki Wedding and Blue Hawaii: both share one song (“Blue Hawaii”) in both their soundtracks and both films are musicals. The Hawaiian musical sound is just as integral to popular conceptions of Hawai’i, and it is used liberally here in orchestrations, if not melodic structure. Blue Hawaii’s soundtrack contains the greatest amount of songs (fourteen) for an Elvis film. For those who enjoy their breathless musicals with a song at every turn, Blue Hawaii does just that. The musical numbers arrive in the most innocuous situations – from forming a melody from a tune heard on the radio, an impromptu jam session with a guitar conveniently within arm’s length of Elvis, or starting from nothing. The worst of the soundtrack avoids many of the novelty songs that plague Elvis films, especially the later entries. Given how nonsensical the plots to Elvis movies are, the lower-tier songs in Blue Hawaii are preferable compared to more stilted acting and fraternizing shenanigans. Thus, the bar is raised, and the inclusion of two non-original songs – “Blue Hawaii” (music by Ralph Rainger, lyrics by Leo Robin) and “Aloha ‘Oe” (Queen Lili’uokalani) – are arranged in such a way that beautifully complements Elvis’ velvety singing voice. Among the original songs, “Moonlight Swim” (music by Ben Weisman, lyrics by Sylvia Dee) is a sensuous, laid back song that perfectly serves Chad’s characterization: an unabashed Casanova, effortless in romance, a hint of masculine arrogance.

The runaway hit of the Blue Hawaii soundtrack is among Elvis’ most popular songs. “Can’t Help Falling in Love” – music and lyrics by Hugo Peretti, Luigi Creatore, and George David Weiss – appears approximately midway through the film as Chad says hello to Maile’s grandmother (Flora Kaai Hayes, a former Hawaiian Territorial Representative to the U.S. House of Representatives) for the first time since before his military service. It, like so many other musical entries in Blue Hawaii, arrives without much warning, backed by a constantly harmonizing music box and a steel guitar played in a Hawaiian style. One might take issue with the song’s use in context, but it is a crooners’ standard that has crossed linguistic barriers worldwide. Its simplicity is self-evident: a memorable melody, chorus, and a minor key bridge aching for resolution as it modulates to major key. Perhaps “Can’t Help Falling in Love” is not considered one of the greatest original songs in movie history because of the questionable quality of the film it appears in. More likely, Elvis’ gravitational pull as a crossover music and movie star writes its own legends that defy a critic’s or a historian’s corrections.

Somehow, I have written all the above without remarking on the acting. Other than Elvis himself, everyone else is a passing interest at best. Joan Blackman’s chemistry with Elvis is apparent, but she does not distinguish herself from every other female lead in an Elvis movie. Angela Lansbury’s exaggerated Southern accent displays her considerable range, even if there are better examples in other films. As much as some may deride Elvis’ performances for being unchallenging, one could not imagine an Elvis movie without the star attraction. His persona is effervescent; his charisma incontestable. According to Weiss, Elvis’ comedic instincts manifested themselves in subtle ways. If Elvis requested a joke to be explained in discussions about the screenplay, it was his roundabout, maybe overly polite, way to warn Weiss, Taurog, and screenwriter Hal Kanter (1952’s Road to Bali, at least twenty-two Academy Award ceremonies) that the joke was not funny. During test screenings of Blue Hawaii, every joke kept in the film that Elvis questioned elicited nothing from the audience. On- and off-screen, an Elvis movie with Elvis removed would collapse from the void of hilarity and charm such an absence would create.

Blue Hawaii, like all other Elvis movies prior, succeeded at the box office in comparison to its budget. Adding to this bounty for Elvis, the film’s soundtrack album sold millions of copies, sitting atop of the Billboard charts for twenty weeks, and garnering a Grammy nomination. The soundtrack profits from Blue Hawaii and the preceding G.I. Blues led Presley’s obstinate manager, Colonel Tom Parker, to have his client concentrate on film soundtrack albums at the expense of non-soundtrack albums – setting the groundwork for the remainder of the 1960s (Elvis released 16 soundtrack albums versus six non-soundtrack albums during this decade), with diminishing returns. Parker reasoned to Elvis that his fans demanded to see him in these musical romantic comedies, rejecting any roles that did not fit this mold. Elvis, believing his manager, continued to make films until well past the point an Elvis Presley picture was a guaranteed hit in theaters.

In its visual splendor and Pacific appeal, Blue Hawaii sealed the fate of Elvis’ post-Army career. No other subsequent Elvis film would match the commercial heights of Blue Hawaii, although one could argue several of those movies surpass this one in terms of acting, aesthetics, and musical interest (like 1964’s Viva Las Vegas and two concert documentaries in 1970 and 1972). Elvis returned to Hawai’i several more times during his career for concerts and two films – Girls! Girls! Girls! (1962) and Paradise, Hawaiian Style (1966). As much as Elvis is associated with Tupelo, Mississippi (his birthplace) and Graceland in Memphis, there is also a special relationship between Elvis and Hawai’i. That relationship – one that touches Elvis’ personal life and the musical traditions of Native Hawaiians – begins with Blue Hawaii, an archetypal Elvis film and one of his best.

My rating: 6/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[howterrifying]

+sherlolly: seeing eye to eye

A sort of AU? As I continue to reacquaint myself with this ship due to my very, very long writing absence, I seem drawn to their origin stories and found myself wanting to explore them. For some reason, I was feeling very uni!Lock and decided, yes, let’s do this. And not only is it uni!Lock but Mycroftcentric-uni!Lock. If there’s one thing I’ve not lost touch with, it is my love for Mycroft Holmes. I hope you’ll enjoy this terribly long but rather fun piece. I certainly had fun writing it :) x

::

Contemporaries   (also on FF.net and AO3) The brothers barely looked alike, the only physical similarity being their relatively similar heights. Apart from the fact that they shared the same residential address, the same family name and, well, fairly similar heights, one would never have assumed they were brothers. There was their genius, of course. Those who did have the fortune (or sometimes misfortune) of running into either of the Holmes brothers would immediately realise they were of the same make. The depth of their observations and the speed of their deductions almost always left a mark. An encounter with a Holmes brother would not be an easy one to forget. 

Mycroft, slightly past his mid-twenties and already with several doctorates to his name, was now working at the university. Sherlock was in his second year but had already zoomed ahead and could have graduated that very year if he had wanted to. However, his extra-curricular activity, of which he was the only member, slowed him down to remain ‘on track’ with his fellow university mates. Solving crimes was very time-consuming and Sherlock was a most dedicated ‘club’ member. The brothers rarely interacted. It was better this way for all parties included. Thankfully, their spheres rarely collided. In fact, Mycroft was often away from the university altogether, finding himself naturally propelled into various government boards and committees. It was a rare afternoon that Mycroft found himself back on campus. As he sat in his office reviewing the minutes of a recent meeting, there came a quiet knock at his open office door, causing him to look up from his documents. “Ah, you must be Ms Hooper,” he remarked with a polite smile. One of the most promising pathology students of her year, Molly Hooper, walked into his office and reached for his extended hand and shook it. “It’s very good to meet you, Mr Holmes,” she began before taking her seat.  “Very good to meet you too,” he replied, “I have heard a lot about you.” “I trust you’ve read the proposal I’ve sent you?” asked Molly, nervously gripping the edge of her seat.  “Yes, some new lab equipment for the…” he began flipping through her proposal file that he had retrieved, “The…Forensics Society.” “We decided to keep the name simple,” said Molly. “Simplicity is always best, Ms Hooper. So I appreciate that,” Mycroft remarked with a nod. Mycroft closed the proposal file and cleared his throat. He adjusted his seat a little forward and looked right at Molly. “Your proposal caught my eye, Ms Hooper, which is why I have called you in.” Molly’s eyes widened in surprise. She had not been expecting to hear that. Did not everybody have to come in to meet Mr Holmes at some point to argue the case for their proposals to be approved? “Oh, I see,” was all Molly could muster for the moment.  Mycroft smiled, slightly amused at her reaction. He then reached for another file on his desk and presented it to her. “I have now a proposal for you , Ms Hooper. One that I sincerely hope you would accept,” Mycroft continued. Molly took the file from him and began flipping through its documents. Her eyes widened like they had moments earlier except it was no longer in surprise but in disbelief. “Are you…offering me a job, Mr Holmes?” asked Molly, her eyes still large from incredulity. “I most certainly am, Ms Hooper. I discovered, from your proposal, that it would be a real waste of your talents if you merely utilised them within The Forensics Society. Besides, the equipment you had asked for… I think we could put them to some really   good use. Do you not think so?” Molly struggled to form a response to this resoundingly unexpected turn of events. She flipped back to the first page of Mycroft’s proposal and looked though it again, as though to check if she had misinterpreted any part of it. “There is no mistake, Ms Hooper,” said Mycroft, as though reading her mind, “I am offering you a job in, well, I suppose you could call it a ‘club’ of my own.” Molly processed his spoken words and the typed ones before her, frowning but only to contain the surge of excitement in her veins. Her head felt like it was quite about to burst. Eventually, her frown disappeared and a small smile grew. “I presume that’s a yes ?” asked Mycroft. “Yes, Mr Holmes,” said Molly at last, “I accept.” ++ It had been a busy few months for Molly Hooper, what with setting up the new laboratory equipment and running the club with her fellow forensics enthusiasts. However, the real source of her busyness had been the work she was now doing with Mycroft’s team. Although much of this team and its work was shrouded in mystery, she had been plunged right into Mycroft’s team of consultants and forensic pathologists on some very interesting cases. Molly had lost count of the number of non-disclosure agreements she had had to sign each time before beginning work on a new case. It was a Saturday afternoon that Molly found herself at one of Mycroft’s laboratories in an obscure government building, the type that required an inordinate amount of security screening before she could even step foot into the main lobby. She was used to it by now, however, and breezed through it all to resume the case she was currently working on. She and the team were busy reviewing an anomaly in the dyed hair of a recently murdered politician when the doors to their lab opened with an uncharacteristically loud bang. “Is the new hematology analyser here yet?” came a brusque male voice. The team looked up at the interruption only to resume their discussion as though nothing had happened. Molly was puzzled by their response and felt slightly awkward that a question had been unanswered. “Um, yes. It arrived at noon yesterday,” she answered. Before she knew it, the figure that had stormed into the lab came storming towards her, eyeing her curiously as he approached. “You’re new,” came that same voice. “And you’re Sherlock Holmes,” said Molly, “Pleased to meet you.” “How do you know who I am?” he asked, frowning. “We go to the same university. A friend of mine fancied you for a while. You both took that elective Photomolecular science module last semester,” Molly replied matter-of-factly. “Also, your brother did tell me to expect you.” Sherlock made a noise that sounded like a mix of a scoff and a laugh as he strode around the lab looking for the machine that had been the reason for his visit. “Would you like to see it?” Molly asked, smiling politely at her university contemporary. The team looked up from their discussion, a little aghast that she was entertaining the whims of their big boss’ infamous younger brother. Yet, neither of them said a word, deciding that silence was the safest response around the rather volatile younger Holmes brother. “I should like to use it,” Sherlock retorted. “Ah, I cannot allow that at the moment, I’m afraid. Sorry about that,” said Molly, her polite smile still perfectly in place. The tall and impatient figure of Sherlock Holmes looked down at the surprisingly unfazed pathologist-in-training who stood before him. “Who are you?” he asked “She’s in charge ,” came the voice of Mycroft Holmes who, unlike his brother, had entered the laboratory virtually unnoticed. “Why are you down here?” Sherlock asked, changing the subject. “Security has been told to inform me the moment you step into my buildings, in particular my laboratories, or have you forgotten?” Sherlock made that same scoffing noise again as he walked away from his brother, still trying to look for the new machine amongst the hundreds of state-of-the-art equipment in the enormous laboratory. “Even if you found it,” Mycroft continued, “You couldn’t operate it. Only Ms Hooper has the authorisation codes to power it up.” “So that’s your name. Ms Hooper,” Sherlock repeated, ignoring his brother and walking back towards Molly. “Just Molly is fine,” she answered back coolly. Sherlock towered over Molly but did not overshadow her in the least. She remained where she was, with that steadiness in her eyes that was starting to unnerve him. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be interrupted like this, Ms Hooper. I do apologise,” said Mycroft. “It’s no matter, Mr Holmes. Besides, you did warn me,” she replied with a laugh. That laugh of hers bothered Sherlock. It bothered him because it was clear she was not bothered at all by his presence or his intrusion into her workspace. Sherlock was not used to a reaction like hers. “Do you need him removed?” asked Mycroft. “No, it’s all right, Mr Holmes. I think I can handle him,” Molly replied, looking right back at Sherlock who had not once removed his gaze from her. “If you say so,” said Mycroft with a parting nod before exiting the laboratory. The younger Holmes brother seemed rooted where he was, staring hard at Molly who very calmly adjusted her crisp white lab coat. “So, Sherlock Holmes…” Molly began. He paused, uncertain of how to respond because of how directly she had addressed him. “Y-yes?” he answered at last. “I’ll show you the machine,” she said, her bright eyes shining at him, “And if you keep to the rules of my lab, maybe I will let you use it.” Her words amused Sherlock in a way he had never experienced. There was a boldness in the calm of her voice. Her gaze never once wavered and Sherlock found himself beginning to admire it somewhat. “Do we have an agreement, Sherlock Holmes?” asked Molly. Sherlock saw that she had stretched her hand out, awaiting his response. With a grin, he took it, shaking it firmly. “I believe we do, Ms Hooper,” said Sherlock. “I told you,” Molly said with a small smile, “Molly will do just fine.” ++ To everyone’s surprise, the day had gone by and Sherlock Holmes had not broken a single one of Molly’s ‘lab-keeping’ rules. He seemed to have put aside the initial case he had come in with and earned his way into participating in the international murder case they were investigating. “Your brother might not be too pleased about this,” said Molly with a glint in her eyes, “But I think you’ve earned this.” She headed to one of her open laptops and pulled up a recent toxicology report and gestured for Sherlock to join her. The aspiring detective rushed to where she was seated and pored over the report greedily. “Your analysis is…incredible ,” Sherlock murmured, not realising he had just praised someone out loud. Someone who was not himself.  “Thank you,” Molly replied in amusement. Her response made him realise he had  spoken out loud and it caused his mind to stumble a little. “Since you’ve been so helpful with our blood samples, perhaps you’d like a go at the hematology analyser now?” asked Molly, helping him change the subject. “Oh, right, yes… the evidence I’d brought from the robbery,” he said, heading to where his coat was hanging. Sherlock found his coat and rummaged through one of its deep pockets, pulling out a small ziplocked bag with the evidence he had found at his crime scene. As he looked at it, the magnitude of Molly’s work and her achievement here in this lab alone really struck him. Who was she? He frowned as he thought to himself. How was it that their paths had crossed only now? “Molly…” he said, returning the evidence back into his coat pocket. “Hmm?” she answered, her eyes still glued to her laptop screen. “Have we taken any modules together?” asked Sherlock, walking back towards her. “I don’t think so,” she replied, still typing away at her laptop. “But we have so much in common, how is that possible?” His words stopped her in her tracks, her hands suspended above her keyboard as her typing came to a halt. “There are many others who share our interests, Sherlock,” said Molly, smiling. “But I’m sure we would have taken a class together at some point…” “No, you don’t understand, Molly,” Sherlock interrupted. “What don’t I understand?” she asked back, puzzled.  “We are…” He had to pause to take a breath. “We are…the same .” Molly turned from her laptop to look at him, wide eyed. She was equal parts taken aback and amused. It surprised her to hear him actually say those words. “Quite the sweeping statement, Sherlock Holmes,” Molly replied with a small laugh. “I may not have all the facts,” he continued, “But I can’t seem to argue otherwise.” “No one is arguing with you…” “I think I’m arguing with myself…” He seemed frustrated, but Molly watched on quietly in mild fascination. “Molly,” he said, looking up sharply at her. “Yes, Sherlock?” “Work on my cases with me,” he said. “Your cases?” “I cannot pay you like Mycroft does, but we would make a good team. Your skill set and mine.” There was a moment of silence that passed between them. Sherlock, awaiting her response, uncharacteristically tense and Molly, wondering what to do with this abrupt new proposal. What was it with the Holmes brothers and their penchant for throwing curveballs? “Do I have to answer you now?” said Molly at last. “Um…no, I suppose you don’t…” said Sherlock in atypical clumsiness. The look on his face caused Molly to chuckle softly. She shut her laptop and got off the lab stool she was sitting on. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Sherlock, but it’s way past evening and the rest of the team have actually gone home,” Molly continued. “Oh, I…” “My eyes do need a bit of a break, but I promise I’ll take a look at what you have,” she said, answering him at last. “You will?” he asked, shocked that she had agreed. “We’ll see how it goes,” she remarked, smiling. “Let’s discuss this over some food. Are you hungry?” Had Molly not asked, Sherlock would not have realised how famished he was and that he quite frankly had no idea when his last meal had been. For a genius, his short-term memory for certain things was surprisingly terrible. “You’re pale as a ghost, Sherlock,” Molly said, interrupting his thoughts. “Food is a good idea,” he replied at last. “Food it is,” Molly remarked with a chuckle. ++ It was about eight o’clock in the morning and Sherlock had woken up and wandered into the kitchen in the home he shared with his brother.  To his surprise, he found his brother seated at the breakfast table, serenely perusing the day’s newspaper. “You’re up early,” said Mycroft, his eyes not leaving the newspaper. “I…have things to prepare,” Sherlock answered rather tentatively. “Things like…breakfast?” asked Mycroft, putting the paper down and gesturing to the opposite end of the table. There lay a perfect setup of hot breakfast, coffee, tea and immaculately arranged silverware for two. Sherlock walked over to the end of the table and scanned the faultlessly prepared food and beverage. He then looked up at his brother, his eyes wide and slightly aghast at his brother’s implication. “Did you make this?” asked Sherlock. “Are you being rhetorical?” asked Mycroft in return. “How did you—” “Know you had a guest?” Mycroft continued for his brother. Mycroft tidied the edges of the newspaper that he had folded earlier and set it aside. He then looked up at his brother and offered a wry smile. “Ms Hooper is technically under my employ, Sherlock. And I take good care of my employees. Especially the ones that can handle you .” It almost felt like a pantomime, for the moment her name had been spoken, Molly had appeared and stood at the entrance to the kitchen. “Good morning, Mr Holmes,” Molly said with a smile. “Good morning, Ms Hooper. I hope you slept well.” Mycroft answered with a smile in return. “I most certainly did,” she replied, “Your brother is a very charming host.” “I am glad to hear of it. Please, make yourself at home,” Mycroft replied, gesturing to the food he had prepared on his brother’s behalf. The sheer normalcy of their interaction left Sherlock flabbergasted. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some meetings to chair…” said Mycroft as he got up from his seat and exited the kitchen. Once he had left, Sherlock seemed to regain part of his executive functions and proceeded to sit by Molly. “Would you like a coffee?” Molly asked, reaching for the coffee pot. “Please,” Sherlock replied, passing her his cup. They sat in silence, with Sherlock sipping his coffee and Molly helping herself to some scrambled eggs on toast. “Did you…tell my brother you were here?” asked Sherlock, still perplexed from the moment before. “No, I didn’t. But he warned me it would happen,” Molly replied, now pouring herself a coffee. “Warned you?” “Yes…” Molly continued, casually sipping her coffee, “That last night would happen. And he was right.” “I have to concede, my brother is never wrong,” said Sherlock with a small smirk. “He even used your exact words,” Molly remarked, an amused glint in her eyes. “And what words were those?” “That you and I were the same.” Sherlock paused to take in her words, or more accurately, his brother’s words and he could not help but grin. It genuinely impressed Sherlock how spot on his brother always seemed to be, even though it irritated the living daylight out of him. “I have learnt that there is one thing different about us,” said Sherlock, reaching for a slice of toast. “Oh? And what’s that?” asked Molly, intrigued. “My brother doesn’t seem to annoy you,” said Sherlock with a wry half-smile. “Are you worried I’d fancy him instead?” Molly teased, looking right at Sherlock. Sherlock quite nearly dropped his toast and looked back at her in horror. It amused Molly that his normally blank visage could register such a degree of dread. To assuage him, Molly reached for Sherlock and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I’m joking, Sherlock,” she said. “Don’t make jokes, Molly,” he replied but not without returning the kiss. They continued their breakfast in silence but Sherlock’s mind continued to spin. He had not quite ascertained where Molly stood in the scheme of things, but he was quite satisfied that for now, they stood with each other. “I’ve got a bit of time after breakfast,” said Molly, finishing the last of her coffee. “Would you like me to go through the rest of your case data?” Sherlock turned to her and processed her question. That unwavering way in which she held her gaze when they spoke was something he continued to admire. “We both have a bit of time after breakfast,” said Sherlock, getting up and clearing the breakfast things. “And I’d rather spend it on something else. Wouldn’t you agree?” It was Molly’s turn to process his response. She studied the look in his eyes and when she finally understood what he meant, broke into a smile. “We really are the same,” she said, grinning, as she took his hand and led them both back to bed.   END

[raywritesthings]

Bird in a Storm 8/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Tommy Merlyn, Quentin Lance, Moira Queen, Malcolm Merlyn, Frank Chen Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

Tommy’s twenty-eighth birthday brought with it severely mixed feelings. On the one hand, he had his best friend back to celebrate it with him for the first time in five years. He also received a call from his father on the day and an invitation to dinner whenever he was available that week. Their repairing relationship was perhaps the strangest upturn his life had taken thus far, not even Ollie coming back from the dead able to top it.

But this was also the first year it wasn’t being marked by a certain Laurel Lance. She’d always remembered to send him a text or a card, occasionally met him up for the odd drink or two. There was one year they’d — well, but that was in the past.

He didn’t know what to feel about Laurel anymore. The anger was there even if it had faded, mostly. He was just… disappointed. Disappointed that she was wasting her life and her potential on problems that were never going to be fixed. As his father had reminded him, his mother had died doing the same thing.

God, what if she died out there? Would it make the news? Would he see it on his television, former CNRI lawyer found dead in apparent mugging? Sometimes he was seconds away from calling Joanna to see if she had any news, but he always stopped himself. Laurel had made her her choice.

He and Oliver went out for drinks the night of. Tommy had maybe a few too many, and he found himself among some women he’d never met before but was now glad he had. He woke up the day after his birthday in an unfamiliar bed, gathered up his clothes and left without seeing who he’d been with. It was meaningless, and they both knew that.

At dinner, his father surprised him yet again.

“The city is honoring me this week with the humanitarian of the year award. I’d very much like you to be there, Tommy.”

He didn’t see why he shouldn’t be. He knew Oliver wouldn’t mind him taking the night off if it was something for family.

“Of course.”

His father smiled, an expression he was only starting to get used to seeing aimed in his direction. “Thank you, Tommy. The truth is, of anyone in this family, Rebecca should have been the one to receive this honor.”

Tommy nodded, his mood turning more somber. “She’d be proud of you for continuing her work.”

“That is the thought that guides me through each day,” his father confessed, his eyes shining. Tommy had always resented him for leaving those two years after, when he was also grieving, but he’d never given much thought to his own father’s grieving process. How much he’d lost that night. Maybe he’d been wrong to be so harsh.

He showed up the night of the ceremony at Merlyn Global in a new tux, greeting various people, mostly his father’s associates. He was glad to see Mrs. Queen, though she seemed a little distracted.

His father gave a speech, and just as he’d finished the lights shut off. People looked around in confusion, talking to each other and questioning the situation. The crowd jostled each other as an evacuation alarm sounded. Tommy looked for his father but was found instead when his dad grabbed him by the shoulders, telling him of the exit on the second floor.

Everything was a frantic rush after that. His father kept moving them up higher as men in server’s uniforms fired on them. The Hood of all people showed up and told them to run.

His father killed two men.

“As surely as he would have killed you,” was the answer his dad gave when Tommy objected. He then led them up the final flight to his penthouse office, inputting the code to seal them in.

His father was confident in their safety, so Tommy took the opportunity to demand, “How did you know how to do that? Fight. Kill.”

The only answer he got was his dad moving to a wall on the side and removing a painting to input yet another code. A wall started to slide open, though Tommy couldn’t see what was beyond it from where he stood.

And then all hell broke loose.

The window shattered with a force that almost shook the room, the wall sliding back shut. His father stepped forward, and a bullet caught him just below his neck. Tommy rushed to him as he fell, only for his dad to rise momentarily. He showed him the bulletproof vest. What kind of world were they living in where the humanitarian of the year had to take this many precautions?

The bullet had only nicked his skin but his father stopped talking and slumped back down. “Dad? Dad!”

Soft footfalls and a shadow soon indicated they weren’t alone. He looked up and was momentarily stunned by the sight that met him.

The Hood. Tommy scrambled to pick up the gun his father had taken off one of the men downstairs.

“Stay back!”

“I’m not here to hurt you or your father,” the vigilante claimed.

“I said stay back!”

He didn’t listen, taking another step and reaching for something on the ground. He murmured something, but in the modulated voice Tommy couldn’t make it out. And anyway, he was more concerned with the vigilante’s continued approach.

“Don’t come any closer!” The gun shook in his hands, or his hands were shaking, but he did his best to keep on trained on the hooded man.

“Your father's been poisoned. An assassin named Floyd Lawton laces his bullets with curare. I've dealt with this before. We need to dilute the poison in his bloodstream.”

“I said stay the hell back!”

“In three minutes he's paralyzed. In four minutes, he suffocates. If you don't let me help you now, he's dead before anybody gets here!” The man growled.

“Help.” Tommy couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “How?”

“Fresh blood buys him time to get to the hospital.”

“A blood transfusion? That's insane!” 

“It's the only way. He needs your blood.”

The Hood wanted to perform a medical experiment on his father. The same man that had attacked Mrs. Queen, that had abducted Laurel and destroyed her life, now thought he could help them? No.

He wasn’t going to let this monster take anything else from him.

“You're out of time. You need to make a decision right now.” The Hood took another menacing step. 

Tommy squeezed the trigger. The shot was loud in his ears, and he jolted back at the force. By the time he steadied his aim again, the vigilante was diving out of the shattered window, swinging away to safety.

He dropped the gun, hands shaking at what he’d tried to do. He’d missed, but he had meant to shoot a man, just like he’d seen his father do minutes prior.

“Dad,” he muttered, his pulse spiking again. His father was still lying unresponsive on the floor. Tommy fumbled for his phone and hit the emergency call button, hoping desperately it would be picked up as soon as possible.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“We’re in the penthouse office at Merlyn Global. My dad, he was nicked with a bullet and won’t wake up. Please send help!”

“Help is on the way. Just stay on the line.”

“God, dad. God, dad, please,” Tommy begged, using his free hand to grasp his father’s. He couldn’t lose him, too. No matter what their relationship had been till now, he couldn’t lose his father, too.

---

Quentin didn’t often allow himself to be in the position of feeling guilty. He did things by the book, by and large, he was good at his job. Usually when things in his life went wrong it was because some other person had decided to screw with him or his family.

But this time he couldn’t quite pin the blame elsewhere.

Maybe if he’d been willing to bend a little, work with the vigilante when he called. Maybe they could have had officers in the surrounding buildings, caught the sniper before he could get to his perch. Organized crime might have had some luck in catching the Triad if he’d tipped them off.

As it was, he was now stuck sitting in a hospital waiting room with his daughter’s ex-boyfriend, waiting on news of one of the richest men in the city. The older Merlyn had reportedly been unresponsive but breathing when first responders picked him up. They’d started him on fresh blood during the ambulance drive over.

Merlyn’s son sat with his head in his hands. He’d shakily confirmed that the Hood had made an appearance in the penthouse office, but that he’d driven the vigilante off. Quentin still wasn’t sure what had had the Hood so concerned about a one-percenter like Malcolm Merlyn. Was it possible the good press about the businessman was really true?

A doctor entered the room and approached Tommy Merlyn. He spoke quietly, though the expression on Merlyn’s face was shattered enough for him to guess it wasn’t good news. Quentin noticed a nurse hovering in the doorway and walked over.

“Comatose,” she confirmed in a low voice. “We’re hoping that keeping him under will allow his body to heal, but…”

Quentin returned to sit by Merlyn’s chair as the doctor left. “I’m sorry about your father,” he said, none of his usual bite when addressing the young man present in his voice. It wasn’t time for his personal disagreements.

“He’s the only family I have, and we were finally getting along. I just- if I lose him now…” he hung his head low. “If the Hood could have just brought the paramedics with him or taken him down to them, I don’t know—”

Quentin blinked. “How’s that?”

“He wanted to do a- a blood transfusion. Between me and my dad,” Merlyn clarified. “If I’d agreed, would it have saved him?”

“Well, there’s no telling if the Hood would’ve known how to do one properly,” he offered, even knowing as he said it that the vigilante wouldn’t have recommended it unless he did. That wasn’t what the kid needed to hear, though. “And your father’s still alive.”

The young man nodded, but his frown remained set on his face.

Quentin looked away, and in doing so spotted a young woman watching them from around a corner. His eyes narrowed in confusion as she noticed his stare and ducked back around to hide — but then, he recognized that expression. It was the same one Laurel had always worn when he’d caught her up past her bedtime reading under the covers.

“Look, I’m gonna give you some time, okay?”

The younger Merlyn nodded, and Quentin stood and made his way down the hall to his daughter.

As he approached, he had to slow as he started to tally the differences in his girl. Gone were the nice clothes and soft makeup; she wore a ripped up jean jacket with leggings and boots, and her lips were a dark red. Her hair had been cut short, the longest piece hanging over her forehead and just barely reaching below her chin.

“Hey, dad.”

His mouth opened, but he couldn’t seem to find words, so he just nodded stiffly.

“How’s Mr. Merlyn?”

That was easier; work always was. “Doctors are saying he’s slipped into a coma. They’re not sure yet how deep.”

Laurel looked down, scuffing one boot on the floor. “Is Tommy okay?”

“Holding up as well as expected. He could probably do with some support.”

Laurel shook her head. “He doesn’t want to see me.”

There wasn’t much Quentin could say to argue that point. “You came here anyway.”

She shrugged, almost helpless. “I had to check on him.”

He could understand that. He’d been doing a lot of checking up on a loved one too, lately.

The silence had stretched on thanks to his lack of response, and so Laurel nodded once before slowly turning on her heel. Quentin screwed up his nerves and said, “Laurel.”

She stopped. “Yeah, dad?”

“You— I mean could we— how’s the new job?”

“It’s good. I’m learning a lot.”

He nodded once. “Good.”

“Was there anything else?”

Yes, he wanted to say, I miss you. Where did my good girl go? What have I done?

“No,” he said instead, watching her shoulders slump at the answer. “That should, uh, that should do it.

“Unless,” he added, and she stopped again. Quentin didn’t think he was imagining the tiny spark of hope in her eyes. “I don’t know what your schedule’s like these days, but we could grab dinner maybe.”

“Okay. The shop closes at six, so I’m good most nights. Joanna and her mom invited me over on Friday, and I promised Anita we’d go out Saturday. But any other night works.”

“Anita?” He didn’t recognize that name.

“My neighbor. She and her husband, they’ve been really great.”

Quentin looked down. This was something a father should have already known. “Well, that’s good. I’m glad you’ve made friends.” He scratched at the back of his head. “Yeah, I’ll look at my schedule, get back to you in a couple of days.”

“Okay.” She was still standing there so guarded. He hated it. He wished he’d never gotten the idea to plant that stupid bug in the phone and wreck his daughter’s trust in him so completely. Why couldn’t there be some easy solution?

The solution wasn’t easy, but he did know how it had to start. “You know, I am — I’m sorry, honey. For everything with the Hood and your job, but mostly for what it did to us.”

She drew in a breath and stepped forward, slowly bringing her arms around for a hug that he readily returned. It was still Laurel he held in his arms, Nothing about her changed appearance changed that. He could squeeze his eyes shut and pretend none of the bad stuff had ever even happened.

“I’m sorry, too. But thank you for saying so.”

She drew away and walked down the hall, out of his sight. Quentin let her go. She wasn’t his little girl anymore, and hadn’t been for some time even if he’d refused to see it. He’d have to get to know this young woman if he wanted any part of his daughter’s life going forward.

But if tonight had taught him anything, it was best to reach out to family while there was still the time.

---

The fight with Dark Archer at Christmas had been one thing. Laurel losing her job at CNRI another. But this?

Mr. Merlyn lay comatose in the hospital. Tommy had effectively lost his other parent to violence, and he could have done something this time. He’d tried to do something. And he’d failed. Every time it seemed to count most, he failed.

Oliver remained in the base all night. He couldn’t go to the hospital, knowing he was to blame for not saving Tommy’s father. It would be impossible for him to put on an act in front of his best friend right now.

He’d sent Diggle home a long time ago, and the base was empty. McKenna had tried calling once, which he’d ignored. He didn’t know what time it was, as he remained sitting back against a wall. But at some point, the door opened and footsteps descended lightly.

“Oliver?”

His breath caught. Of course she’d come to him when he couldn’t bring himself to face anyone.

He heard her set something down on a table, and then her footsteps came closer. She rounded the corner and spotted him the same time he did her.

His melancholy lifted for a moment just at the sight of her, though that had more to do with surprise than anything. She’d cut her hair. Oliver stood as she approached, looking hardly like the young girl in the photo he’d kept for five years. Her soft smile was still the same, though.

“I thought I might find you here.”

“You heard the news.”

“Hard not to. It’s all any of the stations are talking about. Have you seen Tommy yet?”

He shook his head, and Laurel frowned.

“Why not?”

“He shot at me.” Oliver watched Laurel’s eyebrows raise. “As the Hood.”

“Tommy?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t close to hitting me, but I had to leave him before somebody got hurt. And now his dad…” he looked away.

“This wasn’t your fault, Oliver. You can’t help someone if they don’t want your help.”

“I should have told him the truth about me. Then he might have been able to trust me. He might have understood why you...” Oliver trailed off while Laurel pursed her lips. He knew it was probably still a sensitive subject to get into, so he let that thought lie. “Now I can’t ever tell him. He’d be so betrayed.”

If Laurel agreed with his assessment or not, she didn’t say. She simply pulled him into a hug. One of his hands went to the back of her head, and he found himself trailing his fingers through the short ends of her hair, marveling at the new feeling. Laurel let him, just radiating that calm strength she had always possessed.

Eventually they both stepped back.

“I’m guessing you haven’t talked to him?”

“No. But I have something for him.” She led him back over to the table where he saw a bouquet of some kind of pink and orange flowers he didn’t know the name of sitting in a vase with water. “They’re called alstroemeria. Can you make sure this gets to him?”

Oliver nodded. “Yeah, I’ll make sure it does.”

Laurel smiled for him again. “I know you don’t think so right now, but Tommy could really use a friend. And Ollie, you’re all he has.”

“I know.” It would be hard. It would be harder even than all the lying he’d been doing to his mother and sister. But he had to try for Tommy. “Thank you.”

“I’m still here for you.”

“I know.” He wished he could do more for her in return. If he only knew what was going on in the city, how to stop it, then he could leave all this behind and focus on his loved ones like he wanted to. 

But it couldn’t be. Just like he was kidding himself thinking he could have a relationship with a detective who was part of the task force hunting him down.

“Have you eaten anything today?” Laurel asked, and that drew him up short.

“What day is it?”

She shook her head. “Come on. We’ll get you some lunch. My treat, and no arguments.”

Laurel took a hold of his arm with strength he wasn’t expecting, looping it through her own. He’d probably feel guilt over it later — of the two of them, he was the one with far more cash to burn — but for once he was grateful to let someone else he trusted take the lead.

---

Moira paced the floor of her office. A coma. Perhaps the worst possible outcome. Malcolm was down, but not out. Not entirely.

Had he known his life was in danger, that there were some in his midst conspiring against him? Had he suspected her? If he woke, she supposed she would have her answers.

Now the only question was what to do in the meantime.

The door opened quietly and Frank slipped through. “I got your call. I’m not sure it’s safe to be meeting like this so soon after, Moira.”

“We’re just two people meeting after a tragedy has befallen our good friend, Frank,” Moira reminded him. “Nothing more.”

“Well, we both know that’s not true.”

“And we’re the only two who can ever know. Not until the job is complete.”

Frank looked at her in shock. “You can’t be suggesting—”

“We need to consider all our options, Frank. Can it be done?”

Her partner in this terrible crime slowly shook his head. “The Triad are unhappy. They lost good men to the Hood, and hiring two separate assassins was not cheap. They are not interested in doing me any favors at the moment.”

Moira closed her eyes. She’d been afraid that would be the answer. Without a third party to hire to take care of things, Malcolm would be allowed to lie undisturbed in the hospital. Perhaps, to heal.

“Then we go forward with Malcolm’s agenda.”

“Moira?”

“There’s still a chance he could wake up, Frank. If he does and discovers we’ve dismantled his work in the meantime,” she let that thought hang in the air between them, not needing to finish it.

“I have begun taking precautions,” he admitted. “Amanda will be staying in London for the foreseeable future. You should think about relocating your family as well, Moira.”

“I can’t.” Not until she had her whole family, at any rate. There was too much at stake for her here in Starling to simply abandon it. And Oliver had already been asking questions. A drastic move like that would only increase his interest.

“Then I suppose we must do as you say. Allow the preparations to proceed.” Frank fixed her a look. “And should the device be completed?”

Moira thought their options over. The closer they got to the completion of the Undertaking, the more abhorrent she found it. Knowing it was no longer an abstract idea but almost a possible reality...

But there was one saving grace: Malcolm’s pride.

“Then we wait. Malcolm would want to be the one to activate it. This is, after all, his life’s work.”

Frank nodded. “Then we wait.”

“Yes.”

Her old friend left her shortly after. She knew he worried most of all about looking suspicious. It was not an unwise fear to have. They were balanced precariously now, with lives on either side.

The plans for Malcolm’s Undertaking would have to continue. If she ever wanted even the slimmest chance of seeing Walter again, she could not afford to show her traitorous colors.

[lady-of-nightmares-and-heartache]

Dark Angel: Chapter 1

Summary: Hiding from Imperials, Aria accidentally discovers that Moff Gideon is alive. Just when she thinks her life is over, an unlikely hero arrives. 

Rated PG: Mentions of violence

Word Count: 2.247k

Aria had lived on Nevarro for the past couple of years and did her best to stay under the radar. She had fled Coruscant after Imperials made it one of their stronghold planets. Her parents worked their way up the ranks as Imperial officers, and just being in their proximity didn’t sit right with her. When she was eighteen, she left. Her parents knew that she didn’t agree with their ideals, and when they found out she ran away, they informed the entire Empire that she was to be returned unharmed. They wanted to… persuade her to join the cause. Besides, having a daughter that was considered a rebel wasn’t good for their image. 

Aria had to lay low and bounced from planet to planet every couple of months. Eventually she settled on Nevarro. Attention was never something a girl on a planet full of less than stellar characters wanted. Nevarro was full of bounty hunters (who thankfully were uninterested in working with the Empire), and more recently, stormtroopers and other Imperials have had a heavy presence on the planet. Imperials always meant bad news. Aria stayed anyway, making sure no attention was drawn to her. That all changed when word spread of a former rebel shocktrooper, a hunting droid, the infamous Mandalorian, the leader of the bounty hunters Guild and a baby taking on Moff Gideon and an entire company of stormtroopers. She was smart and stayed inside her small apartment when all the action was happening. Somehow the small group of… vigilantes, for lack of a better word, made it out alive. Some stormtroopers started to hunt for the offenders when it was announced that Moff Gideon had perished in a TIE fighter crash. Life returned to normal, although the remaining stormtroopers continued to try and assert their dominance over the citizens of Nevarro. Aria was no fighter by any means, but she was a decent shot with a blaster. 

Long story short, Moff Gideon was still alive and Aria had found out the hard way. Walking to the market, a few weeks after the showdown, she could’ve sworn she was being followed. Not willing to chance anything, she switched up her route, cutting through an alley. That was her first mistake. She tensed as a distinctive hum echoed in the tight space. Turning around slowly, her eyes widened as she saw Moff Gideon standing there, with a black lightsaber pointed at her. Aria was too stunned to speak, but Gideon had a reputation for his tendency to talk.

“It’s Aria if I’m not mistaken. Your parents were wondering what became of you.” Gideon broke the silence. Aria’s heart raced. How the hell did he find her? “You’re probably wondering why I picked you of all people, for this task.”

She swallowed. “Picked me for what?”

Gideon smiled. “You’re going to tell me where the Mandalorian is, or I’m bringing you back to Coruscant.”

Aria tilted her head, nervousness replaced by genuine confusion. “What are you talking about? The one with the bounty on him? I don’t know where he is, and I’ve never even met the guy.”

The false pleasantness Gideon had displayed melted away quickly. “That won’t be an issue. You’re going to seek him out. He’ll never expect some random girl from Coruscant to be hunting him.”

“He’ll never expect it, because it’s not happening.” Aria gave a sardonic grin. “Why in the galaxy would you think I’d help you? Not only are you Imperial, you took everything from so many people. The least I can do is to take something from you.” She glared at the Moff. “You’ll have to find the Mandalorian on your own. Am I free to go? Because I promise you, I’ll die before I go back to Coruscant.”

Moff Gideon hid his surprise well, shock distorting his facial features for a fraction of a second. Any boldness that she had moments before melted away instantly. Gideon raised an eyebrow and then smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He repositioned his hands on the lightsaber.

“So be it,” Gideon said darkly.

Gideon swung the weapon back and Aria closed her eyes and flinched, anticipating what was sure to be a fatal blow. Time stood still. Figuring she should’ve been dead by now; she cracked an eye open. She straightened up when it appeared that Gideon was stuck. He was definitely trying to swing the weapon forward, but his arm just wouldn’t move. Whatever had a hold on him didn’t last long. As he swung down in a perfect arc, a cable wrapped around Aria’s wrist and yanked her backwards. Aria screamed, the hot blade just missing her chest. Barely regaining her balance, the cord retracted from her arm, and a shiny figure pulled her back, and stepped in front of her.

Moff Gideon adjusted himself and looked smugly at the Mandalorian.

“Din Djarin, just the man we were looking for! So nice of you to stop by. My friend here was just about to help me.”

The Mandalorian turned his head the slightest fraction as if he wanted to look at you. Gideon laughed and the Mandalorian went rigid.

“I see the little asset is doing well.”

At the mention of another being, Aria glanced to the side and saw the cutest little green goblin that she had ever seen, standing on a small stack of wooden crates left in the alley. The man in front of her and Gideon had exchanged more words that she didn’t quite catch. The Mandalorian aimed his pulse-rifle at Gideon, and the baby made grabby hands in her direction. Carefully, she took a few steps over and picked up the little green bean, who cooed adorably.

“I don’t think you want to do that Djarin,” Gideon warned. “You know now that I am in the possession of the Darksaber. Anything that you fire at me will deflect right back at the rest of you.” Gideon looked so smug, that the Mandalorian wanted to put a hole in his head right here and now.

The Mandalorian didn’t waver once. Calmly he angled his head back to Aria, keeping his eyes trained on Moff Gideon.

“Take the kid and go to the Razor Crest. If you can’t find it, get Greef Karga or Cara Dune. They’ll help.”

Not in a position to question the guy that just saved her life, Aria gave a quick nod in acknowledgement and took off in the direction that the Mandalorian had come from, the kid secured tightly in her arms.

The Razor Crest wasn’t difficult to find. The kid lit up in excitement when he saw a ship, so she figured that had to be the one. Aria found a little panel that opened and closed with a blanket in it, so she placed the kid there and shut the panel. She had a bad feeling and did a quick sweep of the rest of the ship. She came across a mini armory stocked with weapons of every kind. Grabbing a small blaster, Aria went down the ramp to check the outside of the ship. Beyond thankful for trusting her gut, she removed a tracker that she found on the underside of the ship’s ramp. She dropped it on the ground, stepped back and shot it twice. Maybe a little over dramatic, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

Her head snapped up when the unmistakable sound of blaster fire in the distance reached her ears. Scrambling back up the ramp she tried to spot the Mandalorian in the sudden sea of white. When she didn’t see the shiny flash of silver, her stomach twisted into knots. It just occurred to her that she had no idea how to fly this ship. Before she could dwell on the fact that both she and the child were going to be taken by stormtroopers, the Mandalorian literally dropped out of the sky and onto the ground a few feet in front of the ramp. Aria jumped up and had a mini-heart attack at his surprise appearance. Quickly recovering from being startled, she started shooting at the rapidly approaching stormtroopers. The Mandalorian fired off a few shots himself, before slowly backing up the ramp.

“Get in, I’ll cover you!” Aria shouted. The Mandalorian turned around and reached the interior of his ship. He slammed the panel on the wall and the ramp slowly started to close. She kept firing, hoping to keep the rest of the troopers advances at bay. One stray bolt shot from outside slipped through the crack of the almost fully shut door. The Mandalorian was only a foot away when he shot his arm out in front of Aria’s neck. A small grunt slipped through his modulator. 

The bolt was absorbed by whatever material his vambrace was made out of.  Aria was breathless and looked at the Mandalorian with wide eyes. The Mandalorian said nothing and disappeared into the cockpit. Aria found something to hold on to as she could feel the Razor Crest ascend from Nevarro. Her mind was racing, but her heart was racing faster. She had almost died twice today. The most recent time, a blaster bolt was literally less than an inch away from burning a hole in her throat. Too many close calls. Then she thought of the Mandalorian. There’s no mistaking that he is the one that’s got a bounty on him. 

Based on Gideon calling the little green baby an asset, that had to be right. The first time he saved her life, she swore he was her knight in shining armor- literally. The second time, well, no knight that Aria had ever heard of would be able to predict where such a precise shot was aimed and react quick enough to block it. He was more like a guardian angel. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear the Mandalorian exit the cockpit and enter the cargo hold. The Mandalorian announced his presence simply by clearing his throat. Aria snapped back to reality and turned to face him. The silence was more than uncomfortable. The Mandalorian held out his hand, palm up, as if he were expecting something. Aria looked down and realized that she still had one of his guns in her hand. Oops.

“How do you know it isn’t my own?” Aria asked defensively.

“You would have grabbed it out of your waistband in the alley.” The vocoder distorted his voice slightly giving it a mechanical crackle.

Ah. Yeah that made sense. He is a bounty hunter and a Mandalorian so he probably trained to notice little things like that. She gave the weapon back to its rightful owner. He placed the blaster back in the armory, and headed back up to the cockpit. Not entirely sure what was safe to do, Aria checked in on the baby and saw that he was awake. Scooping the kid up, she climbed the ladder and followed the Mandalorian.

Aria would never get tired of how stunning hyperspace looked. Eyes shining in awe, she silently sat in the co-pilot’s seat. The kid saw the Mandalorian sitting just in front of them and squealed, clambering out of Aria’s arms and into Mando’s.

“I guess I should thank you for saving my life twice back there. I appreciate it.” Mando swung his chair around and cocked his head to the side. Aria could swear that she felt him staring. “I’m Aria, by the way.”

Mando dipped his chin in acknowledgement.

“Gideon?” she realized she never found out what happened back there.

A sigh slipped through the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“Escaped.”

Aria wanted to blink out of existence. “Damn it,” she muttered.

“What were you doing with the Moff anyway?”

Aria told the truth. “He followed me through town. Asked me to tell him where you were. I had no idea, obviously and then he said that I’m supposed to find where you were and let him know immediately.”

She noticed his shoulders tense as she spoke. Putting both hands up in mock-surrender, she had to reassure the bounty hunter. “Hey Mando, relax. I told him that I’d rather die than help him. I’m not about to start playing ball for the Imperials now.”

“Good.”

The duo sat in silence for a long time, sans the occasional coos and squeals of the child. Figuring that the Mandalorian was unlikely to start speaking, and she wasn’t likely to break the uncomfortable silence, Aria decided that she should go.

Aria stood up to leave, but she hesitated. She wasn’t sure where she planned to go. Before Aria made it to the ladder, she was graced with verbal communication from the Mandalorian.

“Second door on the left.”

Figuring that must be where he expected her to stay for the time being, she didn’t ask for clarification.

“Thanks.”

On her way down, she passed a thick stack of carbonite chambers, all full. Based on their facial expressions, their captor seemed ruthless. A shiver ran down Aria’s spine. Maybe he was darker than she had originally believed. Best to stay on his good side, just in case.

When she arrived at the second door on the left, she peeked in. Sleeping quarters. Shuffling into the small space, she plopped down on to the barren cot. She was absolutely exhausted.

Her head hit the pillow, and her eyes fought to stay open. She fell asleep wondering how her day had ended up with her traveling on a Mandalorian’s ship.

[spideythot]

Criminal AU part 3

Third installment of this au I’ve been working on; definitely more to come (sex must happen lol) But Enjoy!

Warnings: Kidnapping, coercion/blackmail, dubious consent, general criminality

———

They were late - 15 minutes was not enough time for Peter to get Tony off, especially when the man attempted to choke Peter with his cock. Peter ended up just using his hands and sucking on the tip until Tony came. Then the man insisted on getting Peter off, since they’d been interrupted, which Peter wasn’t going to say no to. After Peter had to wash his hands and change into one of his suits. Thankfully, Ms. Potts only glared at Tony and not Peter when they finally arrived a few floors down.

Peter sat next to Tony, Starkpad in his hands, and with Friday’s help, tried very much to keep up with note taking, future schedules and general coordinating in the meeting. Tony did his best to distract him, casually placing his hand on Peter’s leg from time to time. He would drag it up to the younger man’s thigh testing how far he could get before Peter pushed his hand away.

He tried to escape with the rest of the board members when it was over, but Tony caught him by the waist and dragged him to an office. They were thankfully followed by Pepper. “You have to make a decision on these projects and tell me whether or not we’re hiring an intern.

Tony pouted at her and then held Peter between them. “Personal assistants take care of Pepper,” he said.

Pepper rolled her eyes, but she handed Peter a Starkpad. “Just pick one,” she said. “I’ll deal with the internship.” Peter tapped on one of the folder files on the screen. She left them then, glaring at Tony as she did.

Peter slapped the man’s hand away after the door to the office was closed. Tony tried groping him again, and he even stepped away. “Stop,” Peter protested, “Don’t I have training or something?”

Tony shrugged. He grabbed Peter again and pressed him up against the desk. “I’ll train you...” he purred. “Train you to be the perfect little slut for me.”

Peter rolled his eyes and pushed him away. “No, thanks...” he grumbled.

“Then I’m sending you to get us food, and coffee,” Tony retorted. He handed Peter some cash. “I expect you back within the hour. If I have to track you down, I’ll be locking you up.”

Peter rolled his eyes as he took the money. He left the office and Stark Tower headed to his favorite deli - he’d be back right before the end of the hour, but he figured Stark could sweat about him running away. Unfortunately, when Peter returned with food, Tony didn’t even look up at him. He plopped Stark’s sandwich down on to the desk, then Peter dropped himself on the couch against the wall. “I’m keeping your change,” he announced.

Tony hummed and continued to ignore him. Peter ate on the couch, probably wrinkling his suit but he didn’t care anymore. He supposed in terms of captivity and servitude, this wasn’t terrible. Peter could even take a nap... just laying here, stomach full...

He was just dozing off when he felt a hand on him. Peter’s eyes snapped open and then narrowed at Stark, who was caressing his cheek. “Sleeping on the job?” The man teased, “I think I’ve got a reason to punish you.”

Peter scoffed and sat up. He pushed Tony’s hand away. “What else am I supposed to do?” He asked.

Tony shrugged and handed Peter his Starkpad. “Friday has some modules for you,” he said. “I’m going out, so behave yourself.”

Peter was about to ask where Tony was rushing off to, but the Iron Man armor began slipping out of its home to encase the man’s body. Peter stared, entranced by the silver trickle of the nanotech. His gaze met with Stark’s icy blue eyes and he immediately turned away, face flushing. Tony caught Peter’s chin and turned him back. He pressed a quick kiss to Peter’s lips. “Don’t wait up,” he purred, chuckling when Peter sputtered and pulled away from him. Peter hid his face behind the Starkpad, ignoring Tony until the man opened the office floor-to-ceiling window and flew off.

He played around with the training modules for almost an hour. Then he sat down at Tony’s desk and pretended he ran the place. The chair was plush, but had a bold modern design. It made him feel powerful, which is how he imagined Stark felt while sitting in it, staring down at whoever was in front of him. Probably some nervous intern... Peter shuddered. He opened up the Starkpad again and attempted to dig into Tony’s program files. Tony’s AI stopped him a few times, but Peter found a temporary way to bypass her programming. His digging got him a handful of projects: files on spending, engineering work, and some blueprints. All valuable, if Peter wanted to sell them to one of Stark’s rivals... but that would probably get him killed. He closed out of the programs. If he had his laptop with him, he could try to mess with Stark’s security - upload his own program and hack into more sensitive information. Maybe Peter could find something to level the field between him and Tony.

He was startled from his thoughts by a knock at the door. Before he could answer - or take his feet off the desk - Pepper was entering. “Mr. Stark isn’t here...” Peter stammered, standing up as she approached him. Had he really just said Mr. Stark? God, the man was getting to him.

“I know,” Pepper replied. She set a stack of manilla folders on Tony’s desk. “These are for Tony to look at when he’s back. It’s now your job to make sure he does it.”

Peter nodded. She raked her eyes over him and Peter had never felt more inadequate in his life.

“Friday notified me that you were trying to hack into Stark Industries’ mainframe,” she added. Peter stiffened and was about to explain, but Pepper held up her hand and continued, “You won’t get in, so I don’t care. But she sends those notifications to Tony as well.”

Peter honestly hadn’t thought about that. Pepper broke their gaze when he didn’t reply and left him alone. Peter sat back down, slumping in the chair. He’d dug himself a bigger hole. Shit.

He glanced at the files on the desk. Maybe Stark would let it slide, if he could distract the man with work. Peter began flipping through them, wasting time until he deemed it acceptable to return to the penthouse. Peter did attempt to go down in the elevator, but Friday blocked him. And then she locked the stairwell down for good measure. Frustrated and outsmarted by an AI, Peter returned to Tony’s home. He changed into some comfortable clothes - leggings and an old sweater Tony has bought him - and set up with his laptop on the couch in the living area. He worked on his own programs, wrote some codes, and checked his personal funds. He actually had money, since he didn’t pay rent this month and wouldn’t have to for a while. Peter perused some online stores and then turned on Tony’s tv to stream a movie.

He must’ve fallen asleep, because he woke up with fingers stroking through his hair. Peter glanced up at the television, some movie he didn’t recognize on the screen, and then his eyes darted up. Tony’s eyes were on the tv, glowing bright blue in the light. Peter’s head was in his lap, body curled up on the couch next to him. Peter shifted slightly, ready to get up.

Tony’s fingers lightly pressed on his scalp,

and the man held him in place. “It’s alright,” he murmured, “Stay here.” He massaged Peter’s head, and the boy relaxed against his legs again. It felt good, Tony stroked his scalp and even moved his hand down to Peter’s neck to rub it. Peter felt himself slipping back to sleep. He shook his head to clear it and sat up, despite Tony’s protest.

“What time is it?” he asked with a soft yawn.

“Nearly midnight,” Tony replied. He was still wearing the Iron Man armor, legs splayed wide as he sat on the couch. Peter’s laptop was still sitting open on the coffee table, but the screen was dark. He sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I should go to bed then,” he said.

Tony hummed in response. He grabbed Peter’s wrist and stood, hauling the boy to his feet. “Good idea,” he finally said.

Peter allowed Tony to walk him to the master bedroom. He stopped at the doorway though. “Can’t I have my own room?” Peter whined.

“No,” Tony answered. He tugged Peter forward. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at the man, but he was too tired to really care. He entered the room and flopped down on the bed. He watched the armor on Tony’s body slip away. Then Tony was stripping out of his clothes, tossing them to the ground. Peter’s eyes trailed down the man’s well muscled back as the clothing came off. Tony was so unfairly attractive... but Peter wasn’t going to be lured in by that. Tony glanced over his shoulder at Peter, and the boy quickly diverted his gaze. Tony climbed into bed with Peter, just in his boxer briefs. He pulled Peter into his arms. “Did you enjoy the show?” He purred into Peter’s ear.

Peter humphed and stuck his nose upward. “You wish,” he replied.

Tony chuckled and tucked Peter against his body. He was warm and Peter found it frighteningly easy to curl up in his arms. He yawned again and met Tony’s blue eyes. They were... still glowing? Impossible. Peter directs his gaze to the arc reactor on Tony’s chest. That’s where the glow came from, it had to be. He hesitantly touched the machinery as Tony watched him. It was a remarkable piece of technology - the most powerful armor in the world all housed in a neat little box. He stroked his fingers over the smooth surface and felt himself yawn again.

Tony kisses his forehead, large hand slowly stroking over Peter’s back and shoulders. “Go to sleep,” the man insisted.

Peter’s eyes fluttered shut and all he could offer in terms of a snarky comeback was, “You go to sleep.” Moments later, he was resting comfortably in Tony’s arms.

[luckylq26-blog]

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[phroyd]

I totally support all of the Liberal “Left” Proposals, and yet, this simple observation, the quote below,  is quite correct, and the body of this Opinion Piece shows the path Democrats should take in THIS particular election:

“ ... Not all elections are equal. Some elections are a vote for great changes — like the Great Society. Others are a vote to save the country. This election is the latter.   That doesn’t mean a Democratic candidate should stand for nothing, just keep it simple: Focus on building national unity and good jobs. ... “ 

- Phroyd

I’m struck at how many people have come up to me recently and said, “Trump’s going to get re-elected, isn’t he?” And in each case, when I drilled down to ask why, I bumped into the Democratic presidential debates in June. I think a lot of Americans were shocked by some of the things they heard there. I was.

I was shocked that so many candidates in the party whose nominee I was planning to support want to get rid of the private health insurance covering some 250 million Americans and have “Medicare for all” instead. I think we should strengthen Obamacare and eventually add a public option.

I was shocked that so many were ready to decriminalize illegal entry into our country. I think people should have to ring the doorbell before they enter my house or my country.

I was shocked at all those hands raised in support of providing comprehensive health coverage to undocumented immigrants. I think promises we’ve made to our fellow Americans should take priority, like to veterans in need of better health care.

And I was shocked by how feeble was front-runner Joe Biden’s response to the attack from Kamala Harris — and to the more extreme ideas promoted by those to his left.

So, I wasn’t surprised to hear so many people expressing fear that the racist, divisive, climate-change-denying, woman-abusing jerk who is our president was going to get re-elected, and was even seeing his poll numbers rise.

Dear Democrats: This is not complicated! Just nominate a decent, sane person, one committed to reunifying the country and creating more good jobs, a person who can gain the support of the independents, moderate Republicans and suburban women who abandoned Donald Trump in the midterms and thus swung the House of Representatives to the Democrats and could do the same for the presidency. And that candidate can win!

But please, spare me the revolution! It can wait. Win the presidency, hold the House and narrow the spread in the Senate, and a lot of good things still can be accomplished. “No,” you say, “the left wants a revolution now!” O.K., I’ll give the left a revolution now: four more years of Donald Trump.

That will be a revolution.

Four years of Trump feeling validated in all the crazy stuff he’s done and said. Four years of Trump unburdened by the need to run for re-election and able to amplify his racism, make Ivanka secretary of state, appoint even more crackpots to his cabinet and likely get to name two right-wing Supreme Court justices under the age of 40.

Yes sir, that will be a revolution!

It will be an overthrow of all the norms, values, rules and institutions that we cherish, that made us who we are and that have united us in this common project called the United States of America.

If the fear of that doesn’t motivate the Democratic Party’s base, then shame on those people. Not all elections are equal. Some elections are a vote for great changes — like the Great Society. Others are a vote to save the country. This election is the latter.

That doesn’t mean a Democratic candidate should stand for nothing, just keep it simple: Focus on building national unity and good jobs.

I say national unity because many Americans are terrified and troubled by how bitterly divided, and therefore paralyzed, the country has become. There is an opening for a unifier.

And I say good jobs because when the wealth of the top 1 percent equals that of the bottom 90 percent, we do have to redivide the pie. I favor raising taxes on the wealthiest Americans to subsidize universal pre-K education and to reduce the burden of student loans. Let’s give kids a head start and college grads a fresh start.

But I’m disturbed that so few of the Democratic candidates don’t also talk about growing the pie, let alone celebrating American entrepreneurs and risk-takers. Where do they think jobs come from?

The winning message is to double down on redividing the pie in ways that give everyone an opportunity for a slice while also growing the pie sustainably.

Trump is growing the pie by cannibalizing the future. He is creating a growth spurt by building up enormous financial and carbon debts that our kids will pay for.

Democrats should focus on how we create sustainable wealth and good jobs, which is the American public-private partnership model: Government enriches the soil and entrepreneurs grow the companies.

It has always been what’s made us rich, and we’ve drifted away from it: investing in quality education and basic scientific research; promulgating the right laws and regulations to incentivize risk-taking and prevent recklessness and monopolies that can cripple free markets; encouraging legal immigration of both high-energy and high-I.Q. foreigners; and building the world’s best enabling infrastructure — ports, roads, bandwidth and basic social safety nets.

Ask Gina Raimondo, Rhode Island’s governor, and my kind of Democrat. She was just elected in 2018 for a second term. In both her elections she had to win a primary against a more-left Democrat. When Raimondo took office in 2015, Rhode Island had unemployment near 7 percent, and over 20 percent in some of the building trades.

“When I ran in 2014, there was a temptation to appeal to particular constituencies — gun safety, choice, all things that I believe in,” Raimondo recalled. “I resisted that temptation because I felt the single greatest issue was economic insecurity and people who were afraid they were never going to get a job. So I said there are not three or four issues, there’s one issue: jobs.” Unemployment in Rhode Island today is about 3.6 percent.

Raimondo has faced a constant refrain from critics on her left that she is too close to business. “I created an incentive program for companies to get a tax subsidy if they created jobs that pay above our state’s median income or jobs in advanced industries,” she noted. “I have cut small-business taxes two years in a row since 2015. I am not ashamed of any of that.”

Because, she continued, “I listen to people every day, and you hear what they are worried about. People say to me, ‘Governor, I just got a real job.’ And I’d ask them, ‘What is a real job?’ And they’d say, ‘It’s a job where I can support my family with real benefits.’ So I named our state job-training program ‘Real Jobs Rhode Island.’”It will be impossible to “sustain a vibrant democracy with this level of inequality.”

The right answer is to reinvigorate the key elements of a healthy public-private partnership, said Raimondo: higher taxes on wealthier people, more investments in affordable housing, infrastructure and universal pre-K, and empowering the private sector to create more real jobs — “so that no one who is working full time at any job should have to collect Medicaid and need food stamps to make ends meet.”

Concluded Raimondo: “I am no apologist for a brand of capitalism that leads to unsustainable inequality. But I do believe a more responsible capitalism is necessary for growth. We need to redivide the pie and grow the pie. I am a ‘pro-growth Democrat.’ I am for growing the pie as long as everyone has a shot at getting their slice.”

That’s a simple message that can connect with enough Democrats — as well as independents, moderate Republicans and suburban women — to win the White House.

Thomas L. Friedman is the foreign affairs Op-Ed columnist. He joined the paper in 1981, and has won three Pulitzer Prizes. He is the author of seven books, including “From Beirut to Jerusalem,” which won the National Book Award. @tomfriedman 

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