#deckplate

[swaps55]

I wrote! Is it for Mezzo? No. It's for the ME3 story, but it's important, and leads into something that's been replaying itself in my head for probably two years now, heh.

Sam and Kaidan, welcome to the geth dreadnought.

~

The ship bucks again under another salvo, metal alloys groaning in slow, dying protest. Artificial gravity gives way while Kaidan is mid-stride. His stomach does a somersault, limb flailing as his armored boot fails to hit the deckplates, momentum sending him careening. Behind him, Shepard swears. Kaidan reaches for a steel support to catch himself - close enough, I can reach it - but a still-functioning geth unit opens fire. Three rounds from a pulse rifle glance off his shields, the kinetic energy altering his trajectory just enough his fingers brush nothing but air. Somewhere behind him a pistol fires – Shepard – and the pulse rifle falls silent.

His heartbeat ratchets up as he clears the catwalk and floats into the cavernous maw of the docking bay, an easy target with nowhere to go.

Tali calls from below him, where she’d managed to grab the same support Kaidan had missed. She snags him by the foot, stopping his motion with a jerk before slinging him up towards the commandeered fighter. He collides with the wing, grunting, but manages to slip along it to the open hatch and climb inside. Tali pushes off behind him, aimed right for his outstretched hand. He grabs her tight and pulls her inside, then sticks his head back out.  

“Shepard!”

Frantically, he scans the cargo bay until he spots the ride and white armor stripe. Shepard clings to a piece of debris on the level below with both arms.

The ship shudders again. Hard. Just like the Normandy in her death throes.

We don’t have much time.

“Shepard,” Kaidan calls out again. “Here!”

Shepard glances up, and for several beats refuses to move. But then he takes a deep breath and kicks off from his perch, straight as an arrow right to Kaidan.

Just as Kaidan grabs his hand, the flash of a geth headlight silhouettes Shepard’s body in an eerie glow. Another geth unit – or the same one – seizes its opportunity and grabs hold of Shepard’s leg. Metal fingers clamp down hard on the armor plating and squeeze. A red flag pings in Kaidan’s medical HUD as Shepard cries out in pain. Suit breach – decompression imminent.

Copper burns the back of Kaidan’s throat. The geth’s momentum yanks Shepard hard to the left, nearly wrenching him out of Kaidan’s grasp. The actuators in his gauntlets whir as he puts every spare ounce of suit power he has into not letting go. Shepard flails, trying to shake the geth loose, but it just digs its fingers deeper into the fractured armor plating.

Shepard’s faceplate fogs, his heart rate shooting into the stratosphere.

“Shepard,” Kaidan cries, fighting with everything he has to hold onto that hand. “Need you to hold…still.”

But Shepard doesn’t even hear him, fighting like a wounded animal to shake loose of the geth.

“Shepard.”

This time Shepard looks up at him, eyes wide and white under the thin layer of condensation clinging to the inside of his faceplate.

“I’ve got you. Trust me.”

One heartbeat. Two. Three.

Shepard resistance goes slack, leaving him strung helplessly between Kaidan and the geth unit.  

Without the eezo-generated gravity, the gravity well feels oily and slippery, but Kaidan digs deep into it. His corona shines as he densifies a field in the palm of his open hand, and sucks in a breath.  

Don’t. Move.  

He slams the field home into the geth’s carapace, missing Shepard by millimeters. For a terrible moment the force of the blow almost tears Shepard from his grasp, but the geth bleats and lets go, spinning head over feet. Kaidan gasps and reels Shepard in, wrapping his other arm around Shepard’s waist. Tali does the rest, yanking them both inside and sealing the airlock.

“Legion, go, go, we’re secure! Go!”   

[breakfastteatime]

"Knock, knock." Greez pokes his head around the door. "You gonna sleep tonight?"

Cal looks up from the workbench, BD hopping onto his shoulder. "Nope. Don't worry, I'll be quiet. BD too."

BD beeps. Quietly.

"You gonna tinker with that lightsaber all night?"

"Probably."

"No."

Now Cal is intrigued. Or maybe worried. Worried, yeah, definitely worried. "You gonna drug me?"

"Nah, although I probably do have some recreational drugs around here somewhere that'd put you down for a day or two."

"Oh yeah? Like what? I could use a pick me up." Cal wears the most innocent look he still possesses.

Greez doesn't fall for it. "Galley. Now."

Cal looks at BD. BD shrugs, hops down and follows Greez.

In the galley, Cal sees a bucket, a mop, wash cloths and spray bottles. "Are you trying to tell me I smell again?"

"No, although you do and I bought you deodorant for a reason. I'm telling you if you can't sleep, you can make yourself useful and clean up the ship for me." Greez hands over the bucket and the mop. "Start in the lounge. You tracked in mud. Again. I wanna see my reflection in the deckplating in the morning."

[smoosey]

WIP Wednesday

My hanahaki Codywan WIP has had me by the throat the last couple of weeks 👀

My actual last lines are spoilery, but this excerpt, I think, is fun:

Three years and a lifetime later, Cody stutters past what's left of Bloom on Felucia, the man's chest carved open under fire-lit skies. The work of a commando droid —a dying body split collarbone to hip. Under the torn-up teeth of shattered plastoid, Cody sees, his lungs are still moving. But it's too late, still, for him. His helmet is off, and Cody does not meet his eyes. Half a klik uphill, a gunship is waiting. The moment Cody's knees hit the deckplate, they're airborne. Carrion birds circle above. Seeing them, Cody feels a flush of fever. From the lurching and chaos of the LAAT/i racing to break atmo, Cody fires two shots. The birds scatter, in the twilight. And below —his brothers, unburied. Undisturbed, but not for long. In dreams, night after night, Cody recalls the heaving froth of blood at Bloom's lips, in the moment he saw him last. How it was nearly pink in the gloom— paler and greyer than his rose petals ever were.

I'm really chipping away at this one, but cheerleading greatlyy appreciated 🫶✨️

[she-who-paints-with-fire]

OVER DRINKS

Ship-watching was always an interesting experience, because it always brought so many more questions than it did answers.

Despite all their years of experience watching ship after ship dock in Eris V's bays, though, nobody—not a single soul, from the oldest and best-travelled to the youngest and most-rooted—could make heads or tails of the ship currently slipping into the docking bay.

Living in a port meant familiarity with certain types of ships. That was just a fact of life. Sure, each one had its little quirks, but deep-space haulers all more or less followed the same design philosophy; large fuel tanks, plenty of cargo space, and some guns for self-defense. The same was true of port cargo tugs, starliners, the rare corporate-flagged pleasurecraft, and almost anything else. Older souls, the ones around when Harrison Armory first started sniffing around Eris V, remembered the designs of pirate ships—cannons on gimballed turrets, fearsome decals painted onto heavy armor plating, and oversized thrusters to chase down fleeing traders—and in the modern day most knew that this was generally true of military vessels, too.

She was small, as ships went; barely half the length of the docking bay. She had no obvious windows or airlocks and was painted almost completely matte black. Cowling covered her engines, which still seemed to hum with more power than they should've been able to harness, given their size—but they didn't cause heat distortion. She didn't fly a flag where anyone could see. Her silhouette seemed to flicker like a hologram as people watched.

The only people in the galaxy that loved rumors more than sailors were dockworkers, so whispers quickly began to fly from mouth-to-mouth. Was the new arrival a ghost ship? The oversized casket of a rogue NHP? A mobile base of operations for a HORUS cell, or some coherent nanite cloud created by the Maw? Was her appearance even real? Every type of theory, from "secret Harrison stealthship" to "personal ride of an Eidolon" began to circulate, becoming ever more ridiculous as people began to exaggerate, bit by bit drawing further away from the truth.

And, in all the confusion and rumor-mongering, nobody noticed a short woman with tan skin and a panther tattoo slip out of one of the hidden airlocks.

Sasha "Jadwiga" Bonifacia took a deep breath of recycled station air and began making her way out of the docking bay. Her dyed hair was hidden behind the hood of an inconspicuous grey jacket, stripped clean of any identifying marks; a knife was hidden at the small of her back, and a more obvious pistol rode her hip. In almost every respect she looked like just another tired spacer as she made her way into the tight hallways of the station, occasionally overhearing a bit of idle chatter from the dockworkers.

"I heard it's the black horse of RA itself! That moon is probably on its way here already, to make us all into NHPs!" Sasha shook her head at the idea and laughed to herself.

Sailors and their stories...

The sound of her boots clicking against the scuffed metal deckplates was lost in the hubbub of ambient noise. Beneath her hood, Sasha's eyes flicked back and forth, assessing threats and finding paths, trying to find her way towards the bar that Pinkerton had said they would meet up in.

Terminal, terminal, terminal... ah, there. Map terminal... oh, that's actually pretty close by. Just a brief step out onto the Concourse.

The crowds had, so far, been thinner than Sasha had expected. There had been people, sure, and a lot of them, but she had been able to maintain personal space. Not so on the Concourse. The crowd was thick—Sasha had a bare few millimetres to herself as she followed the tide of people along. The conversation was deafening. Above the tide of people, dozens of bright neon signs advertised pleasures that you could not afford, and should not rent; tables at high-class casinos, racing ships that could touch significant fractions of lightspeed. Open-front restaurants and bars let the scent of a half dozen cultures mingle in the air. Spice, heat, alcohol, berries... the list went on, and on, and on. And the temperature; the heat from too many bodies pressed into the Concourse. It felt like the room was at least five degrees hotter than the dock.

Someone jostled Sasha as they passed, dressed in all-white robes. A trio of Volador gave her a small wave, and she returned it. For a place that could've so easily been lifeless, Eris V felt... almost homely. Packed, bustling, and chaotic, but homely.

There we go. The LosMech.

She slipped out of the crowd like a fish leaving a river for a tributary, and pushed past the heavy wooden door. A pleasant chill ran over her skin—the bar must've had an air conditioning system. The bartender gave her a nod as she walked in, so she gave her a friendly wave and slid into a seat at the bar.

"Have not seen you before," the bartender noted. A jade-green bird was tattooed on her collarbone, just barely visible beneath a black leather jacket, which she wore open.

"I'm new here, meeting a friend," Sasha replied.

"I see," the bartender nodded. "You might wanna grab a booth. What's your poison?"

"Whiskey sour, if you'd please," Sasha answered, settling in for the wait.

( @shot-glass-speedloader )

[walkawaytall]

For the word game - blaster

You get a whole dang snippet because I feel like it! This is from the Organa Twins AU:

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Solo glanced at him as he approached, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Doublin’ your weapons won’t make your aim better, kid.”

Luke scowled. “It’s not for me,” he said as the cell door whooshed open.

“Took you long enough!” Leia shouted as she charged through the doorway. “You’ve been in range for an hour!”

Luke tossed the extra blaster in her direction and pulled his from the holster, ready to aim. Before he could answer, Solo had apparently decided Leia’s comment was criticism.

“Yeah, well, they didn’t exactly send a welcoming committee for us, Sweetheart. Got here as quick as we could without gettin’ killed.”

Leia shot Luke a disbelieving look before jerking her thumb in Solo and Chewbacca’s direction. “Who the hell are they?”

Luke opened his mouth to answer, but Leia and Solo both aimed blasters in his direction and fired in tandem. Luke dropped to the deckplates right before the stormtrooper who had snuck up behind him collapsed, dead.

“I’ll explain on the ship,” Luke said, gesturing for Han, Leia, and Chewie to follow him. “We need to get Ben and get out.”

“Ben’s here?” Leia shrieked.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

thanks for the word!

Send me a word and I'll respond with (at least) a sentence of a WIP

[entities-of-posts]

a few nights ago i had a dream. i was at work, an engine room on the bottom decks of a ship now in port. i look down and water is rising, a few inches below the deckplates in the span of a few seconds. i round the corner around some of our equipment and in the space of a few steps it rises from my ankles to my thighs. another step or two closer to the stairs and im swimming as sluggishly as if it was syrup not seawater and the overhead is an arms length away and the stairs are still too far to reach. i wake up before i get a chance to drown.

my dreams are few and far between. on their rare occasion i would classify them as nightmares nearly every time. what would you call this one? my thoughts are either vast or buried.

Drowning, especially in such a cramped space as an engine room, is absolutely the Buried. Another sign is the thickness of that water, restraining you even more.

[hate-letmetellyou]

The magnolias are starting to turn brown and fall, and the hyacinths and daffodils are starting to wither. The dandelions and wild violets are in full bloom, though, and I like those better. The sun is hot but the breeze is cool, and there’s so many different birds chirping.

(His chittering databanks gradually slow to a hum as you speak. Grass quickly grows between the deckplates, and the flowers you describe apparate throughout the cavern. As your guided meditation concludes, AM lets the sound of an exhale slip from his speakers. He doesn't comment, but his silence makes it seem you've helped in some way.)

[camisoledadparis]

Navy targets sailor bullies as hazing reports drop

Since it began tracking reports in 2012, the Navy has defined hazing as any behavior that is cruel, abusive, oppressive, humiliating, demeaning or harmful. Until this year, that has included everything from "tacking on" warfare pins to the great mouseburger prank of 2014 (yes, that was a dead mouse on the burger bun). But most of the service's reports don't fall into the traditional "initiation" category that hazing describes. Now that's changing as the Navy moves to crack down on bullying, whether on the deckplates or in cyberspace. “The range of types of behaviors that could be falling under hazing is broad, purposefully, to cast a wide net on what kind of behaviors we don’t tolerate,” said Rear Adm. Ann Burkhardt, head of the 21 st Century Sailor office that oversees hazing prevention efforts.   Navy officials say they've made headway to deflate the deckplate culture that tolerated maltreatment as part of initiation rites for decades and that the next front is cracking down on bullying, aboard ships and in cyberspace, where it's becoming increasingly common.   The Defense Department has laid out new guidelines that separate hazing and bullying, ordering the services to begin tracking them accordingly and reporting results annually.   “The behavioral definitions around hazing, bullying, sexual harassment are clear,” Burkhardt added in an interview. “Commanding officers, then, in a broad sense, can apply the right levers in their own commands to effect good order and discipline.”

~~

⚓👨🏻‍✈️🚢⚓️ ⚓👨🏻‍✈️🚢⚓️ ⚓👨🏻‍✈️🚢⚓️ ⚓👨🏻‍✈️🚢⚓️ ⚓👨🏻‍✈️🚢⚓️

[kjbytheriver]

[I made a scifi poem, a little mars number]

red rocks and dust and oil rumble beneath the rusted deckplate. boots, black and steel-toed, hold fast to the plate with rubber soles. steady is the man in the rough blue boiler suit, toiling upon pipes of rushing steam.

red skies and dust and stars glitter above the sterile hull. gloves, grey and mesh-lined, hold fast to the hull with metal fingertips. blessed is the man in the cracked glass helmet, boiling within pipes of rushing water.

[brightlotusmoon]

I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream - I_Have_No_Mouth_and_I_Must_Scream_-_Harlan_Ellison.pdf

Some hundreds of years may have passed. I don't know. AM has been having fun for some time, accelerating and retarding my time sense. I will.say the word now. Now. It took me ten months to say now. I don't know. I think it has been some hundreds of years. He was furious. He wouldn't let me bury them. It didn't matter. There was no way to dig up the deckplates.

He dried up the snow. He brought the night. He roared and sent locusts. It didn't do a thing; they stayed dead. I'd had him. He was furious. I had thought AM hated me before. I was wrong. It was not even a shadow of the hate he now slavered from every printed circuit. He made certain I would suffer eternally and could not do myself in. He left my mind intact. I can dream, I can wonder, I can lament. I remember all four of them. I wish—

Well, it doesn't make any sense. I know I saved them, I know I saved them from what has happened to me, but still, I cannot forget killing them. Ellen's.face. It isn't easy. Sometimes I want to, it doesn't matter. AM has altered me. for his own peace of mind, I suppose. He doesn't want me to run at full speed into a computer bank and smash my skull. Or hold my breath till I faint. Or cut my throat on a rusted sheet of metal. There are reflective.surfaces down here. I will describe myself as I see myself: I am a great soft.jelly thing. Smoothly rounded, with no mouth, with pulsing white holes filled by fog where my eyes used to be. Rubbery appendages that were once my arms; bulks rounding down into legless humps of soft slippery matter. I leave a moist trail when I move. Blotches of diseased, evil gray come and go on my surface, as though light is being beamed from within. Outwardly: dumbly, I shamble about, a thing that could never have been known as human, a thing whose shape is so alien a travesty that humanity becomes more obscene for the vague resemblance. Inwardly: alone. Here. Living under the land, under the sea, in the belly of AM, whom we created because our time was badly spent and we must have known unconsciously that he could do it better. At least the four of them are safe at last. AM will be all the madder for that. It makes me a little happier. And yet … AM has won, simply … he has taken his revenge … I have no mouth. And I must scream.

[otterandterrierwrites]

Trick or treat! 🎃 👻 ❤️

Looking through my wips, I found this snippet I wrote about that comic where Leia tells Kes Dameron about the time Han and Chewie risked their lives to save Echo Base. I put it on the Hungry Hearts doc, but I still don't know if it'll end up being a chapter or an entirely separate thing:

Here’s what she didn’t tell Kes. She looked down at the unforgivable whiteness of Hoth, illuminated by countless lights, from the Falcon’s cockpit until her eyes watered from the glare. When she heard Han’s voice, the vice grip squeezing her heart relaxed, and her hands began to shake, which she thought was illogical—they were all right, they were alive. There was nothing to worry about anymore. Nien Nunb and her took the Falcon down to the hangar again, ahead of the rest of the ships. Even from the entrance, they could see the black smoke coming out from the corridors. That gave Leia pause. She’d heard the noise from whatever had exploded. She’d heard Han coughing. She wondered if he hadn’t been bluffing. If maybe he hadn’t really made it out. Her heavy boots slammed against the deckplates as she sprinted through the freighter, down the ramp, the noise turning into soft thuds as she hit the snow. The air stank, but it was breathable. Han and Chewie were sitting down by one of the exits, their backs against the wall, catching their breath. Han’s hat and goggles lay discarded at his side. When he spotted her coming, his mouth quirked up on one side. ‘Hey Princess, what did I tell ya?’ he told her, after which he coughed a little. ‘Can you give me a hand?’ Leia took the gloved hand he was holding out and tugged. When he was firmly planted on his feet, without thinking, she threw her arms around his torso and hugged him. His clothes smelled so strongly of fuel, she had to choke back a cough. She also smelled singed hair, or fur, possibly both; she had barely stopped to look at them. Even so, she pressed her cheek against his heavy padded parka, eyes shut tight. Han stiffened at first, too surprised to react, she thought. Leia wasn’t prone to displays of affection like that, least of all in public. Or with him. But, after a beat, she felt his arms wrapping around her, holding her close.

get a trick or a treat! 🎃🍬

[swaps55]

I always think of you as like, master of The Yearning™

I will gladly take this as a trademark!!!! Thank you!!!!!!

And not only did I say I would share a snippet that proved your point, I now get to share one of my all time favorite snippets.

So have some yearning Kaidan, from the First Kiss AU, "The Words That Change Us."

~

“Shepard.” It comes out as a mumble, and the way Shepard’s fingers dig into his forearm before relaxing suggests he’s listening now. “Anderson said I keep you on your feet. Why would he say that?”

Shepard’s brow furrows. Instead of answer, he gets to his feet and pulls Kaidan back to his. “How about we get the icepick out of your head, and then talk about this.”

“No. If we talk about it now you’ll take pity and actually give me an answer.”

Shepard huffs, grips Kaidan’s arm and resumes course, footsteps slow and steady.

“I didn’t do anything to help you earn this,” Kaidan persists. “Why does he think I did?”

More silence. More steps. Each footfall ricochets off the deckplates, pricking at the base of Kaidan’s skull. Where the fuck is the airlock? It feels like they’ve been walking for hours.

“You’re stable ground,” Shepard says at last.

Stable ground. Maybe if his head wasn’t throbbing so hard he could figure out what the hell that means.

“You don’t…want anything from me,” Shepard continues. His voice is small, uncertain, as though now that he’s voiced the thought aloud he might find out it isn’t true.

It isn’t true.

You. I want you.

[riversidewings]

[Lancerverse AU] "The Toast"

Aboard Hephaestus

The deckplate hummed oddly, and the corridors were still somewhat unaccustomed, but after she'd inspected her mech when they made it to Zharus's L1, Emi found her way to the mess hall. After hours for the rest of the crew, the space was quiet, leaving her with her thoughts as she set up in the little galley, on the electric burners by the food printer. The familiar clank of old brass brought her a smile as she measured out the water and waited for the burner to warm.

Five years, relative time. Nearly six, now. She talked to her mothers regularly through the omninet, but it wasn't the same. And lately, she'd have given anything to be home on Mutsu at the estate, making coffee for her mothers like she had, before.

"Like I will again."

One cup's measure, then two. The blossom of energy in the smell of fine dust. The edge of cardamom and anise.

It was a long line that connected her to her Arrudyen foremothers, and through them, to their foremothers from the Cradle, making coffee in the highland among their sacred peaks. For a moment, a smile tugged at her lips, as she looked down and realized she had to shift her posture to see past herself, down to the burner, even if her hands-- like her mother's hands-- knew the way.

"By my foremothers' mountains and my own," she murmured, long spoon with its ancient engraving of HORN& beating an uneven staccato against the ibrik's walls.

Back on Arrudye, at the Eginian family's mansion Partsrapert, she'd been a strange addition, the child of the family's controversial daughter-- her mother was half heretic, half saint, depending on who did the telling. But there were enough people there who were kind to her that it'd been good to spend a year after graduation, getting to know this part of her roots.

She'd even made coffee for her grandmother Isguhi, the Eginian clan's hanım.

Now *there* had been a tense encounter.

"Geghni," the grande dame had finally said, simply and succinctly, after a long silence of quietly sipping as she eyed her daughter's progeny. "Geghni, kızım." <That'll do. That'll do, daughter.>

Somehow, life on Arrudye-- and beyond, ever since-- had gotten a little easier from then on. Emi may have belonged to the forests and paddy mud of Mutsu, but she had a place in the carefully terraced lunar highland cities of Arrudye-- and their inheritance in turn from Anatolia-- after all.

The smell in the rising steam. The rushing sound of rising foam. Before she saw, she knew, her hands lifting the pot up, then setting it back down, then up again, in the rhythm her mother seemed to have mastered.

Someday, she'd master it too. Today, she got through with only a little bit of spill.

Carefully, she tipped the pot into the waiting cup, and then saw to cleaning.

She hadn't brought a saucer, and there were no snacks, so it was the furthest thing from the propriety of her maternal roots.

But all the same, she took up the cup and dipped her head in reverence.

"To the ancestors. To Mutsu and Arrudye. To family."

[yusonsanitarywares]

C0033-1 UPC, CUPC certified brass faucet single handle hot/cold deck-mounted sink mixer

Specifications

Zinc Body With Brass Core, Zinc Handle, All Materials Contacting With Water Are Pb-Free;

High Quality Ceramic Cartridge With 500,000 Lifetimes;

Chrome Plated; Other Finishing/Color Available;

Pull-Out Spout, With 1.5m Hose;

ABS Pre-Rinse Sprayer, 2-Function;

75cm Stainless Steel Flexible Inlet Hoses;

Neoperl®®® Aerator And Flow Restriction;

9" Deckplate Included;

Contact information Email: sales@yusongroup.com Tel: +862161428790

[pirateswithben]

Introducing: Pirates of the Golden Seas!

https://pirateswithben.com/pirates-of-the-golden-seas-announcement/

Are you tired of the game being out of print? Have you waited years for our beloved pirate game to come back? Get ready to hoist the colors!

The first set to be commercially available since 2008 will soon be for sale!

Pirates of the Golden Seas is a half-size custom set that has been in development since 2021. After years of progress, hundreds of hours of work, hundreds of failed 3D prints, thousands of painstaking meticulous file edits, playtesting and more, the set is finally ready to sail. Disclaimer: This set is not associated or affiliated with Wizkids.

The initial print run is only 10 copies of the set due to the slow and labor-intensive production method, but I will be exploring additional production method options this year.

Each set is planned to be sold as a factory set (non-collectible). This is due to the difficulty of making random packs out of ships that only have 1 card each (the deckplate/stats card). However, it can bring relief to fans of the game who dislike the collectible pack sales strategy and proponents of one-time purchases and the living card game model.

More information is in the announcement post: https://pirateswithben.com/pirates-of-the-golden-seas-announcement/

There you can also sign up for The Pirate Press Newsletter, which will have game piece previews and sneak peeks for future products.

I extend a massive thank you and appreciation to my main collaborators: Gigi, Chops, Xerecs and Vulkan.

See you on the Golden Seas matey!

[walkawaytall]

13 and 20!

Thanks for asking!

13. Are you secretly Tara Gilesbie aka XXXbloodyrists666XXX aka author of infamous Harry Potter fanfiction serial My Immortal? (you can trust me; I won’t tell anyone, pinky promise)

I wish (jk). Haha... I actually didn't even know about My Immortal until years after it gained infamy (I was about to say I didn't read the Harry Potter books until several years after that fic was posted, but I'm not sure that Tara read them either, tbh). And while my early fanfiction writing wasn't good, it wasn't quite...that, either. Haha...

20. Is there anything about any one of your fics that you have been dying to discuss but haven’t had the chance to?

I was wracking my brain for something and then remembered a thing I did in Purpose of Heritage without drawing a ton of attention to it (I don't think?), and I don't even know that it improved the story in any way, but I know it's in there. Throughout the entire saga, Leia hears Han if he enters a room because he scuffs his boots on the ground/floor/deckplates and, like she essentially has Force-enhanced hearing in this version of things, so I imagine it could be brushed off as that. But what I had in mind while writing it was that Han was well aware that she would be jumpy after everything she went through on the Death Star, so even though he's perfectly capable of walking around without making a ton of noise, he purposefully makes a little if he's approaching her when her back is turned to keep her from feeling like he snuck up on her.

fanfic writer asks