#getting this out of my system before i start working on ship week entries

[split-spectrum]

Four Hours

Chapter 1

Pairings: Din Djarin/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: explicit content, swearing, mild violence

Description: A quiet day in the repair bay goes sideways quickly when the Mandalorian next door catches you stealing his tools.

☆☆☆

You've been coming here for over a week, and you've never seen the hangar this deserted.

Then again, there are some high-priced bounties newly on the market, and this place is frequented by other members of the guild, including a particular hunter you've been seeing glimpses of throughout the week - a Mandalorian. You'd caught him looking at you a few times while you'd been working on your ship, but only for a moment before he would walk away and disappear. It had started to concern you, but after a few days, he hadn't tried anything. That was about as friendly as it got between bounty hunters, so you'd left it alone.

As you settle your ship back into the hangar bay for a landing, you see no sign of him or anyone else. You'd decided to spend a day in a nearby star system enjoying the local food and actually resting in a real bed for the night before returning to complete the rest of your ship's repairs. In the hours you've been gone, the place seems to have cleared out.

You step off your cargo ramp, placing your helmet back over your head. You like to listen to music while you work, and you pick up plenty of interesting recordings throughout your travels. Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances causing you to spend so much time with your head stuck inside the engines of your ship, you're enjoying the uninterrupted time listening to your catalog. As you leave your ship to get back to work, the corner of your eye catches sight of the tools sitting behind your seat.

Shit...

You'd forgotten to return them before you left. You hope you don't get charged full price for that. You pay an entry fee to use the hangar space, which usually includes renting the tools as well, but you aren't supposed to leave with them. There's nothing you can do about it now except hope that no one noticed.

You pick up a soldering iron and dump the rest of the tools into your bag, pulling it over your shoulder and heading down the ramp to get back to work. A few minutes in, you realize you need a different size of spanner. You stand up from your crouched position, about to make your way back across the platform to where the rest of the tools are stored, when you're stopped dead by an iron grip sinking into the soft skin of your forearm. Every muscle in your body snaps to attention.

Your free hand flies up to the side of your helmet, switching off the music quickly enough to catch the words being barked at you through electronic modulation.

"-ey, I'm talking to you."

The deep rumble of the voice is more gripping than the hand. Your nervous system is in overdrive, and you whip around to face the voice's owner with your free hand dropping to your hip in one fluid motion, swiping your vibroblade up to a stiff neck. The neck is wrapped in a thick cloak, but that isn't much compared to the beskar helmet just above it. You stare into the black void where you imagine there must be eyes. He's got both of your hands, now.

"What?" you yelp, voice caught halfway up your throat, somewhere between a cry for help and a grunt of anger.

The vibroblade clinks, then makes a loud buzzing sound against the bottom of his helmet. He pulls his chin to the side to stop the noise, tilting it back to pin you under his stare.

He tightens his grip, and it hurts. "I said, I was talking to you."

You squirm at the pain, twisting your forearm around. You're very aware of the fact that you can only move this much because he's letting you.

"You've... got my attention." You wince, his thumb pressing down to the bone. "What do you want?"

There's a long pause, as if he's trying to make up his mind. Regarding what, you're not sure. You're starting to become frustrated with his lack of answer when he finally grunts, "You have my tools. Give them back."

The voice holds no space for argument. The only problem is that you definitely want to argue, because you're as confused as you've ever been.

"What tools?" you try. You aren't willing to die over this, but they're expensive, and you're not about to hand them over without an explanation.

Another pause while your heart thuds. If you had to guess, the look he's giving you through the helmet is a deadpan glare - not that you would have the faintest clue whether your guess is correct. It just seems to emanate from him.

"Those tools," he finally says, tilting his gaze downward to the bag on the floor near your feet. Your request for an explanation has definitely increased the irritation in his tone. "My tools."

You're still holding the vibroblade tightly, but your shoulders start to slacken as you stare back at him in confusion. "I didn't- those aren't..."

You wait for him to say more - to argue his point, but he doesn't. You get the impression that if you waited for hours, he still wouldn't. But his grip doesn't change, either, and it's starting to go from a biting pain to a deep, throbbing ache. The kind that leaves a mark.

"I thought they were rentals," you finally admit.

He stares at you for a long moment, and when you give him an earnest look, he seems to decide on accepting it. He doesn't waste any more time holding you, dropping your arms before you even pull back your blade. He doesn't shove you away, either, which would have been a better tactic to prevent you from sticking the blade through his neck. He just releases, not appearing concerned with you anymore, and turns to pick up the bag.

You huff out a breath, yanking yourself backward, albeit unnecessarily. He picks the tools up from the floor, dropping them into the bag before looking inside. You rub your forearm.

"Dank farrik," you mutter, checking the beginnings of a bruise. "You could have just fucking asked before grabbing me."

Finishing his inspection of the bag's inventory, he pulls it over his shoulder. "I did."

You glance up at him. "No, you didn't."

He doesn't seem to care whether you believe him or not, already turning to walk back toward the junker that's dwarfing the other half of the hangar.

"Yesterday. And the day before. You ignored me." He stops to face you again. "Then you took off with them."

Suddenly it occurs to you - all those times he'd been staring at you, you'd had music blaring inside your helmet. You'd shut it off a few times when you caught him looking, but by the time you had turned it off, he'd stalked away, and you assumed you were just being paranoid.

Your hands slowly reach up to remove your helmet. "I didn't hear you. I... listen to music, sometimes. In my helmet." You don't know why it embarrasses you to admit it to him. "I saw the tools in that heap of scrap over there, so I figured they belonged to the hangar."

It's clear from the mandalorian's extremely long silence that you've chosen to say exactly the wrong thing. Your eyes dart over to the ship and then back to him.

"Shit," you say softly to yourself, then call after him as he starts to turn away again. "That's not scrap, is it? It's your ship."

He doesn't turn back toward you until he's in front of the relic. Then he pauses before walking into the dark interior, looking down at you.

"Don't let me catch you over here again."

You don't have anything to say back to his warning, still embarrassed by your lack of awareness. The way he delivered the words sends a shiver through you, and you aren't quite sure what to make of it. The gruff, mysterious voice would be undeniably... hot, if it hadn't just taken away your only means of fixing your ship and retaining your livelihood.

The noise of his ship slamming shut echoes throughout the hangar and you shake your head a bit, annoyed. Looking back toward your half-disassembled ship, you decide that no, it is undeniably not.

Hours later, after you've had a chance to collect yourself, you're back under the engine cowling, quickly losing what remains of your patience.

You finally managed to find the available tools that the hangar actually provided, and what you'd found left much to be desired. For one thing, the spanner you're being forced to use is two sizes larger than what you need. It was the closest you could find, though, and with the right angle, you're pretty sure hitting it with a hammer will get it to twist free the bolt you've been trying to remove for twenty minutes.

Your muscles are aching and sweat begins to pool between your shoulder blades as you tighten your grip again. You swing the hammer hard and repeatedly, filling the air with a cacophony of unsuccessful banging. Your shoulders are starting to shake, and you drop your arms to your sides again, breathing hard. The sweat on your brow is threatening to drip into your eyes, so you drop the hammer for a moment to wipe it away, grabbing the corner of your shirt and dabbing it lightly against your skin. When you let your shoulder back down, you catch sight of the Mandalorian leaving his ship again, crossing the platform behind you.

You snap your eyes back to the task at hand, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you struggle, but also trying not to garner any more of his attention than you already have. He hadn't tried to kill you for stealing from him, and you preferred not to press your luck any further than that.

The next time your hammer comes down, though, your exhaustion makes itself known. Your aim falters, and the hammer skips off the spanner to catch one of your knuckles.

"Ah!" you snarl. "Fuck..."

You drop your knuckle into your mouth, sucking at it angrily, then pull it back out. You inspect the damage for a moment before your eyes flick up to the Mandalorian, whose helmet is turned just slightly toward you. He glances briefly over, seeming distracted by the noise, and then continues walking away.

Dropping a few more curses, you shake out the stinging in your hand and pick up the hammer again. When you reach up to continue your work, though, your bruised arm bumps up against an intake valve and you suck in another breath between your teeth. Ignoring the pain, you keep pounding until the bolt finally comes loose, and you nearly yelp in triumph.

Panting, you drop your shoulders back to the ground to catch your breath. Your head lolls to the side, a smile sliding across your mouth as you reach up and start turning the bolt with your fingers to loosen it the rest of the way. It pops off in your hand at last, and then your triumph starts to fade as you find yourself staring at the other 3 bolts on the panel, still needing to be removed.

You're going to need more caf.

The rest of the rotation is spent this way, until you finally relent for the evening after taking off the third bolt, and retire to your sleeping quarters, sweat-drenched and defeated. As you close your eyes, you dream of a time when you'll be able to afford a custom toolset of your own.

Or maybe a ship that isn't in desperate need of repair all the time. Either would do.

When you open your eyes next, it's that same thought that drives you back outside of your ship and straight to work. You can't afford to stay on this repair dock forever, and every day you're here is another wasted opportunity for bounties. You sigh at the thought of the work that lies ahead and convince yourself you're going to finish by the end of the week, even if it kills you. And it probably will, the way things are going.

You're so busy wallowing as you step out of your ship that you nearly don't notice the bag blocking your path. Your feet stop short, and you look down at it blankly, not quite believing what's in front of you.

You bend down and pull it open, finding inside the same tools you'd returned to the Mandalorian. They're all there. Even the correctly sized spanner.

You look around for your mysterious benefactor, but seeing no one, you smile to only yourself. Then you gather up the bag and get to work.

When you finally do see the Mandalorian again, he's talking to someone else. Sometime earlier, while your head was buried inside your metal labyrinth, another ship had parked next to you, between your ship and the Mandalorian's. A tall, slender figure had emerged, but you hadn't followed where the figure had gone.

Now, the figure is standing on the other side of the hangar near Mando's ship and you're listening to the low exchange of voices - one considerably lower than the other. You're approaching with the bag in your hands, and the Mandalorian turns toward you first. The man with whom he's talking goes silent and watches you, yellow eyes fixing strangely on your movements from behind his face covering. The eyes are oddly familiar.

You clear your throat uncomfortably, raising up the bag to hand it over. "Thanks for the tools, Mando."

He nods, taking them from you. "Thank you for returning them."

You give a sly grin. Did you just share an inside joke? Perhaps your standards for what passes as a joke have lowered, spending as much time alone as you have lately. Still, you decide to count it.

Without much left to say, you turn to leave, and a scratchy voice follows you.

"A Karichian? Mando, I would have thought you kept better company."

You bristle, then swallow and keep walking. Sometimes in the company of other hunters, it pays to defend yourself when someone insults you. But in this case, your reputation isn't worth the fight. You don't know if he's a complete stranger or friend of the Mandalorian, and it's none of your business.

Mando says nothing and the stranger goes on.

"You know what they do, right? They use poison." He barks a crackling laugh. "You wanna call yourself a bounty hunter, don't use a coward's weapon."

Still, Mando neither agrees nor disagrees, and you keep walking.

"Ought to learn how to use real weapons or leave the business to the experts, eh Mando?"

There's a silence, and then, "Any weapon is the right one if it gets the job done."

You hear the clink of his boots as the Mandalorian walks back into his ship. The stranger huffs his disapproval, and then you hear him walk away too. It's hard not to turn back and look, but you keep your face forward to hide your smirk.

--

It's pretty foolish, and you know it. Bringing him caf is probably a waste of time, if what you've heard about Mandalorians is true. It's not like he'll drink it with you. But it feels rude to come back the next day asking after the tools again without something to offer in return, and you certainly can't offer credits.

So, you step out of the hatch and into the oily yellow light of the dim hangar holding two cups of caf and make your way toward his ship, being careful not to spill. He can probably drink it after you leave, right? He can't keep the helmet on all the time.

You're halfway to the ship when your train of thought is interrupted by a sound coming from behind you. A loud, metal creaking, like a ship's door coming off its hinges. Your head pivots automatically, eyes darting back. You'd locked yours up, hadn't you?

Frozen in place, you wait, listening. The stranger's ship is blocking your view, but you don't want to move just yet. You aren't certain of what you've heard. A long silence passes as you wait for confirmation, but hearing nothing, you turn and slowly start to walk back toward your ship, still holding a cup in each hand. The shadow of the stranger's ship is making it hard to see, but as you round the corner you can make it out - your ship's hatch is broken open, the door hanging to the side.

Your pulse picks up and you drop quickly to the floor, placing the cups down and reaching for your blaster. You aren't very skilled with it, but your blade is on the ship, and this situation definitely calls for a distanced approach.

You're still half-crouched when your balance is thrown, your shoulders are pounded into the metal behind you, and your wrist - your bad wrist - is crushed painfully upward beside your head. You gasp before your throat is caught in a clawed hand, stifling a half-breath before you can fill your lungs. Your eyes are inches from another set of glowing, yellow, familiar ones.

You lean forward, bucking to get free, to gulp down air, to yell, but the hand pressed firmly beneath your chin clutches at your skin and slams your head back.

"Quiet, or it'll hurt even worse."

"Augh," is all you can manage, heart pounding as you try to reorient yourself from the impact on your skull. You feel the hand holding your wrist slide upward and disarm you, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you register that the splash you hear when the blaster clatters to the ground must be the caf that's spilled, forming a puddle around your boots.

When the attacker's hand releases your wrist you swing both arms to fight him off, but your fists do little damage against his leathery skin. You're about to attempt to knee him in the stomach when cold metal sinks into your neck. Your whole body freezes and your eyes widen.

"That's better," he tells you, then uses his other hand to pull down his face covering. You recognize him instantly, and it sends a chill down your spine. You aren't getting out of this alive.

"Dra'olsk."

"So you do remember me. Good. I won't need to explain what's about to happen."

The blade presses further in, and you feel the warm itch of blood when it begins to flow over the sting of the widening wound. He's not using a vibroblade. It's a knife. You realize now that it's a very particular choice he's made to prolong your pain.

You don't bother asking why or how. Your mind whips through any possibility of escape. Bribery? Not a chance. You owe a blood debt and you can see in his seething expression it's been a long time coming.

The knife catches at your jaw. You grit your teeth, willing yourself to meet your end without flinching, and at that moment, the metallic clink of boots stepping onto the platform makes you both jolt in your respective positions.

The boots make their way slowly across the floor, and you realize two things - the Mandalorian has just stepped outside his ship, and he has no idea what's going on behind this one.

You take advantage of your assailant's momentary distraction and try to drop to the side of his grip. Your freedom lasts only a second, though, before he forces you down to the ground, pressing his body weight into you and pinning you to the floor. The knife is right back against your skin. Only this time, there's a witness.

"Mand-"

You can hardly get a syllable out before you're silenced with the back of a hand. But it was enough to turn his head. The suit of armor looks huge and imposing from this angle, as he stares down at you through the gap below the stranger's ship. He's silent. Unmoving.

The man on top of you jerks his head to the side. "This ain't your concern, Mando. Move along."

And he's right. Bounty hunters aren't known for involving themselves in other people's problems. Your usual method for dealing with bar brawls and other disputes between hunters is to mind your business, and you're certain it's his method too.

You're proven right when the Mandaloran keeps walking, leaving you at the mercy of fate. His helmet turns away, and he disappears into the shadows. You can't fault him. It's what you would have done.

The yellow eyes above you narrow as the reptilian face slides into a sadistic grin. "No one here to help you now."

Having been in Mando's position more than once, you're well aware that begging does absolutely nothing, but you also have no other recourse. So the words slide out of you, hopeless as they are.

"Mando. Please..."

Now the yellow eyes roll. "Shut up. Now, I'll give you a choice - something you never gave him. You want a blaster to the face or the back of the head?" He leans in closer, tipping your chin up with the blade. "What do you think? Want to see it coming?"

From the shadows behind your attacker's head, you hear the sound of a rifle's safety clicking off.

"Same question."

Your chest heaves a huge, involuntary sigh as the knife pulls back from your neck, still close, but no longer biting into the skin. Dra'olsk's scaly head turns back to sneer at the Mandalorian who's now towering over the both of you.

"I told you to mind your business. We've got a score to settle here."

The low voice in reply is cold, smooth, unimpressed. "Should have settled it somewhere else."

Dra'olsk's sneer turns into a smirk and he shakes his head. "I've got friends all over this quadrant who'll have your hide and hers if I turn up dead. So you better have that thing set to stun."

"Mine doesn't have that setting."

Your eyes dart between the gun and Dra'olsk. This could be an opening. It might be your only opening. Is he distracted enough? If you move, could you do it hard and fast enough to pull his hand away from your throat? The silence stretches on while you try to make your decision.

"Hand over the knife, and get up. Slow."

"And what if I don't? What if I decide to end it right now?"

The blade is turning to point directly downward. You swallow and it bobs with your movement.

His hand tightens its grip on the handle. "What if I just-"

A flash.

A burst of smoke.

A sudden feeling of lightness in your chest as the body pressing down onto you is replaced with a pile of rags. You gasp, partly in shock and partly to suck in the oxygen you've been lacking.

When your vision clears, a dark wall of leather and gleaming metal is staring down at you.

"You okay?"

Coughing, you nod, and the pain reminds you of the damage done to your neck. Your hand instinctively flies up to your throat. Then you pull it back to inspect the blood. It isn't too bad. You nod again, more convincingly this time. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

"Good." He tells you, as you start to stand up. "You should finish your work and go."

You don't need to ask what he means. Dra'olsk wasn't lying - when he doesn't return, someone else will be coming for you. You turn back toward your ship, splashing through the caf that's slowly spreading over the floor. You walk a few feet before you realize Mando is following you, at a distance.

"I only have a few systems offline," you tell him. "I can make a jump if I need to."

He's silent, but he doesn't stop following. You pause in the doorway, about to enter your ship, when you see it.

"Fuck," you curse softly to yourself, clasping your hand around your neck as you stare at it. "No. No..."

The Mandalorian is standing a few feet back. "What?"

"The fucking..." you calm yourself, voice starting to shake as you bend down to pick up the broken remains of a flask. You try again to speak normally. "The poison in this..." You can't finish. Your mind is racing.

"He used it?"

You look down at the spot on the floor with shards of glass spread around it. It's wet. "I don't know. It might have fallen when he broke in looking for me, or he might have used it on the knife."

Another long silence.

"I have an antidote..." you trail off, thinking about the implications.

"So take it," he responds flatly when you don't continue.

You shake your head. "Not that simple. The poison is certain death. But the antidote has a risk of paralyzing limbs. Permanently. I'd rather not take it if I don't have to."

Then you turn back to face him. "There's a way I could know for sure. After a couple of hours, the poison will start to take effect, and I'll lose consciousness. It happens fast." You fix your eyes on him. "There's a good chance I won't be awake long enough to take the antidote. I would need someone there to give it to me."

He lets the silence go on long enough to make you too uncomfortable to ask outright. But the request hangs between you, just the same. He looks off to the side, shifting his weight, then looks back to you.

"Get your things, and be on my ship in ten minutes." He turns and walks away. "We aren't staying here."

--

A/N: I'm so sorry, I know I said this would be a one-off but it got away from me and now it's going to be two or three parts. I wouldn't be opposed to having a longer-form offshoot sometime in the future, but this is standalone self-contained porn with minimal plot. Apologies for the lack of smut in the first part!

[tickletastic]

Fear Toxin, Love, and Other Sh*tty Drugs

Fandom: DC

Ship: JayRoy

Warnings: canon typical violence, panic attacks (sort of- after effects of fear toxin?)

Summary: Jason and Roy have a rough night out on patrol in Gotham, nothing goes as planned, and an Arkham breakout is just the cherry on top. (not a whole lot of tickling, i got carried away, cross posted to my AO3 bc I planned a second, non-tickly chapter)

The streets of Gotham had not been kind last night.

The previous night started just as expected, a crime syndicate carelessly offloading giant tin shipping containers of the world’s most dangerous weapons, a plan in the works for them to leave them in crime alley, to leave them with the most desperate people in the city and watch Gotham crumble. It was a kid that had tipped Jason off, just some kid with a shitbag dad who thought Jason could save them, thought Jason could save anyone. Jason found out the rest from some of his undercover contacts, who sounded nearly afraid when discussing the kinds of weapons that would soon reach Gotham’s streets. 

Jason was now waiting, impatient and annoyed, on the corner of a tall building, waiting for the right time to jump into action. The building used to have some mom and pop restaurant on the main floor, one that Jason would frequent after long nights of patrol, when he couldn’t drag his body any further. Apartments were above, but they had been condemned at some point after the restaurant closed down. Now, Jason has a safehouse set up in one of the old rooms, and, though he’d never admit it, he uses Wayne funds to stock the old restaurant with frozen pizzas, chips, mac n cheese, and other snacks for the kids that wander by, hoping that they’ll find food somewhere like this. 

Roy is at his back, eating greasy chips from a tupperware container. Jason had insisted that Roy didn’t need a patrol snack, but, after caving in, he made sure, at least, that the snack wouldn’t be so loud. If it weren’t for Roy, Jason would’ve lunged into the action by now, not caring if the syndicate dealt him a broken leg or a dislocated jaw while he took down enough of them to get the weapons somewhere far from here. Roy had always been the patient one, and he manages to keep Jason’s irritability at a low by talking about some book he wanted to read.

The crimes are cresting, the final load now on Gotham’s dock, a sound of trucks in the distance. Now would be the best time, Roy can see every opportunity laid out in front of him, but then Oracle’s voice is ringing out over the comms, panicked and urgent, announcing that tonight, some random fucking night that was just supposed to involve stopping petty robberies and killing a syndicate boss, was the seemingly biannual Arkham breakout. 

Roy and Jason are caught in a heated, whispered debate, Jason thinking they should strike before some goofy D list villain can come interrupt them, but Roy thinks it’s too unpredictable now, that they should return the following week, when Jason knows the syndicate planned to do inventory of their new stash. Jason stands up, Roy grabbing him by the leg of his pants, just as Oracle makes another announcement, the silence between Roy and Jason so tense that it could be broken in half. Roy’s heart started to beat faster, his palms suddenly sweaty where he gripped his bow, the world around them suddenly a cacophony of noise. In spite of the precautions, the two-foot thick concrete walls, and the fucking manual entry external lock system for the cell, he had gotten out too. 

Jason tensed, but otherwise showed no emotion towards the situation– no reaction to the fact that the man who killed him is roaming the same Gotham streets that he is. It was always like this when it came to the Joker, Jason always tensed up and pushed people away, claiming he’s okay until the second he’s not.

Bruce had a protocol for this exact situation– Jason would be moved to Star City, or JL Tower, or Central City, or even the Amazons– just as far as Bruce could get him as quickly as possible. Then, Tim would find Bruce, Duke, or Steph, and stick to them like glue. Damian was expected to find Dick and stick by his side, but that was more of a formality of the plan, since Damian was usually glued to Dick’s side on patrol anyways.

Jason had never been aware of the plan, too stubborn to ever leave in the face of danger, too eager to throw himself back into fear. Sometimes, Wally would come, taking Jason back to Dick’s apartment in Bludhaven despite Jason’s displeasure and squirming. Sometimes, it would be Diana, or “Aunt Di,” as the Robins had always called her, and Jason couldn’t help but agree to whatever she asked, still awestruck by her presence. One, it was even Hal and Barry, Barry gushing about having gone back in time and seeing a Shakespeare play at the Globe. Usually, though, it was Roy calling Jason, coaxing him back to Star City by faking some non-emergent emergency or begging for Jason to help Lian with a spelling test. Usually it was Roy, but Roy was in Gotham tonight. Roy was in Gotham and he would have to physically pry Jason from the roof to get him to give up the sting he had been planning, and there would be nothing that would convince him that his life, his sanity, might be more important for the time being. 

Nothing except for Oracle’s frantic voice, followed by Nightwing’s– Red Robin hasn’t reported, and nobody’s seen him for at least half an hour, caught up in the noise of the Arkham breakout. They have no clue where he is, and, before Oracle can formulate a plan, or even examine the situation with his non-functioning tracker, Jason is hastily grappling from building to building, searching the database in his helmet for a list of every abandoned warehouse in Gotham. 

The communications system is entirely silent, creeping on as each of the bats scramble to understand where Red Robin would have gone, how they had managed to lose track of him for so long. Roy gives panting, out-of-breath updates periodically, telling of the buildings Jason has checked, falling behind as Jason throws himself from rooftop to rooftop. 

Oracle’s gasp rings out over the speakers, hollow and practically shouting, “we have CCTV! The car manufacturing place on the East Side, the corner of 2nd and Church– Hood is the closest!”

“No!” Bruce shouts over the comms, the worried ebb in his voice coming out more like Bruce than Batman, “Signal and I are not much further, we’re on our way.” 

“Absolutely not, 30 minutes is more than enough time for the clown. I’m not letting another fucking Robin die tonight,” Jason grits, hauling ass towards the building as soon as he can see it, the car company’s logo practically decaying, peeling off the building’s facade. 

“Arsenal, do not let Red Hood enter,” Bruce grits over the line, a hardened command, before his voice softens, “please, don’t let him go in.”

Bruce sounds the most scared Roy has ever heard him, and Roy is terrified. He’s desperately trying to keep up with Jason, throwing himself recklessly over the edges of roofs and down rusty fire escapes, but the distance keeps growing. 

“Jay, I can’t keep up,” Roy shouts, a desperate tone, almost a plea, “Jason Peter Todd, you better not go in without me, you better fuckin’ not.”

“It’s him or me,” Jason grunts, “it’s him or me, and I’m not letting him kill another fucking kid.” 

Jason disappears from Roy’s vision, dropping from the sky, and Roy curses, desperately trying to catch up. When he finally drops from the roofs himself, Jason isn’t there, and the door to the warehouse is wide open, dented where a heavy boot kicked it in. Roy rushes in, zeroing in on the direction of the noises he’s hearing– loud clanging and snotty begging– but there’s another door in the way, another door between him, Jason, Tim, and the monster.

“Fuck- fuck! Jason, let me in!” He screams, throwing his body against the door, desperately trying to make a dent as he bangs and kicks and yells. Over the comms, his own voice, shaky and desperate, shouts to the bats, “he’s in there! He’s fucking in there and I can’t get in, I don’t know what’s happening!”

Roy isn’t calm enough to hear any of the responses, breathing heavily, fighting the encroaching panic. He takes one of his explosive arrows, backing up until he thinks he’ll be able to take the door off its hinges with his shot. He lines it up, shaking in spite of all the practice he’s had, all the years he’s spent protecting himself, protecting Jason. There’s a thick thud heard from the other side of the door, and a staticky buzzing playing out in the building, and Roy sees plumes of smoke seep out from the door’s cracks, he hears maniacal laughter announcing itself, the sound of metal dragging on concrete. 

“Jason, if you can hear me, tell me if there’s someone on the other side of this door,” Roy tries to sound commanding, supportive, but his voice is betraying him, hoarse as he shouts, “Jason, I’m going to blow this thing to shreds, I need you to fucking answer me!”

There’s crashing on the other side of the door, noises that sound pained, gasps and shouts and pleas. Roy starts screaming Jason’s name again and again, desperately hoping he has clearance to blow the door to pieces. He finally backs up, aiming again at the rusted, bolted door, when it swings open, Roy hearing the voice over his comms and in person simultaneously. 

“We’ve got them,” Nightwing announces, and he emerges with Tim over his shoulder, gas masks on both of their faces. Despite the masks, Tim looks less than conscious, slack where he hangs over his older brother’s shoulder.

“Where the fuck is Jason?” Roy asks, shaky and scared, caught somewhere between vomiting or hyperventilating, “please, Dick, please don’t tell me-”

Bruce emerges, the sweat on his face visible between the cowl and his own air mask, one arm under Jason’s knees and the other under his back. Unlike Tim, Jason’s eyes are wide open, frantic, while he shakes violently in Bruce’s grip, muttering horrified under his breath. 

“Why isn’t he wearing a mask? Dick, why isn’t Jason wearing a mask?” Roy shouts, hysterical, “Jason, Jace, are you okay? What the fuck happened?”

When Roy approaches, Jason flinches away with a piercing scream, fighting desperately to get out of Bruce’s grip, seemingly terrified. 

“It was fear toxin, Arsenal,” Bruce responds with a grunt, working hard to keep Jason in his grasp, “Jason was given a direct dose, the mask wouldn’t have helped.”

“What the fuck will help? He looks terrified, what is he seeing? What did that fucker do to him? Where the fuck is he?”

Dick takes a second to turn around, having begun making his way to the front door, “Arsenal, the Joker’s dead.”

Roy just gapes, obediently following Bruce and Dick out the door, hoping to god that the bat won’t use this as another opportunity to ice Jason out, hoping the bats have some hidden remedy to Jason’s current paranoia.

The Batmobile awaits them outside when they get out, the Gotham streets feeling quieter than they had when Roy entered, his heart beating in his ears. The Batmobile is small on the best of days, but Roy ends up taking Damian back to the docks and equipping him with enough padding for a skydiving mission, strapping him securely to the back of Jason’s motorcycle before climbing on. Jason would never forgive him if he left the bike in crime alley anyways, knowing a bit too much about crime alley kids and their penchant for stealing expensive tires.

By the time the two are back at the manor, Tim and Jason are in separate medical rooms, Tim out cold, hooked up to machines galore, and Jason fighting with everything left in him to escape the room. He still has the same terrified look in his eyes, and he’s begging, over and over, not to die, crying for help as if he’s back in Ethiopia. 

Roy can hear Bruce trying to shush him, saying comforting, paternal things in Jason’s ear in spite of the physical force he’s using to keep Jason in the room. “You’re not there, Jay. You’re home, you’re with your dad.”

In spite of the comfort, Jason keeps thrashing, tears freely streaming down his face. Roy looks on from outside for a moment, scared that he’ll make it all worse for Jason if he tries to intervene. 

Roy visibly jumps when a voice sounds from next to him, turning to see Dick, discowled but otherwise still in his costume, his brow furrowed, “we gave him the antidote, but it’s going to take a couple hours. The Joker gave him three times what Scarecrow would have, and strapped the mask to his face so he’d have to breathe it all in.”

“Fuck,” Roy sighs, rubbing over his face with one of his hands, “there’s nothing we can do until then? We can’t just let him go through this.”

Dick sighs, mirroring Roy’s tense expression, “Bruce is trying, I’ve tried, you can give it a shot? Maybe you’ll be able to remind him he’s older than he was back then, that might break the illusion, at least a little bit.”

“Okay, yeah,” Roy says, dropping his hands to his sides, “yeah, I’ll try.”

Dick gives him a reassuring pat on the back before entering the room, dropping his voice to say something hushed to Bruce. Bruce nods, turning to glance at Roy, exhaustion written all over his face. He motions for Roy to enter, and, once he’s sure Roy could hold his own, exits with Dick. 

“Hey, Jay,” Roy says, just above a whisper, “Jay, it’s Roy.” 

Jason is silent now, entire body shaking violently, entire face painted with terror. He’s got a thousand yard stare, seemingly aware that someone is in the room, but looking past Roy. 

“I’m going to come closer, Jason,” Roy announces, stepping towards Jason as if he were some scared animal, because, in some way, he is.

Roy is afraid to touch Jason, afraid that it would trigger him to fight off whatever the hallucinations are making Roy look like. What does he do when Lian’s scared? How does he get her back to sleep when she thinks there’s something lurking in the darkness of the bedroom?

Roy tries to touch Jason as little as possible, maneuvering him so he’s at least close to the edge of the bed. He then rounds the bed to the other side, dropping the weird hospital handle softly so it doesn’t block his way, lying down on one side. He laughs a bit to himself under his breath, trying to shed the shyness from the possibility that one of the other nosy bats could walk in at any time. 

Softly, just loud enough to break the room’s silence, Roy starts to sing Total Eclipse of the Heart, melodic and sweet, like he would sing to Lian when she got scared and crawled between him and Jason in their bed. Roy gets through three quarters of the song before he notices Jason’s shoulders are no longer tensed, that he’s leaning against the bed voluntarily.

Just as Roy is about to start his lullaby rendition of Faithfully, Jason slumps, turning his head. His face is still covered in nervous sweat, and Roy still gets a sense that Jason is not really seeing him, but Jason tries for a hoarse whisper, “R-roy?”

Roy reaches out carefully, easing Jason so his back is on the bed, so he can maneuver them so Roy is holding him, Jason’s head listening to Roy’s heartbeat. “It’s me, Jaybird. Just close your eyes, it’ll all be over soon.” 

Roy feels the spot Jason occupies on his chest getting damp, and starts to run a hand up and down Jason’s back. “I c-can’t stop seeing him. He’s here, he’s g-going to kill me.”

Roy shakes his head, though Jason doesn’t see it, “he can’t hurt you, Jay. He’s gone, and I’d never let him.”

Roy is not entirely sure if Jason believes him, not sure if Jason even knows where he is, but he keeps singing until Jason is shaking a little less, until his breathing has evened out and the spot on his shirt starts to dry. 

When Jason wakes up the next morning, feeling like he has the worst hangover of his life, he coughs hard and long until he’s being manhandled upright, a glass brought to his lips. Dick is helping him drink before passing him a handful of pills. Jason has no clue what any of them are, just that he’ll swallow all of them dry if it means he won’t have to deal with the headache and the nausea anymore. Instead, he feels almost instant drowsiness, and he falls asleep yet again. 

The next time he wakes up, the pain is mostly gone, though there’s something foggy in how he’s perceiving everything around him. He hoists himself up so that he can see the entire room, sitting on the edge of the bed. Sitting with his legs open on the floor, facing the bed, is Roy, reading Jason’s well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. 

“Didn’t know you knew how to read,” Jason tries to joke, but his voice doesn’t work the way he wanted it to, coming out garbled and hoarse. “What the fuck happened to me?”

Roy looks up, a soft smile on his lips when he sees how different Jason is from last night, “you don’t remember?” 

“Ran into a warehouse,” Jason shrugs.

“And after that?”

“Not a lick.”

To Jason, Roy has a weird glint in his eye, a slight strain in his brow, “I honestly think that’s for the best, Jaybird.” 

Jason rolls his eyes, sore as he picks himself up from the bed. He goes to where Roy is sitting and plops himself in between his boyfriend’s legs, his back to Roy’s chest. “You know, it’s pretty fucked up not to tell me what I experienced first-hand.”

It's Roy’s turn, now, to roll his eyes. He sighs, putting Jason’s book off to the side and hugging Jason tight, his chin on Jason’s shoulder, “it was fear toxin. Fear toxin, you, Tim, and the Joker.”

“Fuck,” Jason sighs, “of fucking course it was.”

“You’re fine, Tim’s fine, everything is alright,” Roy says, running soft fingers through Jason’s hair, curly and unruly from his sleep. 

Jason turns his head to the side, making quick, anxious eye contact with Roy, “I think I’ll take your word for it.” 

“You better.” Roy has a mischievous smile on his face, one that Jason can’t see, but he senses the shift in tone, feels Roy’s fingers migrating down to his tummy. He’d rather huff fear toxin for a second, even third time than admit it, but sometimes, when he feels the fear thrumming in his veins, feels like if he’s not touching Roy then he’ll disappear, that he’ll be underground at 15 again, he yearns for Roy’s soft fingers, his teasing touch that ebbs all the fear from Jason’s system. 

When the fingers start to move, Jason doesn’t even try to hold back, giggling freely into the sleeve of the old Gotham Academy hoodie he’d been put into sometime last night. Roy’s fingers tickle in teasing circles around his belly button, clawing at the skin. 

“C’mon,” Roy says, his voice dripping with the sickeningly sweet softness he always showed Jason at times like this, times when Jason would just accept it rather than prickling away from it, “I want to hear you.”

Jason blushes a light pink, his face heating up, but he moves his hands from his face in favour of lightly grasping Roy’s wrists. “Yohou’re a dick!”

“Oh am I?” Roy’s voice rumbles in Jason’s ear and Jason squeaks, throwing his head back. Roy is grinning so hard it almost hurts, and he kisses the top of Jason’s forehead. Jason scrunches his nose, shaking his head back and forth. 

Roy leaves soft kisses down Jason’s neck, his hands moving up to draw soft shapes over Jason’s sides. Jason’s giggles are bubbly and uninhibited, letting Roy explore. He starts to squirm when Roy’s fingers nearly reach his ribs, scratching just below and eliciting a snort and an embarrassed whine. 

Jason leaves his neck wide open, and Roy takes the opportunity to give him a raspberry, Jason kicking his legs out with a squeal, on the verge of real laughter. Roy makes sure his fingers stay just soft enough, his lips just teasing enough, to have Jason giggling himself silly, happily leaning in to the redhead.  

Roy’s fingers slow a bit, wanting Jason to hear everything he’s about to whisper, “you don’t even know how fuckin’ glad I am that you’re alright.”

Jason’s blush grows hotter, feeling another wave of shyness creeping up. He moves his head to give Roy a kiss on the cheek, his boyfriend’s blush almost matching his, just to even the playing field and all. “I’m soho glad you’re hehere.”

Roy smiles before leaning in for a proper kiss, his fingers just barely grazing over Jason’s sensitive spots. When they both pull away, breathless and awestruck, they’re wearing matching goofy grins, Jason still giggling under his breath. 

Jason spots his book again and uses the very tips of his fingers to pull it close enough for him to pick up. He places it into one of Roy’s hands, smiling mischievously at Roy’s confusion. “Nohow read to mehe, asshole!”

[jpitha]

You Can't Be Serious

Here's my entry for @flashfictionfridayofficial

I was the first Human to go through a wormhole.

We had created the wormhole generators to shrink the distance between the stars, to make it so that going beyond our home would take moments, instead of decades or centuries.

I went out beyond the orbit of Jupiter in my small, sturdy ship, and set the coordinates to our first colony world Parvati, more than 15 light-years away. If all went according to plan, I would get there in seconds instead of the current 30 years flight time.

With the flick of a finger, I engaged the generator.

I came to on the ground, on Earth, in a field on a clear summer day. The temperature was perfect, the weather was perfect, the view? Perfect. I felt someone approach me. It looked like a man; tall, red hair, bearded, with kind eyes and a muscular build. He was wearing an outfit so old that it must be from thousands of years ago.

When he was about 2 meters away, he stopped and really looked hard at me. Then, he started laughing.

I sat up. "What's going on?"

Working hard to stop laughing he slowed down to a chuckle and then with just a grin he said "You actually did it! I can't believe you actually did it! He said you would, but I didn't think you were that crazy."

"What?"

"You opened a wormhole. You went through. Well, going through. Technically, you're not out yet."

"But, I'm not on my ship!"

"Aren't you?" He said and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you're dead, and this is the afterlife and your body is on your ship and your soul is up here, talking with me."

"But if I'm dead, it didn't work!"

"Did it? Maybe for some people, this act of frankly violent action against the fabric of spacetime causes your soul to...to...leave for a bit."

"So now what?" I asked.

"Oh, that's up to you entirely. But, you'll see in just a bit." he said cryptically.

And just a suddenly, I was back, in the Parvati system, listening to the radio demanding who I was and how I got there. I explained who I was and what I was doing, and since I had gotten there faster than the message sent from Earth about my attempt, everyone was surprised and amazed.

When I landed they threw me a parade. I had never had a parade thrown for me before. There was an amazing party and we celebrated late into the strange night of their world.

The next day, I told the physicians about what I had seen. They laughed it off, called it pure imagination. I must have dreamed it they said.

After a week, I got back in my ship, heavy with souvenirs and messages for the governments back on Earth. I took off, and after leaving orbit, entered the coordinates to go home.

Once again I flicked the switch and engaged the generator.

"Ah. I see you've made your choice." The old man said.

[thegreatbacon]

The Coming Discourse Vacuum

Food for thought in a post-Twitter world

I originally published this piece 2022-11-18 on my blog, but then forgot to share lol. Thought it was relevant again with the Twitter/Reddit/Bluesky/Threads talk this past month.

There is no doubt that Twitter is collapsing. Millions of bytes have flown over the last few weeks describing the chaos both on the platform and in the private domain of its offices. Advertisers have pulled out, poorly thought out technical decisions have been made, hastily designed products have shipped, the majority of staff have either been fired or walked out the door, and the new owner and CEO is publicly melting down ON the platform for all the world to see. Some real grade A content if you will. The Adam McKay movie is writing itself. Yet as dumb as the whole saga is, it feels like there’s clearly something else at stake here, some sort of loss being felt. As much of a carnival as Twitter has always been, there is social value in it.

The widespread recording and reporting of police brutality in communities leading to the Black Lives Matter movement and the George Floyd protests of 2020 likely couldn’t have occurred without it. Last year when a wildfire broke out in the north suburbs of Denver, I used the platform to get almost real-time info and pass it on to friends and family living close to the disaster.

It’s the place to go for breaking & front page news. To hear the latest japes and gossip. It’s one of the town squares of the internet. And now it’s on fire while a lone, pathetic, billionaire is trying to rip it apart and sell it for scrap after buying it on a whim.

So, what’s next?

Some people are starting to look for the future in newer, less established spaces. But what if before our society immediately moves on to the next big thing, we take a step back to dream of a green field. If we could do it all over again, what should it look like?

To start with let’s talk about the elephant in the room, Mastodon, which is one of the new things that people have been migrating towards. Mastodon is part of the Fediverse, a collection of open source tools and platforms that prize decentralized architecture first and foremost. This means allowing anyone to host their own instance of a server and then connecting it to other servers in a federated model to gain network effects.

So instead of just one single giant ship plying the shitposting seas, it’s a bunch of rafts lashed together. If you don’t like how things are going, you can untie your raft and set off on your own. Or that’s the idea anyway.

But in my experience I’ve found the whole system unintuitive and overwhelming despite the fact that I write software for a living. Where am I supposed to make an account? How do I make sure I’m in the same network as the funny people I was following on Twitter? Does anyone in this federation even live in my state?

The barrier to entry is too high and the core architecture of Fediverse software fragments the new social network right out of the gate, undermining the very reason Twitter was useful in the first place. The replacement has to be centralized, it has to be the same place everyone agrees to show up. That’s how town squares work.

Another consideration for this future digital town square should be democratic controls baked into it from the start. The goal here is to keep any one particular petulant owner from taking control of the whole thing. This is ostensibly the purpose of federation in Mastodon, but I’m talking about even lower level controls. Elected moderators to patrol the space and ways to debate and decide the rules that govern the space. Baked in polls for voting on anything from names to new channels to modifying community guidelines. Focus on democratically controlling a single instance from within its own framework before jumping straight to federation.

Lastly, just like how a good tax base helps keep public places clean and maintained, this theoretical future platform would need some mechanism for collecting monetary support from its users, instead of an ad driven model. Ad driven platforms will always be forced to sacrifice the user experience for driving advertiser metrics.Instead let's talk about things like up-front registration fees or monthly supporter tiers, cosmetic items or badges for purchase, and publicly published operational budgets so users know how much they need to open their wallets. We could even dream of an honest to god new state-run utility that can actually levy taxes to manage and operate the platform!

As I’m writing this piece, one of the top trends on Twitter is literally #RIPTwitter. Even if the website technically lives on past tonight, it’s clear that it has lost the trust and confidence of its community, the lifeblood of any social media platform. So as we stagger out of this burning square, we should all take a moment to unplug, touch some grass, talk to our friends and family around our kitchen tables, and take a deep breath. In that moment of quiet, let’s dream about something better, before we go back to looking for something to fill the vacuum.

[thecheesecracker]

The 4th years are my favorite ninja kids

[bistevethor]

Steve Rogers Fanfiction Recommendations

Happy birthday, Steve!

I know that there are some (a lot?) of steve fans who sometimes struggle to find fics focused on him, so I am here now putting a list of Steve fics. I was going to fics that I haven't seen recommended a lot and most of the ones on this post have less than 200 kudos only, but I end up putting everything (it's probably easier to put my bookmarks as public but well...). It's a massive list (over 100 fics?), so it's will be separated into several posts/reblogs.

Not all of them are from Steve's POV or even have him as the main 'main' character, but rest assured he played an important role and is featured heavily. Lots of these are friendship-focused but I categorized them. The shippy ones are mostly samsteve, thundershield, and some rare pairings because I don't venture to other ships a lot and when I did it's to the rare ones instead lol. Hopefully, any of you can find some gems from this list and these are as enjoyable or as good as I remembered. I'll continue to update it, hopefully, every time I find new ones.

Fics are under read more.

General

The Rocket's Red Glare

Steve was born on the Fourth of July (no joke), so a party is in order! Unfortunately, PTSD decides to rear its ugly head. Fortunately, Steve's got an entire team at his back to help him through it. And screaming goats.

an entry in the scrapbook of absurdity

In which Steve turns into a baby and bites people.

Baby Steve Adventures

Captain America gets hit by a spell during a battle. The rest of the Avengers look after him.

Do You Remember Being Happy? ('Cause I Sure Don't)

"Dragr," Thor called them. "Demons" Clint had said. "Thieves" is what Steve labels them as. AKA, the one where Steve is captured by creatures that feed off of happy memories, and the team is left to pick up the pieces. Post-Avengers.

In Search of (Bucky, Family, Home)

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson

A week following the events of CATWS, Steve recruits Natasha and Sam to help find Bucky.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Do we need to recap again? You were shot three times, beaten near to death by an enhanced super soldier with a metal arm and then almost drowned. Yeah, your ass is going to need a few more days of healing time.”

The Truth When Captains Meet

Steve Rogers wakes up on an alien’s space ship being carried bridal style by Carol Danvers. As far as first meetings go, it’s memorable.

Irish Coffee

Pairings: Jessica Jones & Steve Rogers

Jessica runs into an incognito Cap at a cafe. They form an unlikely friendship of sorts.

The Lifetimes of Steve Rogers (Series)

What happens when Steve Rogers steps onto the quantum platform to return the Stones? Where does he go? What challenges does he find? Who does he meet? How many lifetimes can one man have?

Fifty-Two Pickup

Less than a week after the fall of the Triskelion, Steve Rogers is released from the hospital. Although his physical wounds are almost fully healed, other injuries need a bit more time, and some help from friends.

little kids get big so fast

Steve ends up having to take care of the deaged Defenders.

Grampa Steve's Bedtime Stories

If Mommy was away for work, then Morgan’s Grampa Steve came over to stay with her. He’d tuck her in, let her give Mommy a kiss on video chat, then hand her the picture of Daddy for his kiss. Once Daddy’s picture was back on the bookshelf, Grampa Steve would turn off the bedside lamp so that Miss Friday could cover the ceiling with stars, and ask Morgan what story she wanted to hear.

“Captain Steve, Grampa! Tell me Captain Steve!”

Grampa Steve sometimes read to her from books and other times watched a movie with her, but her favorite by far was when he told her Captain Steve’s Adventures Through the Multiverse.

On Camping Trips

Sam is more Hermione than Natasha is, and Steve doesn't want to be Harry.

Powerful

Steve loses the advantages of the super-soldier serum. This is not a tragedy.

His Dream

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

As if on cue, Steve cut him off with a loud sneeze.

"Yeah. Like that." Sam nodded. "And please sneeze into your elbow next time, dude. You could've just started an epidemic."

"Sorry. Allergies." Steve excused, and Sam raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know it's allergies?" Sam asked, and Steve sighed, putting the ingredients together and solving the mystery of what the gas had actually done.

The answer wasn't ideal. "It feels like the seasonal allergies I had before. Before the serum- and I haven't had them since the serum."

Realization clicked in Sam's head.

"The gas de-serumed you."

Steve swallowed and nodded reluctantly.

OR: Steve gets temporarily de-serumed, with his height and stature staying the same but his immune system being as bad as it was before, and has to stay in the hospital to prevent a severe allergic reaction or illness. Sam stays with him the whole time, making sure he's not alone.

A Strange Encounter

Things have gone awry and Strange is injured. With no other options, he's called for assistance from Captain America and his team.

even if we're apart, i'll always be with you

Steve finds a dirty toy bear at an abandoned gas station, on the way back from a school trip. He brings him home.

As Long as You’re Not Tired Yet of Talking

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

When Steve Rogers tells her, “Don’t be a stranger,” as they’re all going their own ways after New York, it makes her want to laugh.

Draw/Breath

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

Natasha like knowing what makes people tick. She likes knowing things, about her teammates and her coworkers and herself. Oddly enough, sometimes other people like knowing her too.

AKA: Natasha wants to know why Steve isn’t drawing anymore, and takes the long way round to get her answer. Because why not.

With Magic We Do Fly

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers

In Civil War we see Wanda fling Steve into the air with her magic. They must have practiced that, right?

Que Wanda throwing Steve against a wall. Many times.

Just Like We Practiced

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers

Steve had said, in the movie when he asked Wanda to lift him into the building, "Just like we practiced." But just how did they come up with the idea of her lifting people with her powers, and putting them up somewhere like an escalator? Perhaps it was because Wanda accidentally sent a certain tall, blond Avenger face-first into the floor once and he decided he would help her learn to utilize this as a confidence building exercise. Natasha keeps an eye, Thor and Sam help build the training grounds, and Wanda has found her new home. Takes place between AGE OF ULTRON and CIVIL WAR.

Black and White but Red and Blue

They're watching black and white film reels, but Steve sees them in colour.

"My shield may be black and white but it was red and blue. Just like the blue sky under which red blood was spilled. Like Bucky's blue eyes and Peggy's red lips..."

The Road Warriors

Characters: Sam Wilson (Marvel), Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Wanda Maximoff

It wasn't pretty, but somehow the four of them managed to make it through two years on the run.

We'll Fix It

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

Steve has a hard time after his battle with The Winter Soldier and isn't sure what to do with himself. After not seeing him for a week, Natasha finally shows up to his apartment unannounced to figure out how they can get back to work. There is some crying involved.

From Here On Out

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

The Accords, the search for Bucky, the fight at the airport ... In a world where nothing will ever be the same, sometimes the road to rebuilding trust and friendship is a little rockier than it should be.

AKA, the story of Steve & Natasha and how they got to where they are.

Set post-Civil War but pre-Infinity War.

I have this breath and I hold it tight

Parings: Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers, Clint Barton & Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff & Vision

Steve finally goes to Wanda’s tiny room and taps on the doorframe, although it’s hardly necessary, with the slightly warped floorboards creaking under his feet. “Hey,” he says. “Got a minute?”

Wanda's been a little withdrawn since Steve broke everyone out of the Raft. She's had a lot to think about.

to you.

Pairings: Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton & Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov, Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff & Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff & Tony Stark

It's Wanda's birthday today. She's not sure how to feel.

New Love

Pairings: Diana (Wonder Woman) & Steve Rogers

Near the end of World War II, Diana Prince finds herself attempting to reconnect to her long-gone, beloved Steve Trevor. However, she comes across Steve Rogers instead.

Sharing Life (And Canned Green Beans)

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

It’s Thanksgiving, and Steve is hiding in the second living room on the 8th floor of the penthouse apartments with a can of green beans.

I'm Fine

Steve slowly began to realize that the problem with being a national icon, a hero, and a role model, is that somehow, he became more than human. He become a symbol, not a person. So when he becomes increasingly unhappy, deeply depressed, and utterly adrift in a world where he doesn't belong, the loneliness and isolation are unbearable. How could anyone believe that an iconic hero like himself was really just an ordinary kid from Brooklyn, dying inside because everything he'd gained still wasn't enough to replace everything he'd lost? How could he possibly bring himself to bleed on the ones he loves? So he tells himself the same lie over and over, hoping one day, he'll believe it.

dogpile

"My dog ate my mission report" An injured Steve remembers something he has to do. Unabashed Steve and dogs fluff. "Didn't peg you for a pet guy." "Allergies."

Alone In This World (Together)

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson

“We’re fugitives,” Steve said finally. “It might never get better.”

“The world’s always going to need saving," Sam replied. "We’re still Avengers. No one can take that away from us.” Then, like they hadn't been having an entire conversation before, “So when do we leave?”

“Once night falls.”

Do we have any idea where she is?”

“No.” Steve took a sip of his coffee. “But I know where she’ll be.”

it gets the worst at night

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

Here's how it goes: Natasha sometimes shares a bed with Steve. It's not what it sounds like.

(In which there are Colombian drug lords, awkward boners, cuddly super-soldiers and the Avengers are all giant dorks.)

Shelter

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

Sam and Steve, right after the fall of SHIELD.

Princely Bickering

Pairings: Jane Foster/Thor, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers & Jane Foster, Steve Rogers & Thor

Steve allows Sam to lean up and inspect his head for bruises and blood. He then checks out Steve’s eyes. ‘Do you know where you are?’ Steve rolls his eyes. ‘Don’t be an ass, Cap, apparently you can break.’ ‘London, England, chasing apparently useless Hydra intel despite having about five hundred international arrest warrants out for us because we’re just that stupid,’ says Steve. Sam pats him - gently - on the shoulder. Life on the run isn't easy, especially not after an injury. Fortunately Steve still has a few allies left.

And The Seconds Tick Down

AU of Civil War. How the world ended in twenty steps when Steve died.

"Grant" and "Francis" Go Shopping

Pairings: Clint Barton & Steve Rogers

Steve and Clint both have holiday shopping to do for their family of choice, so they make a day trip to an outlet mall, have a few heart to hearts, use some coupons, buy a bunch of presents, and eventually get through their shopping lists.

A Tune Without Words

Pairings: Jane Foster/Thor, Steve Rogers & Thor, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

As he and Sam prepare to begin searching for Bucky, Steve gets various offers of help—some more unexpected than others.

Purpose

Tony Stark wins the fight in Siberia completely by accident.

Steve Rogers does not resist his arrest as he is taken to the Raft.

Sam Wilson, T'Challa, and Pepper Potts pick up the pieces.

Full of Wounds and Still Standing on my Feet

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Wanda Maximoff

The five times Steve looked out for Wanda, and one time Wanda decided someone needed to look out for Steve.

Three Awakenings

The first three times that Steve Rogers woke up during his first twenty-four hours in the twenty-first century.

Making Your Own Future

Characters: Steve Rogers, Diana Prince, Steve Trevor Five times -- plus one -- that Diana Prince and Steve Rogers encountered one another.

Better Living Through Pizza

Pairings: Clint Barton & Steve Rogers

Steve takes some time off from soldiering and Avengering to get his head on straight, and Clint is assigned to keep an eye on him, because apparently SHIELD believes in the blind leading the blind. Steve really needs a hobby, since modern television shows baffle him, but Clint keeps bringing him DVDs and pizza.

Five Times Clint Barton Spoke with Steve Rogers about Growing Old and the One Time He Didn't.

Pairings: Clint Barton & Steve Rogers

When Steve Rogers reappeared from the past as an old man, there was a lot of catching up to do. Clint Barton made sure nobody got left behind.

Hammer's Totally Heavy-Handed and Incompetent Revenge

"So, at the end of IM2, Justin Hammer swears revenge on Pepper. He waits until Tony and Rhodey are halfway across the world to launch his attack.

Unfortunately for him, thanks to SHIELD, Iron Man and War Machine aren't the only superheroes in Pepper's rolladex. Steve thinks Pepper's just swell and doesn't take too kindly to somebody trying to hurt her."

Cue badass!Steve and competent!Pepper

Fan Mail

Steve starts getting his fan mail and receives an invitation to the prom. Written for a prompt at the Avengers kink meme. It was a great prompt, and so much fun to write and get feedback for!

Prom. Steve 'Grandpa Iceberg' Rogers at a 21st-century high school prom. "This isn't happening. This whole conversation is just an elaborate practical joke. Bruce really just has orders for widgets or something."

Bruce waved the printouts at him. "Fraid not. I don't really do practical jokes. Messing with other people's moods just seems. I don't know. Karmically unwise."

Mascot

Steve runs. People see Steve run. Steve gets adopted by the neighbourhood he runs through every week day morning. He finds this confusing. Tony finds it amusing.

Locks Not Replaced

Tony angsts back at Avengers' HQ, Ross is a bully and Steve makes sure he doesn't get away with it. In other words, there is much regret, a bit on the philosophy of locks, adventure and far too many Robin Hood metaphors.

woof

For a prompt on the avengers kinkmeme: "...something different happens when Steve gets Dr Erskine's serum plus the Vita ray treatment... Steve does get taller and stronger, but when the first full moon hits, he turns into a big friendly looking dog. Yes, he's a weredog, not a werewolf."

Mission: Baby

Pairings: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

The Asset finds himself in charge of the care of a small baby, but somehow he knows—he has to protect the baby from all harm, whatever the cost.

14 Tracks

Pairings: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Avengers Team 14 tracks from Steve's iPod and how they got on there.

Life Will Rattle Your Bones

Pairings: Erik Lehnsherr & Steve Rogers

Captain America and the Howling Commandos find Schmidt sooner than they thought... wait, what do you mean this is a *different* Schmidt?

In war-torn Germany, the paths of Steve Rogers and Erik Lehnsherr cross, part, and cross again.

come build me up

Pairings: Sharon Carter & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

“Do you ever feel like -- like you joined up because you wanted to do good. You wanted to do the right thing but somewhere along the way, you just lost the whole fucking plot.”

“All of the time.”

Or: the one where Captain America and Agent 13 give long distance friendship a whirl.

Down in the Worn Out Place Again

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Wanda Maximoff

“You don't look a day over 85, Captain,” Wanda says.

Natasha smiles, just barely, and nudges Steve with her elbow. “She makes jokes now.”

(Post AoU, stories about friendship.)

Satellites

Characters: Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Nick Fury Pairings: Natasha Romanov & Steve Rogers, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov

In the immediate aftermath of SHIELD's collapse and Steve's plunge into the Potomac, Natasha considers her place in the world. Also the fact that Steve is depressing.

Timeless Classics

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Avengers Team Five An undetermined number of times (six, apparently) Steve unexpectedly got the reference (sort of), and one time everyone discovered something new together.

you just wait and see

Pairings: Rocket Raccoon & Steve Rogers

“Thor said you’re the captain.” Rogers says, his voice distant, sad smile growing into a sadder grin. “Tough job.”

The Small Hours

Pairings: Steve Rogers & T'Challa, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

"I'm not getting him back, am I." The words were flatly delivered – not a question so much as fatigued resignation. "We will do everything we can to help him," T'Challa quietly replied, but he wouldn't lie, not about this. Not to a fellow warrior he respected on and off the field of battle. "The possibility does exist, however, that the triggers are permanent."

The Man We All Remember From the Newsreels

Still getting used to the twenty-first century, Steve comforts himself with memories of long-gone friends. But Howard Stark, the man Steve remembers, is nothing like the man he sees in the newsreels.

we're all choir boys at best

Characters: Steve Rogers, Johnny Storm

You are totally getting laid tonight. "Please stop talking." You hijacked my brain first, this is totally not my fault.

Epistaxis

Steve doesn't worry the first time he gets a bloody nose that won't quit. But when it happens a second, third, fourth... He, and his teammates, start to get concerned.

You Close Your Eyes and the Glory Fades

His body isn’t his own, he knows that, knew before the procedure that everything would change. That was the easiest thing to wrap his head around, actually, the physical changes. He’s used to his body betraying him, so this is just another thing to learn his way around. But the colors of everything, even the sliver of blue sky he could see, craning his head at the tiny window, look different.

Looking For Answers (From The Great Beyond)

After the Battle of New York is over, and Loki and the tesseract are returned to Asgard, Steve takes a road trip across the country, and tries to figure out what he wants to do next.

Mourning the Future

Steve's ties to the past and the future are pretty tenuous, and the serum ensures he lives in an eternal present state of ever-youthful vigour. When an old war buddy gets handed his last marching orders, Steve has to wonder if everyone will eventually leave.

Riviera Life

Sam and Steve have been traversing Europe looking for Bucky. Not everyone is convinced it isn’t an open invitation road trip.

Voluntary Bros.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Johnny Storm

"Dude, you could be twins, they tested you before they defrosted you to see if you were a clone or something, or if he was a clone," Clint said.

"I want to talk to him, I think. I mean, a girl threw her latte at me last week for not calling her back and this dude felt me up at an art gallery yesterday," Steve said.

Two Brooklynites and One Big Apple

Pairings: Miles Morales & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

“You did good out there today,” Captain America said, brushing a layer of detritus from his unfathomably broad shoulder. “I’ll see you around.”

“Not if I see you first,” replied Miles, fingergunning with one hand as he sent a web rope fwipping off into the distance with the other, catapulting himself away at tremendous speed.

... in which two superheroes battle with bad guys, embark on community art lessons, and a friendship forms along the way.

Battle Fatigue

Steve thought he was doing okay. Things weren't going great, but they were fine, manageable even, and then suddenly they weren't.

We Become New Yorkers (or: Five Times Steve Rogers Looked For Home, and One Time Home Found Him)

New York is a million cities at the same time. This is how Steve found his.

A beautiful day in the neighborhood

In which Steve and Peter learn that the best way to get through a bad situation is together. And to avoid collapsing buildings. And that concussions are terrible, terrible things.

Leviticus 25

"You want to save Bucky Barnes? You are going to have to put your own house in order first because he is going to need a rock to cling to. You are not ready to be that rock for him. You owe it to him -- and more importantly, you owe it to yourself -- to figure things out, figure out how you can be happy in this time and place, whether or not Barnes is with you."

Strike

Sometimes the road to recovery involves bowling. Conveniently, so does the one to the Grand Canyon.

Conversation in Wakanda

“I have been told that you had the privilege to share a training session with some of our Dora Milaje,” T’Challa says. “May I ask how it went?”

“Well,” the Captain huffs. “There’s no polite way to say it: I had my ass handed to me. Repeatedly.”

He sounds and looks utterly delighted.

Contact Light

Everyone thought computers would be the thing that really blew Steve's mind about the 21st century. They were wrong. When he finds out that he missed the moon landing, it's the start of an ongoing obsession with space that maybe involves Neil deGrasse Tyson, Twitter, and Star Trek marathons.

Twenty-Two

“This is Lucky,” Clint said when a dog got between him and Natasha. Lucky’s vest was bright, like desert mornings and night explosions.

“Does he help?” Natasha asked.

Clint pressed his hands flat on the counter behind him. “He saved my life.”

Natasha looked at Steve, her expression fierce. Steve resisted the urge to yank down his sleeves. Instead, he dug his nails into the puckered skin on his forearms.

AKA An AU in which Steve is a veteran just trying to survive (or not).

Gray

Peter doesn't expect Steve to show up at his house one night when he gets home from school. He also doesn't expect to have a long conversation with him, and choose to be on his side instead.

We're Happy, Free, Confused, and Lonely at the Same Time.

"Tony isn't sure, but he *thinks* Steve Rogers is going to try and argue with him about not being a kid, while wrapped up in a fluffy blanket and plaid pyjama pants watching a Disney movie. Tony really hopes that is the case. The Captain America voice looses all affect when wrapped up in that blanket and Tony can't wait to inform him as such." - The one where Tony realises that Captain America and Steve Rogers are not the same person, and Steve is so much younger then he thought.

This Isn't A Love Song, This Isn't A Fable

Steve's not OK with people's perception of Captain America, no matter what he says or how much he pretends otherwise. It's like no one in this time period realizes that there's more to him than a spangly outfit. And yes, he's including the Avengers in that. ... or, the one where everything's all right, until it's not.

it's safe here in our new world

Post TWS. In which Natasha and Steve go shopping, have Thursday night movie nights, and learn that Natasha loves to platonically kiss Steve. Which is good, because Steve loves being platonically kissed by Natasha.

Shadowboxing

Pairings: Matt Murdock & Steve Rogers

It doesn’t matter how many times you fall – what matters most is how many times you get back up. Steve Rogers knew this lesson far too well and it was one Matt Murdock had endured all his life. With both men at their lowest, could a chance friendship bring each of them to their feet again?

Everybody Eats When They Come to My House

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

“You’ll ruin your dinner,” Sam says, gesturing with Steve with his spatula.

i fear for the calendar; its days are numbered

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

Before she goes off the grid, Natasha gives Steve her phone number. He’s honored that he’s the only one to be trusted with it, but quickly learns that she spends most of her free time texting him Dad jokes.

Status Quo Ante

Pairings: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

A tale in which Sam suspects he should be used to this by now, for values of 'this' that involve certain folks he hangs out with and situations he finds himself in, Team Cap becomes Team Ex-Cap becomes TBD, and nobody but Clint really wants to know what happened to Scott Lang's GI Joes. (Sam Wilson from the final scene to the mid-credits scene.)

The Glass Parade

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov

Steve thinks that he’s seen Natasha be at least three different people in the short time he’s known her, and he isn’t sure which one is real.

In which the most confusing part of the future is how much Steve has in common with Natasha, and the fact that she seems dead-set on being his friend.

Still Life

Steve Rogers and a very modern form of art therapy. (The one where Steve draws himself out of despair and into some notoriety when his cartoons hit the internet, but he's still not allowed to look at Tumblr without an okay from Pepper.)

Selective Service

The serum's given Steve a lot, but it hasn't taken anything away from him. Not even the things he never wanted in the first place.

I'm a Hustler, Baby

Steve Rogers has a talent for pool--and for making others believe he's terrible at it.

The Healing Properties of Felt-Tip Pens

Rapid healing has worked wonders on Steve Rogers' body, but occasionally it really screws with his head. In the aftermath of torture, Bruce Banner helps Steve to reconcile mind and body.

If I Die Before I Wake

It's his job, as their leader, to endure the sadistic focus of their captor, and that is the one thought that carries Steve through.

Even Gods Do

Captain America doesn't have a good relationship with sleep anymore. Also, he's not a toy.

Under My Skin

Written for a prompt on avengerkink: I want to see something where, for whatever reason, Steve's accelerated healing turns out to be a bad thing. Something where the faster healing is making things worse. I would prefer something other than the standard, super-healing allows for more torture without death. “He's lucky – to have the serum, to have you all.” Tony wasn't sure about that first part. When one faced death and destruction every day on the job, there were many advantages to having a healing factor...and a great many disadvantages as well.

A Glossary of the 21st Century

Pairings: pre-Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov

Steve's sick of not understanding what's going on, and the team are not all that helpful, so he starts keeping an illustrated notebook for further research. With the help of wiki, google and Logan he starts to settle in and find his place in the twenty-first century.

Blanket Gift Policy

“You didn’t,” Bucky said, with no real hope of being contradicted. Clint shrugged helplessly and passed him the large, soft bundle wrapped in shiny purple foil.

“Sorry.” Tony covered his eyes with one hand.

“I’m getting a migraine.”

“So,” Bruce said wearily, “counting Clint, me, Bucky, Tony, and Sam, that brings it up to five.”

“Excuse you, mine’s not a blanket,” Sam said. “Mine’s a slanket. Big difference.”

Bucky resisted the urge to throw the whole heap of parcels at Sam’s head. “Because it has sleeves? It’s still a blanket, Wilson. They’re all blankets. Even Thor’s direct-from-Asgard raven gift delivery was a cloak, which just means it’s a blanket with a strap. We all got Steve a goddamn blanket.”

One Tin Soldier

Written for a prompt at avengerkink: Because really, under any other circumstances, why would they follow him when he's some guy who's younger than the rest of them (time as a Capsicle aside), who goes around wearing that spangly outfit, who's not even used to the modern world? Why Steve Rogers, rather than a Norse god or the CEO of Stark Industries or anyone else?

“Love is for children,” she'd said, but respect knew no such bounds. The five times the Avengers accepted Steve as their leader, and the one time they followed without question.

and if there's life we'll see it

Steve is instantly taken with this idea of having the picture of the person calling you flash on your screen when they ring your cell.

Secure Your Own Oxygen Mask (Before Assisting Others)

Steve keeps going, because they need him. Being Captain America - having the serum - is a responsibility and a privilege he takes seriously, and he won't waste it by sitting around resting in the middle of a crisis. But then the work is over, and the original victims of the crisis aren't the only ones needing looking after.

Way of the Eagle

Clint introduces Steve to kung-fu movies. Things escalate quickly.

Walking Wounded

In the aftermath of the battle against the Chitauri, Steve's doing just fine. Until he's not. Fortunately, Thor is a perfect mother-hen, Tony makes decent back-up, JARVIS is a genius, and Soap Operas are life-changing. (Or, Post-Shawarma Feels.)

[allronix]

Carth and Force Sensitivity (crossposted from Reddit r/kotor)

This is for @k-she-rambles:

Okay, so while we're shooting the bantha crap over on KOTOR fan theories, u/134340Goat mentioned my all time favorite "Have you been chewing spice?!" fan theory when it comes to KOTOR: Is Carth Force Sensitive?

So this one starts with a story. I mentioned my brother in law, who is pretty much Keeper of the Jedi Archives. Seriously, he's an English teacher and my sister is a librarian. They met at a sci fi convention and their first date was Phantom Menace. We're taking not just geeks, but geeks who can throw the damn bookshelf at you. Brother in law bought KOTOR on the day it launched and turned it into a week long binge watch at his house. And because brother in law is that kind of geek, he's translating the characters into the West End D6 system. I'm watching him do a playthrough, and he's got Canderous and Zaalbar at Ajunta Pal's tomb.

Allronix: Huh. That's odd. Why aren't commenting on anything when Ajunta is speaking?

Bro in law: Oh. They can't even see Ajunta. You have to be Force Sensitive to see a Force Ghost The stronger your Sensitivity, the better you can see it.

Allronix: Really? Then how come Carth can see it?

Bro in law (gets the "holy shit, I gotta confirm this" look): Really?! He just sees something out the corner of his eye or something?

Allronix: No, he sees Ajunta just fine. Understands what the dude's saying too.

Bro in law instantly rolls back to his last save, swaps Zaalbar for Carth, and sees the bit in question.

Bro in law: Oh. Dear. (Goes over to make some quick scribbles on Carth's character sheet)

Okay, so maybe that was a lore fail. I didn't really think about it too much until I hit that False Level Up glitch and ran around with Carth and Mission as Sentinels. Now, while I couldn't really see Mission as a Sensitive, that little bit with my bro in law nagged at me. And became a "once you see it you can't unsee it." Apologies to TV Tropes, where some of these were my additions to the Wild Mass Guess entry on this topic.

Any one of these on its own is pretty easy to blow off. After all, man is career military, and knows All this Shit is Weird. I also like to think of Sensitivity as a spectrum and not a switch. If all life is connected by the Force, then all life would be Sensitive to some degree or another. It’s just a matter of to what degree. It’s only as the list gets longer and longer does the case start looking damning...

What are the odds of surviving that attack on the Endar Spire, getting to the escape pods, sharing the last escape pod with the mindwiped Sith Lord, piloting through the chaos, landing in what passes for the "good" part of town, remaining uninjured, pulling the badly injured mindwiped Sith Lord from the wreck, evading Sith detection while all this is going on, and just happening to find a dump of an apartment where the landlord's not asking questions? That is one amazing string of coincidences and good luck. Get that many in Star Wars, and it's definitely The Force sticking its nose in things.

Piloting the escape pod to land in the Upper City, piloting the Hawk through the Sith Blockade of Taris, the random Sith patrols, the escape from the Leviathan, and the fleet around Lehon along with the crash landing that left the ship easily repairable. Now, compare to Atton who we know to be an excellent pilot and drawing on The Force who still manages to crash the ship at least three times.

He's a scary good judge of character if you're interacting with other NPCs. If you watch him with other NPC characters, he's got a pretty good compass as to which characters are being helpful and which ones are full of shit. The only one he calls incorrectly is Rukil, who is probably also an untrained Sensitive (the age, the "marked" comments) and half senile, which is probably throwing him.

Related to that, his distrust and wariness about something not adding up with the PC, the Jedi Council feeding the party a line of bull, that things just aren't adding up. And on all of it? Dead on. He's 100% right about the Player Character, he just expected something a little less crazy than "that's Darth freaking Revan."

If you play Female Revan, then Carth's the one who gets fried in the torture cages on the Leviathan. Saul comments how strange it is that Carth takes so much punishment and still remains conscious. Now, this is a low level thing, but in lore, Force Sensitives have drawn on it to keep them alive or conscious under duress. Explicitly, the first sign we got that Leia was a Sensitive when she withstood the Imperial torture droid.

Another of his scary ass judge of character feats? In the comics, Zayne (who is on the run from the Jedi, who framed him for the murder of his classmates) has a vision that Mandalorians are coming for Serroco. Saul? Laughs it off, throws Zayne in the brig. Zayne's own friends don't even believe him. Carth gets one of those creepy hunches and starts calling in "duck and cover" sirens as far as he can broadcast, which sends seventeen cities and millions of people heading for shelter. It saves their lives and Carth is called a hero for it. Armed with another hunch, he disobeys Saul (remember this is before Saul nukes Telos) and lets Zayne "escape" from custody. Mind you, not even the Jedi or his party members believed Zayne. Carth did.

Carth makes a lot of creepy weird offhand predictions about the future. He says he knows on some level he'll be there when Saul dies. That certainly pans out. He makes an offhand prediction that the Jedi have set the party up to take a fall. Right again. He tells a female PC that she'll have to make a choice soon, one she can't walk away from. And then we get the temple top. He even blurts out that "I sensed you would have to make a choice soon, and that was it*, I can feel it!"* If you specify a LS Female Revan, his recording for T3-M4 says he's had a hunch Revan would leave without warning. Again, spot on.

Specify a LS male Revan, and Carth will remark to Bastila that seeing the Exile reminds him "there are worse things to lose." The only other people who can see just how screwed up the Exile is are the Jedi Masters, Chodo Habat, and the Force Sensitive party members.

Specify a LS female Revan, and Carth will insist that he would know if Revan were dead (again, scary ass intuition) and that there's an "emptiness" where she used to be. Now, remember one of the things about a broken Force Bond? It would simply be "empty, a wound."

You know how your party members in KOTOR 2 feel upset or even horrified as they realize they feel compelled to protect Exile and can't being themselves to leave, even when said actions are kicking puppies? And how they swing wildly from being crazy, almost stalker level possessive of them to being scared out of their wits and clamming up when you try to pry anything out of them? And the more potent (and untapped) their Force Sensitivity, the more they get hammered with the effect? (Mira and Atton in particular) Yeah. Now, Carth's "I don't wanna talk" looks a bit different, doesn't it? It could also account for that romance arc, especially if you roll a DSF Revan and go for that "everyone dies" ending.

Again, Ajunta Pal. Seeing a Force Ghost? Yeah. Some degree of Sensitivity needed. Understanding what he's saying? Yeah. Takes a bit more than that. And Carth makes a weirdly insightful comment about the Dark Side on top of it.

Notice that this a wall o text argument already, and I'm now just getting to the "Yeah, his kid is able to throw around mid-level Dark Side powers and packing a red lightsaber." Given the jawline and the muleheaded attitude, no way Morgana was fooling around with the pizza delivery boy. That's definitely Carth's kid, and that's definitely Force Sensitivity. Now, while it can skip a generation (see Theron Shan), it tends to run pretty heavy in families.

Lastly? Gee. He comes from a planet settled by and heavily populated by descendants of Force Sensitives who failed their training. I'm also willing to bet some bastard children of Jedi get passed off as "foundlings" and "orphans" and dumped there, too. Jedi are forbidden attachments, but not sworn to celibacy, so...yeah, bastard kids are gonna happen. There's probably a Jedi or two in that family tree. It's circumstantial evidence at best, but it still supports the case.

Now, any arguments I missed? Counterarguments?

And the million credit question: If there's a character who gets to break this news to poor Flyboy, who do you think would actually take that on? How do you think Carth would take that kind of news? And what, if anything, would come of it?

I kinda figure Jolee might be the only one nuts enough to poke that with a stick...I also kinda figure "Sentinel" would fit best. Consular? Hell no. He hired Mical for that. Guardian works with the feats, but the whole "ferreting out deceit and injustice?" Yeah. That's Carth.

[huilian]

Eugenides, mathematics, and the people that he loves.

or, 12 times mathematics was involved, in some way or another, between our favorite bastard of a king and the people he has made a family out of.

or, that math degree gotta get used  somehow

2.

“If you’re going to lurk from the ceiling, Eugenides, you might as well come down and help me,” Eddis said.

In front of her was a string of numbers that should have represented the entirety of her country’s taxes, but none of it made sense to her. She knew all the basics, of course, but they didn’t expect her to be queen, and by the time she was her father’s heir, she was too busy trying to learn everything else that the thought of learning the intricate system of taxes did not even cross her mind.

She was regretting that now.

“Well, it seemed rude to interrupt your brooding session, Your Majesty,” Eugenides said, landing next to her without so much as a whisper of a sound.

She glared at him in the empty room she was in, having already sent everybody out. Her advisors meant well, but they kept talking over each other in their eagerness to explain this to her, and instead of helping her understand it, that just made the numbers seem even more confounding.

“I was not brooding,” she said.

“If you say so, My Queen,” Eugenides grinned. “Now, do you want me to explain this to you, or was this covered in one of the few classes you did not skip?”

She glared again, but she pointed at one entry, embarrassingly high on the list, and said, “Start there.”

8.

“Remind me, Costis,” the King said, “your father is a farmer, is he not?”

Costis blocked the King’s attack— he still insisted on sparring with Costis every morning, even though he now had an abundance of sparring partners to choose from— and replied, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The King hummed, and Costis pushed forward, trying to get at least one hit on Eugenides when he was still distracted. Instead of reaching his target, however, his training sword flew out of his hands and he found himself with a wooden sword placed gently upon his chest.

“My win, I believe, Costis,” the King said with a smile. “I think that’s enough for the day.”

“Your Majesty?” Costis asked, disbelieving.

“Yes, Costis,” Eugenides replied. “Come, sit in the shade next to me, and tell me about your father’s farm. The sun is much too hot today.”

Costis frowned, but he knew already that the best way to deal with his King when he was like this was to indulge his whims. So he took the King’s sword, retrieved his own, placed them where the rest of the practice swords were located, and sat down next to Eugenides, answering all of his questions about the way his father determines how much seeds he should buy and how many people he should hire.

*

Teleus picked up a piece of paper that was not there the last time he left his office, locked with the only key on his own belt.

The paper was filled with numbers and equations from one end to the other, and after skimming it quickly, Teleus can see that it contained the beginnings of a plan on how to sufficiently reduce the Guard with minimal compromises on its function.

Sighing, he picked up the paper and a flagon of wine, and made his way to Relius’s quarters. It would not help the headache that’s already starting to form, but at the very least he would have someone to talk to. And to share wine with.

3.

 Sophos,

 I think I caught where that extra one half is coming from. Tell the Magus that it is his fault that this equation does not balance. That extra one half is supposed to be there. You can find the proof attached in this letter.

 That said, are you getting better at this quicker than I expected, o Useless the Younger? I should write the Magus to tell him to provide you with harder problems to solve. You have not asked for my help even once in the last few weeks.

 Your friend, Eugenides

10.

“What do you think of that new proof from the continent? That you can find distance by finding an area?”

A few short years ago, Kamet would have jumped in shock. Nowadays, however, he was far too used to Eugenides’s antics to be truly shocked.

“I think, Your Majesty,” he said, “that my topic of choice is poetry and history, and that any discussion about mathematics is better done with your youngest attendant. The gods know he could focus on little else.”

Eugenides waved his hand in such a manner as to fully frustrate Kamet. Truly, only Attolis could manage to cause such contempt in such a little movement.

“I will ask him later, when I want my argument ripped to shreds. But I want to know your thoughts, Kamet.”

“My interest in mathematics is in bookkeeping only, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, don’t play coy with me,” Eugenides replied. “I know you better than that.”

Kamet narrowed his eyes, but the arguments are already starting to form in his head. He briefly lamented the fact that he would not be able to finish his translation work today, because from previous experience, once this discussion started, it will not stop until the bell rings for dinner time, and he has promised Costis that he would not work in candlelight only for the health of his eyes.

Eugenides grinned, like he knew that he had already won this battle. He probably did, that little bastard of a king.

“Fine,” Kamet sighed. “I think that it’s plausible. If the speed is constant, then it’s just a rectangle, is it not? We can then infer that-”

They talked long after that, discussing the merits and demerits of the idea. Eugenides disappeared just before the bell rang to call the court for dinner, however, as if he knew Kamet’s thoughts from earlier and decided to spite him even more.

Kamet couldn’t even be mad about it.

7.

“Do you not believe my story, Relius?” the king asked.

A mere month ago, Relius would not have deigned to answer. A mere month ago, Eugenides would not have told the story. But now, in the time when only men plagued with nightmares are awake, Relius said, “I somehow doubt you managed to calculate the volume of that bath in such a short time, Your Majesty.”

Eugenides clicked his tongue, and said, “It’s just a cylinder. Or close enough to one that it doesn’t matter.” He leaned back on his chair and asked, “Surely you know how to do that quickly enough?”

“I confess I have not practiced that in a long time, Your Majesty.”

“More important matters in your mind?”

Court intrigues and spy networks. Letters written in codes that only he can break and knowledge that he has long since imparted to his queen. None of that matters anymore, now.

Instead of answering the question, Relius said, “Maybe I’ll learn how to do that. After.”

“Maybe,” the king replied. He pulls on the blanket covering Relius’s body, adjusting it so that all of Relius’s limbs are properly underneath it. All four of them.

They didn’t talk again for the rest of the night.

9.

“Two of your trousers are currently being mended, Your Majesty, and three more are in the wash, so the choice tonight is between the blue pair or the deep brown pair. I’ve chosen the blue, and paired it with that coat you just commissioned,” Philologos explained.

“That’s good, Philologos, thank you,” the king said, absentmindedly pulling his undershirt off. He unclasped the cuff of his hook, handed them to Hilarion, who was standing next to him, and entered the bath.

Seeing that everything is well under control, Philologos shared a nod with Hilarion, and then turned to go retrieve the aforementioned trousers and coat.

Before he could do that, however, the king called out, “Philologos?”

“Yes, Your Majesty?” he answered.

“Two added with three added with two does not make eight,” Attolis said.

Philologos blinked, baffled with the apparent absurdity of the statement. He was just about to chalk it up to Eugenides being Eugenides and simply agree with the king, before he realized what was going on.

He blanched.

“I…” he stammered, unsure as to what to say, when Hilarion also realized what was going on and laughed.

“I thought your education was better than that, Philo,” Hilarion teased. “What would your father say, if he knew that his only heir forgot how to do basic addition?”

“I…” Philologos stammered again, trying to find words to defend his honor, but the king interjected before he could do that.

“I am honored, Philologos, that you have chosen to emulate me in this.” Eugenides grinned, before continuing, “Though I wish that you would have chosen something better than my trousers to steal.”

Behind him, Philologos could hear the rest of the attendants snickering, and that was enough fuel to make him shout, “Four! Four of your trousers are in the wash, Your Majesty!” without even considering what that outburst would cost him. He could feel his cheeks turning red, and he gritted out, “Now, if you will excuse me, I will go and retrieve your clothes for dinner.”

He turned around, fully intending to block any and all comments, when the king called out, “Don’t steal this pair too, Philologos!” adding fuel to the laughter from the attendants.

But when he handed the trousers to the king after he had finished his bath, Eugenides pulled him close, and whispered, “If you’re going to steal any of my trousers, take the red one.” A burst of hot air hit Philologos’s ear, the tell-tale sign that the king is laughing. “The embroidery is in gold.”

4.

“Eight ships,” the Eddisian Minister of War said to his son. “Eight ships, and you asked for?”

“Twenty men,” Eugenides replied.

“That’s,” he paused for a moment to recheck his calculations, “two men a ship.” He looked at Eugenides, frowned, and said, “That’s not possible.”

“I didn’t propose to burn all eight of them. Four,” Eugenides said, lifting up his fingers. “Maybe even five if we’re lucky,” he lifted up the one finger he had left.

His father very deliberately did not look at Eugenides’s other arm, which has no more fingers to lift up. “That is still five men a ship, Eugenides,” he said, “without any scouts or people standing guard.”

Eugenides simply shrugged, and replied, “I can do it.”

A year ago, he could. The Minister of War frowned even deeper, and said, “Thirty. Twenty for your plan, five for scouts, four to stand guard, and one just in case.”

Eugenides’s mouth curled in a discontented line, but he sighed and said, “Alright. Thirty it is.”

6.

“It was the type of wheat,” Eugenides mumbled next to Irene’s ear.

They were tangled together on top of her sheets, their legs twined together and their heads pillowed on the same bed. Wheat was the furthest thing from Irene’s mind, but still, she hummed a note to tell him to go on.

“Artadorus,” her husband continued, his eyes still half closed. “He reported a different kind of wheat than what he planted. You charge a different rate for the different kinds.”

Irene hummed again. She would have found out, eventually. She has many people in her tax offices employed to do just that. One of them would have found out the deceit and brought it to her or Relius, and the fraud would have been exposed, just the same. It would not have been as effective, but it would still have reached her.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that it was not just her who charges a different rate for the taxes, but one glance at his face caused her to remain silent. They could be kings and queens again in the morning, but tonight, they are simply husband and wife.

She rolled over to face him, and said, “Tell me again in the morning,” before kissing him.

He did not say anything about wheat again until the sunrise entered the windows of the room.

11.

"I think a triangle only has three sides, Pheris, and not four," Eugenides said, materializing somewhere behind the young Baron Erondites.

For his part, the Baron Erondites looked at the work he was completing, saw the mistake, and started signing things that he had decided were curses.

Attolis laughed.

"Surely that is not as debilitating as that?"

I would have to redo this whole section, Pheris signed with one hand. The other hand was already scratching things out on his parchment with a speed that truly belies his frustration.

"Oh, I'm sure it's not that bad," Eugenides said, sitting next to him. "You would only have to change…"

A pause, and then Annux of the Hephestian Peninsula hissed out something that would truly shock all the new ambassadors from the Continent and made his wife glare at him for saying that in front of the children. "You need to redo the whole section," Eugenides deadpanned.

Pheris just glared at him, and scratched out, 'I told you so', somewhere in the midst of the mess his parchment was becoming.

12.

"Why do we have to learn this?" the Princess of Attolia complained.

Her brother, also looking dejectedly at his own work, nodded in agreement.

"Because, my little thief," her father said, "one day, you might find yourself on a ledge too far for you to jump, and you have to calculate how many pics you can trust your own skill and how many you have to trust our god for." He turned to his son, and continued, "And you, my future king, will one day have someone telling you that seventeen horses each carrying three sacks of grain somehow amounts to having forty sacks, and you will have to disabuse them of that notion immediately."

The twins looked at each other for a moment, before Hector said, “But we knew how to do that already. That is simple geometry and arithmetics. This is not that.”

Eugenia nodded, and added, “Even Mother said that her own education did not come this far. So, Father, why do we have to learn this?”

Eugenides blinked, before chuckling softly. “I see,” he said, after a while. He sat atop the table that the twins were using to write, and continued, “It seems I have done you both a disservice.

“I ask you to learn this because no matter who you are, whether you are an okloi or a watchmaker or a king or a thief, or perhaps, even the gods themselves, the logic of mathematics will still be the same. There are no lies in mathematics, nor are there deceit.”

He paused there, staring at things that neither Eugenia nor Hector could see. Seconds passed in silence, and Eugenia opened her mouth, ready to bring their father back to the present with a remark, but before she could do that, Hector jabbed her in the stomach and shook his head.

Their patience was rewarded when Eugenides sighed and propelled himself from the table he was sitting on. “But you are right,” he said, plucking the pens from their hands, Eugenia’s first, and then Hector’s. “Both of you certainly already have the skills needed to fulfill your duties. Anything more will just be a fool’s errand.” He jumped up the table again, this time landing feet first and facing them, half-bowing with the pens he took from them just earlier offered in his hand.

“A fool’s errand,” he said, eyes twinkling, “or a quest for the wisest of men.”

Eugenia and Hector stared at their father, and then at each other, before taking the pens from their father’s hand.

5.

 In your last letter to me, you told me that a man’s worth is what he is, added to what he does. Then tell me this, Magus. What if that is not enough?

 Gen, I thought your knowledge of mathematics is better than that.

 If addition is not enough, then try multiplication.

1.

“Ah, no,” Stenides said, looking over Gen’s shoulder. “That three should not be there.”

“No?”

“No,” Stenides answered, pointing at the calculations in front of his little brother. “See how you didn’t carry over that one,” he moved his fingers to the next number, “and so this one should have been four.”

Eugenides looked at the paper in silence for a moment, and then let out a string of curses that he definitely should not have heard yet, let alone repeat. But of course, Gen being Gen, he has, and Sten couldn’t help but chuckle along.

After he finished his string of curses, Gen moaned, “I’m never going to get it.”

“I thought you’re going to be the next Thief of Eddis?” Stenides teased. “How are you going to do that when you can’t even do additions?”

His little brother looked at him with murder in his eyes, however, and Sten quickly raised his hands in surrender. Eugenides’s revenge was already legendary, no matter how young the boy still was.

“I joke, I joke!” he said. Then, he smiled down at his little brother, ruffled his hair, and said, “You’ll get it. I know you would.”

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 9: Friable

7:45 in the morning.

Each and every day, Esredes' alarm went off. He was not one with long startup lag- within a minute, he was always up and shutting his alarm off, dragging himself to the bathroom.

Brush your teeth, comb your hair back into those peculiar spikes, splash some water on your face- yes, perfect. And next came the closet, where Esredes mostly changed into the same repetition of outfits each day- all this time, and still he had not bothered to add much new.

Too much attention.

All this took ten minutes at most, and then he was downstairs. A quick breakfast came and went with a dose of orange juice, and he was putting on Heilyn's coat made for him like he did every morning, followed by the trusty messenger bag and sword. Long past were moments like the sheer embarrassment of shutting down on his floor or at his desk entirely- there was no time for suck weakness anymore.

The brisk and cold air of Foundation greeted Esredes as always, and he set out on the usual route to the Pillars. It was nice and quiet on his street, then it soon passed into the main streets of Foundation. Here and there on the way to work, there were sometimes eyes, stares in his direction, some which he noticed and some which he did not- but today he passed them by before his mind could begin to wander.

Ferrant's office space was always a safe escape from the outside world when he arrived- all of the man's office staff was friendly, Heilyn was the raggy-haired piece of shit he always was, and he could greet everyone and get to his office to write papers in peace. But today, Ferrant had a House of Lords person for him to go and talk to on his behalf, so Esredes didn't get to settle in to his office just yet, instead going back out the Pillars and right into another Lords' office.

"Good morning," Esredes said in his usual polite political work voice as he pushed his way into the office. Every time he went to another Lords' office, it hit him just how humble Ferrant was- and how not humble his former noble self was.

The older Elezen man looked up from his desk at Esredes with a calm indifference. "Good morning," he repeated back. "You're Durand's messenger, correct?"

"Correct," Esredes said, coming in and taking a seat, smoothing out the papers in his hands on the desk. "Lord Ferrant sends his regards he is too busy to see you in person as of now, but expect a letter within the next couple weeks for a request for a lunch appointment. Now, here is the papers he requested of you to look over," Esredes turned them around on the desk and slid them forward to the man, then set his hands clasped in his lap as he watched the man read it over with a careful, scrunched up look on his face.

It took him a long moment before he finally spoke. "...I see." He started with. "And tell me, is Lord Ferrant aware of the greater implications a proposal like this would have on the city?"

"It depends on what you mean by that," Esredes said. "But I like to believe he does know, yes. No proposal of his is without careful consideration, after all."

"The way I see it, it's exactly proposals like this which threaten the stability of the public." He put the papers down, shut his eyes, and let out a long sigh. "Is Lord Ferrant not aware how dangerous it is already for our knights most holy to deal with the remnants of Nidhogg's horde? The system in place is perfectly fine for dealing with the heretics who defected to that monster."

"It's not exactly about that," Esredes said. "It's about those who were kidnapped and forced into his ranks, you see, when he writes prisoner of-"

"The Temple Knights are already at risk of being mauled and turned by the knights who get to them." The Lord said. "You cannot ask them to change their procedures without putting countless lives at risk." He smiled at Esredes. "Send Lord Ferrant my regards, but I am not interested in more of this proposal of his. Now, what else does he have to speak of?"

Esredes forced a smile back. "Very well," he said as he took the papers back into his hands. "Then I believe we can cut right to the next proposal on the House floor..."

When he exited that building and went back out into the streets, Esredes let out a sigh and looked over the papers in his hands. Heilyn and himself had been working on that one for so many weeks now, and this was the fifth test subject it had failed without any room for further conversation. How many more rewrites did they need to make this worth any consideration?

Lunch hour was already approaching, and so Esredes decided to make his way down towards the Crozier. He was near enough that he could pick something up and bring it back to the office, and then he'd have just enough time to report the results and get his work in order before his hour break for a client coming in. It was already getting crowded, however, so Esredes opted to pick a stall with a decent line just to save time instead of his usual go tos. The merchant was selling little meat pies that overwhelmed Esredes' nostrils even from this distance back, and it was rare Esredes wasn't in the mood for them. "Hi," he said with a smile when it was his turn in line, taking the gil out from his pouch. "Two, please." He set it on the counter and slid it over.

The Hyur man gave him a peculiar stare as he did so, and Esredes had to keep his smile from faltering. "Sorry, I think it's best you look elsewhere. Stock's limited, and my usual customers show up around now."

Esredes blinked a couple times, staring back at the man before glancing down at his gil and slowly taking it back in his hand. How the hell did this random merchant even know? "Very well, my apologies for the inconvenience." Esredes replied, and off he did as he did best and disappeared into the crowd.

He ended up with a smoked Dodo sandwich instead, carrying it in a box in his hand as he made his way out of the Crozier and back towards the office. Yet as he passed by one tall and light individual on the street, he did a double take and stopped, looking back with a faint smile of recognition. "Good afternoon, Squire of the Axe." He called to the young man, recognizing one of the individuals from the Fourth Temple Knight Company he sort of tolerated, sort of didn't. While others had revealed his real name to him, he still felt the man would scorn him if he tried using it yet. "Hope you're having a decent one. Take care."

Gerivien turned around and stared at Esredes with a look Esredes recognized well out of the man by now- that of burning, unfiltered hatred. It couldn't decide consistently if it wanted to be there or soften on any given interaction, and his mouth twitched downwards.

"Mind yer fuckin' business." Gerivien said, and turned on and kept right on walking with that.

"Until another time!" Esredes called his way with a smirk before moving on. Ah, Gerivien was a hot and cold one- some days he got that, other days the man revealed his soft side he denied existing and something more interesting happened- but today he didn't have time for an interesting moment, so take his opportunity to annoy the Squire it was.

Esredes had lunch alone in his office to make up for the extended length of time that Lord had spent talking about his thoughts on the latest House proposal, munching away on the dodo sandwich while finishing up a paper. Then as 12:55 approached, he stood up and moved to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water and then navigating to the Blue Room instead, setting it down on the side table and opening a drawer to take out his binder and fake pair of glasses, slipping the glasses on and settling into his chair. The 1:00 slot was a vague name of 'Red' simply written down on the sheet, and Esredes wasn't sure who this person was at all, but a new client was always kind of exciting nonetheless. He settled in, put a bright smile on his face for the client's entry- and in came a face he did not in fact, not recognize.

Ivarault Vairemont.

He had never spoken to the man personally, but he knew him well, or so he thought- because the man had started a fight most times he saw him, including one with a dear friend of his, and he knew for a fact this man literally wanted to kill him. He was that sort of ex-Dragoon, the kind who wanted his eliminated and nothing more.

Esredes' bright smile dropped in an instant. His free hand went to his pocket, the one that kept the airborne, powder based sleeping agent in a little vial just in case. "What... what are you doing here."

Suddenly, Esredes realized just how much he took Pyralis' mediocre presence for granted.

Though the man had relatively behaved himself for a change, Esredes left that session feeling drained nonetheless. Back to work it was, until the hour of 5:00 hit.

There he was to switch out of his civilian mode and back into what lurked beneath the surface. He left work, went home, changed into his armor he wore into battles as a harrier, and slipped on his helmet as he departed for the Central Highlands. He had a meeting with an interested party about the ways of Iceheart's people, and he meant to represent his people well.

At least, that's what he planned to do. Instead, his tale of Iceheart's struggles, mixed with those of his own and that of the movement all together, was met with an angry response from the masked individual.

"And was it heroic when you allowed the wyverns into the city?" The lady said. "When you slaughtered those people merely delivering goods to their destination?"

Esredes could do nothing but blink. "No." He said. "It wasn't. I never tried to imply it was."

"There is nothing heroic about your people, as you so call them." The lady continued on, taking a step closer to him. "You are no better than the knights you keep bringing up. You spilled blood to summon a primal, and what did it accomplish? Nothing."

"It accomplished the end of the goddamn war!" Esredes retorted back, taking a step forward and curling up his fists. "If she hadn't stopped that Garlean ship, the Archbishop would have plunged the land into chaos. You and all of those pathetic Warriors owe her for your continued peaceful existence, but no, you can't even be bothered to acknowledge that much!"

The lady narrowed her eyes at him with a look of pure disgust. "You will never be anything but a monster," she said, and then she began to walk away.

Well, that was the second time this year one of these people pretending to hear the other side had turned sour when they heard exactly that. Lovely. Esredes let out a sigh and waited for her to be far enough away, then transformed and flew away.

He found himself at a bar later on in the night, 8:30. It had been a day, and he needed to grab a bottle or two before he went home. Content was he to mind his own business, but soon himself approached by a man, a specific type of man he knew the second he put his eyes on. They always had some kind of shit eating grin on their face and were only there to take an unwanted and creepy interest in you.

"What are you so down about?" The man asked about three lines into the conversation.

"I'm Ishgardian."

The man chuckled to that. "That you might, but it's no reason to have such a stick up your arse, yes? Why don't you loosen up a little and maybe you wouldn't seem so down?"

Esredes wanted to sigh all the way down into Witchdrop and then some. "I think I know what I'm doing, thank you. Please feel free to bother someone more interesting."

"Whatever you say, asshole." The man remarked, and as he turned to leave he pushed Esredes right in the abdomen with one hand, causing him to stumble back against the table and spill part of his drink onto his face. A few people in the bar laughed at the sight.

Without a word, Esredes turned and left the bar in a hurry.

When he collapsed into bed that night at 1:34 AM, he felt like he weighed a thousand pounds, yet he stretched his arms out on the bed and shut his eyes, releasing a long breath.

You did it, he told himself. You made it through the day. Another one down, gods know many left.

A lot of emotions swirled up within him, but what went up must come down. Esredes shoved them all back down to the bottom, and stared at the ceiling in complete apathy until he fell asleep.

He was stronger than the world. Other people could break and fracture, but he would remain here, just as he was.

There was no time today for being delicate and picking himself up. Tomorrow, maybe, but for now he was off to dreamland.

-- @heartofthefury / @thecalmnessandthestorms Ferrant/Heilyn

Lori for Gerivien Arius for Ivarault @1emon-vii for Pyralis

[the-other-art-blog]

Jo’s Boys: Chapter 2 Parnassus (Part 2) May and Amy

As I said on Part 1 of these chapter post, the following quote says so much about Amy, but also relates to May.

...for she was one of those who prove that women can be faithful wives and mothers without sacrificing the special gift bestowed upon them for their own development and the good of others.

May married before Louisa started writing this book. It looks like Louisa was very interested in how May balanced family and work. At the time women had two options, either they focused on their careers or they get married. Trying to combine them seemed crazy.

There were a few literary works addressing this issue at the time. In 1877 Elizabeth Stuart published The Story of Avis which depicted a woman who gave up her art after getting married. Louisa read this book and warned May about it, but her sister was determined to prove those thoughts wrong. She writes,

‘I mean to combine painting and family, and show that it is a possibility if left alone.’

This blessed lot is mine, and from my purpose I shall never be diverted... I am free to follow my profession, I have a strong arm to protect, a tender love to cherish me and I have no fears for the future.

And indeed she succeeded those two years of marriage. In fact, 1879 proved to be one of May’s most prolific and successful years of her career. It’s such a shame May died just weeks after giving birth when her career was going so well.

To quote that same letter, “May decided wisely”, and Amy too.

There’s the idea that Amy stopped pursuing an artistic career because Louisa was jealous of how easy things came for May. She wasn’t wrong. May was incredibly lucky and there was always someone willing to help her. And as the baby of the family, she was often shielded from the hardships of life. So if Louisa was bitter, I wouldn’t blame her (although she pampered May too). And if this were true, I think her vision of May changed by the time she wrote this book.

I think Louisa gave Amy this development as part of her curiosity and admiration towards her own sister.   🥰 🥰 🥰

Come to think if it, Amy never really stopped drawing. After rejecting Fred, Louisa tells us that Amy has a quieter trip and that she spends her time sketching ( faceless knights in shinny armor or couples dancing, but that’s another story 😉 ). And in the last chapter, Amy is making a bust of baby Bess. Of course Amy would never drop her art, even if she tried. It’s such a fundamental part of who she is that it’s impossible for her to stay away from it. It defines her and differentiates her from everyone else around her.

Now, long has been discussed about May’s approval or dislike towards the character of Amy. The only direct quote I have found from May about Amy is a letter to Alf Whitman where she refers to her book counterpart as “horrid stupid”. She might be referring to Amy’s selfishness and vanity, as she recognizes she was the same once but now she is changing (like Amy did). However, this was before Part 2 was published.

Regardless, I am convinced that May would have loved how Amy’s life turned out. May was an incredibly generous person who dreamed of offering art to everyone, no matter the social class nor the color of their skin. She was always willing to help a fellow artist. She gifted Daniel Chester French his first sculpting tools, yeah THE Daniel Chester who sculpted the Lincoln Memorial! (In fact, he wrote the preface for May’s Memorial by Caroline Ticknor in 1928. He was always grateful for all the support and encouragement May gave him.)

Another thing that Amy and May have in common is the criticism towards their marriages. Many people don’t consider May feminist enough because she didn’t participated in the suffragette movement, she got married and she expressed how much she loved her domestic life. Who cares if she openly criticized the art system and spoke openly about the unequal opportunities that women have in artistic education. Even less, if she rejected multiple suitors until she found the right one, someone who would love her and respect her career.

In one of her letter, she said,

‘the lonely artistic life that once satisfied me seems the most dreary in the world’

Many people judges her and claims that she succumbed to the patriarchy. Really, what May was calling “dreary” was the lonely life she had. She was in Europe away from the rest of her family, she couldn’t even say goodbye to Marmee when she died. She was depressed for a while and felt guilty for not coming back home. The only person who was able to cheer her up was Ernest (like Laurie did with Amy 😊 ). She could go wherever she wanted because she had nothing attaching her to a certain place. But May always dreamed of marriage and a family. In a previous letter she says,

If mine can’t be a happy domestic life, as such as I have longed for and prayed for, perhaps the good God meant me for great things in other ways.

Just months before meeting Ernest, she still dreamed of romance! So sue her if she was happy with her husband and her domestic life. That was her dream.

I haven’t finished reading The Story of Avis, but by the synopsis, it seems that part of the problem was Avis’ husband and his lack of support towards her artistic career. This is an issue that neither May nor Amy had.

Ernest was one in a million. He never represented an obstacle to her career, on the contrary, he was an enthusiast. In the end, May got her Laurie   🥰 🥰 🥰

Now that I think of, Louisa followed the destiny of the real-life people in her characters. Beth, John and Marmee died in the novels because Lizzy, John and Marmee died in real life. However, she kept Amy alive.

Nobody expected May’s death. She had had such luck in life that it felt impossible for it to stop.

In various letters, May had asked Louisa to visit her in Meudon (where she lived with Ernest). Unfortunately, Louisa couldn’t go. There were responsibilities at home and her health was a big issue and she didn’t want to be a burden.

May’s death was devastating for Louisa. In one of her diary entries she remembers the last time she saw her, waving goodbye from the ship to London. Then she writes,

A lonely time with all away. My grief meets me when I come home, and the house is full of ghosts.

To me that phrase is incredibly personal. My grandparents and two of my aunts lived together. In the last years they’ve all been passing away and now the house that once was full of life is abandoned.

Louisa apologized in the preface of this book for writing little about Amy,

Since the original has died, it has been impossible for me to write of her,...

Indeed, I would have love to read more about Amy, but these first two pages about her are so important and tell us so much about her, her marriage and her career.

Maybe Louisa had already written this chapter before May’s death. Who knows. Maybe Louisa couldn’t bear another loss in her fictional family too. If May was gone, at least Amy would live and have a happy long life.

[shlbigbang]

FAQ

Who are the mods?

The mods are symphorine (@symph0rine on tumblr and twitter, symphorine on AO3), shards (@shards-of-divinity on tumblr and AO3), kep (@huldraism on twitter, drifloon on AO3) and vesh (@dryadfangs on twitter, decidueye on AO3)

Is this only for the show?

No! We realise the name might be misleading, but this is for people who have seen the show, read the book, or both! You don’t even have to have seen/read it all, but in that case, beware of spoilers.

Is this only for certain pairings?

No! As long as what you want to write about is within the rules, you’re good! You don’t have to write a pairing, either. Gen fics, with or without background ships, are absolutely welcome!

What is the minimum wordcount for fics?

The minimum wordcount is 8k words. There is no wordcount cap; you can write as much as you want!

What kind of art can artists participate with?

Drawings (both digital and traditional), fanvid, and gifsets/manip set are all accepted! They will have different requirements.

What are the art requirements?

For drawings: at least one finished piece, according to what you'd consider fully finished in your style, and a second piece that can be less finished (i.e. maybe you don't add a background or shading) For fanvids: a video at least 30 seconds long. For manips/gifsets: at least one 8 gifs gifset, or two manips, or a mix (for example, 4 gifs gifset and 1 manip). Of course, if you feel particularly inspired by a fic, feel free to do more if you want!

If I am a writer and already have a beta, do they have to sign up as well and claim my fic, or can they stay “exterior” to the event?

They should sign up as well, and you should both contact us to let us know you’ll work together! Your fic then will be marked as already claimed by your beta during the claiming rounds. This is mostly so we can keep track of who’s involved, and have a way of contacting your beta for check-ins and in case of problems. This also means they will get an invite to our discord if they’d like to join it!

Will this bang be allowing NSFW or dead dove content?

We will be allowing NSFW (as long as it isn’t about the minor characters, i.e. Chengling and any kids), but not dead dove content that exceeds canon typical stuff.

For example, there are torture scenes in both the show and the book, so it’s okay to include equivalents in fics or art, but if you were planning on writing 8k of only detailed torture, then that wouldn’t be allowed. If in doubt during the event, you can always ask a mod if what you’re thinking of would be allowed or not!

Do writers get to choose what kind of content they do/do not want for their fic? (Like yes to drawings and no to vids, for example?)

No, writers will not get to choose what kind of art they will get. That’s in the interest of fairness, but also so no participating artist gets left out! Of course, as a writer, you can still discuss with your artist what they’re intending to make, but they will have the final say on that.

Can we participate as an artist and writer team that is predetermined?

No, sorry, artists and writers cannot form a predetermined team. It kind of would go against the idea of the event, the forming of the team and working with new people is most of its purpose. Of course it would be easy to “cheat”, but we are trusting participants to not do that!

Can I sign up as writer and artist?

Yes, you can! We will have a separate signup form for writers, artists, betas, and pinch hitters, so you’ll just have to submit both a writer and an artist form!

I want to write an AU, a friend who is very familiar with the AU setting is already helping me brainstorm and would be up to sign up to beta it but they haven’t watched SHL. Could I still have my fic up to be claimed by someone actually familiar with the characters?

Yes! Although this is a bit of an edge case, nothing is technically preventing you from having several betas; we simply want everybody to have at least one, which is why we are providing one through the event. In this particular case, we would still like your friend to sign up so they can give us ways to contact them, and for you both to then contact the mods to let them know. If they are unfamiliar with SHL, though, they should tell us, and will not participate in claims. You will also be quite low priority if we end up lacking betas (in which case one of the mods will probably pick up your story for beta reading).

Are there options to go forth with if I am not comfortable working with my beta?

Yes! If you aren’t comfortable working with your beta (or if as a beta you are not comfortable working with one of your writers), contact the mods and we will arrange for you to get a new beta (or if you are a beta, we will arrange for somebody else to take your place).

How fully made will the fics be when artists claim them?

You will claim fics based on summary and/or outline, as well as AO3-style tags that would apply. Tags will indicate pairings, main characters and tropes, so you will have a general idea of the focus of the fics! We might also indicate the writer’s rough estimation of their final wordcount, but you will not know how far along each writer is in writing their fic.

If I already have an idea for a fic and I would like to “claim” that idea, would that be possible? Or are you guys okay with accepting multiple entries of the same premise?

We are not regulating fic premises! You don’t need to claim your idea or make sure nobody else is doing anything similar before you write it. Technically, if everybody wanted to write a fluffy coffee shop AU, then everybody would be free to write that. The “claiming” part is only for artists and betas to say which fics they’ll work with.

If we are not comfortable working with minors, is there any way for us to know in the claiming process?

We do not have a particular system for this. A safe bet, if you’re claiming fics, would be to claim NSFW works, as we did establish that people should be 18+ if they want to depict NSFW. If you’re a writer, you can always message us and say that you do not want your fic to be claimed by a minor, and we will add that as a note during claimings.

As always, though, if after claims you find that you do not work well with the people who claimed your fic/whose fic you claimed, you can always message the mods to try to arrange something.

Do you have contacts for any sensitivity readers in addition to betas who may sign up? It’s my first Chinese fandom so i want to ensure i get someone(s) to look over it from a culture perspective.

Unfortunately, no, we don’t have any particular sensitivity readers contacts. You may try to find somebody to do that by yourself (in which case, good luck!). You can also look around for resources, I have seen a few threads and links pop up recently. Finally, you can also look for a beta who would be able to do sensitivity reading as well. It’s not guaranteed that someone who can do that will sign up as a beta for the event, but we can put it as a note during claims so betas can see it and claim accordingly!

Other than that, your best bet would be, I think, to ask on the BB Discord server if anyone can do sensitivity reading/knows someone who can.

Can ongoing works in AO3 be submitted?

No, ongoing works can't be submitted. We would like writers to submit something that hasn't been published yet; a wip, or even a complete fic, started before your signup time is fine, as long it hasn't been published elsewhere.  Of course, a new fic is fine as well.

With everything going on currently, is the schedule going to remain the same for now?

It will stay the same for now, yes. However, since our next check in is next week, we will reevaluate the schedule after people have checked in, and might modify/extend it depending on people’s answers.

However, regardless of whether we make changes to the schedule or not, you can still ask for extensions or any other arrangement  or help you need! That’s what we mods are here for.

[iwillsithereandtrytocontribute]

No Happy Ending

Masterlist Ao3

Pairings: Implied Lyfrassir Edda/Marius Von Raum

Warnings: Major character death, Mechanisms-typical threatened violence, Coughing blood, Thoughts of suicide, 

Don’t worry, I don’t describe the death in a ton of detail, but be warned. 

This is my first fic for the Mechanisms fandom. I was listening to The Bifrost Incident again and thought "Hey I've seen a bunch of content where Lyf survives and meets/joins the Mechanisms. What if they didn't survive?" And because I had to deal with that thought (it's a Mechanisms album let's be real) now you get an hour's worth of straight stream of consciousness. Enjoy! :)

“Log of Lyfrassir Edda Inspector- oh that doesn’t matter anymore I suppose. Just Lyf then if anyone actually listens to these when I’m gone.” Lyf coughed wetly into their hand and stared somewhat disinterestedly at the blood that splattered across it. They took a moment to catch their breath. “This will be my final entry I imagine. None of the ship’s functions have worked correctly in weeks.

“First it was the-” they were cut off by a sudden blur in their vision. It took a moment for Lyf to realize they were still holding the recorder. “The navigation systems went down first, then one by one various systems shut down or broke. I am nearly out of food and water and the oxygen pumps stopped almost an hour ago.”

Lyf stared at their hands, shaking and covered in their own blood. “I know I was touched by the outer gods. Even I wasn’t fast enough to escape their grasp completely. But I know they will not save me. I wouldn’t want them to if they could. Perhaps in a moment of weakness I would fall to them as Odin did, but here in the cold of space I don’t even have the option. It’s for the best.”

They gazed at the sputtering lights around them, the broken gauges and stuck knobs. They had been tempted just to end it many times, but something always stopped them. If Lyf had been more foolish or perhaps just slightly less stern they might have called it hope. Hope that they could flee and survive. That they could take advantage of the gift Loki and Sigyn had given the Yggdrasil System with their lives. But they were austere as ever and chalked up their perseverance to nothing but fear of dying.

And Lyf was afraid to die. Even here, even now, as they felt the end approaching as they had for weeks now. They were afraid. They realized the log was still running. They might as well spend their last hours leaving something to be remembered by.

“The recordings of my findings and the events of the Bifrost incident are all here. You may even have listened to them if you’re listening to this. I sincerely doubt there will be anything left of my home system, not after what Odin released there. They might even leave there one day, consume the rest of everything. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be long dead.” Lyf laughed. A short bitter laugh that turned into another wracking cough.

“I didn’t have much on Asgard to be perfectly honest. No family to speak of, few friends. The one constant I had were those blasted Mechanisms. I suppose they’re the reason I lasted long enough to make it all the way out here instead of being trapped in that psychedelic hellscape. They’re the reason I asked for a transfer from the prison to transport police. The amount of violins I confiscated from Marius,” Lyf said as an afterthought.

“They always disappeared not long after I left them. I guess Von Raum and the others could always have escaped. They must have wanted another story .” Lyf put more malice in their voice than they felt. It was hard to feel real anger towards the Mechanisms, other than maybe Jonny. He was a piece of work, Lyf thought with a grimace. Jonny had taken the longest to capture and the most work to contain and recapture. Everyone knew- had known someone who’d been killed or injured by Jonny d’Ville. Lyf couldn’t say they had any love for the man.

Ivy, they could respect. She was incredibly logical in a way they found endearing. Raphaella la Cognizi scared them. True, Lyf had a ton of respect for her, but she was the closest thing they had ever known to a mad scientist before Odin. Brian was nice, as was Marius when he wasn’t being an idiot. Lyf had only called him Von Raum to annoy him, so Marius had responded in kind. A smile tugged at the edges of Lyf’s lips even as they struggled with each breath they took. Ashes and Tim scared him the normal way. The “We will destroy everyone and everything you love with a smile if you wrong us” way. Stay on their good side, and they’re nice enough. And the Toy Soldier… Lyf didn’t like thinking about the Toy Soldier. It unsettled them.

Lyf wasn’t sure how much of that they’d said aloud, if they had said any of it. Oxygen deprivation was really getting to them. They gave a tired smirk at the monitor above them as if any of the cameras still worked. “If the Mechanisms ever get ahold of these my message to you is; fuck you ,” they said with feeling, before doubling over in another coughing fit.

“I don’t have much-any time left,” Lyf rasped. “I-I Lyfrassir Edda signing off for what is likely the last time.”

They clicked off the recorder and set it down on the table by the chair they were sitting in, next to a small pile of similar recorders. Lyf took the deepest breath their air-deprived lungs would allow and closed their eyes.

In the greatest mercy the universe would ever bestow upon Lyfrassir Edda, it allowed them to die in their sleep. One might even have been able to call it peaceful.

Drumbot Brian stood on the bridge trying to puzzle out where that beeping was coming from. Nastya had added a lot of systems to Aurora before she left and well… Brian hadn’t had nearly long enough to learn them all. Finally he managed to find it. Ah a radar… thingy. He wasn’t really a pilot. Why was he the pilot? He would be much better as the doctor seeing as resurrection was his thing. Brian made a note to bring it up with Jonny or maybe Ashes seeing as they were the quartermaster (not that they ever did any quartermaster-like duties). The increase in beeping brought Brian out of his thoughts. That looked like a ship. Floating in the middle of nowhere?

Brian shrugged and left to go find Jonny. He always threw a fuss if he wasn’t the first one notified of anything and Jonny throwing a fuss generally led to him quite literally shooting the messenger. Brian didn’t much feel like dying today.

He found Jonny in the library, which was strange. He typically avoided books like a plague and Ivy hated having Jonny in there. Jonny gestured Brian over as soon as he saw him.

“Come on. Come on ,” Jonny whispered furiously as Brian took his time walking to him.

“Who are you hiding from this time?” Brian asked loudly. Jonny glared daggers at him. Ah well, he was starting to think antagonizing Jonny today would be worth getting shot.  

“Ashes. I might have stolen their favorite hat.”

“So you’re hiding in the library.”

Jonny gave Brian a knowing look. A look that made Brian wish he had the eyebrows to express his disdain, because that look said that Jonny thought he was doing something really clever. 8 times out of 10 he was wrong and the other 2 times ended up with someone dying. “Exactly. Ashes is banned from the library, too much flammable materials or something or other.”

“That’s why you’re banned from the library too.”

“Exactly why it’s the best hiding spot.” Jonny peeked around the corner at the sound of footsteps outside, hand over the gun at his side. He caught a glimpse of Raphaella’s wings as she passed the open doorway.

In the split second Jonny was turned away, and therefore less distracting, Brain remembered he had for once actually been looking for Jonny. And that it might be somewhat urgent. Oops.

“Uh Jonny?”

“Uh-huh. What?” Jonny wasn’t paying attention to him.

“There’s a transport ship outside.”

That got Jonny’s attention. “Any idea who?” he asked with a grin that meant he was in the mood to shoot someone. Brian shrugged inwardly, as long as that person wasn’t him.

“No clue. Looks familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“Lovely.” Fight with Ashes forgotten, Jonny strode out of the library whistling Tales to Be Told and Brian walking just behind him.

They arrived at the bridge to find the ship had drifted even closer, or maybe the Aurora had gotten closer, it was hard to tell. Jonny studied it for a long time before snapping his fingers a couple times as he tried to remember where he remembered it from.

“That’s from As-as something.”

“Asgard?” Brian asked. Jonny nodded.

“That’s the one.” He put his foot up on Brian’s chair and rested his elbow on his knee. “Wonder what it’s doing he- Hey Brian, when are we in relation to the whole Yggdrasil system collapse thing. The Bifrost Incident? We were going to make a new album out of that story right?”

Brian checked one of the monitors, halfway surprised that Johnny remembered the Yggdrasil System. Although, to be fair, they’d been there for almost a century and even he couldn’t be drunk the entire time (events 300 or so years in the future ago were outliers and so could not be counted).

“We’re a couple months after. Why? You think someone escaped the train?”

Jonny shrugged. “No idea, but we might as well get the rest of the crew up here.” He turned and pressed a couple buttons until he found the comms. “Crew of the Aurora,” he exclaimed with his usual gusto, “this is your Captain speaking.”

“FIRST MATE!” They heard Tim scream at the top of his lungs from the armory. The armory wasn’t too far from the bridge and damn could Tim scream.

“ Captain. We’ve found something rather interesting, a transport vessel from the Yggdrasil System. If anyone would like to come with us to take a look get up to the bridge. You have five minutes.” Jonny poked a couple more buttons until it seemed like the comms had shut off.

It wasn’t long before they were joined by Tim, Marius, Ashes, and the Toy Soldier.

“We didn’t invite you,” Jonny sneered at the Toy Soldier.

“I’m just happy to be included!” the Toy Soldier said happily, oblivious as ever. Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Right. Can we dock it or something?” Ashes asked, leaning on the door-frame with their hands in the pockets.

“Aurora?” Brian asked tentatively. The Aurora was unreliable at the best of times and now that the only person she would always listen to was gone, she was testier than she’d ever been. Still, they heard the satisfying clunk and hiss of the airlocks attaching and sealing. The doors slid open to reveal a small ship.

Close as they were, it was clearly Asgardian design, all sleek edges and intricate grooves. For a transport vessel, it was decent quality although obviously not built for the kind of travel it had been doing. Jonny stepped in first. Well… his gun went in first while the rest of him followed. The Toy Soldier trotted in behind him and the rest followed in a sort of amorphous blob.

There was just enough space for the 6 of them to fit in the largest of the two rooms. Everywhere they looked was broken equipment, a frankly impressive array of destruction for this thing to have gotten as far as it had when it wasn’t built for out-of-system travel.

“There’s no way anyone from that system could have survived this much system failure,” Brian whispered as if the likely dead person in the other room could hear them.

“They could have been, what was it? ‘Touched by the outer gods?’” Jonny asked.

“Who came up with that line?” Ashes snorted.

“Me,” Marius said distractedly as he moved towards the table by the door. There was a small mound of recorders on it. He pressed play on one of them. The sudden sound made everyone jump. Then they heard it.

“Log of Inspector Second Class Lyfrassir Edda New Midgard Transport Police. I was able to barter for a transport ship. I’ve spent most of my savings on this, food, water, and fuel. I have some left over that will hopefully last me until I can find work in another system. Already things have begun going wrong. I brought my recordings of the Bifrost incident with me, I don’t think anyone will believe if I didn’t, and attached to the last one are some messages we’ve been receiving on various frequencies from everywhere in the system.

I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. I just left a copy of the recordings and got out of there as quickly as possible. I think I escaped the worst of it, though the nightmares I’ve been having are certainly nothing of this world.

If I don’t stop, I might survive this. I might survive this.

Log ends.”

The Mechs stared at each other for a moment before Marius shoved his way forward and thrust open the door. In the pilot’s seat sat Lyf, their eyes closed, blood spattered about the small room. Their uniform was long past wrinkled and blood-stained. Their dark skin was the palest Marius had ever seen from them.

Marius had seen war. He had been through horrors, and committed such atrocities in kind. He had thought that his many centuries of mechanization would have made him desensitized to death by now, and it had. But it was so much easier to come to terms with Lyf’s death when they weren’t laying in front of him, covered in their own blood. This touched him deeply, in a way he couldn’t remember feeling before.

He didn’t remember walking to the medical bay, but he must have because here he was. Lyf lay on the table that they usually put their dead crewmates on to wait for the resurrection process, but there would be no resurrection process.

Raphaella had come in sometime during the time Marius had been in there and given her verdict. Lyf could not be mechanized. They had been dead too long and even if they hadn’t been, the touch of the outer gods would not have allowed for mechanization.

And Marius was alone again.

Alone with a corpse that would never walk again. That would never tell him, and Marius smiled slightly at the memory, to shut the fuck up and put the goddamn violin away, again. Lyfrassir Edda was gone. For good.

They listened to the tapes. All of them. All of the Mechanisms had known Lyf and most of them had even liked them. Besides, they weren’t entirely cruel and oblivious. They knew this was something Marius needed. Not to mention it helped with the whole album-writing part of their gig.

Marius listened to those tapes. He listened to them over and over again until he had them memorized. Well, except for the final recording. It hurt too much to listen to it more than once.

Marius always had the one of them that approached immortality with the most skepticism of the Mechanisms. How disappointing that he had been right.

Let me know what you think! If you like to be tagged in other works in this fandom (or others) or have any questions my inbox is open. Stay safe! :)

[notes-from-sarah]

The Thimblerig Plot

Link on Fanfiction.net

Link on Archive of Our Own

Rating: T

Summary: Anakin is captured by Count Dooku and slated for execution. This is a problem for Sidious who must quickly free Anakin without arousing his current place-holder apprentice’s suspicions. Hiring a Mandalorian might be the only solution. Set during Star Wars: The Clone Wars. Lucas era canon compliant.

Chapter 1 - A Small Problem

A/N: Set after Star Wars: The Clone Wars Season 5, Episode 16. The Clone Wars Season 7/The Final Season is not considered canon for this work. 

*****

"Master," Darth Tyranus' dulcet tones filtered through the static filled holo connection, "I have tremendous news to report."

The recorded message had been sent some hours ago by this point, Sidious had only just now been able to tear himself away from his duties and find out how the battle had gone. He had foreseen Tyranus' victory at Cressill and he knew that the message would contain news of the Separatist conquest. The Dark Side was a swift friend, bringing him news sometimes even years before an event.

"I have brought an end to Republic interference on Cressill. The system is now under the loving guidance of the Confederacy."

Good, thought Sidious. The fall of Cressill would weaken the entire sector and spread the Jedi even thinner than before. Soon, the Republic would be so weak that the slightest pressure would bring the whole corrupt, bloated mass tumbling down. A dark smile broke over his features.

"I am also pleased to report that I have captured alive the Jedi knight Anakin Skywalker, the so-called Hero of the Republic. I am en route to Raxus now where a highly publicized execution at the Separatist capital will take place. I think such a move will be sufficiently demoralizing for Republic forces." Tyranus' bluish holo projection waved and sputtered as the signal struggled to maintain strength.

Sidious blinked, trying to make sense of what Tyranus had said. If he executed Anakin–

"Skywalker is regularly a thorn in the side of the Separatist forces. His capture and death will put us on the path to victory." Tyranus' image looked smug and his tone was self-congratulatory. The hazy holo image somehow not managing to hide the odious man's victorious smirk.

Sidious couldn't wait to be rid of the fool.

"I will contact you when I have reached Raxus." Tyranus vanished, his curt holo transmission ending with no revelation of the count's plans once he reached the planet.

Sidious twisted his lip, this couldn't have come at a worse time. Things had to be orchestrated just so, there was no room for error in this endeavor. He needed Anakin alive, and until Anakin was his apprentice, he needed Tyranus alive. He couldn't, at this moment, be without either of them. Somehow, Anakin had to escape and Tyranus had to allow it and neither of them be any the wiser to his true role in all of this. He would have to play this round very carefully, he knew all too well that a slighted apprentice was a dangerous thing.

Sidious submerged himself in the Dark Side, only it could tell him what to do.

*****

Dooku paced back and forth in front of the cell where Anakin was held, his luxurious cape just sweeping over the floor panels of the ship. The young Jedi was currently being restrained with a combination of electro-cuffs and a few tranquilizers. No need to tempt fate, after all. The young man had been something of an ever-present pest since that day in Geonosis, now he would be rid of him for good. Kenobi's former padawan was about to deal a severe blow to the Republic's morale. Once they landed on Raxus the war would be all but over. Had he realized on Geonosis how troublesome Skywalker would eventually prove to be Dooku would have ended him immediately back then.

Anakin grunted, the tranquilizers starting to wear off.

"Awake at last," said Dooku, "I was afraid you'd be asleep for hours."

"Dooku," Anakin started to struggle to his feet, but feeling the effects of the drugs seemed to think better of it. "What slimy hole did you slither out of? You always take great pains to be as far from the front as possible, I was surprised to find you on Cressill."

"Isn't that why you were on Cressill in the first place, young Jedi? Weren't you there to capture me and bring an end to this war?" Dooku leaned on the word young knowing how provocative it would be.

Anakin scowled. "I suppose you think you have the upper hand here, don't you?"

Dooku looked pointedly at the bars and cell walls before returning his gaze to Anakin. "Yes, I do."

"Well, I wouldn't get comfortable if I were you." Anakin pulled against his cuffs a bit, but promptly stopped when the electro-cuffs began to crackle. "As usual, you play the part of the coward."

"Young one," said Dooku, brushing aside the accusation of cowardice, "you have no idea how happy your impending death makes me." It would be a delicious moment when the stupid fool met his fate. Some part of Dooku knew that destroying Anakin was the single greatest thing he could do to change the course of the war. His master would be so pleased.

Anakin shook his hair out of his eyes. "Is that supposed to scare me? You're nothing but a feeble old man, you're never going to get away with this. I'll be out of here before you know it and on my way back with my legion before you even realize I'm gone."

Dooku smirked. "I got away last time you and I went head to head, I don't see how you've changed any. Even with a thousand clone slaves I don't know what you could possibly do against the power of the Dark Side."

Anakin scowled even deeper. "Mark my words, Dooku, this will end on my terms."

"Somehow, I don't think so, young one." Dooku raised a hand to summon a droid. "Now, I think you'd best go back to sleep." Punching in a code the cell door opened enough to permit the robot entry.

The round droid hovered into the cell carrying with it a long, sharp needle.

Anakin flinched as the needle found its mark. "You're never going to win, Dooku," he managed to say as the tranquilizers took effect.

"Such a childish sentiment. Goodnight, sweet prince."

*****

Bo-Katan rose at the sound of the lock to her cell door being disengaged. True to his word, Kenobi had raised the alarm about the anarchy on Mandalore. The resulting military action on the planet had swiftly resulted in her capture and confinement. She didn't know if the Republic had quashed the violence, but she rather suspected they had not. It was most certainly still ongoing and would continue to until the day the last Mando had been bled dry.

The door slid open and a Republic guard stepped into the room, two more hovered in the corridor outside the cell. All were armed and armored. "You are summoned for an audience. Turn around so that I can cuff you and bring you to the chamber."

"Who wants to talk to me?" Bo-Katan was suspicious. She'd been here for weeks already and so far no one had given a damn that she was in custody. The fighting must not being going well. Undoubtedly they wanted her to give them information on the inner workings of Mando culture, or Death Watch in particular. Whatever they wanted was sure to strip away even more of Mandalore's independence. She had told Kenobi to tell the Republic when her sister died, she regretted doing that.

"I'm not permitted to say for security reasons. You will find out soon enough." The guard motioned for Bo-Katan to turn around, the cuffs ready in her hand.

Bo-Katan turned, holding her hands behind her back. The guard cuffed her securely and led her out of the cell.

"Don't try anything extreme," warned the guard as she brandished her weapon, "I know you Mandalorians all have a death wish and I'm not about to get in trouble because of some suicidal heroics."

…

Bo-Katan was led into a spacious room with a huge picture window. Coruscant was big on a scale that was almost unimaginable. Mandalore seemed like a child's dollhouse in comparison. She stared at the traffic flow in the twilight sky, it was almost mesmerizing.

"Hello, Lady Kryze, it's good to see you finally."

Bo-Katan turned to see none other than the supreme chancellor. His neat hair and velvet robes the polar opposite of her own far shabbier appearance. She glanced the elderly man up and down as he strode across the room to his desk where he took a seat. She was fairly certain she could take him and escape custody if she really wanted too. She was a Mandalorian warrior, after all. And he? Just a withered prune. "Chancellor," her voice was cool, but not nearly as cold as Satine's would have been, her sister had had a talent for bone-chilling iciness. "To what do I owe the honor?"

The chancellor smiled blandly at her. "No need for the hostile tone, Lady Kryze. I apologize that I have not looked into your predicament till now. Your plight is a most stirring one, but I'm afraid the labors of the war have kept my every moment busy until just now."

Bo-Katan despised being patronized. "I thought the Republic would be ecstatic that they have a chance to grab another system for their side." She took a step closer to the desk. Asking Kenobi to bring in the Republic had certainly been a mistake. "Unless the Republic's takeover isn't going well and you've decided that you need my help." She would never forgive those offworlders who had killed everyone she loved and tore her planet to pieces.

"That is not quite why I asked you here today." Palpatine gave her a watery, meaningless smile. "In fact, I do believe the outside forces on Mandalore have expelled, much of the current fighting is between various factions of Mandalorians. I actually wanted to speak to you about you." Palpatine leaned back in his chair and observed her for a long moment.

Bo-Katan waited for him to continue. The cuffs chafed against her wrists and she twisted her hands uncomfortably in the silence.

"You, Lady Kryze, are a bit of an enigma." Palpatine folded his hands together. "Ostensibly, you are fighting against Separatist forces on Mandalore, and are in line with the Republic, so really you should go free and lead the anti-Separatist faction on Mandalore."

Bo-Katan was certain there was a however coming up somewhere.

"However," Palpatine continued, "that does not absolve you of your affiliation with Death Watch and it's anti-democratic activities. Death Watch has committed serious crimes against the Republic."

Here comes the deal, thought Bo-Katan. Whatever he offered she would very likely have to accept it. It wasn't so easy to get to Mandalore from the inside of a cell.

Palpatine rose and walked behind her. Releasing the lock on the cuffs he freed her hands. "I think the Republic will be able to overlook your past indiscretions on account of services rendered."

Bo-Katan turned to face the old man again. "And what services are those?"

"The Republic needs you, Lady Kryze. This war has too many fronts, it's impossible for the Jedi or the Grand Army to be everywhere they are needed. The Republic has need of a stealthy and cunning warrior, such as yourself, to complete an urgent mission behind enemy lines."

"What's in it for me, why should I risk my neck for a government I don't believe in?" Bo-Katan wasn't going to mince words. He had better have something good to offer.

"If you complete this task then you have my word that the Republic will back you to reclaim the throne of Mandalore. I can offer you money, troops, weapons, whatever you need to take back what is yours." Palpatine placed the cuffs on his desk. "However, if you are unable to accomplish the mission, then I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to appoint a provisional council to govern Mandalore. Regrettably, such a council is unlikely to have any Mandalorian members, after all, most of them are caught up in a civil war and are of dubious loyalty to the Republic."

There it was, as neat a deal as could be offered. Bo-Katan crossed her arms over her chest. The Republic couldn't get away with this forever. For now, though, she'd have to acquiesce. She looked the old man square in the eye. "So, what's the mission?"

[stoolcattle51]

A Summer Without Coming Home For Many Spaniards Abroad

Jaime (4 years old) does not lose hope of getting on the plane and visiting his grandparents in La Coruña and Cádiz, as he does every summer. "Tomorrow, maybe the coronavirus is gone," he says hopefully to his father, Chiqui Esteban, as he paints with his brothers, aged seven and nine, a huge cardboard box as if it were a shipping package. Then he gets inside, closes the box and announces: "Now you can send me to Spain." "The annual trip to our land is always very good for us because we see our family and children take the opportunity to speak Spanish," explains Chiqui, who is Spanish, arrived in the United States in 2016 and now works as Director of Graphics at The Washington Post. From behind you can hear Álvaro, the oldest, asking his father to mention how badly he is doing for not seeing his grandparents, in a tone between joke and conviction. Chiqui laughs when listening to her son and assures that "they have understood the situation quite well, as far as possible." The family had planned to fly in mid-July and spend the holidays in Spain until mid-August but, when in April they saw that the situation got complicated and the deadline for a possible cancellation of the tickets ended, they decided to postpone it, as commented on the Chiqui Esteban himself on his Twitter account: "We have canceled our annual summer trip to Spain. We assume that in these conditions no one from there will come to see us. The enormous drama is that we have just opened the last bottle of Cola-Cao that we had left "read that message. "Both my wife and my parents are risk groups, so we decided not to risk because they are very long flights and it is too much exposure," he explains more seriously. The health crisis caused by the coronavirus has completely disrupted the summer of many of the 2,618. 592 Spaniards who, according to the latest data from the National Statistics Institute (INE), live outside our borders in 2020. Before the pandemic, the summer season meant much more to them than a break: it was going back to the roots, hugging yours, go back to where you started. However, fear of infection, economic uncertainty and doubts about border measures are leading many Spaniards living abroad to postpone summer in their land. A proof of the uncertainties that surround travel currently is that the Executive of Pedro Sánchez changed this June 14 the scheduled date for the opening of borders with the countries of the Schengen area and without quarantine, which has become June 21, except for Portugal. For the rest of the countries it will continue to be July 1. However, for the latter cases, Spain is waiting for Brussels to draw up a list that includes countries that meet three requirements: their epidemiological situation is analogous or better to that of the European Union, that assume certain health conditions at origin, route and destination, and that they act reciprocally (that is, that they accept the entry of travelers from the European Union). In addition, the Government is preparing automated processes, such as electronic forms and thermal cameras, which it will apply to travelers coming from abroad, which implies the risk of being isolated in case something goes wrong. And as if this were not enough, some neighbors in the rural environment, where the population is particularly aged, already asked their relatives last Easter not to travel to the towns for fear of contagion. Thus, returning home generates more uncertainty than emotion. Rosana Rovira (30) works as a Spanish teacher in Baton Rouge (United States) and has decided not to travel with her three daughters this summer due to the financial risk posed by the 'new normal'. "Each trip with my girls to my land, Tarragona, costs me 10,000 euros," she calculates. On previous occasions, her mother has helped her cover this figure and now she doesn't want to risk losing her "because I'm isolated or because they won't let me enter the United States later." Of course: "The girls have become quite sad because we have not been going for two years and they love spending time with my mother, eating paella and bathing on the beach." Of the nearly two and a half million Spaniards who reside abroad, more than half (63%) do so outside of Europe. One of them is Francisco Abolafio (40), who had to spend the pandemic in Brazil, especially far from his loved ones. In 2014, as soon as she moved to Sao Paulo, she lost her great-grandmother and couldn't say goodbye. "After that, you are much more afraid that something will happen to someone and you will not be able to be," confesses this Malaga draftsman to whom the airlines have already been canceling his flight since the end of April. "There are days when I dream that I am there with my family and my friends, eating paella... and then I wake up."

Coming home, an emotional need

Return has always been a fundamental ingredient in the emotional well-being of emigrants. As Natacha Lillo, a professor at the University of Paris, explains in the analysis A century of Spanish immigration in France, the generation that emigrated to France in the 20th century "already saved to buy a car and be able to make annual trips to the town ". Mothers first traveled with their children in early July by train and then fathers met them in August by car. The objective: "not to lose contact with the family." Natalia Flores (24), a native of Mallorca, lives in Homburg, in the southwest of Germany, and has decided not to travel to her land in June for fear that her two little ones will catch the infection. Their daughter, who was born in Germany in January, spent several weeks intubated in hospital due to a respiratory virus. "My son also caught bronchitis at the same time and my husband and I went on a chain," she explains. They are left wondering if their respiratory problems were related to the coronavirus, although they have not been able to know for sure. "It hurts my mother because she saw her newborn and has not seen her again. The whole family wants to meet the girl and I am sorry that these moments are lost, but after going through that experience in the hospital we do not want to risk more ", assures Natalia. "Even an employee of the Embassy advised us against traveling this summer when we told him that we wanted to give the girl a passport to buy tickets to Mallorca." Celia Arroyo, an expert psychologist in migratory grief, describes the return to the place of origin as "an oxygen balloon" for the emigrants. However, that oxygen balloon has now exploded. "It is not the same to live the coronavirus in Spain as it was. Until now, being outside of Spain was a reversible situation at any time," explains the expert. "However, to some extent now they can have the feeling of being trapped, which has increased the psychological distance with the family." People who emigrate to a country without knowing the language or without access to the health system traditionally experience a sense of fear for their health, according to Arroyo. This emotion, known as "mourning for physical risks", has spread during the health crisis to anyone abroad, regardless of their knowledge of the language or their access to the health system. "The pandemic has shown that there is an emotional part to the idea of ​​getting sick outside the home that is intrinsic to anyone who has left their country of origin," he says. "In addition, we have also detected another common denominator in a large part of the emigrants: they come to feel guilty if they fall ill and infect a relative during their summer visit," Arroyo points out. The process of the pandemic has been marked by a cocktail of negative emotions. This new fear of ending up infecting loved ones has been added to other feelings already present in these months. Some emigrants, for example, have commented in the Arroyo sessions that they are afraid to argue with family or friends when expressing their opinion about the health situation in Spain "due to the social tension that the coronavirus crisis has produced." The feeling of ambivalence regarding their Spanish identity has also grown in them, as the expert explains, due to having been exposed to certain comments in their host country. "They have heard questions like 'What's wrong, that in Spain you don't wash your hands?' or 'After this you will not continue thinking about having surgery in Spain?' "says Arroyo. "In a situation of so much suffering far from yours in which it is implied that our health system is third world, when in addition the Spanish know that it is not true, a lot of impotence is generated and that affects self-esteem." Virginia Manzanares (39), who has lived through the pandemic from Israel, where she has been installed for half a decade, will not go to Spain either. Her mother had planned to visit her in May and she was going to travel to Toledo and Santander in August but, after two canceled flights to Istanbul and Prague, Virginia has decided to cut her losses. "In addition, in Israel at the moment there is a mandatory 15-day quarantine for anyone who arrives, and we still do not know to which countries borders will be opened," he adds. "It hurts a lot because I love spending time with my mother, my grandmother and my cousins, but I just have no other choice."

If you are not going to travel to Spain

CS If you are not going to be able to travel to see your family this summer either, you can follow the advice of psychologist Celia Arroyo: - Schedule regular videoconferences with your loved ones in Spain, you will feel that you are more united in the face of adversity. - Maintain a fluid communication with yours, expressing your concerns without being alarmist. - Ask your family to keep you informed of the good and bad news. - Provide emotional support to your family: do not think that you are not useful because you are far away, your encouragement is essential now. - Share your concerns with your network of Spaniards abroad. - Encourage your loved ones to follow the recommendations and to stay busy and active. - Don't let intrusive thoughts of guilt flood your day: remember that you are not to blame for the pandemic. - Check the sources from which you receive news about covid-19 and avoid rumors. - Get involved in solidarity activities to fight the virus: symbolic actions protect our mental health and give us back the feeling of unity. Sure you can contribute your grain of sand.

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[doomedandstoned]

10,000 Years Take Us Into The "Gargantuan Forest"

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

Review by Billy Goate

Album Art by Francesco Bauso

Leaving the world For salvation yonder Quest for eternity To suns beyond

Gazing upon our past Out into forever To a future obscured What glory awaits?

To begin another week of awesome original content at Doomed & Stoned, we're getting you better acquainted with the Swedish juggernaut 10,000 YEARS.

Last summer, the band dropped their eponymous debut to welcome ears and in just a few short weeks 10,000 Years come roaring back with a follow-up. Y'all know I'm a sucker for a good concept album. The eight-track full-length record 'II' (2021) picks up the trail of the Albatross research vessel, which has been galavanting 'cross the nether reaches of the galaxy on a potent rocket fuel made of sludgy stoner rock and doom metal.

If that sounds epic, wait'll you get a load of what's next for our interstellar crew. It helps if you picture the following text as a Star Wars-style screen crawl, slowly working its way up the page against the backdrop of a starry night.

After narrowly escaping the confines of the strange planet and its surrounding dimension, the Albatross and its crew finally return home to Earth. The re-entry is rough and the ship crashlands in a forest. The earth that greets them is vastly different from the one that they left.

When the ship travelled back to earth through the wormhole, it created a rift in the space-time continuum which propelled them far into the future, as well as allowing the Green King and other ancient gods from the other dimension to cross over to our dimension. They have since taken control of not only the earth, but the entire solar system.

After various harrowing experiences and encounters, the truth finally dawns on the surviving members of the crew. They are indeed back on earth, but ten thousand years in the future from when they started their journey. And to make matters worse, they find evidence that the Green King has been known and worshipped by secret cults and societies on earth for millenia, since before humankind even existed.

The surviving members of the crew come to the conclusion that the only way to set things right again is to repair the Albatross and take it back through the rift again in order to close it.

Now that's a saga I'm ready to get invested in. George Lucas, eat your heart out!

The record revs to a start with "Descent," a track that can best be described as terrific panic. It had me thinking of KOOK's "Escape Velocity" from their recent second album, though that's an eight-and-a-half minute slow burn and this is a quick twenty-six second fall from the sky. I wish this little notion had a chance to develop into something longer, but regardless what a thrilling way to open an album!

With rapt attention, I'm waiting to hear what comes next. The ship seems to have crash landed deep inside a "Gargantuan Forest." As an aside, it would be a blast to smoke a bowl o' something (anything, really) with Erik Palm (guitar), Alex Risberg (bass, vox), and Espen Karlsen (drums) just to gab it up a bit about sci-fi lit and horror flicks. I mean, check out the trove of B-movie greats referenced in their preface to the new single (which Doomed & Stoned is debuting today):

In this ABSURD (1981) video, 10,000 Years enter a FOREST OF FEAR (1980) as they access THE BEYOND (1981) and enter a BLOODBATH (1971) with THE BOOGEY MAN (1980), otherwise known as the Espbeast. The Espbeast stalks and haunts the bodies and minds of the characters in this C-grade homage to the horror movies of yesteryear.

The characters FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE (1976) through insane NIGHTMARES IN A DAMAGED BRAIN (1981). If they survive the AXE (1974) they may still end up in an INFERNO (1980) and risk being EATEN ALIVE (1976). All the same risks face the viewer, so don’t watch with the lights out, don’t watch by yourself and DON’T GO IN THE WOODS ALONE (1981). Because after all, isn’t there an Espbeast in all of us?

10,000 Years have picked the ideal setting for the music video. The forests of Sweden stand tall and dark, the ground packed with snow. Screw you, Blair Witch Project -- this is where I want the next found footage flick filmed!

The song opens with a mysterious theme on solitary electric strings, surrounded by hazy reverberation. Drums and bass accent the motif as it's repeated several times over. Dazed by their graceless fall to earth, the crew wander about, checking one another for injuries, seeing if the faithful Albatross has even hope of another journey. As the shock begins to wear off, their hopeless plight reveals itself.

Screaming from the sky Blasting through the atmosphere

Come to rest On the forest floor Still alive What fresh new hell is this?

Surrounded by swamps A strange bleeding from the earth

Giant trees A dense horror taking root Same old sun Unfamiliar rays shine down

Is there something lurking about in the Gargantuan Forest? I'm sure no one wants to wait until nightfall to find out! The so-called "Espbeast" (which the band may actually have been first to name) is more than likely some strange amalgamation of guitar and creature, ripping through foes like a berserker of sound with scraps of High on Fire's "10,000 Years" echoing perversely through the treetops as it stalks and ultimately slays you. Nobody wants to be around when the Espbeast is on the prowl.

Now see, I'm letting my imagination get carried away! Then again, maybe that's what the band had planned all along -- for listeners to join in the fantastic adventures of these cosmonauts, to see through their eyes and feel through their body as they touch foot to strange soil. What will our adventurers find next?

The answer comes all too soon: "Spinosaurus!" This gruff beast charges angrily through the woods knocking things about, displacing rocks, snapping branches, royally pissed and ready to make somebody pay for the noise that snatched him away from a damned good nap. The repeated note riff, with its odd strumming pattern, does a nifty job of representing the crude movements of the Spinosaurus as it lumbers about the forest. Eric is a virtuosic mess of frantic tremeloes and wiry noodling against Espen's stampeding drums, as Alex narrates the scene with a terrifying shout:

Is this our earth? No time to dwell Dorsal sail cutting air Cretaceous ghost made flesh

Staring into Dead end eyes No place to hide Theropodic annihilation

Teeth into flesh!

What the crew is experiencing on their homeworld thus far seems foreign, almost ancient. Through some curse of Einstenian logic have we zipped through a wormhole only to return to the distant past? "The Mooseriders" are about to challenge our assumptions about what's possible on this Rock.

Thundering hooves crack the sky Dark robed wizards appear in the light Travellers in ether descending Protectors of the realm

These are the oath-bound eternals -- interdimensional templars, if you will -- who have arrived at this precise moment in time to take on the Green King. Complex rhythmic drumming with precisely stricken odd beats, is accompanied by a hyperactive bass and progressive metal riffmaking. Together, the band conjures the trot and hustle of the approaching entourage. A wilding guitar heralds a message from the great protectors:

The hour draws near The endgame is nigh Divine prophecy Even death may die

The mood now turns stately. A brave theme is introduced and developed with dashing prowess. This track would fit perfectly into a playlist with Mastodon, Ape Cave, and Zirakzigil. I found Alex's vocal approach especially appropriate for the frantic depiction of "antlers clashing with steel" in this battle to the finish. "Even death...may...DIE!"

"Angel Eyes" greet us on the B-side, and it's not a cover of the Jerry Cantrell song (though that would have been unexpectedly awesome). No, the hard-charging mood and raspy vocals are pointing to something far more apocalyptic.

Hooves of burning coal Let loose upon the world

Return of the warlord Eternal fire scorches the earth

Heavenly gaze Order through chaos

At times Alex seems exasperated, practically out of breath, as he gives these dire words his all. It's a style the 10,000 Years frontman owns as well as his counterpart, Simon Ohlsson of Vokonis, who has a comparable vocal attack. A bass-fortified guitar establishes a second theme that adds a Wagnarian touch of high drama, and this ushers in the song's curtain fall.

If 10,000 Years is to be compared with High On Fire at all, the rumbling riffstorm "March Of The Ancient Queen" surely merits it (to say nothing of their mutual love of alternative histories).

Her royal blood Once ruled these lands Generations Buried by time Dynasty of dust Rise from the sands Rise from the dead The Green King's servant

March!

March Of The Ancient Queen - Single by 10,000 Years

That last lyric is uttered with the most blood-curdling all-caps conviction that I was immediately drawn into its sentiment, miming "Maaaaarrrrrch!" with my ugliest war face on every time it came up in the song. The NWOBHM-style finish is so deftly executed that it comes across as orchestral. 10,000 Years paint with big, bold strokes here.

"Prehuman Walls" is a welcome shift down, with its chugging "Bury Me In Smoke" tempo. You sludge fiends will find moments of Zen here, with riffs that bend and twist and saw 'neath the summer sun. The crew have chanced upon a temple of sorts, though not one made with human hands. Nothing seems to make sense here at all. It's like Area X from the film Annihilation (2017), where everything is a contortion of reality. Then the "truth settles in." This alien monstrosity, we find, bears the mark of the sinister Green King. We thought we'd escaped him, only to find that he both followed us and was here millenia before.

Unholy worship Feed the Green King Eyes pried open Sanity stripped away

At last, we reach the final track in our journey: "Dark Side Of The Earth". So many revelations have been made in this second chapter, so many loose ends that need to be tied off. Naturally, a third chapter must be written. "We must go back, set it right," deliberates an exasperated Albatross crew. "We must go back, whence we came."

Dimension walls broken down The fabric ripped and torn apart Thread the needle once again A journey of ten thousand years

We must go back, set it right We must go back, through the tears

Insanity the only way The dark side of the earth

Following these words, the song develops instrumentally and the mood gets quite emotional. I found myself drawing parallels between this "bastard version of earth" and our own, wondering if we ever can go back and make it right. For us, perhaps it should be about moving forward, for there is no golden age or better time to which we can return. We make this world a heaven or hell tomorrow by the choices made today.

The album was recorded by Tomas Skogsberg at Studio Sunlight. Totally diggin the awesomely swamp landscape that Francesco Bauso of Negative Crypt Artwork created. It reminds the five-year old me of Luke's sopping wet landing on Dagobah, though guitarist Alex Risberg says the band's more inspired by Planet of the Apes than by Star Wars.

The album will be released on June 25th as a special vinyl "Green King Edition" by Interstellar Smoke Records pre-order here), a cassette tape "Forest Edition" from Ogo Rekords (pre-order here) and "Swamp Edition" from Olde Magick Records pre-order here), with the digital and compact disc formats handled by Death Valley Records (pre-order here).

10,0000 Years have in II their most accomplished album to date, with powerful moments that will stay with you long after the record's stopped spinning. Fans of High On Fire, Black Tusk, and The Sword listen up! You might just discover your next favorite band.

Give ear...

10,000 Years - Gargantuan Forest (Music Video)

Some Buzz

Having previously played together in the original lineup of Swedish underground heavyweights Pike, Erik Palm (Guitars) and Alex Risberg (Bass/vocals) found their way back to each other, musically, in early 2020. The creative fire reignited and stoked to a burning inferno and through a mutual love of heavy riffs and thundering stoner rock, doom, and sludge metal, 10,000 Years was born. Finding a drummer would prove to be an easy task and with Espen Karlsen the final piece lay firmly in place. The groove they fell into during the first rehearsal hasn’t stopped rumbling since.

After spending the first-half of 2020 writing and rehearsing, 10,000 Years recorded their self-titled debut EP during one weekend in June in the legendary Studio Sunlight with equally legendary producer Tomas Skogsberg. The self-titled EP was released on July 10th and immediately struck a chord with the heavy underground worldwide, and 10,000 Years garnered rave reviews and accolades.

10,000 Years by 10,000 Years

10,000 Years' musical and lyrical world revolves around the tale of the terran class III exploration vessel Albatross and its mission to explore the Milky Way and nearby galaxies in search for a possible new home for humanity. The EP tells the tale of its first foray into space and what happens when the crew accidentally travel through a wormhole and end up in an adjacent dimension populated by ancient gods and giant beings, ruled by the Green King. The EP ends with “From Suns Beyond,” where the crew make it off from the strange planet, back out into space in search of a way back home. The new album picks up the story as the Albatross blasts through the atmosphere of a seemingly unknown planet and crashlands headfirst into strange new adventures.

II by 10,000 Years

Now, less than a year after their first release, 10,000 Years are back with their first full-length effort, aptly titled 'II' (2021). Picking up right where the EP left off, II continues the story of the ill-fated Albatross mission and its exploration of time and space through a skull-crushing mixture of stoner rock, doom, and sludge metal. The album will no doubt continue to build on 10,000 Years' already golden reputation and prove to be an even bigger hit with the heavy masses.

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[sirpoley]

On the Four Table Legs of Traveller, Leg 2: Patrons

In part 1 of this series, I described how Mongoose Traveller's spaceship mortgage rule becomes the drive for adventure and action in a spacefaring sandbox, and the 'autonomous' gameplay loop that follows.

In this part, I'll talk about the Patrons—questgivers—that are baked into Traveller's gameplay loop and provide opportunities for more 'traditional' (that is, pre-scripted) adventures.

Patrons

Patrons are, essentially, adventure hooks. The 'default' premise is that an NPC offers to hire the party for a job (the reward for which is scaled to the PC's spaceship's cargo hold, so is always competitive with trading for money making). The job rarely goes as planned, and the patron is rarely on the up-and-up, so various twists and turns are ensured as the party attempts to complete the job. These jobs usually require putting the trade 'loop' on hold and doing something else (in fact, they're virtually the only incentive to get out of your spaceship) and are basically the gateway to all gameplay that doesn't involve trading, pirates, and FTL travel.

"Patron" is literally entry in Traveller's random encounter tables, which provides a way for them to enter the campaign, but it's also the kind of thing that can easily just be included by the DM, regardless of what the table says.

Traveller comes with a handful of pre-made patrons, plus tables for generating your own, though I think, as implemented, it's actually the weakest part of the game's procedural content generation, as the ones provided aren't tailored in any way to the subsector involved. Additionally, each one could really use several pages of additional information (for example, "First Lander Thu, Miner," comes to the party to ask them to investigate attacks made on his nomadic asteroid mining clan…

…and that's really all the guidance the DM gets. Investigating an attack like that is way beyond my ability to improvise in real-time at the table. I would need maps, descriptions of supporting NPCs, clues, red herrings, space stations, and who knows what else to run that around the table.

So this is a case where, as a DM, you kind of have to roll up your sleeves and do traditional RPG-esque prep: writing adventures, mapping derelict space stations, planning mysteries, and so on. This obviously takes a lot of work, so you can't easily have dozens and dozens of these up your sleeves. This is why I like to pad out my Patrons with…

"Patrons"

Like everyone else in the world, I saw the Mandalorean this year, so had bounty hunters on the mind. I realized the need for a quick and dirty Patron-replacement (as, again, Patrons are a lot of work that I'm just not up to these days beyond very sparingly), so introduced the concept of a "bounty ticket." This is my first Traveller "house rule," though in many ways, it's more like a campaign setting quirk.

Pictured: bounty tickets. Each is the size of a playing card, and I keep them in a little folder intended for holding magic cards and stuff.

Bounty tickets are Player handouts. Nothing generates excitement like passing around a paper handout. In-game, they're essentially wanted-posters that are faxed directly to the spaceships of bounty hunters and travellers as they're issued (meaning that I literally pull out the card and give it to the players as, in-game, it prints out on their ship's bridge). These involve much less prep than patrons (most of my Bounty Tickets are literally "go here, beat this guy, bring him/her back to this location"). For most of these, I don't have any DM notes other than the card itself (they usually give enough game information, like location and spaceship classes, that I can make up the narrative stuff on the fly). A few more complex ones have a few lines of notes in my binder about twists, secrets, ambushes, etc., but I mostly keep it pretty minimal. This isn't necessarily a recommendation, it's just something that I know about myself as DM: I'm pretty good at making up NPC personalities on the fly, but not names (I once ran an urban fantasy campaign in which I had five NPCs named "Frank" or "Frankie") or stats (except in D&D 3.5 specifically, because I was very cool in high school and as such have the text of that game imprinted onto my immortal soul).

I really went paper-crafts crazy the other day and made a bunch of little handout cards (some with emails to the PC from their contacts/rivals, some with stats for various commonly-occurring spacecraft and stuff. I was about to print out a little card for each weapon in the rulebook before I made myself stop). The other relevant ones are 'encounter cards,' which are basically pre-generated random encounters/events that are a little more complex than the ones that result from the table. These are written with an audience of me in mind, so use shorthand and skim over bits that I know I'm confident improvising around the table.

None of these are technically 'patrons', but all serve the same purpose of injecting hand-made content into the game's procedural content generation to keep things fresh.

Reward-Scaling

Crucial to making Patrons (and "Patrons") work is scaling the rewards correctly. Contrary to most of my DM instincts, this means erring on the side of too much money rather than too little. In D&D, too high of a reward leads to characters that get too powerful, while too low of a reward can be easily compensated for by the DM later with more generous treasure. In Traveller, the prize for doing the task has to be higher than (or at least comparable to) what the party could make doing trading in that same amount of in-game time, or they literally won't be able to afford going on the adventure. The book recommends something like 1,000-2,000cr per ton of cargo on the PC's ship per week of work needed, which is a good starting place, but I'd add even more if the job requires space combat (as damage to spaceships can be very expensive, and worse, time-consuming, to repair). That's why the rewards for my bounty tickets are quite high; most of them involve risking the PCs' spaceship to achieve.

In my experience, there's so many ultra-expensive things in Traveller for PCs to waste/spend money on that you shouldn't overly worry about giving them too much money all in one go. Meaningful spaceship upgrades are in the millions of credits, and there's almost always something on the ship that can be improved, so that money will leave their pockets soon enough.

Patrons and the 'Loop'

Patrons (which are, by default, encountered simply through travelling) add a sub-loop to the Traveller gameplay 'loop'. They lead to adventures (which can include anything: Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles…) but that ultimately deposits the party back in the core loop, ideally with their wallets padded with a huge cash reward (which will quickly be taken by the bank).

Essentially, this is how you include anything in a Traveller campaign that can't be easily generated on a random table. Unlike in most other RPGs, this is more like a spice, added sparingly, rather than parmesan cheese, which is eaten in a 1:1 ratio with the noodles underneath it. (You guys do that too, right?). The 'loop' provides enough fun around the table while running on autopilot (DMing players zooming about the subsector mostly just involves rolling on and adjudicating the results of random tables) that you can afford to be very sparing with prep-work on Patrons.

Next up we'll cover how Traveller's (in)famous character creation ties into these other systems.