#i would shield him from a space laser.

[forlorngarden]

starting a collection of kim being a LITTLE SHIT!!

[autisticlancemcclain]

The ship was shaking like a kid holding a goldfish bag.

It was not, in case you were wondering, a good time. 

Keith grit his teeth, planting his boots on the ground and half-walking half-climbing over to Allura, who was paler than Keith had ever seen her. The grip she had on her podium was tight enough to drain the blood completely from her knuckles. Despite his own fear, Keith’s heart softened for her. 

“How is it looking?” he asked, shouting over the noise of a thousand asteroids and a million laser strikes. All while their lions sat, drained of quintessence, locked in their hangars

One goddamn thing after another. Jesus. 

“It is looking bad,” Allura shouted, not taking her eyes off the space in front of her. “I can’t – Coran, I can’t hold it on my own!”

Coran looked back at her grimly. He had probably the most success keeping upright – seriously, was it posture or did he have a steel rod anchored to his back at all times – but even he was struggling against the whipping and shuddering of the massive castleship, attention focused on the controls. Trying to keep the shield up as well as possible, trying to get their own defenses running. Trying, as always, to keep the castle going, even when the odds were a million to nothing. 

“You can,” he encouraged. The effect was less encouraging when a massive asteroid hit the side of the bridge point-blank, throwing him right off the controls and splat into the walls. Despite Lance and Allura’s cries of alarm, he made a startlingly dignified crawl back to the deck controls.

Hell of a man, that advisor. 

He continued once he was steady, sweat beading on his brow but gaze soft and assuring. He waited for Allura to meet his eyes, then nodded, once. “Focus, girl. Hands on the spheres. Mind cool on the exhale. However we need to get out of this – you can guide us. Make your decision. Your team is behind you.”

“Yeah!” Pidge cheered, lifting her fist in emphasis from where Shiro held her steady, eyes trained on her computer screen. Blaring red lines of code Keith could not pretend to read flashing rapid speed in front of her, and she typed back at it just as fast, keeping their crackling systems at bay. “You got this!”

Allura breathed out. The tense line of her shoulders softened, just slightly, despite the ongoing chaos. She lifted her hands and rested them, gently, on the podium spheres as Coran instructed. They glowed. 

“We retreat,” she decided, nodding to herself. “We’re already low on quintessence, standing to fight will drain us dangerously. We must get to safety if we are to survive with our home intact.” She bit her lip, eyes opening. “But, uh, full disclosure, I have enough strength in me to open a wormhole and that is About It. I will be out of commission the moment it closes.”

Hunk shrugged. “We’ll catch you, then.”

“Try not to wormhole us into a black hole,” Shiro suggested, smiling slightly. “We’ll manage anything else, Princess.”

She laughed slightly, thankfully, but within seconds called out for everyone to brace themselves. Keith did as she heeded, or he tried to – but the castle got hit as he tried to crawl back to his seat, sprawling him on the floor. He glanced over at Allura, panicked, but her eyes were already glowing, and the space in front of them was already starting to warp. He swallowed roughly, squeezing his eyes shut. The floor was shaking too badly for him to get his bearings. He couldn’t get his feet under him, couldn’t stand, couldn’t dream to crawl to his seat. He stilled, resigning himself – he didn’t know exactly what would happen if he wasn't strapped down and protected during a wormhole jump, but it couldn’t be good. He had to hope for the best.

“God,” sighed a voice to his left, “you’d die without me, Dropout.”

A hand clenched the back of his jacket and yanked, pulling him tumbling onto another body. Quick as lightning a seatbelt was stretched over him, clicking into place just as the space in front of the castle finally warped, bright blue, and the entire bridge lit up so bright Keith was blind with it. 

When the light finally died down, Keith was half-convinced nothing had changed. The castle stopped shaking, but instead it was plummeting, hard and fast, controls dead and energy gone, towards the surface of a planet. 

“Someone catch Allura!” Coran shouted, and on queue the princess’ eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped forward. Luckily, Hunk had been more prepared than the rest of them, seatbelt already off and arms extended to catch her. He carried her back to her seat, buckling her in carefully, and strapping himself in next to her. Wise move – trying to crawl back to his own seat, fighting against the G-forces, would be near impossible.

There was a click, and then a shove, and then Keith got to feel those G-forces firsthand.

“What the hell!” he demanded, barely managing to catch himself on the arm of the blue paladin’s seat. “I coulda brained myself!”

Lance shrugged, playing for innocent, but a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. Keith could’ve strangled him. “What? Thought I’d let you get back to your own chair. You're welcome for saving you, by the way.”

“Some saving, jerk! We're still falling!”

“Yeah. Personally, I would find somewhere to buckle up.”

“You’re so annoying,” Keith growled, and it was by spite alone that he managed to stomp back to his own seat and buckle himself in. He was bright red, anger making him hot – Lance always made him like this, so furious he could barely blink. One day they’d be making progress, working together like a dream, wiping the floor together, and the next it was like a switch was flipped. Like Lance was reminding himself that he and Keith could never get along. It was ridiculous, and Keith couldn’t for the life of him understand it. Was he so bad?

“Incoming!” Pidge shouted, shaking Keith back to himself. Her screen was now linked up with Coran’s, the only two things on in the entire castle – electronics seemed to come alive when Pidge touched them – and diagrams of the castle systems were blaring red, flashing with symbols Keith didn’t know, but recognised as bad. “The nav and power systems are down! It’s not safe to get anyone back there to force them back on manually, but I think I can get steering up in a sec. Shiro, I need your arm for power. Hunk, keep on Allura, make sure she’s upright when we crash, we don’t want a spinal injury. Lance, Keith, I’m turning steering over to you guys. Don’t fuck it up.”

Despite their bickering, both of them nodded. Neither of them particularly wanted to be turned into paladin pancake anytime soon, so they could collaborate for one thing. 

Seconds after Pidge spoke, a screen flickered to life in front of Keith. Stats blinked back up, glitching rapidly as they translated themselves into words and symbols Keith could understand. The hologram shifted and expanded to its usual 3D model, joystick in the middle, thrusters and controls to his left, a screen with Lance’s comm line to his right. In his little screen, Lance met his eyes, eyebrows raised in question. Keith nodded. Together, they wrapped their hands around the joysticks, breathed out, and let their minds fuse.

As always, it was a freaky feeling. Imagine the weird, shuddery feeling you get when you say the same thing as someone at the same time, voices layering, tone mixing, for a moment your own voice and the voice of a stranger synching into one. The weird, deja-vu-but-not of it, the uncanny valley feel of recognising your own voice but…different. 

Then multiply that freakiness by a hundred, and you still won’t quite get it. 

On some levels Keith was aware that he was his own person. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history – or well, some of it. Nothing about himself had changed. 

But at the same time, he was also Lance Esposita-McClain. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history, more of it than he could ever get from shared stories or mind melds. There’s no telling the way your sister’s arm feels hooked around your neck for the sixth noogie in as many minutes. There’s no explaining the way your breathing only gets calm with your feet in the saltwater. There’s no describing the curve of your mother’s smile. Nothing Keith was seeking out – no memories he would even know to look for – but they were there, simmering, triggered by a smell or the crook of his finger in a particular way. Memories stored in the body and the soul and the senses, not in the brain, shared when two consciousnesses become one. 

Lance’s mind was hyperspecific. It complemented Keith’s well, with all his flitting, quick detail-oriented observance. As Keith jumped from angle to angle, noticing the planet’s curve, the pull of its gravity, the heat of its atmosphere, Lance zeroed in on an island, one of the only ones big enough for them to land. While Keith kept their craft in control, steering along the air currents, Lance kept them directed, single-minded focus on a stretch of rocky beach – not exactly a soft landing, but not a lot of living things for them to destroy when they crash. (Keith would’ve chosen to land in the meadow. Crushing frogs and bugs or whatever is never something on his top priority list of things to avoid. But he didn’t argue when Lance nudged them towards what is about to be a very bumpy landing.)

“Brace yourself!” he shouted, not daring to look away to make sure his friends were buckled. Trusting that they were, he held his position, letting them plummet, coming closer and closer to splatting on the planet’s surface before finally yanking on the joystick as hard as he could. He felt Lance’s strength twist and tangle with his own, and together the two of them levelled the castle almost parallel with the ground, letting them glide on their own velocity until they slowed down enough to let the bottom of the craft brush against the rocky outcrop. 

It was the most turbulent landing Keith has ever felt, except maybe that time he and Lance crashed blindfolded into a sand dune, and every bump on the ground gave him whiplash. When the castle finally hit the ground for good, dragging them a gauge in the ground for several miles as friction finally slowed it to a stop, the leftover inertia yanked Keith forward so roughly the buckles of his seatbelt made something crack in his ribcage. When the castle finally stopped he got slammed back into his chair so hard he was almost surprised he didn’t fall right through the impenetrable material. 

It took a minute for everything to hit. His connection with Lance had been severed the second they hit the ground, too focused on being, y’know, crashed to keep holding on. After the shock of being tossed around like dice in a cup wore off, which did not take long, Keith’s body made it very clear that yeah, no, armour actually only does so much, and crash landing is one of those things that’s just bound to hurt. His skull pounded. At least one of his ribs was most definitely cracked. His wristed and knuckles ached from the strain of holding up the entire weight of the castle as he’d steered it. He was alive, obviously, but – Jesus. Being alive sucked.

“Sound off,” croaked Shiro from somewhere left of him.

“Ugh,” groaned Pidge. “Screw you, Keith, I hate it when you drive.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to let us crash,” Keith responded flatly.

“Um, you did, bozo, I asked you to land us –”

“The castle was dead! What did you expect me to –”

“Allura and I are both fine,” Hunk interrupted. Amusement lined his voice. “She’s still out, but she’s breathing fine, and I didn’t let her hit anything on impact. She should still get checked out, though.”

“Roger that,” Coran agreed. “Ease your worries, Number Two, you did well. I will have her in the MedBay as soon as our systems are up and running again.”

“Oh, whew, that’s a relief, because I didn’t want to say anything but she kinda jammed her elbow into my sternum by accident and I’m not blaming her or anything since she’s unconscious but I think my spleen may be a little dead, not a huge deal I’m sure but –”

“Everyone quiet!” barked Shiro. “That’s six accounted for! Who’s missing?”

Immediately, heart pounding, Keith whipped to his right. His stomach dropped. The Blue Lion Command Chair was empty – seatbelt torn somewhere on the shoulder, cracked helmet overturned carelessly on the seat. The crisp blue and white lines were marred by a small splash of red. Panic clawed its way up Keith’s throat, and he was out of his seat before he could register unbuckling his own straps, looking frantically around the bridge. 

“He’s here somewhere,” Pidge fretted, “he couldn’t’ve just disappeared –” 

Coran had a gloved hand clenched in his hair. “The windows and walls should be almost impenetrable, there is no way the crash broke them enough to let someone in –”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck –”

“Guys,” a soft voice interrupted, and Keith could’ve collapsed with relief. The castle has been flipped sideways during the fall, floor suddenly now 90 degrees, and standing at the side of the control board, now the very high top, was Lance. For whatever reason he had climbed it while they bickered, and now stood very still, gloved hand pressed to the glass of the windshield. Blood trickled from his temple, tracing a line down the side of his face, disappearing in the neckline of his armour. “We got company.”

Shifting gears – Keith was about to tear him a new one, when Shiro says sound off you sound off – but froze when he looked out the window, following Lance’s gaze.

Marching towards them, in numbers Keith couldn’t pretend to count, was an army.

— — —

part two

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 1: The Heiress

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian is off-kilter. This was an unusual job from the off, but it kept getting stranger.

He thought he would be picking up a spoiled little heiress. How she had ended up in the middle of an unsanctioned and bloody conflict, been taken prisoner, and held at an old empire sprawl, didn’t interest him enough to look into, frankly. But he was at least expecting a supplicant and willing thing that would fall to her knees and be grateful to be getting taken home.

Instead, it’s you.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, post season 3, Reader is a rich runaway, also a badass, canon-typical violence, brief mentions of creeps with ill intentions, uhhhh please advise if there's more to add here thank you

A/N: Hi! I am completely new here. This is something I've been writing for myself to get out of a dire writing slump. But here, please enjoy. I thought it was going to end up being 12-15 chapters long, but nope (shocker). Completed on A03, I just got encouraged to share here. Also please note - to keep it low pressure for myself - I have taken almost no effort to research or fact check Star Wars canon, technical terms for ship mechanics, or space flight. But I think it still hangs together like the fun story it is meant to be (much like its inspiring text). Also I'm Australian, so the spelling is what it is. Thank you for reading!

--

Everything is blinding whiteness. White walls, white floors. Harsh white lighting strips disappear down endless corridors.

You wonder to yourself what it is about totalitarian thought that demands such sterility. It is colourless and uniform, you suppose. Even for a decommissioned military base, repurposed as a prisoner of war camp, the cold lonely veneer of the empire shines on.

The heavy restraints chafe at your wrists as you raise your arms, trying to shield against the glare. A rough hand tugs them back down.

‘Hey, hands in front, princess.’ The spittle-licked voice grates on you. Fine. You just want to get to a cell where you can think. Have a minute to figure some next steps. It can’t be much further.

But the hair has started to rise on the back of your neck. For some time now, your little party made up of you and your four-guard escort hasn’t passed an occupied cell. It’s like you’re in an entirely unused part of the facility. A tense inevitability settles in your gut.

One more turn and the spit-lick calls halt.

‘This place is as good as any, lads.’ He swipes his wrist against a random cell and you expect to be shoved in. But the four of them move with you.

‘What the fu—,’ you say as a hand cracks over your face.

‘It’s a lucky thing,’ the voice grunts over the sting ringing in your ears. ‘No timestamp was logged to the manifest for your release from processing, so you won’t be missed for a spell. This is a nice quiet spot so we can get to know you a little, princess.’

A white-hot rage simmers in your spine and you let it filter up into your brain to focus your senses. Hatred coils in your chest. You channel that to your limbs, breathing into the spaces where you’ll need strength and speed. Feeling prepared, you let the four of them crack gags and wait for a good moment.

A loud thump, five heads whip around, a laser blast turns the white shining walls red for just a moment, and chaos erupts.

‘Wh--!’ One of your scrubs drops to the floor, dead. The self-appointed leader stays in front of you, yelling at the other two to do something. They draw blasters and point as a dark and imposing figure swings around the doorway and, without pause, starts to take them apart. Fists and headbutts and a knee kicked in sends one sprawling. The other manages to get a shot off but it just plints off this… this knight’s armour? You’re not sure what you’re seeing.

The ‘leader’ has his blaster drawn, watching the fight, but is holding a rough hand to your shoulder, as if to keep himself between you and this attacker. Taking the opportunity, you swing the brace on your wrists around and clock him right under the jaw. As he reels, in one unified movement, you sweep a foot to help his descent to the ground and make to jam three rigid fingers into each of his kidneys, hoping to incapacitate. 

But you’ve been thrown off by this turn of events as well and just miss the second sweet spot. He manages to lunge to his feet again and grabs you by the throat to hurl you to the floor. You scramble to your knees and look up at the asshole staggering about in front of you. He squares up. Fear snakes through you as you sit back onto your heels. He rubs at his jaw while swinging the blaster around to point at you, face thunderous.

‘Waste of a fuckin—’ But he’s cut off by the large hole that appears in his chest. He makes a ‘wuh?’ at it before toppling sideways, revealing behind him the strange figure, who has a gauntleted hand pointed at the space where your would-be killer’s chest used to be.

On your knees, you gaze up at your apparent saviour.

He’s dazzling. He seems to be built entirely out of armour, weapons and munitions. A large, angular helmet completes the look; its dark T visor regards you while fingers absently punch at the other wrist’s bracer.

‘Are you hurt?’ A deep, modulated voice questions you.

You reach up to poke at your tender cheek.

‘Nothin’ serious,’ you confirm, moving to your feet. When he steps forward, you work to not shy back, letting him lift your restrained wrists and scrutinise them.

‘I will be able to remove these on my ship. Come with me.’ Your knight turns away, beckoning you to follow.

‘Ah, afraid not,’ you say. You rock on your toes, waiting for him to turn back.

‘What?’ A voice like flint.

‘That’s not happening.’ You sniff.

He doesn’t turn but he doesn’t keep walking.

‘Do you want out of here or not, girl?’ A snag of anger but largely calm, like he kind of doesn’t care about your answer one way or the other but it has been quite an inconvenience getting here. 

‘Of course I do.’

‘Then come with me.’

‘Can’t.’

Now he whirls and, hell, why is that so satisfying? He stalks toward you.

‘I am being paid well to bring you in alive and unharmed, but also by any means necessary. So, I am not above a use of force.’ That voice is doing specific things to your chest, and belly, and the apex of your thighs. ‘Come. With. Me.’

You push the dry mouth and racing heart to the side and lift your arms up, awkwardly showing him the underside of your restraints.

‘Afraid not,’ you repeat.

To his credit, he shuts up and looks, broad shoulders dropping some as he registers the issue.

‘Proximity lock,’ he mutters.

‘Proximity lock,’ you confirm. ‘Alive and unharmed, you said? Don’t reckon getting my hands blown off would count to that. Only getting these bad kids off via a control room or processing cell.’

‘These are outlawed.’ You stare at him.

‘This is an illegal pri—’

‘Yes, fine.’ He engages a holo map of the floor plan on the chunky piece of kit on his arm. Scanning.

‘This way,’ he brushes past you and strides on. 

You take a moment to stare at the bodies littered on the floor of the cell, then lean over one of them. It takes some doing but you get what you were after and stand to turn down the corridor. You give a small yelp of surprise before almost bumping straight into the stranger’s chest. Hells how did he sneak up like that?

‘What are you doing?’ he says, teeth obviously gritted tight under that shiny helm.

You hold up your prize.

‘These bracers should open most of the general control rooms, if we get lucky enough.’

You want to believe his mouth has fallen open in surprise, eyes widened, impressed with you. But you can’t see a thing, not even your own smirking reflection.

You make a ‘let’s go’ gesture and the two of you move on.

You stroll along beside the hulking figure, glancing sideways every minute or so. 

So, he’s being paid well to retrieve you, is he? That’s interesting.

Your earlier observation of the rows of vacant cells seems to extend to a lot of the base. How much of this place is actually in use? It increases your chances of finding an unattended control room, which is a bonus. You can’t wait to get these horrendous restraints off. Not designed for human wrists, the edges cut into your skin and inner divots scrape your bones. After using them just to take a swing at that leech, you’re pretty sure there’s bleeding. 

You push the discomfort away and decide to say something.

‘Empty, isn’t it?’ That’s the best you got, is it? Hells.

‘It is at a little under a fifth capacity,’ he responds quickly.

‘Right.’ You fall quiet again. You’re almost grateful when the two of you round yet another turn and six guard helmets swivel toward you. Less awkward.

‘Hey! Stop!’ one yells. They each push off the wall they’d been lounging against and reach for sidearms.

Your companion gives you a hard shove back around the corner.

You stumble against the wall but right yourself. At first, you think it best to stay put. But the sounds of grunts and blows raining down draws you to the edge of the wall. Leaning around the corner to look, your mouth falls open in awe. 

The man is a cyclone.  

One goon has barely started reeling from a punishing blow when the next is being pulled into a deathly throw. Limbs are jerked and snapped back and forth and any blow one of them happens to land is shrugged off with so much ease.

It’s incredible to witness.

Fortunately you’re not so distracted that you don’t spot one of them, conveniently close to where you’re crouched, hurriedly trying to get a shock prod started. The poor sap is panicking as his brethren get decimated.

This is foolish, but you’re doing it anyway. You check that your ally is not looking – he isn’t, focused on driving a vibroblade somewhere soft and fatal – and sneak up to the guy’s back. You raise your arms and whip them down across his shoulders, wincing at the impact; it’s mostly ineffectual and you slink back.

He starts, turns, sees you trying to duck out of sight, and makes his advance.

‘Come ‘ere, little one,’ he spits as he rounds the corner, leering at you with some relish. You take timid little steps back until he’s fully in the hallway, and then you give him a devilish grin.

You wait for his lunge to grab at you and slide to your knees, ducking his pawing hands and spinning to make a 180 to finish behind him. As you pass his centre of gravity you shove your shoulder hard into his hips and he slams into the wall. Hopping to your feet in one fluid motion, you have your foot high and burying itself in his chin before he rights himself. In a stroke of luck, you manage to kick his helmet clean off in the same move.

His neck whips back and he gives a cry of pain, slumping on the wall. Just as he surges back to his feet, you’ve spun another pirouette and have the heel of your other foot ready to meet the bridge of his nose. It connects with a satisfying crunch matched a second later by the back of his skull smacking the wall again.

He wilts to the floor, moaning. You drop a knee onto his exposed neck, pull his sidearm from the holster and release one quick blast. He jolts and falls still. 

You drop the pistol and listen. Grunting and crunching metal still echoes around the bend.

Now think, idiot. Get rid of the body.

These old places have those floor level garbage units, right? For the old, tiny droids that would roll around, hoovering up whatever. You edge along the wall, toeing at gaps and latch-looking things. Ah ha. Damn, what luck. The door pops open in one smooth motion. You drop to your knees and shove the dead weight with all your strength. He slides along the floor and flops into the space in the wall. You kick the blaster, broken helmet and abandoned shock prod in after him and nudge the door closed.

The sounds of fighting have stopped. You flop back against the wall and try to look meek and afraid. Either he rounds the corner and you’re safe, or one of the guards does and you’d like to try the same trick again.

It’s him to walk into view, taking in your stature. You put on an air of relief and peer back around the corner.

You whistle low.

‘Five against one, huh? You said you were being paid well and I sure hope that’s true.’ You dash off, eager to get out from under his watchful visage.

After a moment, he follows.

--

The Mandalorian feels off-kilter. This was an unusual job from the off, but it kept getting stranger. 

An obscenely wealthy broker had approached looking to hire him to rescue a niece. Din Djarin did not do rescues. And he had said as much. But the price was something else, and the Razor Crest wasn’t getting new tilt suspension on his present takings.

He thought he would be picking up a spoiled little heiress. How she had ended up in the middle of an unsanctioned and bloody conflict, been taken prisoner, and held at an old empire sprawl, didn’t interest him enough to look into, frankly. But he was at least expecting a supplicant and willing thing that would fall to her knees and be grateful to be getting taken home. 

Instead, it’s you. 

He thinks back.

She was on her knees when the little skirmish ended. He hadn’t noticed the girl shift from the wall he’d first clocked her pushed back against, but when he dropped the third guard and spun to the head honcho, finishing him without grace, there she was. The bootlick he’d run through had tipped sideways to reveal his quarry seated against the gleaming white floor, looking up at him with a fading fear and emerging astonishment. 

It was a sight.

Quarry is not exactly the right word, he reflects. Just another thing pushing him out of alignment. What does he call her? How does he think about her?

She’d understood the nature of those cuffs of hers, where had she picked that up? And she didn’t seem to shrink at all from his taciturn demeanour.

Then that second fight with that sorry lot. He would have sworn on the sacred forge itself there had been six of them. But when the fifth body dropped and he’d reared back to take the last to a blunt-force grave, the hall was still. He found the girl tucked around the corner where he’d shoved her, curled into the wall, hands awkwardly shielding her face. He was good at reading people and the act she was putting on dropped the moment she looked at his handiwork. Then it was nothing but amusement in those eyes.

She’d scrambled to her feet and hopped over the bodies, carrying on. Din had stared hard down the hall she’d apparently cowered in, nothing but blank walls and empty air.

--

Finally, finally, your wrists are released with a soft hiss. You look in dismay at the lacerations and bruises littering your skin and pull the jumpsuit sleeves over them quickly. 

Your present company makes no indication he’s noticed, focused on the holo hovering over his arm. 

‘There is an entrance to disused tunnels in the next section over. From there, it is not far to my ship,’ he says. ‘This way.’

This time, you follow without hesitating, eager to get away from this abysmal place. 

Despite saying it wasn’t far, it is a silent, awkward walk out of there. You attempt a few turns at conversation, but each time he gives you a concise unpunctuated sentence that concludes questioning. 

You’re mulling over the long, boring journey back to your home system – the ramifications of which you staunchly push to back of mind – when your terse rescuer’s ship comes into view.

You halt in your tracks, gazing up at the lovely, old gunship. Battered, bruised and brimming with elegant age. ‘Wow…’ you say softly.

He’s taken a few steps beyond you before registering your pause and turning back. You sense puzzlement and a strangely earnest pride radiating from the armoured visage. ‘Never seen one of these before?’ he asks.

You speak before you can stop yourself, ‘Oh I have,’ you breathe, and he startles a little. ‘Just not, not out in the world like this.’ Ah, shut up now. You look over at him and can sense the feeling of being deeply scrutinised. You shake off your reverie. ‘Well, shall we?’ You march with a light step past him as best you can. 

You sense him following and, after a moment, hear light module beeping behind you as the Razor Crest opens itself for you. You temper giddiness and slow down so he can overtake to move into the hold first. You follow, looking around curiously, but keep it level before matching his path into the cockpit. 

As you enter, he reaches up into a storage bin and pulls something down before turning to you.

He hands you a small med kit.

‘For your arms,’ he says simply. Ah, so he did see. Sees everything apparently. He says no more and moves to take the pilot seat, jabbing at controls.

You think nothing for it and drop down into a rear chair, using the console beside you to start laying out the contents of the kit, eyes lighting on the salve. You snatch it up and squirt a portion to lather over your cuts and grazes. You let a long sigh escape your lips as the miracle cream does its work.

It feels incredible. You even moan a little at the sensation.

Mind clearing, able to think a bit. You continue to clean and dress your hurts, deciding to just out with it.

‘Can I ask,’ you say with as much casual air as you’re able. ‘Just who did pay you to find me?’

Your escort doesn’t turn but lifts his helmet some. ‘I believe the job is from your uncle,’ he says.

Your mouth falls open before you can stop it. He’s actually done it, you think in wonder. But why now? 

Thoughts tumble upon themselves in your head. You register that your companion hasn’t made any move to say more. 

‘So who are you?’ you ask. The broad silhouette stops his work for a moment. He seems to be considering.

‘I’m just a bounty hunter,’ he murmurs. ‘You can call me Mando.’

--

MNext

[mr-clow]

Kal’Hal notes on a human ship. Part 1

I slid happily over my tail into the engine room N°4, Maggie was already there putting down the shielding around the reactor. I’m a Kal’Hal female called Laffite. I had been working in this human ship the last 30 rotations or so and already was beginning to feel comfortable around them. The KalHal had been friendly with humans for as long as human had been recognized as a space faring species. I was in this ship as part of a formal program that had been going on for the last thousand human rotations. A lot of people from my species were roaming space in ships with humans and other species, but I preferred a more safe approach as this was the first time I went out of my world.

I greeted Maggie as started to climb over a structure to bolt the already mounted pieces while hanging from my tail. Maggie, usually a rather talkative human, barely responded and her eyes were fixed onto a bolthole of a shielding piece that easily weighted twice as Laffite. “What’s wrong Maggie? That’s only a bolthole, it is supposed to be there” I said as I took a bolt from my pocket and placed it carefully. Maggie grumbled “I think it is bigger than it should, this could cause problems, such as radiation coming out or ESD noise”. Those words made me shiver, “That cannot be, that would mean this core had a leak for the last 5 years and no sensor detected anything” and Maggie chuckled as she fetched the laser measuring device from the table. She looked at me with amusement, “You should be wary of our tolerances, we reinforce everything and yet, we have a high margin of error for everything”. I was stunned, nobody should be subjected to any kind of radiation, not even background space radiation. Every other specie developed their own ways to block them at a great cost. Here, a human, someone from a specie that was travelling through the space well over a millennium, told me that as if it was a common deal. I let out a laugh “You are good Maggie, but please don’t joke with those thi--” The measuring beeped and she didn’t even look at it, just lifted it for me to see it. I read those numbers, felt my strength failing me, and darted out of the room.

“Captain Schulz! I think we need to halt every reactor in the ship!” I said as I stormed into the command room. She looked at me with an eyebrow lifted and… A boring look?

“Lt Smith, could you check all the operational reactors and inform me if anything is wrong”. Bill tapped quickly into his pad, looked at me instead of the captain, “Everything is in order Captain”. “You heard him, eng. Laffite, so do you know something that the sensors cannot read?” said Anna with a smirk on her face, I was starting to suspect why this post was abandoned before. 

Laffite – Captain, with the utmost respect, I think all the sensors have been tampered with and we may be slowly getting radiation poisoning.

Bill without moving his eyes from me lifted a hand to stop me.

Bill – Laffite if you really think so, I’ll come with you to every engine room, but the sensors show that the background radiation everywhere on the ship is below 50mSv a year, there is nothing to worry about.

I heard that and blood left my face. 

Laffite – 50mSv!? That’s a lot for every standard!! YOU COULD BE MISSING ENTIRE LEAKS WITH TH--

I woke up in a familiar room, I was in my quarters and Maggie was looking at me with a worried look on her face. My head hurt, and my long tail was uncomfortably rolled. As a Kal’Hal I was on the small side, only 10’ in total length. As several humans told me before, we looked as a mermaid or a medusa from their mythology. I could understand them as there was a similarity, but our skin is bluish and we did not petrify people that looked at us.

Are you OK Laff? Captain told me you fainted and fell on her console

That would explain why my head hurts, or it could be radiation poisoning already doing its work.

Laff, we’re not being poisoned, you even agree to these terms on the contract and no other KalHal ever was poisoned working in a human ship. 

The contract didn't say it like that, it said that the maximum allowed before evacuation was that value, not that we'd be subjected to lower values who know for how long!

Oh Laff, I understand that you are really worried about this, but I don’t understand why, every star produces radiation, almost all elements have a radioactive isotope, how does your world deal with this, radiation is everywhere.

WAIT? Do you mean the earth surface is radioactive all the time?

Ehhh well… Yes… Maybe not this value, but 5mSv a year is normal for us.

NO WAY!! We consider a radioactive leak at 0.05mSv!! How can you stand that!!!

Does Kal'Hal get sick with only that? We should inform the captain!

We don’t know. Why would we check how much radiation gets us sick, we just avoid it and that is enough. You humans are the only ones in the universe that discharged radioactive bombs in their home world we know of!

Ohh yes, right… I had forgotten about that… Laff, can you trust me in this one, please? No other species, yours included, got poisoned on board a human ship. If it helps you, I will try to get you a personal radiation sensor and talk to the Cap to do regular radiation screening to you on the Medbay.

I don’t like it, Maggie, not one bit. Let’s do that at least. I want to be alone or a while now, can I take the day?

Yes, just rest. I’ll talk to the Cap and get you the day off and the other things.

After a soft smile, Maggie left my room and I was left alone in my room. At first, I wonder how much the metal walls of my room could block radiation, then my mind wandered to what Maggie said. I tried to remember if there was any case of radiation poisoning I heard. Without taking into account the last war, where humans used some kind of radiation bombs almost two hundred years ago, I never heard something similar. Even in that war, humans tried to take all that themselves and almost no other species were allowed where they used that method.

My mind slowly went through all the history lessons I remembered about humans and their violent wars until I fell asleep.

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.53 New digs

Sophia gently grasped my hand and led me into my new residence: our home. As I looked around, I couldn't help but smile as I recalled my earlier thoughts about her during dinner: simple and elegant. The naked walls and bare essentials confirmed the theme yet again. Was there room for me in this tiny house? I didn't have much, but how could I live here without disrupting the flow? That was a thought for some other time because she stole my attention as she emerged from the bedroom, dressed for bed, beckoning for me to join her in the dimly lit room. I followed cautiously, minding my desires and not wanting to presume anything. She slipped under the covers, so I spun into my PJs and nestled beside her.

"Hold me," she whispered softly.

I obeyed and refused to let go. How symbolic. The first time we hung out, I refused to hug her because I knew if I ever got her in my arms, I'd never let go. And now, there I was, laying there with her in my arms, promising I'd never let her go again. At that moment, I had everything I needed and fell asleep content and satisfied, experiencing the most restful sleep in a while.

In the morning, I woke up, and she was gone. I got a chuckle out of thinking about how she escaped the vice grip I had her in while managing not to wake me. That took talent. I checked my messages, hoping to find one from her but not intentionally looking for one. I knew she went to work, but I just loved hearing from her. Sure enough, a message had arrived two hours prior stating she had left for work, would return around 3:00, and that I should make myself at home. Not that I expected anything different, but I loved how eager she was to make me feel welcome. I replied saying I'd go home to get some stuff but would be back before she got home.

With that out of the way, I surveyed my new home to gauge its vibe and figure out how we can merge our lives in this cramped space. Despite being the most decorated room, the bedroom still fell in line with the minimalist theme. At least it had curtains. The patio door left us exposed, but the massive boulders behind the house shielded us against potential peepers. Anyone who was desperate enough to climb up there to see us deserved a show.

She didn't have many clothes, so I could put a few items on the racks. The empty nightstand was a perfect place for toiletries and small personal items. She used the second room as her office. Despite its limited space, it had the best potential to not only put some of my things but to create a space that was ours.

I'd already seen the living/dining/kitchen space, but now I could get a good look at it. The kitchen was perfect. Almost too perfect, as if it never got used. I guess she was right about not cooking much. The idea of cooking for her regularly excited me. I wanted to take care of her without disrupting her autonomy, and that was the perfect way to do it.

After my self-guided tour, I took a shower and was glad to see her bathroom was nicer than the ones at Dad's house. Once I was ready, I headed to San Sequoia to break this crazy news to him. He was watching TV and smirking at me when I walked through the door.

"Another night of fun?" he joked.

"Yes, but not how you think."

"Ohhh. Well, that sounds promising."

"Uhhh...yeah, maybe..."

His eyes were laser locked on me, blinking rapidly and waiting for clarification.

"Okay, so... This is gonna sound really crazy, and you might be disappointed, but here goes... I kinda agreed to move in with Sophia."

"Dad? What do you think?"

"Are you sure about this?"

"Honestly? I don't really know. But what I do know is I've been too afraid to take risks. I feel like I can't grow as a man being afraid of what might happen. Plus, I really really like her."

Dad grinned from ear to ear.

"I think you more than like her. I'm so proud of you. That's a very big thing you've realized about yourself. It takes maturity to get there. You've always been thoughtful and have good judgement, so if this is something you feel you need to do, I support it. I'm happy for you."

That went waaaaaay better than I imagined. Dad wasn't someone who got upset much, but I imagined him being triggered by his own experience and being dead-set against it.

"So...I guess you're here to get your things, then?" he asked.

"Just the essentials. Her house is super tiny. Like...Copperdale tiny."

"Oh. Yikes. You gonna be alright with that?"

I shrugged.

"I guess we'll see."

"Alright. Well, don't let me keep you."

"Hey, Dad? Thank you...for everything. I don't think I could have made it here without your guidance."

He nodded.

"That's the job, son."

"I know, but... I don't know. You've been, like, really cool about it. You make sharing things really easy. I've enjoyed being here with you. I mean...I knew I needed you when I decided to move in with you, but I didn't know how much. And I... Well, forget it. I don't really know what I'm trying to say, heh."

"Come here," he said and stood. "I love you. You're always welcome here. You and Sophia."

"Thanks, Dad... Oh, and if you tell Mama about any of this, The Book of Luca will be closed. I know you two still talk about me."

He laughed.

"My lips are sealed."

[calcified-panglin]

The rain of blood threatened by interdimensional butchers

The endless abyss that returns all it swallows to a uniform mass

The cruel, twisted design of a brother dispassionate about life

Soul. A fragile thing so easily shattered, if not for The Hero.

Been listening to Double Fucking Rainbow Returns again. Partly because it's a baller track, and because I think that particular arrangement of the leitmotif captures a sense of desperate determination on Providence's end. It plays during his last stand after all.

To me, that stand isn't just against the Lone Survivor.

As if the their absurd power wasn't enough to convince Providence to put them down, the horrors that would follow his death act as the nails in the coffin. He's been holding all of them back; he stole the artifact with which the Imps can invade, kept the Void at bay by his own blade, trapped his brother and stamped out any and all items of his influence he could find. All the while collecting near-extinct life from across space.

Whether it was for noble reasons or his obsession with soul, the fact of the matter is clear. Without Providence, Petrichor V would be beset by ALL of these disasterous forces without any reasonable defense against them.

It shows in Risk of Rain 2. The Imps can now narrowly avoid death via portals. Mithrix's influence becomes much more immediately threatening. Pockets of Void start appearing on Petrichor V's surface and corrupt their surroundings.

Providence was staring down a lot more than just an unnaturally strong human (or robot/lizard-thing) at the end of Risk of Rain; it was every terrible, violent, unimaginable power that would be emboldened by Providence's death. Despite his choices leading to this outcome, all the way back to sealing Mithrix on the moon, Providence lays blame on the Survivor. Questioning their nature, how it is they managed to kill him, calling them a monster for both their deeds and the events they had unknowingly set into motion by killing him.

Humanity probably would have gotten along fine if the Survivor died. The Contact Light isn't the last bastion of their people after all, as Petrichor V is to several doomed species. The planet has no such luxury due to Providence being the only one with any real power to stop these threats; the only one allowed to decide who comes and goes, who is worthy of being saved and who should be pushed back or outright destroyed. With no one as his equal, everyone on his planet is doomed without him.

It works fine enough as a standalone story - that of a revered diety acting as a shield for all of these creatures, that his inability to protect them from the Survivor renders them without protection from a potential future threat from these same, murderous sky-demons (we don't take kindly to having our people and our crap messed with). With the retroactive lore that Risk of Rain 2 provides and Returns' addition of the fourth phase though, it emphasises in my mind the idea that Providence had a lot to lose in that fight. Humanity alone is enough to make life on the planet complicated. Throwing in an equally potent brother and eldritch crabs on top of that raises the stakes considerably.

Return's Providence is not quite the same Providence as RoR1's; Returns came after we got the context of RoR2. If that justifies a last stand with Dragon Ball Z lasers and a tune that SCREAMS "I can't lose here!" in Hopoo Games' eyes, I 100% stand by that decision.

If you've been holding something that contains the Voidling back this long, you deserve to be a badass for the half-second before getting one-shot a third time in the same fight.

[percyaugod]

I like your dadbot au [the one where Don got separated and fugitoid raised him]

and was thinking about if Don gust never revealed him self during the space arc. And sum time after part of the armor breaks and he reveals that he is there brother and starts ranting about how his dad (professor Honeycutt) was supposed to be with him and this isn't part of the plan and how he was gust waiting for the right time to tell them.

And donetello making friends with space people and learning all different things from them.

And Don would probably have a code name and I think he would choose astro.

Also for the time that's he on earth but still in descis master Splinter found out because Don was trying to eat in secret and he found him.

Also what thing do you think the armor has cus I think he should get wings for flight and shelds.

Anyway, thanks for reading this long rant.

Thank you! ^ ^

What I had planned for part of the identity reveal was Donnie being wanted as well, because of association with the fugitioid and his own more than slightly illegal dealings with shady merchants. Donnie being recognized and now people are after all of them. Him taking of the armor since that's all anyone knows but covering himself with something else. The others now know there's something under the armor but no idea what. Cue hijinks of the others doing everything possible to get a glimpse.

The armor is left behind as a distraction while they get away. It's also set to self destruct, which is an even bigger distraction. Donnie has several backups if his armor because this has happened before.

Oh Honeycutt is coming with them. Donnie knows his father enough to know he'd try something stupid like that. He also knows the head isn't needed to self destruct. He was more than prepared to snatch him on the way out. He's going to get such a lecture when they're not trying to stay alive.

Not gonna lie, never though of a codename. First thing that comes to mind is Metalhead since I keep imagining the armor as a futuristic, alien technology version of Donnie from mutant apocalypse.

Definitely shields. Was thinking one of those holographic, projected ones he wears on his wrist. At least a couple types of lasers, they're good for escaping by cutting through something or defending by cutting through someone. So many scanners and different readings in his helmet. Trackers, of course. Can't let the others just wander around in space.

Thanks for the interest in my AU. ^ ^

[boyakishantriage]

"I hear you. But I'd like to reiterate. We didn't need it."

Was the first time I'd ever hear someone explain why we didn't need the shield generator. A massive magnetic spool that'd tank hits outside the ship.

"But what if-"

"The ship is literally part tungsten and titanium. I ain't no chemist, but that'll protect us from 80% of space debris."

"... what about the 20%?"

"You mean the giant asteroids, ship fire? We can avoid them. Swerve, fire out lasers at them. Y'know?"

Leaning against the small scout ship, amidst enemy territory. The Terran had practically suggested since we couldn't warp without being noticed, we fly straight towards the enemy's most focused centre.

THE MOTHERSHIP.

Standing at the bridge of the command ship for the Galvins, thin green like beings who held 4.5% of the Milky way galaxy. And increasing. Currently regrouping. His superiors' not doubt reorganising, planning and preparing for their expansion.

"Sir."

He turned to the captain, the logistics head's monitor showing an odd speck.

"Something's approaching."

"is it friendly?"

"We don't know. Currently it's just flying straight towards us... wait. It moved, it's flying towards the outer scout group."

"Send out order: raised shields, stay alert and man the guns."

"To who?"

"Everyone."

THE SHIP

"ARE YOU INSANE?"

"... Yes."

"... What?"

The unconscious pilot resting on her bunk, the private driving the ship with her crewmate's set up (why the Terrans bring driving components for various vehicles on their home planet for a video game on a space ship was beyond him).

She'd first steered the ship headfirst into the void, after modifying the engine she'd. Well, he wasn't sure. But she'd hopped out the ship, jumped into the controls and something had chased them all the way to here.

Guns were raised, shields glowing as they turned on, some ships continuing their patrols. Most however we're moving away, or into positions to strike.

"This is Sargent..."

"HI, I'M A TERRAN AND THIS IS A SUPRISE ATTACK. DON'T SHOOT OR YOU'LL FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DESTROY A LEVIATHAN's LUNCH."

She barked into the radio, one of the other Terrans froze.

"WAIT. ELLIE. YOU PISSED OFF A LEVIATHAN??"

Not looking from the controls, the radio began crackling with the Sargent's questions.

"I mean I don't know what else would be a big enough distraction for the. What were they called?"

"what's Leviathan?"

The large bear alien grunted. Captain glaring at the Terran.

"It's... uhh."

"Y'know dragons?"

Perked up the Terran, covering for her faltering friend.

"... the mythical beings, the ones that varied a lot?"

"So a Leviathan is basically like those Aincent dragons' grandparents. Y'know. Older dragons are generally stronger, these are basically the primal versions of dragons."

"I thought those were drakons?"

"I lied. Drakons are the bridge between Leviathan and dragon."

"..."

"TERRAN. YOU ARE ORDERED THE STOP OR WE WILL-"

The Terran flicked a switch, an angry scowling roar echoed out from the speakers.

"DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME A LIMP DANGER NOODLE YOU PATHETIC MORTAL-"

Flicking the switch off, the Terran began moving the ship away from something as she called the Sargent.

"Do you want me to direct it's anger at you? Shut up, when I shout fire y'all need to fire behind us with everything you got."

She turned the radio off, turning the captain mid twirl.

"They're gonna piss the Leviathan off, it's gonna go on a rampage and we're gonna go when it starts to get really chaotic."

"... miss Eleanor. Are all humans like this."

Markus spoke up.

"short answer is no. Eleanor is one of the few humans who's genuinely unique."

"Awww, markie. You're gonna make me blush. Anyways-"

She turned the engine off, firing the ship's flares as she grabbed the radio.

"FIRE."

Tentacles ripped out of reality, space opening into a door as something roared, swiping at the flares. The ship's glowed. Energy aiming towards behind the ship.

"Ait. Hold on, this'll get weird."

The ammunitions dropped, striking the Leviathan with the force to blow a planet to asteroids. The ship's engines awoke, masked by the roar of rage as the Sargent crackled through the radio.

"Is it dead?"

"GOOD LUCK SARGE."

Flicking my homemade jammer online, aiming the ship down into the ripped door, a being that could wrap around the keiber belt back home rushed out. Tentacles, blades, black fire, in general it'd take two more shots before it's probably return to the void.

But none of that was my problem, dropping down into the Void.

[ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask]

Spoilers for anyone who plans to read my story Halo: Homecoming, but I think this is my favorite Fred and/or Fred/Kelly passage I've ever written.

Frederic-104 didn't sleep well. He hadn't for years.

The man lay in pitch dark with his eyes open, incapable of meeting the faces that inevitably assaulted his mind the moment he allowed them to close. Most nights, he would lay as still as possible and let physical exhaustion eventually overtake him. Others, he studied each face – the face of every Spartan who had died under his command; the face of every soldier he had failed. The face of each and every member of his family gone, while he remained.

Isaac, Grace, Vinh, Joshua . . . each face burned into his retinas like lasers cutting through styrofoam. Each one of them a hero. Each one of them he failed.

Some nights were better; the voices quieted, and the images eventually faded to nothing and allowed him to drift off to sleep. Others were so bad that he abandoned the notion of sleep altogether and forced himself to occupy his mind with something – anything – else.

This night was the latter.

Fred rose from his bed and exited the barracks silently. He didn't want to disturb his team, but he couldn't lie still any longer. Exiting the special-fit bunk room that had been assigned to Blue Team, the lieutenant made his way through narrow corridors to the Dusk's rec room.

The area was small by most standards in the UNSC Navy, though that was typical of Prowlers. Without the detachment of marines and combat pilots that most other ships carried, Prowlers didn’t need to expend space for exercise equipment. They were, however, stocked with enough machinery to keep the ship's small crew in the best form possible.

In particular, Fred was searching for one piece of machinery that had become commonplace on most UNSC vessels following the induction of the SPARTAN-IV program. Codenamed WARZONE, the machine was designed to accurately simulate combat for training purposes. Loaded with recordings to mimic all opponents the UNSC had faced – from Grunts to Hunters – and linked with the MJOLNIR undersuit, it created a hyper-realistic combat routine. On the Infinity, WARZONE could be used to put dozens of Spartans through full-scale combat simulations. On smaller vessels it was downscaled to a single occupant.

On the Dusk, WARZONE was attached to a small boxing ring in the rec room. Fred deftly stepped through the ropes and loaded a sequence on the machine. It was a personal scenario, made up of increasingly difficult opponents. As the holographic displays began to warm up, Fred swung his arms and shook his legs to loosen his tight muscles.

No matter how hard he tried though, it was never enough of a distraction.

He ducked under an Elite's energy sword. Joshua's hijacked Banshee, spewing smoke as it hurtled from the sky. He dove and rolled to avoid a smashing blow from a Hunter's shield. Malcolm - dead in a heap on the ground, having been denied even the death of a warrior. He plunged his knife through the armored carapace of a Promethean Knight. Holly, her entire body vanishing under the onslaught of a Hunter's plasma cannon as she stepped forward to protect Kelly.

Those images never left his mind. The sounds. The smells. The awful feeling of rage. The knowledge that he couldn’t save them.

The pained smile and unpracticed salute of a young police officer was at home amongst these memories. Fresh, new, yet familiar – as if it had always been in the back of his mind.

He had no idea how long it had been when he dropped to his knees; labored breathing caused as much by the physical exertion as by the mental assault of seeing each member of his family on a horrendous parade through his mind. All at once the bodysuit that was usually nothing more than an extra layer of skin suddenly felt so tight around his throat that it was strangling him.

With trembling hands, he forced his fingertips underneath the nanofiber material that clung to his jawline and violently wrenched it apart, tearing the fabric from the point of his chin down to his sternum and leaving the flaps hanging open. The weight didn't subside.

He fell backward until he leaned against the corner post of the boxing ring, then brought his knees up to his chest and rested his head in his hands. And he breathed.

In

Out

In

Out

He didn't know how long he had stayed in that position when he felt a vibration run through the pole behind him; someone was pushing their way through the ropes and into the ring. Reflexively, the Spartan lifted his head and made to rise from the ground, preparing to quickly leave the ring to make room for whatever crewman had come for their own exercise, and to – hopefully – avoid any uncomfortable questions he would have to lie about.

Instead of the tentative crewman in sweatpants and t-shirt he expected when he lifted his gaze, there was a striking figure, standing more than two meters tall, with dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail and blue eyes that were trying hard to hide the concern behind them.

Kelly stepped toward Fred and held up a hand, forestalling further attempts to rise to his feet. When he relented and settled his shoulders against the post behind him, she silently went to the console and deactivated the program. The rec room fell into silence once more.

Kelly knelt in front of him. Fred did his best to look nonchalant as he avoided her gaze. They sat in silence for some time, Fred diligently studying every square inch of the ceiling in an effort to avoid his partner's eyes.

"Must have been some kind of fight," she finally said, gesturing to Fred's torn bodysuit.

"You should see the other guy," he replied, doing his best to muster a convincing grin. When he turned to his partner, he was confronted by her stare.

Her eyes were familiar, as were the eyes of each of his teammates. Kelly's were a dark blue, interrupted by white lines stretching from the pupil to the edge of the iris. The white intermingled with the blue, lazily spreading outward in a way that drew to mind the clouds that, as a child, he used to watch meander across the deep blue sky of a late Reavian summer.

Yet another memory that reminded him of his failures. It was unlikely anyone would be able to appreciate the beauty of the sunset on Reach again. Yet another image he would never see again, except behind his own closed eyes as he tried in vain to sleep.

"It isn't your fault."

The statement cut through his thoughts like a plasma sword through a block of ice. The words dashed through his mind, passing so quickly that the Spartan almost wondered if he imagined it. The only confirmation that his partner had said anything were the extra worry lines crinkling the corner of her eyes, and the sudden tightness in his chest in response to what he knew she was referring to. Fred opened his mouth to answer but, for once, no smart remark came to mind.

"They aren't your fault," Kelly said. The worry lines deepened. "Spartans. Marines. Civilians. They all knew what they were getting into. They chose to go."

He coughed out a laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about, Rabbit," he lied.

"He isn't your fault."

His chest tightened. His legs were trembling. He wanted to say something. To diffuse the tension with humor. To push the feelings back down until they were so deep that he could be sure he was safe from them again. For things to go back to normal, at least for a while.

Instead, he stayed silent. Kelly stayed silent. The entire universe was silent. The silence pressed in on Fred – isolated him, dragged him into a pitch black abyss and squeezed from all sides. It was like a tidal wave crashing over his body – just as tangible and twice as loud.

Then the silence broke. He felt a hand slowly reach out and press itself against the right side of his face. The palm pressed against his cheek and the finger splayed out, the thumb on his cheekbone and the little finger curling below his jaw. Another hand landed at the base of the left side of his neck.

The feeling was unusual – Spartans weren't exactly known for being "touchy." Though he knew whatever Kelly was doing couldn't possibly mean him harm, Fred's instincts screamed to distance himself from the foreign experience until he could be sure he was safe. Instead, he opened his eyes and found himself drawn back once more to the beautiful clouds tracking across the open air over the Longhorn Valley.

"Those places aren't home," Kelly said. "Reach, Imber, Ballast . . . no place is our home." She seemed to study his eyes as she spoke. Then she gingerly pulled his face forward until his forehead rested against hers. The new gesture surprised him, but once again he didn't recoil. In fact, he found himself leaning back against her, matching the pressure she was putting against him.

"We're Spartans," Kelly whispered. "Our heritage is each other. We are our home."

They fell once more into silence, though this time the silence wasn't so loud.

When he closed his eyes, the faces of his family slowly faded away. Kurt, with one last handshake before he made the ultimate sacrifice. Li, vanishing in an explosion during a zero-gravity battle; the one place the man had truly felt at ease. Ellsworth, with blood staining his teeth as he smiled with the hope that he was fulfilling his most sacred vows.

Each face slowly passed on and was replaced by a single thought as Fred took in the sound of the Dusk's systems, the light of the rec-room lighting his eyelids, and the feeling of Kelly's hands cradling his face and their foreheads still resting one against the other.

We are our own home.

Welcome home.

[xalygatorx]

Worthy (2015) | Chapter 9, "Better"

Disappearing sporadically in public spaces quickly becomes Cora Dempsey's least concerning problem when suddenly she captures the attention of the forming Avengers Initiative, the World Security Council, and Asgard's fallen prince all in one week. And the universe is only just getting started with her.

Worthy is a slow-burn SFW Marvelverse (films) romance between Loki and a female OC. For additional details on what canon is used, see the Prologue post.

Summary: Loki and Cora arrive back at the warehouse from California. Coulson arrives to detain Cora. Loki chooses a side. Cora is faced with a potentially fatal ultimatum back at SHIELD headquarters.

Pairing: Loki x Fem!OC

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3.4k

"Where's the hammer?"

"Where do you think?"

"Um, not here?"

"Well, you are not wrong…," Loki admitted a little exasperatedly, glancing toward the dusty warehouse ceiling with little interest as he felt Cora step away from his side, which caused her to become entirely visible once more. He'd used his seithr to get them back undetected and still wore it until a moment later when he allowed the magic to drop from his form.

Cora frowned up at him with a bit of an apprehensive expression. "Did it get called back up?" she asked.

Loki flashed back to the hammer blasting through the wall and glanced at the hole he'd been dragged through, which Cora had yet to turn around and notice. "Quite."

She followed his gaze and her eyes widened. "Holy sh—"

"Indeed," he murmured indifferently.

Cora frowned as she pondered the development, remembering the fact that she could wield Mjolnir was the only reason he'd taken her with him in the first place, and was also the only reason he had kept her from SHIELD's grasp. She hesitantly worked up the nerve to ask, "So, now what?"

Loki blinked down at her, as if it hadn't already occurred to him that her usefulness had waned. He was about to say something when his attention was redirected toward the garage door down the aisle, his eyes narrowing at it.

He raised his hand to silently shush Cora—who was on the verge of asking what was wrong—as he walked slowly toward the end of the room, murmuring for her to stay put while he investigated. She stayed where she was, not knowing what had spurred on his little prowl in the first place. It was only when a shadow appeared through the hole in the wall that she realized what might've caught his interest.

"Hello again." Cora jolted in surprise and looked over, seeing the thin-haired, smiling man from weeks prior, Phil Coulson, stepping through the gap with his hands in the pockets of his steel-colored dress pants.

She instinctively started to bolt, but two of the armored agents accompanying him raised their assault rifles, aiming them at her. The lasers flickered red at certain angles from the scopes, their disjointed beams dancing over her heart and head.

She froze and looked to Phil, who appeared apologetic. "We've been put in a tough spot, Cora. If you don't come with us this time, things might turn ugly."

"I guessed that from the guns," she quipped softly, pursing her lips. She felt dazed from the shock of the ambush, not snapping out of it until she was being grabbed by two more agents in black armored SWAT suits, one on each side. Her visibility became a bit unstable for a few seconds and it was only then that she glanced toward Loki, who she saw standing precisely where he'd been moments ago, unmoving.

She would never admit it, but she was hoping beyond hope that he'd help her. For the first time in the longest time and without her permission, she felt vulnerable and hated how her expression crumpled when he remained where he was, his features as indifferent as ever as he watched them drag her off and then disappeared beneath his magic's shield.

The plainest form of what Cora felt was betrayal. It made little sense for her to feel that way, but she'd let herself get in too deep with this would-be king. Her jaw clenched a bit as the agents hauled her out, past Coulson and the archer-agent she'd seen days ago. She hid the weird myriad of things she was feeling rather well as someone tucked her head under the doorframe of a Humvee outside, the blistering heat managing to make its way inside the military vehicle despite the blasts of air conditioning from the front.

Cora watched reservedly as the agents filed into the back with her, the bowman finally introducing himself. "Agent Clint Barton," he said brusquely without much explanation except a look of approval from Phil. When she arched a brow at them, Clint elaborated, "Agent Coulson thought it was rude that I didn't introduce myself last time."

"I said it wasn't exactly helpful," Phil corrected kindly. "Familiarization and all that—"

"What do you want from me?" Cora gritted, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Phil sighed, his smile faltering a little. "To help. That's what we've been trying to explain to you all along. It's just become more…crucial that we talk things out now."

"Why?" she asked warily. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain everything when we get to headquarters."

"No way, you can't pull that kind of ambiguity on me and then say we'll talk about it later," she snapped before frowning and backing down a little. "At least a hint?"

"It's a matter of life and death," Clint said bluntly.

Cora's brow furrowed. "Mine?"

"Yes," Phil relinquished with an apologetic frown.

"Well… Fuck," Cora muttered.

The Humvee rolled to a stop several hours later, cuing Phil and Clint to get up from their seats. Phil got out first, followed by Cora, and then Clint, then the other two agents who had been riding along in the back with them. She glanced around the underground garage briefly as she followed the SHIELD agents, the lot of them making a bit of a ring around her. Did they really think she intended to strike up a fight? She wouldn't stand a chance. The only true defense she might've had to her name had already bailed on her in seconds flat.

Logically, she shouldn't have been surprised. He was from another world, endeavoring to gain a throne on said world, was openly intending to use her for her talents from the get-go, and had not once referred to her by name. All signs pointed to extreme ostracism of her while the rest simply didn't make sense now, apart from perhaps it all being a ploy to earn her favor and trust. That was what the emotional side of her was holding onto. She'd honestly thought they were getting somewhere; as allies at the very least.

Wrong, she thought simply with a frown. It bothered her more than she would've liked, but he wasn't her concern anymore. She was the one who was in danger. A lab rat at last.

The pair led her into what looked to be a conference room made mostly of glass and black leather, giving it a very modern look. She noticed that the backup agents had left their company, narrowing it down to just the three of them apart from the man already in the room, looking out the enormous glass windows.

Before he even turned around, she knew who he was, recognized him from a few news stories and public announcements she'd seen around the time of the New Mexico incident. Tall, sturdily built, wearing a long black trench coat, with an eyepatch over his left eye: Director of SHIELD, Nick Fury.

He nodded to her, glancing toward the window panes warily before walking toward the long conference table and pressing a button before he sat down, which caused shaded panels to slowly descend over the window. "Too sunny for you, sir?" Coulson smiled, seeming to take a jab at Fury's dark demeanor as he pulled Cora's chair out for her and then sat down, himself, Clint doing the same.

"I'm not so much worried about the view as I am about being viewed," he replied informatively, his voice deep and matter-of-fact.

Phil and Clint seemed to understand, but Cora was left as the odd one out, which she didn't take well to under normal circumstances. "Viewed by who? No one could possibly—"

"These windows double as communication screens, Miss Dempsey," he explained and while he did give her an answer, she didn't appreciate the interruption. "It wouldn't be the first time the system was overrode and we were put on surveillance."

"Then again, Stark did that as a power play to get up our asses," Clint admitted with a very subtle smirk on his usually stoic features. "Not sure even the higher-ups know how to do that."

Fury's attention was still on Cora. "You know why you're here by now, I assume?" he asked directly.

"Because I'm a freak," Cora murmured with a biting tone. Phil frowned at her words, but she didn't divert her dark gaze from Fury.

"Because our superiors see you as a threat, actually," Fury corrected her calmly, leaning forward a little in his chair. "Before it was because we wanted you in our ranks, but that ship has sailed."

"I'm so torn up about it," she retorted bravely and there was a heavy pause before Fury actually cracked a smile, Phil and Clint soon to follow.

"I can tell," Fury volleyed back before saying with his businesslike tone restored, "First thing's first, your grandmother is just fine. Still at your uncle—"

"What?" Cora blurted out, her eyes wide with shock. "What do you mean, he told me she—"

"That was an effort to bring you out of hiding. It was easy to hack his phone and send you a message about a funeral that was happening that day. We would've intervened immediately had you gone in and discovered the truth, but you didn't, which gave us more time to ease into this."

"Well, glad I could be a fucking help," she muttered very fast and very sarcastically before demanding, "Do you realize what you put me through? Are you all even human?!"

"We did," Phil sighed, looking over at her. "It was a last resort and we were getting desperate."

"Why were you getting desperate, it's not like I was doing anything horrible or even illegal!"

"Because there is a death warrant on your head," Fury said pointedly, which caused her to stop and listen. "I'm supposed to have eliminated you already, but we're instead trying to come up with a compromise that won't bring the World Security Council down on all our heads."

"World Sec—why are they involved? I flashed out of sight at a park and a subway station, there are people in those parts who flash in other much more traumatizing manners, shouldn't that be more of a concern?"

"It wasn't the disappearing act you pulled, it was the thing with the hammer. It scared them and now they don't want to deal with someone apart from the Asgardian god we already have as our ally being able to use an invincible weapon. Who was the man you were seen with at the church?"

"Old friend from the area who stopped by to comfort me about a lie you used just to put me in a position that would get me killed," she lied reflexively, doing so seamlessly.

"If we hadn't resorted to that, you'd already be dead," Clint said firmly, bringing an end to the debate. It did the job because Cora backed down, raking a hand through her hair and consequentially pulling out her hair tie, just putting it on her wrist instead as she shook her head slowly. "What?"

"This is just…insane," she said and her voice sounded tired now, sapped of her usual ferocity.

"It is," Phil agreed thoughtfully. "But we're working to fix it. Just, please, cooperate. For all our sakes."

Cora glanced at him and smirked though the expression was weak. "Me being here is me cooperating. Where else would I go?"

"Good," Director Fury declared with finality as he stood up, Phil and Clint following suit. "Agent Barton, would you escort Miss Dempsey to where she will be staying until we reach a final plan of action? Agent Coulson, I'd like to speak to you privately."

"Yes, sir," both agents said at once. Cora stood up and walked out of the conference room with Clint, glancing briefly over her shoulder just before the door shut behind her.

Phil turned to Fury questioningly as the director stared down at the call box on the table. "Sir?"

Fury frowned a little as he turned to look at Phil. "You've done some extensive research on the crash of the Valkyrie. Correct?" he asked slowly, knowing he was going out on a limb with this backup plan if the World Security Council didn't sway the way he wanted them to on Cora's "sentence."

"Silly question," Phil noted, considering the ties the superbomber had to his childhood idol, Captain America. "Yes, I have, mostly on whim. The field agents and biochemists on Level 5 mostly dealt with all that after it was discovered in the Arctic. But… Why do you ask?"

"Because our options are few and far between," Fury admitted, looking weary. She wasn't the only "issue" he was dealing with at present; the world had been turning gradually more volatile as of late, with news of extraterrestrials and the like spreading through the proverbial grapevines.

"I don't understand."

Fury was prepared to elaborate when the communication pad began to beep in low tones, the windows glassing over with loading icons. Taking a deep breath and glancing toward Phil, Fury raised the shades and answered the call.

Cora stood under the hot cascade of the shower, fiercely scrubbing product into her hair with reckless abandon. As soon as Clint had pointed out the adjoining bathroom to her small living quarters, her mood had been lifted, if only a smidgen. Her only regret was not finger-combing through her locks before rubbing in the shampoo; it was a disastrous mess of tangles now, but she still couldn't care less. She was clean, dammit.

She smirked a little at the joy she found in the simple indulgence, the expression fading slowly when she raised her hand to run through her hair as she rinsed out the suds, and the bold tattoo on her wrist caught her eye. An unanswered question; inked into her skin and embedded into her mind. It was her name, Loki had said, but how had she known how to write it? None of it made sense. Another thing that didn't make much sense was why she'd protected Loki when he'd not lifted a single finger to aid her.

Cora soon shut off the water and pulled the dark blue towel she'd been supplied with from over the chrome doorframe. Wrapping it around herself, she pressed against the door until it popped open and stepped out, shutting the steamy glass panel behind her. It was amazing how much of a difference a shower could make in her attitude.

On the edge of the simple full-sized bed near the center of the opposite wall was a folded set of clothes, given that hers had been on her back for a few days now. Cora picked them up curiously, finding that it was a femininely tailored SHIELD uniform. With a small huff at the irony, she dropped her towel and put it all on, boots included. She stole a glance at herself in the reflection off the window as she dried her hair off. Phil would be proud; she wore it well.

That was confirmed when Agent Barton came back to get her to escort her to the conference room, seeing as Fury had gotten an answer apparently much faster than anyone had expected. She'd opened the door after Clint had knocked and the sniper-archer had greeted her with a brow-raise of approval. "Suits you."

"Thanks," she murmured as they began their trek down the hallway, soon arriving outside the door.

They walked in and Phil smiled at her, commenting, "It's really too bad we couldn't figure something out sooner. You look kickass in uniform."

The man actually caused her to genuinely smile, which dimmed a bit when she saw Fury's look of forced composure. "Well, go on," she murmured reluctantly, the suspense putting her more on edge than knowing the actual outcome would. Or so she thought.

Fury cleared his throat and murmured, "They're not letting up on the warrant. They still believe you are too dangerous to be 'running loose.' To be kept alive."

"So, are you going to do it or is Robin Hood over here going to do the honors?" Cora snapped quietly before frowning and murmuring an apology to Clint for her undeserved slam, who just shook his head and clapped a sympathetic hand against her shoulder. When she turned her gaze back to Fury, he looked conflicted. "There's more, right?"

"There's another option. The one we're going to engage if you’re willing."

"Which would be…?" Cora encouraged, starting to hope a little.

Fury clenched his jaw a little before asking, "Do you know much about Steve Rogers? About Captain America?"

"I mean… I met him outside Clarkdale a few days ago… Apart from that and the bits of World War II propaganda I've seen him on, not really."

"Well, most of it has been kept fairly confidential since Red Skull made an attempt at terrorism and succeeded in taking the lives of so many beforehand, using the Tesseract…"

"What's that?"

"It's basically a cube of raw energy," Phil supplied calmly, though for the first time she noticed that the worry lines on his face were more prominent than usual.

Fury placed his hands behind his back and paced toward the head of the table, continuing, "To stop Red Skull's superbomber craft—the Valkyrie—from carrying out its purpose, Steve crashed it into the Arctic. He and the ship were entirely encapsulated in ice. He was only rediscovered seventy years when we went to recover the ship, the Tesseract, thanks to Stark, and, by total surprise, Steve Rogers, as well. Alive."

"And what you're saying is…what, exactly?" she asked with a bit of an impatient gesture, though she already had a feeling where this was going, angry little butterfly-like sensations teeming in her stomach.

"The World Security Council won't tolerate your freedom. They've found something they can control in this new era of non-control and they seem desperate for some power. They want you dead. However, we ended up coming to a compromise: we're going to put you in a deep freeze until this misunderstanding is cleared up."

"I'd rather you blow my head off right here," Cora noted, her stomach turning over at the thought of being slowly frozen solid with just a sliver of hope that she might walk free again, fully aware of what was happening but unable to do a thing about it.

"These are our only options, they wouldn't allow for anything else," Fury argued defensively.

"They're never going to allow for anything else. Like you said, they're desperate and power-mongering. They see this as a guiltless end to their problem and maybe you do, too."

"Cora, please," Phil frowned at her with faint disapproval, looking a little older with the smile gone from his face. "We just want to help. We're trying to help."

"I know, but…," she struggled, running a shaking hand through her hair. "Could… Is there any way to, um… Put me under before…?"

Fury shook his head. "Any kind of sedative will lower your heart rate and will make it more difficult for you to stay alive in there. The temperature would make it very hard for it to come back up."

Cora's throat tightened and it felt like she was having an episode of claustrophobia, not remembering having such an anxiety-fueled reaction since the car crash that killed her parents. "How do you know I'll survive it? Steve, he's… He's different right? Better."

"He's a super-soldier. His body was genetically engineered to be superior in strength, agility, endurance, and stamina," Fury explained with a nod. "But from what we've seen, you're 'better,' too."

Cora's eyes widened and she asked, "Do… Do you know what's wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you as far as I can tell. You're just different. Special."

She wasn't sure she believed that, but she let it slide. "So… When is this thing happening?"

"They gave us a deadline of tomorrow, ten-hundred hours." The SHIELD director paused heavily and, when no one could find anything else to say, he advised, "Go get some rest. Dinner can be sent to your room and if you need anything else, just say the word. And Cora?" She looked over her shoulder at him. "It's going to be fine."

Whether or not he was just saying that to make her feel better, she gave a slightly forced smile of thanks and headed out into the hall, the conference room door sliding shut in her wake.

Next chapter: Chapter 10, "Your Own Hero"

[blacksupremacy86]

Usurping The Captain

Part 1

Superman is more than a major player now he is everything flying in the sky constantly in a loop all day every day to the worlds lack of shock and annoyance. He is catapulted in to a new way of life landing a nearby army base in The United States.

In a private area he lands causing a strange trigger erupting through the ground leaving the army in awe. The base is completely let out evacuating bending a bit more they pull their weapons out in an assault to push him back.

Clark laughs loudly his voice booms through the air circulating around the base thousand times over bouncing back. In a super higher pitch tone and long boomerang affect hits sending a sound wave to knock them out on to the dirty army base floor.

That is until Mr. Boy Scout himself threw his shield at force for me to catch as quick as I did and look on in disgust as he wore the red, white blue proudly as if it really matters at this point. All the effort will be for not as my sole purpose to the man who sent me free forever.

“What do you think you are doing here Kal it’s not allowed? You are a hero not a major

criminal or terrorist.”

“Yes! I forgot you were such a Boy Scout blah pathetic. What a wast of time and space.”

“Be careful for you next few words my friend it may be your last.”

“Like if you could stop me Steve not even a bit closer.”

Captain America lifts his shield in the air to face his ally he presses in the handle in the back of the shield causing the device to glow brightly with an emerald green covering the entire base.

Clark facial expressions goes from utter lack of shock to fear as he begins to faint to the floor dropping to his knees the pain on his face is so apparent.

The man clicks the button with the shield hit with energy transforming it traveling to the tip of the shield gathering together it blast a laser at his feet locking him up in dark green bubble.

Superman flows in to the air spinning lightly around the area draining him of all his full power and energy consuming him in his own prison Cap smirks. Launching his shield as the ball constantly attacking it with hits, kicks, punches and more.

“Why won’t you surrender or give in to the law Superman? Do not make it harder.”

“Because I am the greatest hero in the world and I am true villain.”

“Blast you! I will bring you in one way or the other.”

“Believe what you want Captain but I have already one.”

“Wait what? Why are your eyes lighting up like that?”

“Peer in to my eyes Cap”

“No! No! Nnnnoooooo”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“Welcome to my nightmare!”

“Kal is that you ?”

“The new and improved me”

“Why did you trick me?”

“I told you “

“You already won”

“Master Lawrence “

“He made this possible “

“He cleansed me”

“He gave me a real start “

“No more evaluating “

“No more watching out”

“No more walking on glass “

“I can’t fight it, I can’t lie, I am his and I am Captain America.”

The end

Recruiting Purposes

Buckley Barnes has been on a mission to be able to find his best friend Captain America all the search lead him to a strange building in the middle of nowhere.

Flipping off the helicopter on to nearby roof top he rolls to the edge backflipping to the glass roof tied window he peers down in to the room.

One guy notices him so he shrugs smashing in to he window falling in to somersault like super hero landing then proceeds to break every bone available.

Shuffling through the room he cracks a steel door open using as shield to the block the oncoming henchmen gunfire is going on in galore.

“Think these bone heads would know now k am by now.”

“Also not to mess with me”

“ENOUGH! Geez”

“This generation “

“God! I am old”

“Focus”

“Steve must be held down below”

“I have speed up my time “

“Can’t waste a second up here “

“A elevator”

“I’ll climb up on top of it”

“Then what dummy?”

“Who am I talking to ?”

“The Winter Soldier”

“No it can’t be! I am going crazy “

“Bravo Buck”

“Steve and Clark”

“Why are you free?”

“We came to collect you “

“Ahhhh”

“Ugh!”

“Why?”

“Stop being a bitch!”

“We came to save you “

“Put the ugly past to rest”

“Indeed to bed”

“You can’t….this dream”

“Poor sweet Bucky”

“You really think so”

“We are in your mind”

“There no running away “

“I want to give in…I love to obey Master”

The end

[random-iz-stuff]

Invader Zim Deathmatch:

[Round 1, Fight 4]

Gashloog vs Lard Nar!

The rule for prep time is that if one contestant gets prep time, the other contestant gets an equal amount of prep time as well.

[Masterpost]

Information about both contestants (who they are, powers and abilities, etc) can be found under the cut.

Contestant Stats:

Gashloog:

“Average Irken Fast Food Worker”

Appearances:

Gashloog only appears in the episode “The Frycook That Came From All That Space”

Powers and abilities:

Irken physiology (can lift over 3 times their body weight and is extremely durable)

PAK (PAK legs, PAK lasers, shield generator, all the things an Irken PAK can do)

Food Service experience (Gashloog is a food service drone. This doesn’t really add or remove anything in combat but he doesn’t have much else going for him)

Fun Fact:

Gashloog is tied with Bob as the canonically weakest Irken in this competition, as he and Bob are the only irkens in the competition with no military experience.

Lard Nar:

“Not to be confused with Invader Lardnar”

Appearances:

Lard Nar officially appears in the episode “Backseat Drivers From Beyond The Stars” and appears in the Dookie Loop Horror comic. If the show hadn’t been cancelled, we would have seen him in “The Trial” as well

Powers and abilities:

Leadership skills (Lard Nar currently leads the Resisty and used to be in charge of the Vortian Scientific Station that Zim was placed in)

Intelligence (Lard Nar is a former scientist and engineer, even being a part of the team that built the Massive)

Fun Fact:

Lard Nar shares his name with a real life Thai dish. Also I wasn’t joking when I mentioned “Invader Lardnar”. They’re a real character.

Additional thoughts:

Overall, both of these contestants are pretty weak, with neither of them having any actual hand to hand or military combat experience. Lard Nar has experience commanding a ship, but that’s not relevant here. Prep time is a factor here as well since Lard Nar would benefit greatly from it, but Gashloog would get the same amount of prep time.

[consularmain]

I should be doing nanowrimo but I rewrote the prologue for my revalek story instead. I'll post it here for now and add it to ao3 when I have all the other chapters fixed :)

Broken Chain

Revan was dead.

There was a time when a galaxy without her in it would have been unthinkable for Malak. But he was a different man then; content to live in her shadow, to hang on her every word, to follow her lead as he had since they were children. Whether it was to the war or beyond the edge of known space, wherever Revan led, Malak would follow.

He would have done anything for her. And she knew it. But that was long ago — before she started them on the path that led them here.

The Leviathan’s laser cannons rained fire on Revan’s flagship. Malak watched from the safety of the Leviathan’s bridge, his arms crossed over his chest and his gray eyes staring unblinkingly as he watched Revan’s ship buckle under the onslaught.

His master’s cold rage at his betrayal sent a tremor through the Force so strong even those with the weakest of connections would have sensed it and fear for their lives. It was made only stronger for Malak through the bond that once flowed so naturally between them. He felt it as Revan turned her rage onto the strike team of Jedi sent to capture both Sith Lords.

Among the Jedi, Malak was surprised to sense Bastila Shan.

The Council must be truly desperate to risk losing their most precious pawn and her Battle Meditation.

If Malak could still smile, he would.

After a lifetime of losing every game of strategy, he had finally outsmarted Revan.

A well-aimed shot from the Leviathan exposed the bridge of Revan’s ship to the vacuum of space for a split second before the ray shields flickered on. In that same instant, Malak felt the echo of a brutal blow to the back of his head. He grunted under his mask, digging his nails into his bicep. The pain was only a shadow of what Revan must have felt, but it was enough to force him to concentrate on breathing through it until it passed. And when it did, he realized their connection was weakening.

Revan was dying.

Her presence, always lingering like a whisper in his thoughts, had finally gone silent. Malak was suddenly the only person in his own mind for the first time in decades. What remained of her that he could sense was slipping away — an eerily quiet death for one who had burned so bright in the Force.

The bond strained, struggling to hold onto his other half, until it snapped.

Something between his ribs echoed that break. It almost brought him to his knees, but he stayed on his feet through sheer willpower, clenching his fists so tight his blunt nails drew blood.

This was his moment of triumph — he would not give her the satisfaction of humiliating him one last time.

Malak slowly opened his eyes, the black spots in his vision fading. He looked out to the black of space to see Revan’s ship being pulled into the gravity of the planet below. Fire and smoke billowed out from the decimated vessel as it hurtled through the atmosphere, disappearing into the clouds without a sound.

Soon, it would crash into the planet’s surface, the last remnant of Revan gone forever.

Malak waited to feel something. The apprentice had finally usurped the master. He would never be second to anyone ever again — the galaxy was his for the taking.

But there was only the deafening silence where she used to be.

“Lord Malak.”

The Lord of the Sith startled in a way very unbecoming of his new title. He could sense Admiral Kareth standing at attention behind him. If he noticed Malak’s blunder, he hid it well, but Malak considered cutting the old man in half anyway just to save himself the embarrassment. But he quickly dismissed the thought. Kareth was far too competent to do away with on a whim.

Malak fixed his gaze back to the stars and answered the Admiral’s unasked question, “Revan is dead.”

Kareth bowed his head and stepped back. In the reflection of the viewport’s glass, Malak saw the Admiral gesture to the other officers to follow him off the bridge and Malak realized he must not have been as composed as he thought if Kareth deemed it prudent to remove the crew. They all moved silently and efficiently, the door closing behind them with a soft hiss and for the first time since he was a child, Malak was truly alone.

Revan was dead.

Nothing could have prepared him for the emptiness that would come after.

He lifted his hand to rub his brow but realized his hand was covered in his own blood from how tightly he had clenched his fist. Malak held his hand up to his face, watching the blood collect in his palm and drip to the floor.

“What have you done, Alek?”

Malak turned on his heel, her name escaping his vocalizer in a gasp, but he was met with empty space on an empty bridge. He looked around in total confusion before steeling his gaze.

He hadn’t imagined it — it had been nothing more than a whisper, but it was unmistakably Revan’s voice; softer than he had heard it in years. Could it have been some forgotten memory brought to the surface by their broken bond or Revan herself punishing him for his betrayal by tethering her spirit to his?

It would be just like her — clinging to life any way she could just to spite him.

But the apparition or whatever it was didn’t show itself again and Malak closed his eyes, the long breath he took rattling through his prosthetic vocal cords.

Revan is dead. I am the Lord of the Sith now.

And suddenly, the loss of someone who had once made him whole became very real. The girl he had followed to war was forever beyond his reach.

A small part of him, buried deep and rarely paid any attention, wondered who he would be now without Revan.

[archipithecus]

here is an unorganized collection of thoughts i had about the new dune movie. a lot of them will be about departures from the book, and i haven't read it in several years and it's after midnight, so if i misremember let me know or just ignore it

broad things: very pretty, very loud, very long. i understand that they had to cut things, it's a long book, but they also added a lot of new stuff and i feel like that could've been trimmed a bit. i understand why they added a lot more to chani's character, especially since they have zendaya, and i think a lot but not all of that worked.

very weird choice to keep alia unborn for the whole movie? i don't understand why they did that. maybe they didn't think they had time to properly handle a precocious murder toddler? this section of the book takes place over about three years, so either they really compressed the timeline or jessica just... held that baby in (with bene geserit reverend mother powers)?

they took out everything involving the spacing guild and CHOAM and the emperor's shares, i assume because it was complicated and they thought it would confuse the audience, but it also reduces (removes?) the leverage that paul and the fremen have over the rest of the galaxy.

i know harkonens have to all be deranged murder perverts, but the main three here take that to a dysfunctional level. plus, they weren't just murdering slaves, but also plenty of servants and officers, and i don't think the movie properly explored the implications of that.

they didn't let feyd have his silly poison tricks, and that's a shame. no poison on the wrong dagger, no secret belt needle. i guess they gave him three cannibal girlfriends to make up for it.

the harkonens are very dumb here. in the book, i'm pretty sure it was the baron's plan from the beginning to have rabban terrorize arrakis, and then his smart sexy nephew take over and be the good guy, but here that's a bene gesserit plan, like vlad isn't smart enough to think of that one himself.

the atomics were underexplained, and mayyybbbe audiences wouldn't care about the details of treaty stuff, but i think they could have spared thirty seconds for a line about how they're using them against the rock wall instead of people and why that's important.

saw a lot of lasers, and there should've been an explanation for lasgun-shield interactions, because otherwise pedantic nerds who don't know about dune will be like "why aren't they always using these powerful laser guns".

i really liked the baby worms, and the woman who cared for them, all adorable.

no thufir hawat? i did do a little bit of searching to refresh my thufir memory after i saw the movie, and i saw plenty of headlines about how the director was sad he had to cut his part from the movie, i didn't read any of those articles though.

without the spacing guild stuff, the bene gesserit have no rivals, they already control the emperor and everything else happening, why are they bothering to scheme for power?

i really enjoyed all the fremen dialogue, david and jessie did a great job on that. it was pretty silly to hear timothée chimolet (or /ˈtɪməθi ˈʃɪməli/ as my friend says) sprinkle in his american, especially when speaking to fremen who shouldn't know... imperial? common? basic? does the imperial language have a name? but i thought everyone had good deliveries, and if they made any mistakes i couldn't tell.

i think it was probbaly a good decision to remove the stuff about paul's first kid and also jamis's widow (and kids?). the movie was long enough, and they wanted chani to support and push against paul and to be an active fighter, not just have to have his kid. i do miss the bit with weights that represent jamis's water that now belongs to paul, i thought that was a neat bit of culture stuff.

what's up with those flippy rectangle mines? do they use the same kind of tech as the other levitating things? do the fremen have that kind of manufacturing capacity? they were neat, but they filled me with questions.

they completely dropped the whole thing about not sheathing a crysknife without drawing blood, did that have any of that in the first movie? i don't remember. maybe they did, and they just decided to ignore it because it would be cooler if the fremen could brandish them whenever.

i assumed the process of collecting a body's water was complicated and took a while, it felt a little silly to have the devices that instantly pull clear water from corpses.

the emperor's space ship had weird fire stuff when it was parked above arakeen? don't know what's up with that.

harkonen murder arenas have special monochrome lighting, maybe that's a special application of the effect that makes all the other physics breaking tech work.

the harkonen strategic display tech felt too computery for a post-butlerian jihad world, that should be a mentat job, and they don't deserve visual displays, i don't care about the audience.

the rich people must hate being comfortable, because every single rich people place is bare and austere and hostile. i get that the harkonens are murder perverts, but they should be comfortable decadent murder perverts, and i didn't see a single cushion on that throne for the very old emperor.

the emperor's guard (are those supposed to be sadukar?) all hold their swords like baseball bats, with the elbows out, and that's just asking elbow removal.

maybe the harkonens have such bare and hostile architecture because it's a horrible pain to get blood out of fancy carpets and pillows etc. i pity the janitors on geidi prime.

on the other hand, the firework makers on geidi prime seem to be having a great time, really experimenting with ink tech and keeping to the designated aesthetic.

i understand that for acting and cinema reasons, the film makers want the audience to be able to see the faces of the lead actors, but there were so many times were i thought "paul! chani! you're wasting so much water vapor by panting without your mouthpieces! also put on your headwraps instead of just letting them billow, you're going to get the worst sunburn and also sand everywhere." at least they wore proper PPE while worm riding.

there was that bit where paul was about to say the walk without rhythm line, and the movie basically said "hah you thought we were gonna say that but we didn't, aren't we clever"

i don't think the bit with lady fenring and feyd was in the book? i don't think it added a lot to the movie, and if they really wanted his baby around for franchise reasons, i think they could just do that in a flashback then instead of adding even more runtime.

knife fighting is a terrible stadium sport, you can't see anything happening from those seats.

most of the bladework in the movie was decent and reasonable, i recognized some good parries and cuts, but there were a few moments with flips and spins that made me laugh, those are not a good idea.

[ssolessurvivor]

just a thing for @paramounticebound <3

Of course they had to come into Klingon space, of course Khan had to try and go for some of the toughest damn aliens out there. Maybe Logan aught to smack his commander, throw some sense around that skull if they ever got back to the ship. At this rate, he'd reloaded thrice now: running low on ammo. He insisted on using guns because they were familiar, he knew how they worked. None of this stun business: when he shot, it was to kill.

In the ambush, he'd lost track of Khan in the chaos, trying to lay low only to turn on a dime and shoot one bloody, the thump to the ground and Logan continued on. Two more descended: lined up just so they were felled with one bullet. In the heat of the moment, he decided heading for high ground was best. He couldn't very well do his job in the trenches, and that's where he was, though by whatever grace he wasn't cornered yet. Steeling his nerves, ignoring the sounds around him ricocheting off these concrete walls, Logan made his way through relatively swiftly. Stopped only by a few Klingons too close for comfort. Dodging their massive sword-like weapons wasn't too difficult: while maneuvering with the wall as a springboard, one of them hit the other, and a swift kick to the face had them disoriented enough he could run out of there.

There he is.

Gun in hand, Logan slowed and fired: headshot downing one daring to sneak up behind Khan, and Logan's sprinting again. There's an odd desperation in his gut, festering like an infection, and he doesn't know why. Cut off by another alien, Logan goes to his knees, the momentum keeping him skidding on the ground while Khan fires for him. It goes a little too quiet after that, and Logan's hair on the back of his neck stands on end. The stairs to get to Khan seem twice their usual size, but once he's there, he doesn't rest, doesn't let his eyes settle.

"We have to get out of here." He takes one sparing glance at Khan, the rage evident in his own eyes as something akin to a glow. "Let's keep moving, I don't want to be stationary too long." What is this? Where is it? Logan is antsy, visibly stepping from one foot to the other, eyes darting to every dark crevice and crack, every hidey-hole a sniper might be. They wait too long for his liking, the rest of the crew finally coming to the dais and heading out before he and Khan do, and that's when it hits him.

Two things happen simultaneously: the laser appears on Khan's back, and he hears a muffled Klingon war cry. It's just enough warning.

It's as if the world is rendered in slow motion, black and white shapes and shadows warping his state of mind. His feet can't get him there fast enough but he shoves Khan with all his strength and a yell escapes him from the exertion of it all and the pain lighting up his abdomen. The projectile is so much more powerful than a normal bullet that Logan is flung backwards, lands on the ground until he rolls and collides hard with the wall behind him. Eyes squeeze closed, teeth bared at the pain radiating through him with an unnatural searing heat. Blonde head lolls back against the ground now, hands coming to shield the wound but feeling his own blood trickle over his fingers.

He can't speak, can't find the energy to say anything to Khan and the crew, to get out. Maybe somewhere far off they got him: he recalls seeing flashes of light amid the darkness of the place, maybe they got him. Logan still can't open his eyes, feeling beads of sweat on his brow. Maybe...they left him. As he knew they would cajole Khan into doing: they never liked him anyways.

[somewhat-intelligent]

Finders, Keepers

Flufftober Day 27 - Reunion

@flufftober

(Read on AO3)

WC: 699

Three months.

It’s been three months since she last saw him. Heard him. Felt him.

Three months that she’s missed him.

But he’s almost here.

Any minute now.

Judy bounces on her toes, pulling the jacket tighter against the chilly 3AM breeze. Don’s jacket. This ridiculous, blinding orange thing.

But it’s his, so she loves it. Like she loves—

The loud hiss and thunk! of the transport Jupiter’s ramp touching down draws her attention.

Any second now.

She bites her lip, bouncing again, and this time it’s not from the cold, and she reminds herself not to look for his old orange space suit.

The first few crewmen amble down the gangway, all looking tired yet happy to be on solid ground. But Judy doesn’t pay them much mind. She sees them long enough to know they aren’t Don, then they no longer exist to her.

Her heart is racing. Faster with each moment that she doesn’t see him. He was supposed to be on this transport, wasn’t he? He was. She’d checked the log multiple times. Had she missed him somehow? Couldn’t be. Her eyes hadn’t left the door. Had he been delayed by something up on the Solidarity? No, they would’ve updated the log if—

She sees it.

Peeking out from behind another group of crewmen exiting the Jupiter. The orange, right-side shoulder of a deep blue Maintenance Officers space suit. And it’s almost silly how the other crew members are moving off to the sides as they head to meet their own waiting parties; like curtains pulled to reveal her prize; a straight-shot view of him.

A straight-shot path to him.

He lifts an arm to shield his vision from the harsh floodlights as he scans across the scattered gathering, and her feet are moving before she realizes it. Quick, determined steps, laser-focused on him.

Don’s gaze finally lands on her, their eyes locking, and he smiles; softly at first. But then she’s running, and his smile is brilliant; bag swinging off his shoulder so he can catch her as she leaps into him, her arms going around his neck, his closing around her waist to lift her off the ground.

His soft laugh vibrates through her as they spin once, and the sound, the feel of it—of him—oh, it’s heaven.

“Hello.” His voice is low. Quiet. Only for her ears.

Even though she’s pressed to him fully, she tries to get closer, arms tightening over his shoulders as if that would let her phase through his stupid, obstructive suit, and she buries her face into his collar, fighting back the prickling in her eyes.

“Hello,” she whispers back.

“Did you miss me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ouch. Some other reason you’re here at—” Judy feels him shift to check his comm. “—three in the morning then?”

“Just happened to be out for a late-night run.”

Don chuckles and lowers her, toes touching the ground again, but he makes no move to let her go, only leans back to look down at her, a grin on his perfect lips.

“Is this my jacket?” he asks, lightly tugging at the fabric near her waist.

Judy shrugs, weaving her fingers at the base of his neck. “You left it on my couch. Finders, keepers.”

“Ah, is that how it works?”

“Mmhmm,” Judy hums cheerfully. “Besides, you’ve got all your fancy Officers’ jackets now; I didn’t think you’d miss this ratty old thing.”

Don studies her for a moment, his grin drifting to a softer expression and Judy’s heart thump-thumps behind her ribs. The same way it had three months ago, when they were wrapped close like this, and he was minutes away from boarding the transport Jupiter.

Would this moment pass as that one had, or...?

“So, Princess.”

Thump-thump.

“If I found something too...” His voice drops, face tilting. “Does that mean I can keep it?”

Judy shivers; another beat in her chest.

“Perhaps,” she whispers. “What have you found?”

His face is so close to hers now, and the last thing she sees before her lids flutter closed is the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin as he breathes, “You...”

Then his lips find hers.