#that is repeated so many times that I can't tell if the game is discouraging or endorsing it

[sun-marie]

I don't have the energy to retype it but I'm replaying Ochette's story and my first impressions I shared on Twitter ages ago still hold true :/

[savelockwoodandco]

Hi Admin, hope everything is fine with you, because I truly need your insight.

Whilst I understand that we must approach a battle with high spirits, the way the world goes and with it the media industry really saddens me.

Are we really gonna get the show back?

Do we think CF or the Strouds will really tell us to stop if they think all is over?

I might be far too cynical, but for the Strouds any publicity brings more people to the books.

As for CF, it's still free publicity.

I know that of course none of them will ever be straightforward with us - if anything is happening behind the scenes - because they can't, I guess, but where does the Clowning stop and become simply Delusion?

I keep looking at CF reply for their 5000 followers, and I get it, it looks sus. But are we building a castle made of thin sand out of it?

I'm sorry, Admin, I don't want to upset you. :(

I will still support the show campaign, but I'm so, so, so sad about everything...

Hi Anon! Thanks for the question, and no worries, you didn't upset us! We've got decades of experience in this media game (and in cancellations specifically), and we understand that it can be challenging and frustrating at the best of times.

We totally get being discouraged due to the state of the media industry. It's never been a particularly kind nor relaxed space, and everything about it seems to have been heightened within the last decade or so. What's good -- acknowledging the impact that actors have, the ability to tell stories that would have gone unseen in years past, feeding fan interaction through behind-the-scenes looks while filming and the newfound safety of transformative works (i.e., fanfic) -- has become really, really good. On the flip side, the bad parts of media -- encouraging division and in-fighting, poor treatment of non-administrative professionals, the blind-eye to any profit beyond exponential growth -- have gotten worse.

This isn't a doom-and-gloom statement, though -- these things come in cycles. The Hayes Code Mentality is coming back into full swing, but at least we're past the point of forcing actors to get married in order to promote their films. Some things improve, some things fall back, lather, rinse, repeat. We get being discouraged due to the media landscape -- but remember, all problems are temporary, and bad things will come and go just as often as good things. The good things, the progress, the encouraging changes are no less good simply because they're accompanied by uncertainty.

And if we had to pick a mission statement for answering this ask, I suppose that would be it. There are so many good and encouraging things that have happened -- watch this space, as I (tumblr mod) am going to have Twitter Mod, in all her beneficence, grab me some screenshots from Twitter to show off good/hopeful/encouraging things that have happened recently, since not everyone (including me!) is on Twitter -- that, while we may encounter doubts, disappointments, and uncertainty, it would be as foolish to throw everything out as it would be to assume that we're completely in the clear.

Recency bias, negativity bias, and plain ol' uncertainty have a way of reminding us that there's still doubt and uncertainty surrounding us in this campaign; at times, to borrow a quote, we can feel like we're braving a storm in a skiff made of paper. When a day, a week, two weeks, or more pass without Absolute Confirmation of being picked up, it's easy to lose confidence, to become discouraged, and to believe that nothing we do matters.

And yes, to just simply get sad. And that's okay, that's normal and understandable.

To answer the question posed at the beginning of this ask: yes, we still firmly believe that we're going to get our show back. So many good things -- Nice Things -- have happened and continue to happen (once again, watch this space for a screenshot-heavy post about those things!), that I think it would be wrongheaded to ignore them.

Yes, CF would tell us if there wasn't a chance. It's not really 'free publicity' to encourage people to support a campaign to save a show that they don't have a stake in.

And yes, they make Lockwood and Co; but without a second season, there's no opportunity to make more profit off of it -- sales off DVDs only apply when the show will be put on DVD, after all, which is increasingly uncommon for streaming-premiered shows. Positive word of mouth of "oh they made that really good show that netflix unfairly cancelled" -- a true statement -- only goes so far when negative word of mouth -- "they led fans on when they knew there wasn't a chance" -- is the trade-off.

CF isn't a huge company, they need that positive word of mouth to draw in viewers for current and future projects. On top of all of that, they're human. It's tempting to see every business, no matter the size, as a soul-sucking machine that wrings fans dry for profit, but that simply isn't true, especially of smaller outfits.

The same goes for the Strouds -- there was so much of a rush for the books when the show first came out; people had to wait weeks and weeks for more copies to be printed and sent out through Amazon/Barnes & Noble/other booksellers, and libraries had hold lines for months. That fervor only holds out so long, though, without something concrete -- another season -- to keep it up. In this age of 'receipts', Stroud isn't going to risk his reputation (and provide a lot of clean-up work for his agent) by stringing us alone without any hope.

Everyone involved in this, from the production studio to the author to us, the fans, has a vested interest in not just creating buzz but in actually making a S2 happen. Simply from a business standpoint, it's better business to supply an in-demand product than to not. Attention spans -- and business experts' opinions of attention spans, which is almost more important -- are famously short nowadays. Businesses cannot and do not plan on a small injection to produce long-lasting loyalty and results -- and when they do, like Netflix has been, it bites them in the rear repeatedly.

The sad, sorry fact is that they can't be open and transparent with us about renewal efforts, you're completely right about that. The legalities of contracts and deals within the media industry demand absolute silence until the ink is dry, and sometimes for a bit after that. To use a recent example, the showrunner for Warrior Nun tweeted in March that the show being saved would be because of fan efforts to make it happen. A full 3 months later, he was allowed to announce that the show had officially been picked up. The wheels of media move slowly, but they move.

When does clowning become delusion? The only situation where it would would be if CF came out and told us to stop and that there was no chance. Barring that, it doesn't become delusion. We like to toss around the term 'clowning' -- and it's a fun term that we, the mods, use regularly -- but all we're referring to is the process of distilling what we see into tangible data.

I don't mean to make it sound like some scientific process, but...isn't it? Isn't this all some grand experiment in the name of a grand hobby?

We plot, we plan, we infer, we record, and at the end of the day we turn all of that effort into tangible results. Those results -- trending every single day since cancellation, usually with multiple hashtags/phrases, numerous articles written about the show, its cancellation, and the efforts to save it, a petition with nearly 25k signatures, award nominations, you name it -- are very real, and very helpful.

While ultimately we can't sign the contracts or enact the business deals that will cement our pick-up -- trust us, if we could, they'd be signed by now -- we can provide strong reasons through our engagement for business to want us. The higher we raise demand, the more of a no-brainer providing supply -- a second season -- is.

To all of LockNation, we thank you for your continued efforts. Your tweets, posts, fanart, fanfic, hashtags, signatures, articles, and most importantly, your relentless cheerful dedication, mean the world. We heartily thank you and we heartily encourage you to take breaks, to take care of yourselves. We're confident that, in the future, we will be able to look down at our little skiff made of paper and find that it was made of sterner stuff than we thought.

We're confident in the continued future of Lockwood and Co. We can do this. Look to other successful campaigns; we may have months to go, but we can get through them and come out the victors on the other end.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Kiss me [P. C]

Prince Caspian x reader

Word counts: 2.6k

Warnings: I’m from Mexico so sorry for any misspelling or grammar. If you have any advice tells me!

N/A: I’ll post more Caspian stuff, in case you want to follow me :) (sorry for the scene and narrator changes I hope it's not tedious, haha)

"Run!" Caspian listened, and the peculiar talking animal did not have to repeat it.

Everything was happening so suddenly. First he had had to flee the castle from a threat he did not know existed, then he had found himself in the home of those strange creatures he thought extinct and was now running for his life from his own army.

The arrows on their crossbows soon arrived and the three had to dodge them as they advanced. Caspian advanced a couple more yards and then heard a scream.

"Oh, no”

"I'll go! The young man shouted, worried about the badger lying on the floor with an arrow stuck in his thigh. When he got to him the soldiers were close, so much so that his aim would not fail this time.

"Take it and run! It's more important than me!” the Narnian shouted, giving him the horn that hours earlier he had touched in the hope that something would happen. Why was it so important, anyway?

He watched the animal and then the troops. A panic attack invaded him and he adopted a grimace of terror. He didn't know what to do, he was trapped, he wouldn't save his friend, and he couldn't confront the men either.

Out of nowhere, the soldier leading the troops was defeated, wounded by a warrior who seemed invisible to human eyes. Caspian wasted no time, so he took trufflehunter in his arms from him to start running.

He kept advancing, with the little animal's complaining on his shoulder and suddenly heard the squeal of a horse. He turned completely frightened because he imagined it would not be difficult for that man to shoot and kill him, but when he watched the person on the beast it was not a uniform.

He was an extremely thin complexion warrior, but with his mouth covered in a cloth and a hood that prevented him from identifying him. He wore worn trousers and a shirt that looked like his, as well as a sword in his right hand with which he had already begun to hurt men. The few who tried to shoot him were in vain, for the invisible warrior seemed to know who wanted to hurt his companion and killed them before the arrows could rub him.

For a moment the presence of both mysterious figures was reassuring, but a second later he was already alarmed again.

If your uncle's men couldn't with them, what was waiting for him?

"Get him out of here!” he yelled at his other companion. He drew his sword and turned the other way, but was surprised to no longer see a single soldier. He frowned rather troubled, but out of nowhere the hooded warrior appeared to attack. He fell gracefully from his horse and pushed Caspian with his sword, causing him to fall from his back to the ground.

"Your last words?” he asked, pointing at his neck with the tip of the sword. Caspian was surprised to hear her voice, which looked not masculine at all. Did you look at the... person? That threatened him and swallowed scared-dead saliva. If his destiny was to die at the hands of the warrior in front of him, then he would.

But before sticking the sword around his neck, the warrior paid a little more attention to him and Caspian saw it pale. On his side appeared a small talking mouse with a sword, which encouraged him to kill the telmarine at once.

"You are a mouse" Caspian said, forgetting for a moment the swordsman in front of him.

"Very original to be your last words" he mocked, but Caspian was more focused on how the warrior's knees in front of him faltered and saw him stumble until he fell backwards.

He had fainted.

Caspian tried to get close but the mouse wouldn't let him. Instead he threatened him with the sword while running to help his companion. He took off his hood, cloth and that's when Caspian also felt him faint.

The warrior was a girl.

You opened your eyes and observed a beautiful field, one that definitely did not belong to the forest of Narnia in which you lived.

You were dreaming or, rather, remembering.

You looked at your clothes, smaller than you expected, and you knew what I remember it was. Actually, a very special one.

"Y/N!” somebody screamed behind you, with joy. When you turned, you saw a long-haired teenager running in your direction with a huge smile. “I found you! You're terrible at this game, if you don't mind me saying so" he murmured, smiling more as he stood in front of you. “What's the matter?”

"Caspian" you whispered gently. Despite the years you couldn't help but remember even a single detail of his face. His pale skin, his black hair up to his shoulders, his red lips and cheeks blushed by physical activity. You sighed with relief and threw yourself into his arms, feeling his scent. It smelled like gardenias and linen.

"Hey, I'm not going to forgive you, this victory no matter how mellow you are, you understand?” he said funny, but you didn't seem to want to say anything. You just wanted to hold on to him, you wanted to feel it close to you as much as possible.

At that point, after reliving so many times that moment, you no longer knew it was real and that it was a lie as to words, but the sensations never changed.

"Never leave me" you asked with a lump in your throat, feeling his hands sneak down your back until he held your waist

"Why would I?” he asked gently, near your ear.

"Just promise me, will you?" you whispered. You separated a little from him and both came face to face, with your noses barely rubbing. “Promise it.”

"Sure, I promise" he gasped. The words that came out of his mouth no longer mattered, but the feeling of your breath against his. “But again, why do you think I'd leave?”

"Because you already did" you murmured short, holding back tears.

"What do you mean...?”

"Kiss me" you demanded, taking the cloth from his shirt. You were a little aware that you had both kissed in that meadow when you were younger, but you weren't so sure it was exactly after you told him I'd abandoned you because you weren't even close to knowing it.

"What do you say?” Caspian asked in a trembling voice, but paying a little more attention to your lips. Without wasting time you pulled it a little towards you, feeling his breath get stuck in his throat.

You felt him respond to the kiss for a second, his lips velvety in contrast to yours, but the next second you opened your eyes and he was gone.

You were no longer in the beautiful meadow where your first kiss happened. You were in the woods, at night, alone.

You called him, yelled his name, but he never answered. You started crying and took a couple of steps just to bump into something heavy.

It was a lifeless body. He was...

"Caspian!” you screamed discouraged, waking up from the fading you had experienced.

When your eyes clear, you realized your feet didn't touch the floor and a couple of arms held you carefully.

"I'm here, calm down" someone whispered, hugging you more against him. When you saw the young man holding you, you let out a high-pitched cry and from the impression he dropped you against the moss on the floor. “Y/N! Are you ok? Did you hurt yourself?”

"You're not real!” you said raising your voice, sticking your back against a nearby tree. “You're not... you... Caspian is dead," you murmured frightenedly, watching the man squat and approaching with the intention of reassuring you a little.

"It's not like that, look at me. I'm here" he said kindly, holding one of your hands. “Come, feel my heart” carefully placed your hand, small compared to his, on the left side of his chest. “It's beating. I'm real, I'm here" he repeated, worried about your expression of terror.

"He told me you were dead.”

"I was told that you...” and he was silent, unable to complete the sentence. He never believed that lie, so he had never said it out loud. “How did you survive all this time?” He asked short.

"Do you know this telmarine?” Someone said beside him. You looked at the three creatures present and realized that Reepicheep was the one who had spoken.

"I..." you hesitated. What if it was all just another dream?

"She's a little shocked by the falls, give her space," trufflehunter said. You thanked internally for not having to answer questions.

"We have to go, we can't waste time" Nikabrik said now. You had a little trouble breathing.

"Can you walk?” Caspian asked, looking at you again. Damn, when was the last time you saw those bright eyes? now it seemed like an eternity. “Or I could charge you, if you like.”

"I can walk" you said quickly. You stood up and walked as far away from the man as possible, hoping that the emptiness in your stomach would also go away. Without waiting for an answer you started walking without a course and heard Caspian follow in your footsteps. Apparently your sword was no longer in place, but at a glance you noticed Caspian was wearing your belt.

"Where's my horse?" you asked worried. Caspian came over already took the opportunity to hold you by the waist.

"Calm down, he's fine" he said quietly, looking you in the eye again. “God, I can't take it anymore. Would it be too much trouble if we rested for a few minutes?” he asked the others, still holding you. “I want to talk to you alone," he continued, but now kinder.

"How do we know you're trustworthy?” Reepicheep asked, in an attempt to take care of his friend.

"It's all right. He's good, he'd never hurt me" you said in his direction to reassure him. And so it was, you couldn't blame Caspian for all the suffering you'd faced during those years. “I know a river near here, we can talk there" you said. Caspian nodded and let you go, waiting for you to guide him.

"Don't be late" Reepicheep warned, pointing the sword at you.

You started walking and Caspian followed you, both quietly for a few minutes. When you were far enough away, he came a little closer to you until his little finger grazed your hand. He wanted to take it, but he didn't have the courage to do it.

"So...”

"Why didn't you ever look for me?” you said by slowing down your footsteps, in your broken voice. “All this time I thought he was dead... I blamed myself for it, even did you ever look for me?”

"I did" he admitted. Now he did take your hand. “You don't know how long I've been touring every corner of the kingdom looking for you, but all in vain. I never imagined you'd be... well, here" he said. They were silent again until he asked. “Why did you say you blamed yourself? Why did you think I was dead in the first place?”

"Your uncle told me" you exclaimed tremblingly. “He found out about us. He said a woman like me would never be with her nephew. You were, you're an heir to the throne, and I'm just an ordinary girl. He forbade me to see you or swore I'd kill you. Days later he told me that you had received a letter that I never sent and also told me you were dead. That he'd blame me for it if I didn't run away from there. Your guards brought me here to die and... Reepicheep found me, then I met more Narnians and they welcomed me. They taught me everything I know and I in return began to protect the forest from the telmarines" you explained, looking down. “So many years thinking you were dead, Caspian. So many years I missed you and cried for you. I... God, I was just a kid when your uncle did that. If I'd known you were okay, I'd have looked for you" you finished, now you're in tears bathing your cheeks.

Caspian grabbed your chin and raised your face. He was crying too.

"My uncle told me you abandoned me. If it's any consolation, I never believed it. That's why I looked for you so long, because... I thought something very bad had happened to you. And I see I wasn't that wrong" he admitted followed by a sob.

When you saw he like this, you felt all the pain accumulated over those years bursting into you and breaking down in tears. Caspian hugged you against his chest and you cried together, expressing more in that embrace than with all the words of the world.

After a long time you felt a huge peace and even though you didn't know Caspian's reasons for being there, you didn't care anymore.

You didn't care because he was pursued by the guards or because it was in the hands of your friends. All you cared about was feeling his arms around you and the constant beat of his heart.

He was Caspian, after all, your Caspian.

"There's something I still don't believe, you know?” he began to say in a low tone.

"And what is it?” you also responded in a whisper, fearing altering the peace that surrounded them.

"You're better at riding and with the sword than I am. I don't know if I should be afraid for my life" he joked and forced you to smile broadly.

And then, no place for a smile came laughter of jubilation. Caspian didn't get it, but his chest swelled with love when he heard your laughter again.

"Caspian for God's sake you are alive! You're here with me... Are you ok. I didn't kill you.”

"Kill me? You are crazy?” he asked, worried, hunching a little to keep up with you. “You said it about me: ‘he would never hurt me’ And now I'm telling you; I know you could never hurt me in any way in life. On the contrary, you are the happiness that was taken from me and that I longed for. Here you are, in front of me and I can finally tell you that I loved you every day of your absence. There wasn't a single day when he didn't expect to see you again” he carefully placed his hand on your cheek and admired your face for a moment. “You're beautiful, you haven't changed a bit. You're still the love of my life" he finally expressed, tears filling it up another little bit.

"Kiss me" you said in a whisper, taking the collar of his silk shirt as at some point, when they were younger, you did.

Caspian wasted no time and took you by the waist to lift you up a little, forcing you to tangle your legs in his hip. He was very strong now, because with one hand you held by the thighs and with the other it caressed your cheek, unsure if your skin really felt as usual.

And finally, he kissed you.

He walked a few steps until your back collided with the trunk of a tree and he continued to kiss longer than you would have expected.

This time, when you opened your eyes, you saw a Caspian completely in love and with bright eyes full of life.

You weren't alone in the woods anymore. Now you finally had him.

[wanderinginksplot]

Warriors in Red Armor

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Chapter Four

Nora I

Nora was in one of the nicer cells. She didn't like to brag, but she had been arrested often enough to know the difference. And she had the cell to herself, which was new and different. Normally, the Corrie Guard shoved as many beings into each cell as they could manage without crushing anyone.

Soon enough, some of the more violent members of Clone Rights filled the surrounding cells. Even then, Nora's cell remained single-occupancy.

"You gonna get us outta this one, Czajak?" a male Bothan named Esk Meh'reer asked through the transparisteel barrier.

"Of course, Meh'reer," Nora said with a scoff. "We didn't even do anything. This one'll be easier than any of the other times."

"Well, you didn't do anything," Meh'reer told her with a grin. "We may have defaced some property after we saw you get arrested. Nothing too bad, though. Just tore down some signs. Oh, actually, I'm pretty sure Gadi threw a bench."

Nora rolled her eyes at the mention of the exuberant Lasat. "Gadi always throws something. I think she cares more about throwing stuff around than she does about getting rights for clones, but at least she's on our side."

"Hey, our cells share a wall!" Gadi cheered, pushing herself out of the crowd as if she had been summoned. "Want me to see if I can throw this bed?"

"Probably not, Gadi," Nora discouraged. "It'll be a lot harder to fight the charges if we start breaking things inside of the precinct."

"Aw, you'll be able to get us out of it," Gadi told her. "You're the best lawyer on Coruscant!"

Nora chuckled and shook her head, choosing not to tell her fellow protesters that she may not be a lawyer much longer if she kept doing this. Her boss had already threatened to demote her after he had found out about her work. Was it a bad thing that she had a tendency to defend protesters pro bono?

"Nora Czajak," a clone trooper announced, opening the door to Nora's cell. "You're being charged, come with me."

Surprise made Nora slow. The charges were almost never filed this quickly. She had been arrested less than twelve hours ago! Still, the sooner she knew how bad things were going to be, the sooner she could start forming a defense for herself and the others. Gamely, she rose and followed the trooper, admiring his red-accented armor as she went.

When she stepped from the room, cheers erupted from the surrounding cells.

"Go, Nora!"

"Give 'em hell!"

"Pinch that guy's ass while you're in there!"

"Gadi…" Nora sighed to fight back a chuckle. The temptation to laugh grew worse when she turned and found that the trooper had stopped and was staring at her. She couldn't see through his helmet, obviously, but she would have bet that he looked less than thrilled. With her most professional lawyer smile, she said, "Following you, sir."

He shook his head a little bit and kept walking. They passed another red-accented trooper as they walked, and he leaned in a bit to place his helmet's speakers next to Nora's ear. "If you pinch Thorn's shebs, I'll transfer you twenty credits."

"Will that be worth the jail time for harassment, though?" she asked with a conspiratorial grin.

He shrugged. "It would be for me."

"Thire, leave her alone," her escort - presumably Thorn - ordered. "I have to take her to see Stone."

Stone was one of Nora's favorite troopers, and she didn't even need Thorn's guidance to find her way to his office. Thorn gave a polite knock on the door. "Nora Czajak for you, Commander."

"Stone! How are you? Did you redecorate the office?" Nora asked, breezing into the office like it was her own.

Stone blinked at her. "Of course I didn't redecorate. When would I have redecorated? You were here last week."

"That is a difficult point to argue," she conceded.

"I'm sure you'll figure out a way," Stone said dryly. "Thank you, Commander Thorn."

As soon as Thorn had left, Nora crossed her legs comfortably and leaned forward to stare at Stone. "So, what's it going to be this time, Commander? A fine, some jail time..?"

"Neither," Stone told her shortly, crossing his arms over his chest. It would have looked more natural if he weren't in full armor - minus the helmet - but Nora had to admit that there was something intimidating about the dull crack of plastoid meeting plastoid. "Command has decided that fines don't seem to work for you. And every time you spend more than a few days in jail, you come out with more violent followers for your Clone Rights group. Then those followers trash the city even worse in your next demonstration. It's a vicious cycle."

"Mm, such a conundrum," Nora agreed. "What's the solution, Stone?"

"Community service."

Now, it was Nora's turn to blink in confusion. "Community service? My sentence is community service?"

"Yeah, a hundred hours of it," he said, shaking his head a bit.

"And- what about the others? What are they getting sentenced to?"

"Community service," Stone repeated, sounding almost as confused as she was. "All of the demonstrators we arrested are serving time. Not as much as you, but it'll all be community service."

Nora opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Stone, this is stupid. What is going on? Community service is for parking violations and cursing at shop-keepers. You have us dead to rights on destruction of property, disturbing the peace, and intention to incite a riot. What are you doing?"

"Are you asking for a harsher punishment?" Stone asked with a twinkle in his brown eyes.

"Of course not!" she snapped. "It's just suspicious. Since when does the Coruscant Guard let violations like this slide?"

"Since today," he said with a shrug. "Orders straight from Head Commander Fox himself."

"Head Commander Fox?" Nora asked, distracted by the mention of the clone trooper she had met the previous night. He had been willing to debate her in a cruiser on the way back to the precinct. His method of forming an argument had been clumsy, but his points had been valid. It was a welcome distraction from the unpleasantness of the march's end. And here she was, finding out that Fox was actually the commander in charge of the other commanders. "What was a Head Commander of the GAR doing babysitting a Clone Rights march?"

"Maybe he wanted to come see your model behavior first-hand," Stone told her sarcastically. At Nora's sharp look, he relented. "Fine. Commander Fox doesn't pass duties along. He does everything he asks his men to do. That includes supervising marches, pulling patrols, and booking troublemakers."

Ignoring the pointed implication that she was a troublemaker, Nora changed the subject. "Who is going to be supervising my community service hours?"

"That'll be…" Stone consulted a page in front of him before answering - though how he found a single piece of flimsi in the disaster zone that was his desk was beyond Nora. "Trooper Beam. He's in charge of community service efforts. Poor evaar is gonna have his work cut out for him, supervising your protesters."

"That has to be about seventy people," she argued. "One trooper can't supervise all of us."

"That's his job," Stone said with a shrug.

Nora leaned back, lost in thought. "You know, it would be terrible of me to expect one trooper to supervise all of the arrested Clone Rights members and all one-hundred hours of my own community service. I should really request to be assigned to another Coruscant Guard trooper."

"Who were you thinking?" Stone's voice was filled with wariness.

Nora peered thoughtfully around the room. The morning sunlight didn't even reach this part of Coruscant. Instead, the light from a nearby holo-ad provided the only outside light in the commander's office.

When she felt Stone staring at her impatiently, Nora smirked and answered, "Why, Head Commander Fox, of course."

---

Fox II

It had been a long night, and it promised to be an even longer day. Fox was already on his second set of stims, and he still had an estimated twenty hours before he could think about collapsing in his quarters.

At that particular moment, he was talking to Sergeant Hound about some woman the sergeant was processing. He was trying, anyway. Fox's attention was far away. Part of him was trying to calculate how long it had been since he had last slept while the rest of him was trying to calculate how long he had until he could sleep again.

"So, what do you think, Commander?" Hound asked, bringing Fox's attention back to him.

"You know I trust you, Hound," Fox told the trooper, patting him on the shoulder. "Do what you think is best."

"Really? Thank you, sir!" Hound said, face brightening.

Briefly wondering what he had just agreed to, Fox turned away and was immediately met with Commander Stone beckoning him over.

"Sir, I need you to come speak with the woman I'm sentencing."

"You know you're the one in charge of sentencing, Commander Stone," Fox reminded.

"I know, sir, but she's requesting that you oversee her community service personally," Stone told him.

Fox's brows lifted before he could stop the expression. "And that is Trooper Beam's area." Honestly, what was the point of dividing the Coruscant Guard into departments if everyone was going to ask him to do their job anyway?

"Yes, sir, but…" Stone sighed, looking more defeated than Fox had ever seen him. "Can you please come tell her that? She won't take my refusal as a proper answer."

Fox shook his head, but started for Stone's office. "Who is this woman?"

"Nora Czajak."

"Kriff, no," Fox refused before he could think better of it.

"You're lucky I'm not easily offended, Head Commander," Czajak said, appearing in the doorway of Stone's office.

"I won't oversee your community service," Fox snapped.

"Maybe you should step inside, Commander," Stone wearily advised. "She has a full argument ready."

Well, he could at least hear her out. Fox entered Stone's office, immediately feeling as though a trap had been sprung when the other commander shut the door - with himself on the outside. Fox cracked the door open enough to peer out. "Stone, aren't you coming?"

"Kriff, no, Commander," Stone denied. "I'm going to get some caf and maybe some alcohol. Good luck."

When Fox turned back around, he found that Nora had seated herself in Stone's chair behind the Commander's desk. Everything was a power game for her. Since he refused to give her the satisfaction of asking her to leave the seat, Fox walked to the transparisteel window beside her. He peered outside, as if an advertisement for nerf steaks was the most interesting thing he had seen all day.

"I still won't oversee your community service," Fox's tone was blunt.

"You look like hell," Czajak's tone was also blunt, and he almost turned to look at her, but caught himself in time. "Don't you sleep?"

Even the mention of sleep was enough to make his eyes burn. "I'm a busy man, Czajak. Too busy for sleep and too busy to supervise community service hours."

"Maybe you should sit down before you fall down, Commander."

He scoffed, still staring out of the window. "I don't need your pity."

A moment later, a hard bump against the back of his knees had Fox falling backward into a chair he vaguely recognized as the one that sat behind Stone's desk. Czajak stepped around him, shaking her head, and sat down in a guest chair. Fox frowned. She had given up a position of power, the implied high ground in this office.

"I think you should be the one to oversee my community service," she started.

"I disagree," Fox countered.

"You are the one who decided that community service was the right answer for members of Clone Rights who were arrested, yes?" He nodded, already searching for the trap in her question. "How is it fair for you to put that much work on your trooper in charge of overseeing it? He didn't ask for so much responsibility."

Why was this woman always fighting to infantilize him and his brothers? "I assure you, Beam is fully capable of withstanding the stress."

"Well, I would hate to put him in such a bad position," Czajak mused. "I probably would feel so guilty that I would skip all my community service appointments."

"Then you'll be arrested for failure to appear."

"And I'll be sentenced to jail time, in which I will gain more followers," she said with a satisfied smile. "That's the fear, correct?"

Kriffing Stone and his running mouth. Fox gritted his teeth. "If you fail to appear for appointments, I will take the appropriate measures to ensure that you pay your debt to society."

"I'm sure you would," Czajak agreed easily. Too easily. "However, would it not be more simple to agree to oversee my community service yourself? We could avoid all of the unpleasantness for the low price of one-hundred hours of your time."

"You couldn't afford that low price," Fox snorted.

Czajak's eyes glinted in amusement. "How about this, then? Your men rave about your leadership and how you never ask them to do anything you wouldn't be willing to do yourself. I know most of your men consider me to be the worst of the worst. I received the highest number of required community service hours. By taking on the responsibility of… well, of me, you would be proving that your willingness to do all aspects of the job is true in every situation."

Fox's head ached as he tried to find a way of refuting her point. It was a solid argument and she knew it from the way she was smiling at him. He suddenly understood why Commander Stone had refused to come to this part of the meeting.

"Fine," he ground out, voice low and harsh. "I'll oversee your community service. I don't know why you're being so insistent about it, but it won't be fun. You'll show up when and where I tell you, and stay as long as I deem fit. And if I hear a single complaint from you, I'll toss you in a cell, new followers be karked. Understood?"

"Perfectly, Commander," Czajak agreed. She was all demure compliance now that she had gotten her way. "Please notify me with the details of our first meeting."

"Consider yourself dismissed," Fox growled at her.

Czajak winked and rose to leave. As she opened the door, Fox heard Chase say, "Ouch! That one pinched me!"

"We talked about this, Gadi!" Nora lectured, leaving Stone's door to close behind her.

Fox rubbed at the lines between his brows. For his own sake, he took a moment to breathe before he had to go deal with whatever that was about.

---

Ransom I

"Okay, the Commander said I was cleared to deal with you as I see fit."

The sentence may have been worded as a threat, but Ransom could sense no malice in the trooper's tone. It didn't matter either way. She had been arrested too many times to count. There was nothing this pleasant-faced officer could do that would frighten her. Well, short of throwing her to his massiff. Even then, she was certain that she would do a great deal of damage before it could take her down.

"Whoa, what's with that face?" he asked, and Ransom immediately smoothed her expression.

"Just waiting for this to be over."

"I also treasure our time together," he smiled, reaching out a hand as if to pat her on the arm. Ransom was a comical distance away, seated on the other side of a wide desk, and she raised one eyebrow in his direction.

"Good news is that I think I've finally located your file," he said, not deterred by her lack of response. He hadn't been all day, actually. Ransom wasn't willing to work with him at all. She believed that he shouldn't need to read through a history of her life to know that the alterations to her cybernetics were illegal and needed to be removed or licensed. Instead, the trooper - who had cheerfully introduced himself several times as Sergeant Hound - had used a biometric scan to track her file.

"Ransom," Hound read from the display. He stared at her for a long moment, dark brows furrowed. "Your name is Ransom?"

"Your name is Hound," she fired back immediately. "Are you sure you want to start this fight?"

"Yeah, but most civvies have a last name."

"Why would I need a last name?" Ransom asked with a frown. "To keep from being confused with all of the other cybernetically-altered Coruscanti women named Ransom?"

"...That's true," Hound conceded. He turned his attention back to the screen and Ransom tensed a bit at what he would find. She braced herself for any number of unpleasant responses. In the past, she had seen everything from pity to awe to disgust, but he simply scanned through the documents - she had a lot of them - and nodded. "Well, you're being charged with disturbing the peace, but that isn't worth jail time or any significant fine. The Head Commander has been on a real community service kick lately, so we'll get you signed up for some of that."

"I'd rather take the jail time," Ransom spat out.

"No you wouldn't," Hound said seriously. "The jail is rough. Full of unsavory characters, terrible food, bad lighting. Plus, your job wouldn't take too kindly to you spending time in jail. None of them ever do. Don't you want to keep working at…" he checked the screen again, "...Red Squad?"

"Red Squad wouldn't fire me for being in jail," Ransom assured him.

"You can't know that for sure," Hound argued. "Trust me, community service is the better way to go."

"I do know for sure, actually," Ransom argued, unsure of why she was pressing the issue.

"Why, you sleeping with the boss or something?" he asked, tossing the datapad to land on the desk's surface.

Ransom smirked a bit at that. "Only in the occasional dry season. I am the boss. Owner, actually. I run Red Squad."

Hound laughed at that, and it was such a rich, cheerful sound that Ransom almost didn't mind that he was laughing at her. Almost.

"Your name is Ransom, no last name, and you own and run a business called 'Red Squad'. Are you secretly a clone trooper?"

"If I ran a squad, wouldn't that mean I outranked you?" Ransom fired back.

"Probably," he said, seeming unconcerned. "It would make you a captain, at least."

"Well, I already have a better-regulation haircut than you," she tried again. She had yet to see a member of the GAR rise to the bait about ranks - particularly the implication that a civilian outranked them - but clone troopers were notoriously fastidious about their appearance.

Hound raked a hand through his too-long hair and grinned at her. "Yeah, it's been a while since I visited the barber. Is my hair distracting you?"

"Hardly," Ransom snorted, pressing away the spark that had lit her belly at his waggling eyebrows.

"Good, then let's talk about your community service," he said. "Normally, you would be in the care of Trooper Beam, but he's recently experienced a flood of requests. I have it on good authority that he has some three thousand hours of community service to oversee after today, so I'll take care of supervising your hours. I'm thinking forty should be more than enough for something as minor as disturbing the peace. Give me your comlink information and I'll contact you for scheduling."

Ransom felt her eyes fly wide before she could bite back the response. "No."

"No?" Hound asked with a pouty sort of frown.

"You're an ARF trooper," she tried again.

Hound beamed warmly at her. "Great job! The average civilian doesn't even know what an ARF trooper is, let alone how to recognize one."

"I'm not an average civilian," Ransom told him, the response flat. "But my point is that you're an ARF. I don't want to do any community service that has to do with massiffs."

His dark eyes softened and warmed with understanding, and Ransom hated it. She didn't want - didn't need - anyone's pity. In her irritation, she lashed out. "So throw me in jail if you want to, bucket head, but I refuse to work with those beasts."

"Hey, I get it," he sympathized, face still kind. Ransom wanted to put her fist through it.

"No, you really don't," she snarled. "I'll-"

"Everything okay in here?" another trooper asked, ducking into the small office.

"Yeah, just chatting," Hound said easily, as if Ransom hadn't been in the middle of threatening him. "What are you up to, Stone?"

"Head Commander's in my office with the Czajak woman," he explained. "I needed to lie low."

"Makes sense to me," Hound gave a sympathetic grimace. "Ransom and I are going over community service options. You're usually in charge of bookings. Care to explain the process?"

"Oh, uh…" Stone hesitated. Ransom would bet that he hadn't expected Hound to actually need help. "We try to match civilians with their skills and interests."

"So you wouldn't force someone to work with an animal they have a strong dislike towards?" Ransom asked sharply, full of skepticism.

"Absolutely not," Stone answered with finality. "And if you mean the massiffs, a lot of civvies are uncomfortable around them. They're not even an option for community service, so there's no worry about that."

"Thank you, Stone!" Hound said, voice cheerful. Looking more than a bit confused, Stone gave a short nod and left. "Feel better?"

"If you knew working with massiffs wasn't an option, why didn't you tell me that?" Ransom crossed her arms over her chest.

"It seemed like you weren't really interested in listening to me," he said with a shrug.

"So you won't need my comlink information after all," she summarized.

"Now, no one said that," Hound hedged. "I can still supervise your community service."

"How?"

"Hey, I do other work around here!" he said, clearly defensive. "I can trade shifts around, pick up some duties cleaning streets or… working with- um, old people..?"

"I think I'll pass," Ransom told him with a snort.

"Suit yourself," Hound shrugged. "In that case, I'll still be the one supervising the licensing process for those cybernetic alterations."

Ransom was ready to argue, but something about the look in his eyes warned that he wouldn't give in so easily. Telling herself she would get a new frequency as soon as she was done registering the alterations, Ransom gave Hound the information he needed. She couldn't leave the precinct soon enough.

---

A/N - There! A full chapter without one Hound POV! Are you proud of me? I'm proud of me. And with this chapter, we've set up all of our couples! Though I might end up having to make a one-shot or side fic with Stone since I love him. This is also one of the longer chapters of this story, so congrats for getting through it!

[ifishouldvanish]

To Be Found (1/6)

An aromantic and asexual character study of Rumplestiltskin for @needcanonasexualcharacters

PART ONE: MILAH

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Rumple navigates being in a loveless marriage of convenience. RATING: T WORDS: 1,969  [ Read on AO3 ]

“How is this?” Milah asked, holding out a length of the yarn she’d been working on.

Rumplestiltskin looked at his wife and smiled. “You’re getting much better.” He said, sitting beside her at the wheel. “You see how smooth it is?” He explained, tracing a finger along the thread. “You’ve a few lumps, but I can tell you’re getting your tension down, and that’ll only improve with more practice.”

She pressed sheer lips into a thin line for a moment, her eyes outside the window of the hovel. “Is it good enough to sell at the market, do you think?”

He inspected her work more closely and nodded. “Aye. I believe it passes muster.” Her eyes darted back to the yarn and a little smile crept across her face. Rumplestiltskin watched on as she began working the wheel again, seeming a little more sure of herself this time.

This was easy. He enjoyed it, even– sharing his craft and talent with another person, teaching and passing it on to them. Living in the shadow of his father’s reputation didn’t leave Rumplestiltskin with many things to feel proud of– but he was a gifted spinner, and in this area alone he could feel content with himself.

He knew their marriage was merely a thing of necessity– but they all were, weren't they? The women in his village needed husbands to provide for them, the men needed wives to rear their children– children who in the end would care for them both as they grew old and weak.

After the news of their marriage had circulated throughout their small village, Rumplestiltskin had come to find that people treated him differently. Less the outcast, more the welcome member of society. He blended in, the neighbors greeted him with polite smiles instead of scowls, he was invited to games of cards when he stopped by the tavern. In this capacity, he enjoyed the role of husband. It made him feel useful, wanted, valid, and with purpose.

He didn’t care for the comments some of the other men made about Milah and his marriage bed, but he quickly learned to brush them off by feigning agreement with a chuckle and a nod. It was in this capacity that his role as husband felt like a weight on his chest. Something that smothered and gnawed at him.

To not marry was to die poor and alone.

That was the mantra he had repeated to himself from the moment Milah’s father introduced the two of them. No one wanted their daughter to marry the village coward– and while it hurt to be cast out as such, Rumplestiltskin found a certain comfort in it the knowledge that it was a repellant. People couldn’t leave him, give up on him, reject him as his father had, if they never bothered with him in the first place. However, as time went on– as he saw the younger people in his village being paired off– he knew a life by himself wasn’t sustainable. At least, not in this world. And so when the opportunity to court a woman presented itself, he told himself he had to take it.

He supposed Milah was an attractive enough woman, with her raven hair and blue eyes. But to his relief, she seemed about as enthusiastic about the match as he was. She smiled at the appropriate times, behaved the way a betrothed woman ought to, but otherwise, she kept her distance from him. He knew she didn’t care for him– marriages in their village weren’t about something as frivolous as love and passion, after all– and the fact comforted him in the same way that his reputation did. It was like a shield, a thick blanket, something that protected him and made him feel safe.

Despite that knowledge, the week leading up to their wedding, Rumplestiltskin hadn’t slept. He’d tossed and turned, visions of their wedding night clutching his heart in a vice grip, leaving him hands cold and clammy and his nerves tightly wound.

To not marry was to die poor and alone .

He’d fulfil his role as husband, and with any luck, Milah would be with child and he’d be spared from having to repeat the act for the foreseeable future. Few were the men in his village who hadn't made some comments to him about the thrill of bedding one's wife, but to Rumplestiltskin, the thought loomed over him, clouding his thoughts and casting a shadow over his days. It seemed more like a chore he just wanted to get over with.

Perhaps you might enjoy it after all, he’d dared to hope.

And so on their wedding night, he’d played the part– his body a willing enough participant despite the apathy in his spirit.

He wasn't sure what he had expected, but he'd felt ill afterward. Not with a cough, or an ache, or a rash– but with a dry mouth, continued sleeplessness, and the constant replaying of the night's events in his mind's eye. He'd avoided Milah for weeks, unable to stomach the sight of her, and felt a unique sort of contempt for his own anatomy whenever he dressed, or bathed, or used the chamber pot. He supposed it was well enough though, as she seemed to keep her distance as well. Perhaps it was normal.

It was the spinning wheel that ended the stalemate. It was his duty to teach her, and she proved to be a fast learner. It was easy to ignore the distance he was putting between them when he was preoccupied with demonstrating the proper way to tease and comb the wool. Over time, he could muster a fondness– an affection, almost– for the way she furrowed her brows as she plucked bits of grass and debris out of the wool, or the sharp exhale she did when she’d lose her momentum at the wheel, causing the thread to snap or become lumpy.

She was determined to learn and be good at something, and he admired that about her.

“I think I do better if I feed it in like this,” Milah said, pulling back on the wool with her right hand, rather than nudging it toward the orifice with her left. It wasn't the way he handled the wool himself, but her movements seemed far more fluid and graceful now than they did when she handled it the way he had taught her.

Rumplestiltskin nodded. “Aye. Whatever works best for you.”

“I think–” she glanced up at him and that was all it took for her to lose her rhythm. “God dammit!”

He winced and darted his eyes back toward the bobbin, where the thread had snapped. The fifth time today.

“I can't do this.” Milah sighed, slouching her shoulders and dropping the wool into her lap. “Not like you.”

Rumplestiltskin stared at her blankly for a moment, the corners of his mouth pinched as he thought what to say to her. In truth, she was probably right. The chances of her ever being as proficient as he was were slim, but he did still believe she could get good enough.

“You can't sell this.” She said. “I'm just wasting all of your wool.” She made an exasperated gesture at the bobbin and rolled her eyes. “Look at it– it’s rubbish!’

He looked and frowned. She'd been doing solid work, truly. But by now he knew her well enough to know how thin her patience was. How little it took for her to lose interest.

Whenever he grew discouraged as a boy, the spinsters who'd raised him would lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, or wrap him in a hug. Plant a kiss on the crown of his head to let him know that it was okay. But in this context, the context of husband and wife, those gestures came with an added sentiment he didn't want to express, for he felt an inexplicable aversion to where they might lead.

He cleared his throat. “No, no. You're doing quite well.” He said. “You've much improved. Just... try to stay focused on the wheel. It'll be some time before you're able to carry a conversation and spin at the same time. Go on, try again.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay,” she exhaled, starting to feed the wool through again. She struggled to get it started– as she often did– and with each failed attempt, her movements became more hasty and erratic.

Let's take a break. The words were on the tip of his tongue as he watched her grow more and more frustrated. But this– spinning– was the only time he felt useful, the only time things between them felt somewhat right. He hated to end their lessons on a low note, because it left Milah in a sour mood, if not a morose one– and he never knew how to behave around her or make it better.

He learned quickly, the sort of things she might expect after he comforted her– a kiss, an embrace, a coupling before bed– and he wished to avoid them. He wouldn't be in the mood, and he could tell her heart was never in it, anyway. He knew she didn't love him, and it vexed him that she continued to try. After all, shouldn't she be relieved that her husband didn't make any demands of her body? But instead, she seemed to take offense. That it was due to some fault he'd found in her.

He supposed he had to give her credit, however. She was playing her part, still committed to her role as spouse in all the areas that he shied away from. In this way, he considered her a far stronger person than he ever was. No one in this village married for love, yet he seemed to be the only one who couldn't play the part anyway.

“Let me–” he said, reaching for the wool on her hands so he could get the thread started for her.

“I just can't do it. I don't know why, but I can't–”

“Because you're getting impatient.” He said bitterly, beginning to feel frustrated himself. He took a deep breath, refusing to let his emotions get the better of him. “We can work on this part later. Just focus on spinning and getting your tension right.”

She rolled her eyes and took the wool back from him once he'd gotten the thread started. “Sorry.”

“It's no matter.” He said, getting up and putting on a tight-lipped smile. “I… I'll see if the next batch of wool is dry yet.”

“I checked it this morning.” She muttered. “It's still wet.”

“Oh?” He frowned, feeling his heart sink in his chest. “Well, i-it's a nice day out. The sun might've helped, ye know?”

She shook her head and shrugged before starting the wheel again. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He was relieved to find that the wool was, though not completely dry, dry enough for him to start teasing. He would have an excuse to get away from her until she found her concentration again. Then they'd wrap things up, and she'd be in a well enough mood by then that he wouldn't have to concern himself with making her feel better.

He often felt as though he was walking on eggshells with Milah. He wanted their marriage to work. Wanted a family, children. But certain things didn't come naturally to him, and he wasn't sure he even wanted them to. Whatever distance there was between them, he'd created himself. Any attempts she'd made to close that distance, he'd pulled away from.

Marriage wasn't about love and happiness, though. It was about necessity. Perhaps he only needed more time. Perhaps he still could learn. Because the alternative would be to die poor and alone.