#unidentified comms officer

[hamartia-grander]

Everyone: Mandalorian season 3 teaser!! February 2023 release date!! The drama!!!

Me: KATY O'BRIAN'S UNIDENTIFIED COMMS OFFICER SURVIVED

#This is the only thing I care about #That's a complete lie I also care about Bo-katan calling Din Grogu's father #I also also care about Bo-katan #Please don't do her dirty s3 #The Mandalorian #the mandalorian season 3 #Mandalorian #Din Djarin #Grogu #clan of two #clan mudhorn #Mandalorian season 3 #Mandalorian s3 #bo katan kryze #unidentified comms officer #Dr. Pershing #the armorer #Star wars #star wars the mandalorian #Star wars memes #The mandalorian memes

[2chijouu]

Thinking about post MW3 how ghost is coping with soap’s death by picking up the things he used to do,

Maybe he picks up drawing, buys himself a journal identical to soaps. It starts off shitty but he still does it anyways because soap would love each of his doodles- shitty or not,

Next he picks up coffee, everyone knows ghost hates coffee- despises it, the grimace on his face every time he takes a sip says it all but no one says a word about it,

One day, price finds him in his office sitting by his window, he’s asleep, price goes to wake him up but upon a closer look he sees that theres a worn out book in his lap, its soap’s favorite book.

They’re on a mission when things suddenly take a turn for the worst, theres an unidentified bomb and no one to defuse it, it was a simple recon mission, he’d been sent alone as usual, at first he finds the mission a little sketchy but stays at his post- however when he starts seeing cars rolling in, he reports back to price and goes in for a closer look even after price tells him not to.

After observing the cars from a distance, seeing them roll out immediately after delivering whatever packages they had to the seemingly empty warehouse, he waits a couple of minutes before moving in and checking around the perimeter , after deeming it clear he’s on comms with price telling him the situation, he can hear the hesitation in prices’ voice after giving him the go to check the supply that had been dropped off,

Shuffling through the boxes, he finds nothing but some wood work paraphernalia. Ghost lets out a deep exhale and raises his hand to his shoulder for his comm when his eye spots a box that he missed, when he opens the box and discovers its an active bomb with the timer running, he immediately informs price and springs into action,

Meanwhile price is informing laswell about the current situation and requesting an immediate exfil to which she denies and tells him he needs to disarm the bomb. He bristles with contempt at that and ends their call without any further delay,

Their intel had been lacking from the beginning, and he was not about to lose another member of his team- of his family, he is contacting nikolai when gaz comes into his office to inform him ghost is requesting him on the comms,

While price had been on his way to being discharged because of his impulsiveness and willingness to break multiple rules to get his man out of that situation, said man had simply told him that the bomb had been defused and that when can exfil arrive,

Astonished by the implication of that statement, he asked ghost how did he disarm it all by himself even though he didn’t have any demolition training, to which he was met with silence and then a quiet,

“with Johnny’s help..”

Price stood there with a stunned look on his face but quickly recovered and informed ghost that exfil is on its way.

When ghost lands back on base and exits the heli to see price and gaz waiting up for him, he walks up to them and says nothing, no one does for a bit until price lets out a deep sigh and puts his hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze,

“Good job out there, son.”

Gaz gives him a small smile and they all walk back towards their respective barracks and offices.

Ghost, freshened up after a shower, goes to the rec room to get something warm to drink and sees gaz there by the kitchen counter making himself a cuppa, ghost joins him and they’re both making their drinks in silence when gaz breaks it,

“We miss him too, you know?”

Ghost freezes but quickly recovers and gives him an answering hum before moving to the small kitchen table and sits on the chair, gaz joins him with a plate of biscuits and they both sit in silence.

Then ghost speaks,

“Bastard always liked to run his mouth whenever he was defusing a bomb, i picked it up after he..”

He couldn’t continue without his voice shaking but gaz knew so he didn’t say anything further.

They’re all trying to fill in the hole that has been left by him in some way or another.

You can’t fill a bottomless hole.

#cod modern warfare #call of duty #cod mwii #cod mw3 #ghost cod #simon rliey #simon ghost riley #john price #kyle gaz garrick #gaz #captain price #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #ghostsoap #ghoap #post mw3 #post cod mw3 #this got out of hand #angst #coping mechanism #idk where i went with this

[witchofthesouls]

The image of Tarn lying down with a flock of 6 multicolor bitties with as of yet unidentifiable kibble nibbins using comms to dictate his report to one of his team is an increasingly common sight. Bitties snoozing away happily at Tarn's Spark as his engine purrs at them.

Megatron once accidentally witnessed this. He took an image capture for "blackmail." One of the sleepy babys was nomming the mask. It was adorable.

Tarn guards his wriggling flock of tiny (to him), soft bodies with the intensity of a nesting dragon, and part of his hoard is his office chair that's extremely comfortable, absolutely durable, and can recline.

Tarn has a holo-screen and digital keyboard that can be manipulated to follow his gestures, so he already has a habit of doing his administrative duties in a reclined position.

Most of them settle down easily to nap upon the biolights, cozy and warm. However, the smaller ones can wiggle their entire bodies into the crook of his neck, so they get the direct thrum of his exposed cabling and the vibrations of his voice as well as the heat of his shoulder treads.

While Tarn can mute the peripheral noise and angle the screen just right to keep his torso out, any emergency meetings are treated to the sight of Tarn with two newsparks acting like little kittens nuzzling in a nook that's right in the very few gaps of his heavy armature that's beneath his chin, sleepily chewing on a toy.

Tarn can't get them out because it would cause a ruckus, so he pretends that there's nothing there and Megatron allows it.

#ask #bookandyarndragon #transformers #transformers idw #idw #mtmte #the donor clause au #tarn #bitlets #sparklings #parental relationship #maccadam #my writing #the blackmail would fail. tarn has a ridiculous amount of clips and shots in his wallet #as does the rest of the DJD because they're the only ones with newsparks in the faction and they fail at being normal over it

[263adder]

Displacement

Chapter 1: Wave Hello

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46882966/chapters/118096369

Summary: Only the other week it was Changelings and Admiral Picard with his Merry Men. Now there's an unidentifiable anomaly ahead and Captain Shaw is getting a headache.

Liam Shaw x Reader

Part One | Part Two

“Captain, the anomaly is expanding.” Ensign La Forge warned from the helm.

“Full shields.” Seven ordered.

“Tactical?” Shaw asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the monitor and the rapidly growing orb that had abruptly appeared in their path.

“Still assessing. The energy signature keeps fluctuating.”

“Put us on Red Alert.” Shaw said.

The lights around the bridge pulsated, warning everyone on board to head to their stations. After the departure of Picard and his merry men, the crew of the exploratory vessel had hoped for a return to normality yet that didn’t seem to be on the cards. Little time had passed since their last adventure and they appeared to be under attack again.

“Ready phasers.” Seven added, moving away from comms to take her seat beside him.

The orb shimmered and grew again, this time releasing an energy wave that crashed into the ship.

“Shields holding steady.” La Forge responded.

“Captain.” The acting science officer, Lieutenant Yana, called out. “I’ve picked up something. Whatever this is, there’s biological signs within. Reading as… human lifeforms. Multiple.”

“Open a channel.” Shaw said. “This is Captain Shaw of the USS Titan. Does anyone copy? Are you in distress or in need of assistance?”

“No response, sir.”

“Hail again.”

Another wave, accompanied by a blinding light that dazed the crew for a split second. It faded, the orb still before them.

“No response.”

“Shields still holding.”

“We’re being hit with massive displacement waves, Captain.” Yana warned.

The shock wave and light lasted longer this time.

“Shields are still up, but something is transporting aboard. I can’t block it, or get a lock on to redirect it away from us.”

“Biological?” Seven asked.

“Yes, Commander. One human lifeform. It’s being transported to… Deck 8.”

Seven, along with a security detail, head for the coordinates.

“Lieutenant, launch a probe. Let’s see what this thing is.” Shaw orders. “Helm, move us away from the anomaly. Nice and steady.”

“Aye, Captain.”

As the ship reversed, another wave, another flash then nothing lay before them except the dark, unforgiving recess of deep space. The bridge lay silent for a moment, everyone waiting to see if it would return but it appeared they were once again alone on the fringes of Federation territory.

“Captain, the anomaly has vanished.”

“I can see that Lieutenant.” Shaw replied dryly, tapping his communicator. “Shaw to Commander Seven. Report?”

“Unresponsive human female, unarmed. En route to sickbay.”

“Acknowledged, I’ll meet you there. Ensign Esmar, send a report to Star Fleet Command with the coordinates of the anomaly, more details to follow.”

“Aye, sir.”

On his way into the turbo-lift, Shaw informed: “Lieutenant Mura, you have the bridge.”

*           *           *

Commander Seven of Nine waited for him by the medbay doors, her security team stationed outside, arms folded while the doctors worked around a figure on the bio-bed that she kept a trained eye on.

“The anomaly?”

“Vanished. Our latest visitor?” Shaw asked cautiously. Whatever it was couldn’t be worse than what they’d just faced. At least he hoped it wasn’t; Shaw was getting too old to survive a third trip to the medbay in one month.

“Human female. Unconscious with internal haemorrhaging and a fractured ulna in the right forearm. It looks like the injuries were incurred on arrival. The transporter beam dropped her down a service ladder.”

“Lieutenant Yana launched a probe. Check on her progress, see if it picked up any data before the anomaly vanished. I’ve sent word to Starfleet to plot the coordinates of the anomaly so other passing vessels are on alert.” Shaw said, glancing away from their visitor to catch a thoughtful expression on his First Officer’s face.

“Commander?”

“Yana said we were hit with displacement waves. When I worked under Admiral Janeway…”

Shaw rolled his eyes, he couldn’t resist. Just like Seven couldn’t resist a namedrop.

“…I was informed that the event which propelled them to the Delta Quadrant involved displacement waves. Lieutenant Wildman did a considerable amount of research on the matter during the expedition and after our return to the Alpha Quadrant, and how the phenomena related to the Nacene. I’ll tell Yana to consult her publications. The anomaly must have amassed significant power to penetrate our shields. It seems unlikely it could disappear so thoroughly. Perhaps there is a trail to follow.”

“You suggest we go after it?”

“It could be a danger to other vessels. And we don’t know whether the other lifeforms aboard are in danger.”

Shaw exhaled sharply through his nose.

“The day Starfleet sends through your new command can’t come soon enough.” He said wryly. “You can take another ship on these wild goose chases of yours and leave me in peace.”

Seven smirked. “Is that why you gave me a commendation?”

She got the commendation because she deserved it, but he said: “Absolutely.” With a sigh, he agreed to her plan. “Keep me updated. And downscale the security team outside. One unconscious woman probably doesn’t require an entire squadron.”

Turning his attention to the medical team, Shaw took a seat on an empty bed while he waited for a chance to speak to his new Chief Medical Officer. T’plokan was currently running a cortical scanner over her patient who Shaw got a better look at. There was no uniform, although that didn’t mean she wasn’t Starfleet. Her clothes were tattered, cut in places to access her injuries. Considering she had fallen down a Jefferies tube, however, she looked remarkably well. The work, no doubt, of the Titan’s first-class medical officers.

How this woman have been inside the anomaly? By all outward appearance it had no physical capacity to take on passengers. Perhaps it was a conduit, taking people from one location to another? And yet it had shown multiple lifeforms aboard. Where were those people now?

It was useless speculating, Shaw was an engineer by trade – not a science officer.

T’plokan addressed him when her scan was complete. “Captain.”

“Doctor.”

“We’ve reset the bone, and the haemorrhaging is under control. There is no brain damage detected, she should wake up naturally in her own time. There were some residual particle traces on her clothes; I’ve sent the details to Lieutenant Yana in case it can help identify how she got here.”

“Is she in Federation database?”

“No, there wasn’t any match on her DNA or fingerprints.”

“That’s a shame. But good work, Doctor. I’ll keep someone stationed outside in case there’s any trouble when she wakes up. Notify me if she does.”

Shaw should have suspected who Seven would place on sentry duty, almost walking into Commander Musiker when he left the medical bay. He regarded her with a suspicious eye.

“Has your transfer from Starfleet Intelligence been completed yet? I wasn’t aware you were on the roaster.”

“It’s only temporary, Captain. Security shift change. Someone will relieve me at 1500 hours.”

“Hmm. I’ll check that they have.”

“Aye, Captain.” Raffi replied, looking far too smug for his liking.

*           *           *

Yana’s initial report was waiting in his ready room. He was barely halfway through, making a few additions to it before he would forward it to Starfleet, when his communicator chirped.

“Shaw.” He answered.

“Captain.” Raffi replied calmly. “I think our guest is in need of a formal welcome.”

“Acknowledged. On my way.”

Their visitor had backed herself into a corner, holding a medical tray like a club. She swiped at an approaching Raffi who deftly dogged her. The patient winced, slumping back against the wall.

The doctor was waiting with Commander Seven, both giving the disorientated woman space to breathe. Only Raffi tried to approach, her hands raised to show she wasn’t a threat.

“I advise you not to make many sudden movements. You’re still healing.” T’plokan said.

“Just relax.” Raffi encouraged. “You’re in a hospital. We’re just trying to fix you up.”

“This doesn’t look like a hospital to me.”

Raffi followed up. “Are hospitals different where you’re from?”

“Busier. Louder.” She replied through gritted teeth. “What is this, private? Clinic? None of you are wearing scrubs. You don’t even have masks.”

“You’re aboard our ship, the USS Titan.” Raffi explained.

“I’m on a ship? That doesn’t make any sense.” She huffed, struggling to stay upright. There was pain radiating from her abdomen and her right arm was hanging uselessly by her side, too sore to move. “How did I get here?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that.” Shaw said, making himself known.

“Return to the bed.” The doctor requested. “I can administer pain relief.”

Shaking her head, the patient insisted: “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I wasn’t being insincere. We really were hoping you could tell us.” Shaw restated. “You’ve been an unexpected addition to our complement.”

“What do you remember, honey?” Raffi asked. “Where were you before you were here.”

“At home.”

“Where’s home?”

“London.”

The crew shared a look. “On Earth?” Raffi clarified.

“On… obviously on Earth. What does that even mean?”

One of the computer monitors chirped, getting T’plokan’s attention.

“You haven’t told me where I am.” The patient accused, her eyes shifting rapidly between them as if expecting someone to lunge. “I thought we were sharing here.”

“Excuse me.” Shaw said apologetically, matching the woman’s dry tone. “Welcome aboard the USS Titan. We are a Constitution III class exploratory vessel, under the operation of Starfleet. I am Captain Liam Shaw. This is my First Officer, Seven of Nine. This is Doctor T’plokan and Commander Musiker.”

He pointed them all out.

“You can just call me Raffi, honey. What’s your name?”

The patient’s eyes were now fixed on Shaw, trying to process the information he had just given her through the haze of pain and disorientation. She couldn’t process how one moment she had been perfectly fine and was now in a hospital, clearly injured. But some of his words had managed to perforate her addled mind.

“What’s Starfleet?”

T’plokan took them all by surprise, using the patient’s growing unsteadiness and their confusion at her question to grab a hypospray. She rounded a bio-bed and swiftly pressed it against their patient’s neck, catching her when she lost consciousness. The tray clattered to the floor and Raffi raced forward to help get the woman back on the bio-bed.

Once the patient was situated, a neural calliper affixed to monitor her brain activity, T’plokan addressed the commanding officers.

“Lieutenant Yana finished assessing the material I sent. The fibres from the patient’s clothing has been carbon dated at over 380 years old. It came from the twenty first century.”

Shaw groaned.

A few days of peace now he was being accosted by an unidentified anomaly and a time traveller. The universe must hate him.

Raffi and Seven turned to each other.

“I know the Temporal Prime Directive told us what we could and couldn’t do in the past, but is there a procedure for someone who has travelled forward in time?” Raffi wondered.

“It would explain her lack of knowledge about how she arrived here.” Seven said. “Perhaps, like the Nacene, this anomaly used displacement waves to travel through time rather than space?”

“Do you think it brought her to the future on purpose?”

Shaw interrupted their hypothesising, his head already pulsating with annoyance. What he wouldn’t give for one straightforward mission.

“Commander Seven, send a report to Starfleet Command. I’m sure there must be a protocol in place for this kind of eventuality. Doctor, how long will the patient remain under sedation?”

“I estimate five to six hours. Ample time for her internal injuries to finish healing.”

“Well then, let’s hope Starfleet get back to us by then or we’re in for another awkward conversation. Dismissed.

* * *

I couldn't resist calling the TNG cast Picard and his merry men, because I loved Qpid. This is my first Star Trek fic and I don't often write reader inserts/OCs so be kind 😅 And thanks to @mental-bycatch for the encouragement.

#captain liam shaw x reader #liam shaw x reader #captain liam shaw #star trek picard s3 #picard s3 #picard spoilers #post season 3 #no deaths here

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Find the Word Game XII

tagged by: @oh-no-another-idea my words: sleep, south, sword, saint, summer tagging: @drippingmoon, @drabbleitout, @pertinax–loculos, @druidx, @wildswrites, and music, just, in general your words: seek, combine, tell, number, sigh, cold

sleep (Eternal)—

"I'm a little nervous about the food," Warren admitted. "It was odd enough getting used to different cuisines in the Milky Way…"

"If you'll allow me," Thrive said in English to Lilori, translated by his suit, "I'd like to consult with those preparing the food to make sure everyone can eat the same things without dire consequences."

"Of course," Lilori said. "Let me take you to the kitchens. After your feast you may settle for the night if you would like."

Warren winced at the idea of sleeping—he didn't get very much of it since the incident with the Emmuli and he wasn't sure he'd be able to anytime soon. His eyes snapped to Thrive, who tossed him a look as though he knew what he was thinking and they'd talk about it later.

south(bound) (Meridian)—

"Dad!"

[Warren] whipped around at the sound of Ataneq's voice, and he spotted him trailing behind a line of security officers following the paramedic vehicle. He carried a handgun and wore a protective vest, as well as a helmet with glowing cyan HUD on the visor.

"You good?" Warren called out.

"Yeah," Ataneq said as the line moved closer. "What the hell is going on out there?"

"We were going to ask the same of you," Thrive said, hands flexing to eliminate the buzz from his shield. "Unidentified entities are running rampant through the main atrium."

"Not just there." Ataneq pointed in the direction of the southbound officers. "They're picking out important spots. The Centrum is being overrun, too, but the leaders are in lockdown and safe for now."

sword (Aurora)—

Thrive gave a sword a final twirl and his eyes found Warren across the battlefield. He cracked a wink before his form took on an abundance of height, his body thickening, blending in with ———, shifting with the wind and spinning like a deadly drill into the sky.

"Are you seeing this?!" Sig yelled into the comm. "Is anyone else seeing this?!"

Newfound confidence crashed into Warren. With a resolute glance, he and Guetry erupted from cover, charging forward to shoot Emmuli back into the thick of the fight. ——— swept through the biting lightning and the darkness, filling the air with sulfur and electricity.

Thrive plunged back to the ground in human form, using his swords as propellers, slinging them straight into an Emmuli column and breaking it up before it could turn into solid beings. He melted the metal into projectiles punching into the fray, homemade bullets ripping through smoke and mist, further dissolving and interacting with the shadows to form a tear in midair that swallowed a layer of dust off the ground.

saint soul (Eternal)—

Emnophene nodded and pressed the button. "...Fifteen...fourteen…"

Thrive turned back to the eliyi. "You have thirteen seconds to call for reinforcements."

"Filthy shakturak!" the eliyi screeched. "The annals of your people will soak with your blood!

"Eleven…" Emnophene said apprehensively.

"You are bluffing! You would not enact retribution on a generation free from culpability!"

Thrive angled his face so he could level the eliyi with a curious, baleful stare. "My oath has sworn me to protect the obhelians, whom your ancestors eradicated. It has sworn me to protect my wards, all of whom you've threatened to eliminate upon attacking our vessel." He stepped up to the viewscreen, lifting his head to look the eliyi right in its several, dripping eyes. "The naivete you must possess not to realize that I've given my soul over to exactly this."

"Eight...seven…"

After a beat, the Headmaster gestured to a Foremaster and within the blink of an eye, a line of several other dreadnoughts dropped out of FTL to reinforce the initial eliyi's ship.

"Well that fucking backfired," Guetry yelled.

Warren shook his head, glancing with wide eyes from the ships to Thrive, who remained unbothered at the viewscreen. "Yeah...I don't think it did..."

summer sun (Aurora)—

——— and other guests had seated themselves on plush poufs arranged in a semi-circle around the fire where Genni stood, patiently waiting for Warren to join her. She smiled as she stepped up to him.

"You ready?"

Warren nodded, taking a meditative breath and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Yeah. As ready as I can be."

She gestured to Lilori, who pulled from their pocketed sash a small horn. They blew into it once, a deep, vibrato note echoing across the falls.

A pair of R'lisian guards stepped out from behind a thick curtain of vines, pulling it apart. In doing so, they revealed Thrive, holding himself tall and confident under a heavy obhelian cloak, dyed the color of a setting sun—a gradient of blazing crimson pooled at his feet bleeding upward into warm amber and ending in a loose-fitting hood of sapphire draped over his golden hair and tucked around his shoulders. His eyes, sparkling as rays of light beamed down on him through the trees, met Warren's, and it was as if the oxygen was immediately sucked out of the air.

With each careful step Thrive took toward the fire, he trailed behind him more red fabric, inlaid with delicate silver and gold thread that caught the sunlight and shimmered like stars. He seemed more comfortable in that luscious fabric than any form suit he'd ever worn.

#tag game #find the word #sorry the last two were stretches lmao #also I am tired so forgive any errors

[metataxy]

Darth Maul post Order 66 fanfic, #17

After Order 66, Darth Maul accidentally acquires a child.  Spoiler alert, it’s Seventh Sister.

This isn’t going on AO3 until I finish and edit the shit out of it, but you can read what I’ve done so far here:

Maul 1, Maul 2, Dathomir 1, Maul 3, Dathomir 2, Maul 4, Dathomir 3 , Dathomir 4, Maul 5, Maul 6, Maul 7, Metane 1, Maul 8, Maul 9, Maul 10, Maul 11, Lothal 1, Seventh as a Nightsister

This is set after Maul 11.  

Warnings for this segment: MORE fighting between Maul and Ventress, amputation, people die.

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

<i>The Seeker</i> emerged from hyperspace a mere klic from a Venator.

Metane, propped atop the copilot’s chair, nearly dropped the blaster she’d been reassembling as a message came out of the staticky comm.

“Unidentified spacecraft, this is Imperial Star Destroyer <i>Peacemaker</i>.  Please state your vessel’s name and clearance codes.”

Maul blinked, thought fast, and prepared to lie as well as he ever had in this particular situation.  

“<i>Peacemaker</i>,” he affected a mid-Rim accent, softening his consonants, “this is Zeke Menuel of the trade vessel <i>Centennial</i>.  We’ve been on the Far Rim past few months.  We were raided by pirates and took some damage.” He tweaked the dial on the receptor—not enough to lose radio signal, but enough to introduce some static to his transmission.  “We need to set down, make repairs, maybe get some supplies.”

“Rough luck,” the officer sympathized, but Maul heard some murmuring in the background.  No doubt a supervisor providing instructions.  How unhelpful.  “<i>Centennial</i>” the communications officer repeated, more assertive now, “Identify your port of call?”

“Black Spire Outpost on Batuu,” Maul offered easily.  <i>Centennial</i> was a real vessel, one of several whose specs and records Maul had memorized in the two years since he’d regained his sanity.  The real <i>Centennial</i> belonged to a respectable trader in the Outer Rim who dealt mostly in exotics sourced from pre-industrial worlds in the Far Rim and Unknown Regions.  It wasn’t unlikely that the real Captain Menuel wouldn’t know about the regime change, given that his previous trade missions tended to last a year minimum.

More murmuring in the background.  Maul caught a few words—“ask him”—and scowled at the tedium.  Was he suffering this scrutiny because of a <i>training exercise</i>?

“<i>Centennial</i>, please state how many persons are aboard your vessel.”

“Just myself and my copilot,” he told them, glancing down at Metane.

A moment.  The Venator drifted closer.  “<i>Centennial</i>, our scans indicate another lifeform aboard your ship.”

He’d forgotten the trooper.

“Live cargo,” he demurred.  “An interesting zoological specimen I’m hoping to sell in the Core.”

Were the hangar bay doors opening on the underside of the Venator?  It was impossible to tell from this angle.

A flare of the magnetic field on his console screen was all the warning he had.  He juked the ship upwards, out of range of the tractor beam.

“<i>Unknown ship</i>,” came a familiar voice over the comm.  A clone.  “Imperial records indicate the <i>Centennial</i> was apprehended five days ago and its captain held for questioning.  This is your final chance to identify yourself.  Compliance will allow us greater leniency—”

Maul juked the ship out of the way of an ion beam that would have fried their circuits.  Somewhere in the ship, something clanged loose.  Metane gripped the armrests.  A flight of headhunters sped out from the ship like a cloud of hornets.  He hit the shields and, for not the first time, cursed the size of the Seeker.  A laser aimed to disable deflected off the rear shield as he made a run for the planet and the whole ship shook, the lights flickering widely.

He concentrated on the field outside.  He didn’t have strong enough premonitions to outfly most Jedi, but he could outfly most any non-Sensitives, even at these numbers, as long as he focused on the task at hand.  He wove and darted even as the faster snubfighters gained on them.  He pressed harder on the accelerator, even when his foot had it tight to the floor, as though he could Force the ship faster through sheer will.

“—we will presume guilt and open fire—”

The hit came, but not from where he’d expected.  

A blaster bolt took him in the shoulder.  He reeled back in his seat, the pilot’s yoke twisting with him.  A second laser hit the ship, sent it spinning so fast the gravity couldn’t hardly keep up, and that was the only reason the next bolts missed him.  Instead, they slammed into the console.  

For a moment, he didn’t know what had happened.  Then—

“JEDI!  THERE’S JEDI ON THIS SHIP, THEY KILLED EVERYONE, HELP—”

A surge of <i>agony</i> and <i>disbelief</i>.  Then, a blaster bolt in the cabin, and the trooper went quiet, just before they impacted a satellite too large for the shields to deflect.  The lights flickered, the hull screamed but held, and the blinding light as they burned through atmosphere lit up the cabin.  

The trooper lay prone against the wall, eye smoking.  His apprentice, shaking, dropped her gun.

“Crash restraints,” he ordered, hitting buttons, trying to bring some shields online.  The frontside shield was still active.  He pulled harder, harder, on the unresponsive yoke and finally closed his eyes and felt for the steering system and <i>pulled</i> it into alignment and barely soon enough.  The ship crashed front-first into a hill and the whole front hull finally buckled down and he blacked out of all of a second.

He opened his eyes to the red glow of the emergency lights and the smell of smoke.  He <i>felt</i> for the girl wildly.

She was fine.  She was fine and unbuckling her restraints and climbing over the back of her seat.  He unbuckled his restraints with hands trembling with adrenaline and tried to get up and couldn’t move, and why couldn’t he move?  

He couldn’t think why.  Black spots filled his vision.  Why couldn’t he think… 

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

Aboard the <i>Peacemaker</i>, the shiny natborn did his best to look unperturbed as the staticky transmission came through.  

“… THERE… SHIP!  … KILLED EVERYONE…!...”

More sounds of blasterfire, and then the transmission cut out.  The natborn’s white skin paled further.  “Pirates, sir?” the man asked him, swallowing.

Attachment, clone communications officer of the 234th Battalion and reluctant trainer to the shinies who’d been sent to replace brothers killed in the Jedi uprising, nodded.  “More than likely.  The brothers on the bridge will snag it with the tractor beam before it gets loose.”

They watched on screen as the cruiser clumsily dodged the tractor beams.

Attachment took out his holocomm and texted a message to his batchmate on the bridge.

<i> Vod, you drunk or something, a CADET could catch this ship </i>

The ship put on an impressive burst of speed, then careened out of control, hitting a few civilian vessels on the way down.  The explosion lit up the screens.

A moment later, his comm beeped.

<i> A cadet is better than these fucking shiny natborns.  </i>

And wasn’t that the truth, Attachment thought.  His comm officers weren’t bad, but they took forever to learn even the basics.  He supposed it was a necessary cost-cutting measure, since you could get requisition 20 natborns for the price of a vod.  If it had been up to him though, he’d have chosen quality over quantity.  

A second message.  <i> Not getting any readings from the surface.  Ground security and the planetary defence forces will check for survivors, but doesn’t seem likely.</i>

And that was the result of replacing professional soldiers with natborn civilians.  Three shiploads of innocent civilians and any hostages on the pirated vessel, all dead now.  He almost hoped they decommissioned whatever useless shinies on the bridge had fucked this up.  They weren’t his problem though.  He turned back to his own natborns.

“Now, at what point should Officer Kol here have realized something was wrong…?”

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

He started awake at the jab of something sharp.  He thrust out reflexively with fists and the Force.  An autoinjector slammed against the far wall and shattered.  His apprentice dodged his physical blows but the Force wave flung her aside, along with anything else in a two metre radius that hadn’t been secured. She <i>shrieked</i>, shoving her irritation down their bond, and Maul snarled at her return.  Sidious would have beat him for taking such liberties with their connection.

He wasn’t Sidious.

His heart raced and his thigh stung from the jab of the epi autoinjector, and the bruised little girl now glaring from across the cabin had just delivered on so many of his expectations.  

He glanced down at the bar of steel protruding from his upper chest and tore it free.  The bacta the girl had smeared around it itched as it tried to knit the wound.

The alarms in the ship blared louder.  He smelt fuel and burning plastic.  He didn’t need the Force to tell him of the danger.  If the fire caught the leaking fuel-lines, the whole ship would go up in fire.  He rushed to get up but didn’t.

The front console had caved in, pinning his legs.

No.  

He tried to move them, to twitch them just a little.  They didn’t even respond.  He reached out with the Force and his fury and shifted the console.  It buckled outwards, exposing the ruin of his prosthetics, unresponsive and broken beyond any use.  He breathed in his fury and desperation and tasted the acrid scent of Metane’s fear; turned, and saw her still there, staring at him in horror.

“Get OUT,” he snapped, flooding their open link with a fear channeled from the last moments of a hundred of his victims.  To his rage and pride, she held out long enough to throw him an absolutely disgusted look before bolting from the cabin.  

Good.  His apprentice could indulge rescuing him (or who or whatever else she wanted) if she survived to be canny or strong enough to overcome his attempts to dissuade her.  He threw the medkit over his shoulder and looked at his legs.

The limbs Mother Talzin had gifted him felt and functioned like extensions of his own body.  Their sensitivity to pressure and simulated sensation baffled the most advanced engineers.  For all that, they lacked certain features basic to mundane prosthetics, like a simple means of detachment.  Talzin, in her infinite wisdom, had somehow managed to graft the steel right into the stubs of his femurs.

Which meant there was only one way the damned things were coming off.

He tugged his saber loose from his belt and ignited it, hesitated, cursed Kenobi for his hesitation.  

He swung down midthigh.  

It burned just as badly as it had the first time, with his real limbs, when Kenobi had cut him. Curse him.  His vision blacked from the pain, before he channeled that energy into his flesh.  He stowed the lightsaber in his belt and clambered awkwardly from the chair on his hands and the stumps of his legs.

The Force blared in warning.  Smoke filtered up into the cabin.

Coughing on the fumes, he shuffled on his knuckles like an ape towards the side of the cabin and carved a hole through it with his lightsaber.  He knocked the side out with the Force, and abruptly, the fires came racing up behind him.

He leapt through the open hatch.

The ship exploded.

He shielded himself against the shrapnel and the fire and hit the ground rolling.  He tumbled down the burning slope of the hill.  He tried to pull himself up onto his knuckles and faltered. It hurt to breathe.

Sight darkening, he felt for his chest.

The bacta hadn’t completely closed the wound from the front.  It had to be worse from the back, where Metane wouldn’t have reached his shoulders flush to the pilot’s chair.  

He couldn’t feel his fingers.

He raged.  He could not die now.  Not here, in this backwater, at the guns of some faceless Imperial shooter.  Not when he had survived Kenobi and Lotho Minor, had survived Sidious again and again and again.  He would not die this way.  He would not.

But his vision darkened, darkened, until the last light left to him was the ungentle glow of Metane, burning with a rage that equalled his own.

And then, he saw and felt nothing at all.

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

Notes: 

1. Oh my goodness, I wrote the scene with Maul getting shot down MONTHS ago and it’s only now that I managed to write up to the point where the scene would make sense.  AND WE’RE FINALLY AT LOTHAL.  THANK GOD.

2. Thanks to all of you who have liked these crazy posts and left comments on a story that’s still very rough and incomplete <3  You’re the best.  

#darth maul #seventh sister #clone troopers #post order 66

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

With Eyes to See and Ears to Hear - Chapter 12

‘Fire & Ice’ – October 12th prompt. Clint stumbles across a familiar face on a stakeout.

Check it out on AO3 here, or under the KR :)

Try as I might, I did actually have a job to do; not every night could be spend curled up in Matt’s arms, and the cold, dark streets were unavoidable. Nat was several blocks over, watching our mark’s apartment, while I had my eyes on his office, watching unidentifiable shadows move against the light. “Fancy seeing you here, Hawkeye.” My head jerked in surprise; I’d not bothered to keep an eye on my surroundings after sliding a pipe through the roof access, and the person behind me had approached silently enough that I’d been entirely unaware of their presence until they spoke. “M-” His hand rose warningly, one finger touching his ear pointedly to remind me of the communicator in my own. “Uh… Agent Romanoff? I’m going dark for a moment. There’s, uh… Something that requires my attention.” “Sounds like a Devil of a situation, Barton,” she replied dryly, the edge of teasing humour in her voice. “Don’t lose focus on the mission, okay?” “You got it.” I clicked off my comms, and Matt moved closer, one hand tangling quickly in my hair to kiss me hungrily. “Sorry… Heard your voice and couldn’t resist. You’re awful close to the Kitchen, Barton.” I gestured across the street to the office building, raising an eyebrow. “Not much choice.” “Ah. It seems we have a shared interest.” He squatted beside me, blind eyes turned toward the skyscraper. “Curious. Who’s going to get the collar?” “Can you even hear anything from here?” I snorted, and he elbowed me lightly. “… No. But I wanted to see you.” A soft sound of happiness radiated in my chest as I leant closer, shoulder pressed to his. “Cute. But we’re supposed to be working, Devil.” He sighed, lips brushing against my forehead, slipping a cup of coffee into my hand. “I know. That’s… Why I’m here. I had a feeling we were after the same guy. …What are we supposed to about that, Clint?” I shrugged a shoulder, resting my head on him gently. “I guess you just let us have this one?” “I can’t do that.” Raising an eyebrow, I glanced up at him, a smile on my face until I realised he was serious. “What? But… I… We’re the Avengers, Matt. You’re just a vigilante.” He stiffened against me, jaw setting under his mask. “’Just a vigilante’?” he repeated slowly, voice hard. “This vigilante happens to be one of your beloved Avengers’ biggest targets for a reason, Hawkeye.” “I didn’t mean-” “No, I’m sure you didn’t,” he snapped, tone dropping to a low growl. “Nobody ever does.” “Matt-” “Maybe we’re kidding ourselves here, Barton. Maybe you should have taken me in when you had the chance.” I blinked, wounded, and tightened my fingers in his. “Matt… Don’t. I’m sorry. I… I misspoke. I know-” “You, of all people, know what it is to have people constantly assume that you can’t do things, Clint,” he replied quietly, the anger in his half-covered expression fading to a soft sadness. “I never want to be ‘just’ anything. Not again. Especially not to you.” He sighed, fingertips trailing my jaw. “We’re fire and ice, Hawk. Blind and Deaf. Avenger and vigilante. How can this ever work?” Panic gripped me for a heartbeat before I realised his question was sincere, and my temple found his shoulder once more, arm entwining his with a quiet sigh. “With work and effort, Devil. Nothing worth having is ever easy. And… You know, I guess I could get distracted. Maybe this mark gets away from us. It happens sometimes.” He laughed quietly and kissed my forehead, nuzzling against my throat briefly. “I’ll see you at home in the morning?” Smiling gently, I touched my lips to his, soft and chaste. “I’ll make coffee.” @flufftober

#fanfiction #mine #fandom: marvel #flufftober 2023 #ship: Clint x Matt #writing bingo #writers on tumblr #Rating: E #win speaks #October 12th

[novakspector]

I’m mad that a.) the character doesn’t have a name, b.) she’s a martial artist and we didn’t get to see her kick anyone’s ass and c.) they killed her off

#unidentified imperial comms officer #comms officer #katy o'brian #the mandalorian #mandalorian season 2 #the mandalorian spoilers #mandalorian spoilers

[asher-the-diaster]

the sister planets part three

Doomed patrol

(parts 1 and 2 linked at bottom)

the oracle began to prep for a patrol of the solar system.

we out on our suits and loaded up. all was going well until richardson the navigational officer told captain Penner to pull right to investigate a unidentified object. my lights came on to late and it hit us. taking out our engine.

we spiraled out of control.

a warning for a unknown gravitational force blinked on.

to late.

the force stucked the already damaged ship in.

we started to do emergency procedure as we entered the wormhole.

i tried to get the systems back up and running while the captain yelled a sos into the radio. I didn't think it would be worth anything, no one could hear us hear.

a piece of equipment flew off and hit the lieutenant full force breaking his suit and knocking him unconscious or worse.

the joystick detached from the floor and hit richardson in the arm.

an emergency pack flew out of the seat in front of the captain and hit their leg.

a voice came over the radio, "captain penner of the nato ship oracle do you copy?"

"i copy." the captain voice was shaky.

something burst on fire near my seat.

"this is a universal conseil rescue squad, we do believe that we can bring your ship planet side we just need you stop stop trying to work the controls. do you understand?"the voice sounded like it was being pieced together from a computer generated translator.

"i understand."

"are you serious?" communications officer davoin asked.

"we don't have another option"

a large ship came into view and made use of magnets and gravity to help pull us out of a wormhole and land safely on a planet.

everyone got out, the communications officer and i were the the least injured so we carried the lutenatent out. the captain limped leaving on richardsons good arm.

their were a group of aliens waiting for us. two lose of them, one appeared to be some sort of mix of scientist and officials.

the medics hard a stretcher we put the lieutenant on. they scanned him while i started cpr. the other members of the crew we ushered back as the medics and me began to desperately try to shave the lieutenant.

it didn't work.

i had lost track of time when when i looked towards my crew and saw that someone had helped them with their injuries.

i shock my head.

the captains and comm officers attempt at restaining richardson failed, they went ballistic.

We tried to help get them under control but failed.

after about 5 minutes of them causing damage a group of burly aliens held them down and used something to sedate them.

she was dragged away from us and we were ushered into a room that looked part hotel room part infirmary.

there were three hospital beds each of us was ushered onto one of them. they then erected some sort of energy shield separating us.

"what the fuck!" captain penner screamed.

"don't worry this is only temporary." a strange batlike alien said, "a measure of safety for yourselves and us. never before has a sentient species that we made contact with proved so dangerous so quickly."

the alien left and we were left alone.

+++

as established in other installments i am trying to keep these in reasonable length so i will be linking the other installments in the bottom

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1DYMuKK5CIgJgDapNbu5sBqr_b5uT1Yz4pJoJ2fuAk4w/edit?usp=sharing

#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #human are weird #humans are space australians

[hamartia-grander]

Welcome to 3am Thoughts  On A School Night Before Exams, With Lotus

Today’s topic: The Mandalorian

(minor spoilers from chapter 13)

How fucking hilarious would it be if Din had some sort of pre-established code with Grogu in case of emergencies. Like the metal ball, Din uses it to tell Grogu “hey I’m here, go crazy go stupid I’ve got your back, we gotta get out of here so do what you can” like Sherlock’s “Vatican Cameos”

Din gets aboard the Imperial light cruiser and rolls the metal ball into wherever they’re keeping the child, Grogu sees it and giggles and just fucking like. Yeets the troopers around the room again cause he knows when he does it this time it’ll work cause his dad’s here. Everyone is like ‘wtf why is he doing this he knows it’ll be in vain’, but after Grogu’s done his part Din waltses in with his space gang and guns down everyone that’s left. Gideon panics and tries to escape but Bo-Katan has arrived and she gets the darksaber back and stabs him to death and he dies. They get Grogu out, he’s perfectly fine. Katy O’Brian’s Unidentified Comms Officer character is finally released from the Empire’s control, and kisses her wife while Din salutes. They walk back onto Boba’s ship, an explosion behind them. All because of a fucking metal ball and the One Thing a father was able to successfully teach his son.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #mandalorian #the mandalorian season 2 #the mandalorian chapter 15 #the child #baby yoda #grogu #katy o'brian #unidentified comms officer #lesbian #cara dune #fennec shand #boba fett #cobb vanth #Bo-Katan Kryze #migs mayfeld #moff gideon #the darksaber #star wars #pedro pascal #bill burr #metal ball #The ManDADlorian #ManDADlorian #dincobb #vatican cameos #dave filoni #Jon Favreau #Rick famuyiwa

[inquisitor-maelorn]

@ask-izi

Taliya Maelorn sipped from her cup of recaff on the bridge of the Solitude as the strike cruiser returned to the materium.

“Jump successful, we’re just beyond the mandeville point in the JS-151 star system,” an officer called out. “Warp drive spinning down and gellar fields fading.”

“Good,” Taliya replied. “Run through preliminary system scans and find me that mystery ship.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Taliya leaned on a railing in the expansive bridge, passively watching as data slowly crawled onto the screens surrounding her. It would likely be hours until the Solitude’s impressive Deathwatch-grade sensor array picked up anything of note, but she liked to sit on the bridge for the first few minutes of data collection so as not to appear apathetic.

Valdred Tyrax, her one of her Deathwatch commandos, clearly shared no such worries. The Astartes let out a deep yawn as he lazily gazed out at the starfield surrounding them through the viewscreen.

“Tired already, Sergeant Tyrax?” she asked with a smirk. “I thought you’d been ordered to have a greater respect for bedtimes.”

“Oh, you know me, Lady Inquisitor,” the Blood Raven replied, running a large hand through his slicked-back brown hair. “Never had much of a stomach for boredom.” He took out a dataslate and began to read a novel he’d downloaded the night before.

Taliya chuckled and shook her head, then took out her own dataslate, reflexively re-reading the mission details for the millionth time.

A few days ago, her Ynnari allies had picked up an astropathic imperial transponder signal in this uninhabited system, so she’d taken the Solitude and a small detachment of Marines away from the grueling trench warfare battles on the civilized world of Anaris to check it out. While it was likely overkill to send a Deathwatch strike cruiser on such a mission, the Solitude had by far the fastest warp drive in the entire sector, so they’d likely be able to get here and back before any major offensive was missed.

A few pages into her reading, Taliya heard a ping from the Solitude’s sensors.

“Unidentified Imperial vessel detected,” an officer triumphantly announced.

“That was fast,” Valdred said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, sir. The ship is only 8 light minutes away. We must’ve had an incredibly lucky jump. We can be within real-time communication radius in a few hours.”

“The emperor has given us quite a gift,” Taliya stated. “Begin the acceleration burn to the ship immediately, and send a tightbeam comm message their way.”

“Yes ma’am. Comm is ready when you are.”

Taliya walked to the command console and leaned over a vox mic.

“Unidentified vessel, this is Inquisitor Maelorn of the Imperial warship Solitude. We are currently on an intercept course, and demand a schematic of your craft and a statement of your intentions. Respond immediately or be assumed hostile. Solitude out.”

“I don’t know about you all, but I’ll be on the edge of my seat for the next 16-ish minutes,” Valdred snarked. He hadn’t looked up from his dataslate.

[just-fandomthings]

frostiron and 12 please?

...in grief

He hears yelling, the first sense to return to him after he wakes up. It’s hard to determine what’s being said; some of it is being shouted in anger, he recognizes, while a lot of the yelling just sounds panicked. Everything washes over him, unimportant, as he focuses on Loki calling his name, begging for an answer.

“I’m fine,” he says, groans, more like, as he pulls himself up to his hands and knees. The world spins dangerously and he gulps, unsure if he’s going to keep his lunch down. Given how bad his head hurts, that’s a bad sign. “I’m fine,” he says again anyway, to ease the concern present in Loki’s voice. “Just got the breath knocked out of me.”

His HUD actually indicates that he was unconscious for over two minutes, an alarming sign alongside the impressive list of extensive injuries he is now sporting, but that’s to be expected after being knocked out of the sky and crash-landing. 

It’s fine; he’s been hurt worse than this before.

“Don’t lie, you are not fine,” Loki bites out in response. He sounds angry, or maybe it’s fear that Tony hears in his voice? It’s sort of hard to think. “You weren’t answering my calls, you were unconscious, now tell me where you are so I can-”

“That’s not necessary,” Tony interrupts him. “I’m rejoining the fight right now.”

More accurately, he’s in the process of getting up in order to rejoin the fight, but what Loki doesn’t know won’t hurt him. As it is, he stifles a groan by biting his lip, probably drawing blood, as he finally manages to get to his feet. He’s a little wobbly but their daily big-bad and her group isn’t going to leave or lighten up their attack just because he’s hurt.

He makes it only a few steps before he goes back down to his knees with a torn off cry of pain. “Sir,” JARVIS warns, “You were hit by an unidentified spell that knocked you out of the air and sent you crashing through two stories of a an office building, resulting in multiple moderate to severe injuries, including but not limited to, a mild concussion, two broken ribs, and a broken tibia. You should not be rejoining this battle.”

“Yeah, yeah, no can do,” Tony tells him, a bit breathless. He’s starting to feel the damage from the broken ribs already, but- “Can’t leave the team to fight alone.”

The concern for his teammates is all the motivation he needs to get back to his feet and power up his thrusters, flying right back into the middle of the battle.

There’s a low whistle over the comms. “Damn, Stark, she really did a number on you,” Barton says, and huh, even he sounds worried. “You go through hell or something?”

Tony snorts, a little more weakly than he’d like to admit. “Or something.”

Loki turns away from his fight to look at him as he flies by, and something in his expression changes and then breaks in a split second. His growl is more feral than anything else, and if that’s not proof enough of his rage, the explosion of magic that lights up the street certainly is.

His Seiðr dances over every breath of air around them, it seems, appearing to envelop every molecule surrounding the unknown sorcerer until the woman is gasping for air. “You dare-” Loki hisses, stepping forward with a look of fury that Tony doesn’t think he’s ever seen from the mage before. He looks ready to kill.

Tony drops to the ground in front of him, right in the path of his Seiðr as he lifts his faceplate to meet Loki’s eyes. Loki’s Seiðr moves around him to get to the sorcerer even as it simultaneously sinks into his skin with a healing touch; it’s a protective and soothing embrace based on what Tony assumes is instinct, and it’s unlike anything he’s ever seen or felt before.

“She’s not worth your anger,” Tony says before Loki can question him for standing in front of the sorcerer. She’s not the one that he’s protecting. “Send her to SHIELD or to a cell in Asgard, I don’t really care, and let’s go home.”

“She hurt you, she nearly killed you. Any action I take against her for that would be well deserved,” Loki snaps back fiercely, his eyes flashing with hatred. But it’s only the work of a moment before his stance relaxes and he withdraws, enough so that the sorcerer sinks to the ground, unconscious. She’s gone in a blink of an eye, presumably already discarded in a cell somewhere courtesy of Loki’s Seiðr.

“Good riddance,” Tony mutters. He takes in the slight trembling of Loki’s hands and goes to reassure him that he’s okay, but the pain of his leg reaches him before he can say anything. Tony might shout, he’s not sure, but he definitely gasps, and the world seems to go white with the sudden flash of burning agony that shoots up his leg all the way to his hip.

Loki catches him before he can hit the ground, removing his armor with the wave of his hand as he stares down at him in horror. Tony follows his eyes to his leg, at the bone protruding from his skin, and wonders briefly how he managed to get up at all with his leg looking like that.

Must’ve been adrenaline, he decides, right as he passes out.

Loki’s expression is torn with what looks like a mixture of grief, anxiety, and anger when Tony wakes up in the med bay. Loki’s sat perfectly still in the chair next to Tony’s bed and he’s the picture of both grace and unassuming violence at the same time. His head is angled downward, his eyes trained on the floor.

Tony thinks that a single movement or word might be all it takes to break the fraying tightrope Loki seems to be balancing on.

“Loki?” he says gently.

He’s right; that’s all it takes.

At the call of his name, Loki jolts, lifting his head up so fast Tony winces, as he stares down at him with red-rimmed eyes and a grief-stricken expression. He looks mad enough to shout but all he says is, quietly, “How do you feel, do you need anything?”

Tony’s a little bewildered by the lack of yelling at his ‘recklessness to rejoin the battle while injured,’ but he nods anyway, saying easily, “No it’s okay, I’m fine.”

“I was able to heal-” Loki cuts himself off, expression crumbling. “You call this fine? You are not fine, Anthony, you were knocked out of the sky and suffered a concussion, a broken leg, and several broken ribs. You collapsed in my arms and no matter what I did or what I said, you would not wake and-” He stops with a shake of his head, wrapping his arms around himself.

“In my time on the team and by your side as your lover, I have seen you ill, sleep-deprived, in pain with your arc reactor, and with a wide range of injuries from battles, but never once have you collapsed like that, not with me there to bear witness. The moment you lost consciousness in my arms, I thought you dead, and that thought…”

Tony sits up as best he can, feeling only a slight twinge from his chest as he does so. “Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m okay, Lokes, I mean it. You healed me, right? I’m still a little fuzzy, pretty sure that’s the concussion interfering, and my leg’s in a cast but my chest feels fine, only a little discomfort. You saved me. I’m okay, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You know better than to make that promise,” Loki tells him, voice rough with Tony fears are barely-suppressed tears. Shit, he really scared Loki bad, didn’t he? “You can’t make that promise, not when there will come a day you can’t keep it. You are only a mortal, and your life is but a glimpse of time passing by in my own lifetime.”

There’s nothing Tony can say to that because Loki’s right, as much as it pains him to admit it. It’s a reality he’s been all too aware of ever since he and Loki first slept together and then developed their relationship, but that fact has never scared him more than it does now- to realize that today could have been it. The fact that it wasn’t, just means they can continue living on borrowed time for a little while longer.

That realization settles deep into his chest, its own version of grief.

“Come here,” he finally murmurs, tugging on Loki’s hand to get Loki to join him on the bed. It takes a moment of hesitation on Loki’s part and then he’s standing and moving closer, helping to arrange them in a comfortable position.

Tony lays his head on Loki’s chest, his hand above Loki’s heart, and closes his eyes. Loki is a solid source of security and comfort at his side, his arm wrapped around Tony’s shoulders as a silent promise to keep him safe. He feels Loki kiss his temple; the first of several tears touching his skin.

He’s grieving, Tony realizes; experiencing phantom symptoms of a loss that he knows is coming but hasn’t occurred yet.

“I love you,” Tony tells him. It’s all he can think to say.

“And I you.” Loki’s voice is weak but earnest.

“I would feed you an apple by the end of the night if I thought you’d say yes,” Loki adds a few minutes later, nonchalant as if it’s an afterthought, but Tony knows he only says what he means.

Tony leans back a little and turns his head so he can look up at him, meeting Loki’s gaze. He knows what he’s referring to from previous conversations with both him and Thor, but this is the first time being offered an apple has been brought up between them. Loki’s apparently been thinking about it though.

It’s a good thing Tony had been too. “What makes you think I’d say no?”

“Would you say yes?” Loki asks him quietly. “If I held out an Apple of Idunn and asked you to extend your life to that of a God, would you accept?”

There’s something silent going unsaid in Loki’s offer, Tony thinks, something that feels a lot like, would you accept me?

He must take too long in his momentary consideration because Loki’s expression falls- just barely- but Tony’s had over a year and a half to observe and memorize all of Loki’s expressions and mannerisms, and he knows that Loki thinks he’s been rejected. And that realization is all it takes for him to say, as easy as engineering comes to him, “Yes.”

Loki blinks. “Yes?”

“If you asked me, I would say yes.” Tony gives him a small smile. “I’ve been saying yes to you for a long time, Lokes, you really thought I’d stop now?”

“You would truly say yes to extending your life for as long as mine?” Loki looks incredulous. “This is no simple matter, Anthony, for you are agreeing to live long past your friends and your family, and everyone you know.”

“Loki,” Tony says firmly, “If you asked, I would say yes.”

His expression is crumbling, but it is not with grief this time, rather it is relief and joy that radiates across Loki’s features. “You mean it,” he breathes. “You would accept it, and me.”

Tony stretches up to kiss him. “I would,” he says. “I do, actually. Consider that a promise.”

Loki smiles down at him, ridiculously fond and happy as he leans closer for another kiss. “When you are healed enough so I can bring you back to our floor, I will give you the apple I have kept for you.”

Tony grins at him before laying his head back down. He is still recovering after all, and he’s tired. “I look forward to it,” he says, letting his eyes fall closed. “I prefer blueberries, they’re the superior fruit after all, but I’m willing to make an exception this one time for an apple.”

Loki laughs, and it’s the best sound Tony has ever heard.

End.

#frostiron fanfic #frostiron #tony stark #loki #loki/tony #my fanfic #i was originally intending this story to be on its own and halfway through I realize it answered this prompt #in its own inadvertent way i suppose #grief usually manifests with MCD or a near-fatal injury and this story didn’t have either of those #tony’s injuries were not great but they weren’t life threatening #but to loki who witnessed his love collapse in his arms- that would make him confront the reality that tony is mortal #and that he is not and one day tony will leave him #unless he gathers the nerve to give him a golden apple of course #anyway i’m getting off track. his grief is tragic and powerful when he kisses tony’s temple and cries #he does grieve even tho we see a resolution to that loss by way of tony accepting the apple #rambling again sorry- i hope i did the prompt justice #and anon- i hope you liked it!!

[blue-mood-blue]

The morning began with the same relatively quiet, occasionally controlled chaos that Peter Nureyev had already come to expect aboard the Carte Blanche. Buddy was shuffling through cabinets, Vespa was staring down the coffee machine, and Jet was attempting to juggle a frying pan full of something similar to bacon while trying to answer his beeping comms.

Peter ignored all of it, finding a place at the table and staring at his tablet. If he was lucky, if the capricious forces of fate saw fit to treat him kindly, Jet would finish doing whatever it was he was doing to the bacon-substitute soon, and Peter could put a kettle on. The only way he would survive his continued existence in this group was with a cup of tea to get him through the morning.

He swiped an annoyingly persistent news headline from his screen, pulling up schematics and letting himself sink into a familiar world of plans and precision while Vespa handed Buddy a bottle and Jet finally managed to stop the incessant beeping. The floor plan on his screen became a lovely, detailed lobby in his mind as he took stock of the camera locations and Jet rumbled, “Hello. Does this call mean you have reached a decision?”

It was enough to attract Buddy’s attention. “Who’s that, dear,” she asked between sips of alcohol, as Vespa returned to her careful monitoring of the coffee machine.

“I see. You said your name is Rita? Then you are in luck; we have a space available to you.” The conversation caught Peter’s attention, the same way an interesting and irrelevant exchange between strangers might have. He couldn’t say why - maybe there was some unidentifiable ring of familiarity to the name.

“The hacker?” Jet nodded to Buddy. “Just the hacker?” He nodded again. “Hm. I was hoping for both… maybe there was a falling out.”

Peter tried to pull up the mental image of the map again, and when that failed he flipped a couple of pages over to the guard rotation. Guard rotations were all memorizing patterns, and that, at least, should have been simple enough to occupy his mind while distracting him from the ongoing conversation.

Jet’s voice was calm, even, and too loud in the small space for Peter’s concentration to stand a chance. “She would like to negotiate the terms of her employment. Specifically, she has a condition that must be met first if she will consider working with us.” Buddy gestured her acceptance, and Jet held the comms to his ear for what seemed like a very long time. “She would like to know if we’ve heard about what happened in Hyperion City.”

Peter’s tablet fell to the table with a clatter. He cleared his throat and muttered something about late nights and not being quite awake yet as the attention of the room turned toward him and then back away.

He knew now why the name sounded familiar, and it was just so fitting of his luck that the memory dogged him even here. He’d left his foolish heart behind him and it seemed even that wasn’t going to be enough. Perhaps he would just walk off of the ship and run farther this time.

Someone turned on the tv and flipped a few channels. Finally, they landed on an aerial view of a part of Hyperion that Peter wasn’t familiar with; it seemed to be the edge of a district, with structures in place for isolating one section of the city from another in the event of a sandstorm. The gates were halfway open, which couldn’t have been normal. And there were… people.

Peter wasn’t sure why he hesitated before deciding that the individuals onscreen were, yes, average people walking from the opened district into the city proper. There was nothing wrong with them. It was a heartwarming scene, really, as they breached the distance between them and the waiting crowd on the other side, reaching out and embracing each other in a way that suggested they’d been apart for a while. He wondered what the significance was.

“What the hell did they just put on that woman’s neck,” Vespa hissed, and Peter almost missed what she was talking about - a woman to the far right of the screen, in the arms of someone older than her… trying to pull away while the back of her neck was held in an iron grip.

The shift from relief to horror was subtle at first; it was clear that the original reporter on-scene for the footage missed the moment when “holding” turned to “grasping” while she was preoccupied by describing what the audience was supposed to see. But to everyone on the Carte Blanche, the change was obvious.

“A state of emergency has been declared in Hyperion City after the strange events surrounding the reopening of Newtown, formerly Oldtown.” A different reporter drowned out the first. “Authorities remind citizens that attempting to leave the city unassisted is highly dangerous, and encourage everyone to remain in their homes while evacuation plans are put into place. The mysteries surrounding the several-day isolation of Newtown remain unanswered, as representatives from Mayor O’Flahery’s office have only said that he is unavailable for comment at this time-”

The words slid together like nonsense in Peter’s head. He didn’t even attempt to hang onto them; he was too preoccupied by the footage, shifting dizzyingly through districts and neighborhoods, as if he would be able to pick Juno out from the masses and determine that he was okay.

He wouldn’t have left the city, Peter was sure, not while he was blinded by delusions of being able to help somehow. Juno Steel was stupidly, ridiculously, dangerously brave - infuriating as it was heartbreaking, and sure to kill him someday. Peter didn’t think he’d be there to watch, the next time; it was newly devastating to know that he would still run right after him, danger be damned, on a wish that maybe his presence would be enough to save a lady who didn’t want saving.

He had no plan, except that he couldn’t let Juno die.

There was a long, long moment of silence. Finally, Jet raised the comms back to his ear. “What is your condition?”

#the penumbra podcast #tpp #junoverse #jupeter #so i’m still thinking about the theia #as you can tell #and i’m not sure if i’m gonna write more of this or not #depends on whether i figure out where i’m going with it #but i’d written this much so i figured i’d share #a what-if where Rita wasn’t quite as successful on a first attempt #and Juno handed over his comms #also! apologies for the length! #usually i’d add a readmore but the power is out and i am living on mobile today

[royalsimsinsider]

New Friends, New Boo?

The saying that things get warmer on Wine Isle when the sun sets seems to be true. Our dedicated following has shared the latest moments of what has quickly become the most talked-about weekend yet.

Less than a month after releasing an official photo with Lady Zora Banks, HRH Prince Paul is already hanging with another young lady. This time, he's not alone. As seen in the pictures below, all of the gentlemen were too busy entertaining the ladies, they barely noticed paps capturing every second.

From our understanding, HRH Prince George and Mr. Robles are unspoken and free to do as they please. What's confusing readers and the nation is why Prince Paul's comfort with the still-unidentified beauty. Of course, we immediately contacted Charleston Palace, which has, as expected, not responded to the comms requests. The same can be said Banksheadmanor, the home/office of The Duke of Audubon, Lady Zora's dad.

@siimsroyalty

#royalsimsinsider #royalsimsofcolor #royalsims #monarchysims #simsroyalfamily #ts4blackroyals #houseofishmael #ts4 leagcy #ts4royallegacy #ts4royal

[spell-cleaver]

Astrophilia

@star-wars-wlweek

Day 6: Fake Dating/Marriage & Hurt/Comfort

Read it on AO3 and on FFN!

In a final world, the largest steps may be taken without a blink: acquaintances, allies, friends. But in the middle of a war comes the harsh reality that any close relationship is strained, any bond is forged and all are tested.

Some, despite the odds, hold true.

*

The nondescript ship they’d hired was the last place one would find a princess, so it was perfect. Add to that the fact that Tatooine was also the last place to look, and that she was wearing her hair in a plain bun tucked under her hood rather than her elaborate styles, and it became almost impossible that someone should recognise Leia in these clothes.

That didn’t make Qi’ra any less nervous. “We need to sell this, remember.”

“I remember.” Leia cast a look at herself in the mirror, grimacing at the beige robes she was wearing to blend in. Behind her, she saw Qi’ra make the same face. “Though there are plenty of people trying to fly under the radar here. I doubt anyone will look too closely.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

Leia nodded. She could respect that.

“What are our aliases again?” She turned back to Qi’ra as the beep went off that warned they’d be reverting to realspace, and headed to the cockpit.

“My contact was unfortunately obnoxious and gave me limited options, so I am Rey Salli and you are Anna Salli, my wife.”

“Your contact was obnoxious?”

“He knew this was supposed to be a quick job but decided to make us work for it.”

“We have to pretend to be married?”

“If you can stand to do so.”

Leia smiled. “I think I can, yeah.”

QI’ra met her gaze. “I’m only here because you’re paying me, remember.”

“I know.” Leia tamped down her disappointment. “And I appreciate that you keep sticking with the Alliance despite how poorly we do pay.”

“You pay—” She faltered. “Better than other jobs.”

No they didn’t.

Leia glanced at the monitor. “We’re reverting to realspace in five, four, three, two, one—”

They flashed into space above Tatooine, a yellow-brown dustball hanging in the viewport, two suns burning furiously in the distance. Despite what a miserable world she knew it to be—and despite Qi’ra’s stories of her own experiences there—she smiled at the sight of it.

This wasn’t a Rebel mission. This was a personal mission. She wanted to meet the brother she’d only just discovered, but she hardly wanted to lead any enemies tracking her towards him unless necessary. So… Qi’ra was helping.

Anchorhead had no spaceport, so they aimed for Mos Eisley instead. The comm crackled with a hail. “Unidentified transport, please give your name and passenger details.”

Imperial. Whether it was the Imps or the Hutts who had a grip on the spaceport seemed to change with the winds.

Qi’ra replied; her voice wasn’t known for borderline treasonous speeches. “This is the personal ship Dragonstar, owned by myself, Rey Salli, and my wife Anna.”

“Your wife also bears the name Salli?”

“Yes.”

“What is your business on Tatooine?”

“Business and distant family calls. My, uh, second cousin once removed and his wife invited us over.”

They could hear the long sigh on the other end and knew he could not be bothered to verify that. “Cleared. Be prepared to provide evidence of identification upon entry.”

The comm clicked off. Leia cast a glance at Qi’ra. “The Empire are really pushing back, aren’t they?”

Qi’ra didn’t take her eyes off the viewport, and the spaceport growing larger in the scope. “Stay alert.”

They landed, and as they walked down the ramp Qi’ra took Leia’s hand. She jerked with surprise, but didn’t have to fake the smile she gave her.

Qi’ra, against her will, smiled back.

They approached the door to the bay. Stormtroopers patrolled beyond, in the spaceport proper, and Leia tried to show no unease. An officer came to meet them at the door. “Identification?”

Qi’ra handed it over. He scanned it, and found no faults. “Continue.”

Leia nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”

He didn’t even look at her before he marched away. Rude, but thank the stars for it.

They rented a speeder and were hunting for Anchorhead by the time the suns began their descent, their long fabric head coverings flapping behind them in the wind. Of course, that was about the time Leia realised they were being followed.

“Qi’ra,” she murmured, leaning perhaps a little too close to her in the pilot’s seat. But they were pretending to be married anyway, and there were eyes on them, so… “I think a bounty hunter is following us.”

Qi’ra tensed up and glanced in the speeder’s mirrors. There was indeed a dark shadow on the horizon—far enough away that it could have been a trick of the light. But Leia knew when she was being followed, and she knew this desert was barren enough that they wouldn’t run into anyone else if they weren’t being followed.

“We can’t lead them to your brother’s home, and it’s hard to lose someone when there’s such a large open space,” Qi’ra murmured. “We could try to outrun them.”

“Or, we have to fly through the Jundland Wastes to get there anyway,” Leia pointed out. “We could hide in the rocks, and lose them out there.”

“They’ll be after you, of course.”

“I’m not that important.”

“There’s only one of them, right?”

Leia squinted. She couldn’t see very well, but she was pretty sure—“Yes, there’s only one.”

“There you go. You’re not that important.”

Leia wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scowl. She settled on laughing. “Fly faster and we’ll lose them over there.”

Qi’ra hit the accelerator and they shot off even faster. Fast enough that the speeder shuddered like flimsi in the wind and Qi’ra looked tense as a tow cable, but Leia put a hand on her shoulder and she relaxed.

Qi’ra said, “We’re out of sight now, you know. Of them and the Imperials. We don’t need to pretend.”

Leia pulled back her hand and nodded. “You’re right. We don’t need to.”

Qi’ra winced. “Leia—”

“Keep flying. We’ve lost them, but I don’t trust that they won’t catch up again soon.”

She kept flying. Leia kept her hands in her lap, perfectly proper. They came up to the Wastes and flew between the great walls of the canyon, watching it crook up towards the sky in massive hunks of sandstone.

Qi’ra’s hand slipped on the controls, sweaty from the heat, and Leia caught it automatically. She didn’t miss Qi’ra’s intake of breath but also didn’t let the touch linger, withdrawing quickly.

!I’m glad you trusted me to come and meet your brother,” Qi’ra offered. “Even if I’m leaving soon.”

Leia felt herself shutter her heart, almost on instinct. “You’re a valuable asset—you’re reliable, discreet and professional.”

“Yes. Professional.”

“We would very much like you in a more permanent role, but until then—duck.”

“Duck?”

“Duck.” Leia grabbed Qi’ra’s shoulders and threw her back, the bolt aimed at her head barely missing it. The speeder dived to the side—a last minute manoeuvre stopped them hitting the rocks.

“Is that the bounty hunter!?”

“They must’ve known a shortcut.” Leia drew her blaster. “You fly.”

She scanned the sky—there. A few metres above them, where the canyon wall sank. A figure crouched with a sniper rifle, their back to the suns, but she thought she could take them out even with her eyes dazzled—

She fired off a volley of shots. They missed. She fired again.

Qi’ra shouted. The speeder swerved. Her aim struck true, the bounty hunter falling to the canyon floor, but Leia dived across the speeder to grab the controls and bring them to a halt as Qi’ra gasped and clutched her shoulder.

Leia grimaced.

That was… a lot of blood.

“Is he dead?” Qi’ra gritted out. Leia barely heard it at first, too busy yanking open the medkit for bacta and gauze.

“I said, is he dead.”

Leia peeled the ruined clothes back from the wound. It looked bad. “Yeah. He’s dead.”

Qi’ra relaxed.

Leia started cleaning the wound, gripping her hand and squeezing it when Qi’ra hissed. “I… can’t do too much for this here. We’ll have to wait til we get to the homestead. It’s not far.”

Qi’ra leaned against her as they switched seats, and Leia tried to ignore her own heartrate. “Was he after you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check.”

Leia went to check. The bounty puck that stared back at her when she went through his things wasn’t what she expected.

“It’s for you,” she told Qi’ra when she returned. “From Crimson Dawn.”

Qi’ra peered at the bounty. “Not much there.”

“Better for staying alive.”

“I know. I’m insulted, but glad.”

They sat together, staring at it a little. Qi’ra was deadly still.

Leia put a hand on her good shoulder. “Lie back. I’ll make a bed. Then we’ll get to the homestead as fast as possible.” The sunset was tinting the world with colour now, and the shadows of Qi’ra’s delicate face were cast in red and gold.

Qi’ra studied her, suspicious of her tenderness, but eventually she consented to lie back, a slow sigh seeping out of her as she did.

Leia took the controls and flew on, keeping a close eye on her companion, until the sunset enveloped them both.

#leia organa #qi'ra #leia x qi'ra #my writing #random words on a page #starwarswlweek2021 #flash fiction: star wars #flash fiction

[presidentrhodes]

How about some IronHusbands? Tony keeps telling the avengers how awesome his husband is but they don't believe he exists because it has been months and they still haven't met him yet and then finally, Rhodey comes home :)

See, I was going to write a cute 700-word fic for this, but your prompt was too good and this turned into a 5K monster. I’m sorry. :(

Title: The Other Mr Stark: Pilot, Scientist and Iron Man’s Mysterious Paramour

Rating: PG

Pairing: Tony Stark/James Rhodes

Summary: Clint leans over to Tony and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re dating Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker.“ 

This ignores the chronology and canon from Iron Man 2. It’s not yet beta-ed so, I apologise for all mistakes!

***

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stark,” Clint says from the lounge floor, where he sits cross-legged, trying to build a house of cards on the table. Natasha’s lying on the sofa next to him, her feet on Steve’s lap as he massages them. Bruce sits in an armchair opposite them, his attention fixed on the Starkpad in his hands. Thor stands by the floor-to-ceiling window behind Bruce, watching the cars driving along Park Avenue 80 floors down. “You’re making shit up." 

It’s team-bonding night: Steve came up with the idea a month after the Avengers stopped an alien invasion and moved into the spacious penthouse atop Stark Tower. New York began the long, arduous process of rebuilding; tall construction cranes wedged between damaged skyscrapers carried out repair work and men in reflective vests and bright yellow helmets became a common sight all over the city. 

Tony’s at the bar mixing drinks for the team, even though he hasn’t touched alcohol in over a decade. His cocktails, he claims, are still kickass. "Why would I lie to you, Barton? I am going to get nothing out of it." 

They have been going back and forth for an hour since Tony let it slip that contrary to what the New York Post says every week, he’s happily married. His husband’s a decorated Air Force Colonel and a rocket scientist by training and, Tony insists, he once fought a homophobe bare-chested outside MIT in the freezing Northeast winter, for insulting Tony.

"It was my birthday. Honeybear had no time for assholes,” Tony says, shaking the martini he’s making for Natasha. “The fight was brutal, and this guy was built like a horse. I thought Platypus wouldn’t last a minute but I was wrong. Dead wrong.” Tony gesticulates at appropriate moments in his recounting of the tale and embellishes it with just the right amount of spice to impress upon the demi-gods, assassins and supersoldiers in his audience that his husband is a goddamn hero. 

Tony’s husband had apparently exchanged punches with the bigot that left both men bleeding profusely from their noses. “Then Honeybear uppercuts him out of nowhere and it’s a total KO,” Tony says, moving on to make Steve’s drink—a mojito; how typical of Captain Boyscout McSexypants. “I thought I was watching Ali versus Foreman on replay. It was beautiful.”

Bruce snorts at the comparison without glancing up from the tablet. 

Clint’s face contorts and he knits his brows in frustration as the sparse details from Tony fail to add up in his mind. The stacked cards look dangerously close to toppling over. “You want us to believe in this ‘mysterious’ paramour, and all you’re giving out are a bunch of ridiculous nicknames and made-up stories with no evidence and no pictures. Sounds completely legitimate.”

“Hey, why did I never come across this husband of yours when I was your PA?” Natasha chips in, the corner of her mouth quirks up. Steve grins at the way Tony’s face turns red and his nostrils flair—from what he has learned, courtesy of Shield and Ms Potts, Tony’s pride hasn’t recovered from being thoroughly fooled by the Black Widow two summers ago.

Tony tosses a lime at Natasha. She swats it away with an expert backhand, and the lime crashes into Clint’s deck of cards. The archer snarls a string of expletives, forcing out Steve’s stern 'Captain America is disappointed in you, son’ look. Tony flashes a lopsided smile from the bar. “Well, Ms Rushman, I don’t discuss all aspects of my life with personal assistants. Even ones as attractive as you.”

“Call me Rushman one more time and—" 

Thor finally turns to join the conversation and butts in before Natasha delivers the rest of her threat. "Your husband must be a good, honourable man. I’m sure he’s worthy of his place in Valhalla."  The response draws surprised looks around the room. Even Tony double-takes at first, his eyes wide and bug-like as if he can’t believe what his ears are picking up. He recovers fast and rubs his hands together in glee. "See? The god agrees with me. It’s settled, I win.”

The conversation turns to Fury and Shield—specifically, determining if Phil Coulson is a human mimicking an AI or an artificial intelligence pretending to be a 39-year-old homo sapiens sapiens. Tony brings over the drinks and sinks to the floor next to Clint. The archer leans over and whispers. “For the record, I know you’re lying. You’re describing the perfect man and he doesn’t exist. You might as well say you’re married to Superman because at least Christopher Reeve was a looker." 

Tony rolls his eyes. "You’ll eat your words soon enough, birdbrain." 

***

‘Soon enough’ turns out to be a month later when the topic of Tony’s mystery husband makes an unannounced appearance in the middle of a mission. Taking on a small army of unidentified robots possessing a hive brain, near a country fair, leaves Steve, Natasha and Tony in charge of shepherding a group of children away from the direct line of fire. Thor and Hulk keep the main fighting focused on them while Clint takes out the spare droids, one by one, from his spot on a nearby roof. 

Natasha leads them past smouldering scraps of metal and burning tarp, towards the carousel where the children huddle together, their faces white as sheets. Behind her, Steve’s limping along. He’s bleeding into his suit after taking several hits earlier from the droids and their shoulder-mounted plasma cannons. Tony provides aerial support, keeping the stray robots away from the kids. 

"You know,” he begins on the team’s shared comms channel, watching Natasha approach the terrified children with an unnatural, almost enviable, ease, like she has spent a lifetime perfecting the art of looking after them. “Platypus is really good with kids too. His sister sometimes leaves her daughter with us when she’s travelling, and he’s a natural with her. I always thought kids are fussy about everything.” Clint groans. Tony ignores him and continues, letting JARVIS take control of the armour to round up and disable the remaining droids. 

“Jeannie always says Lila is a fussy baby at home. She has made a career out of screaming when things don’t go her way. When she stays with us, she turns into an angel because of Platypus.” No one responds. Tony’s attention shifts to how pale Steve looks in his viewfinder. He watches the Captain stagger behind Natasha and asks JARVIS to scan his teammate to take stock of his injuries; Tony knows once the mission is over, Steve will downplay his condition. He’ll brush it off as “just a couple of knocks, nothing too serious,” and bury himself in paperwork in his office to avoid medical attention. The man hates hospitals. Tony can’t blame Steve—he detests them, too. 

“My scans detect Captain Rogers has sustained three broken ribs and severe lacerations,” JARVIS drawls in his thick, mechanical voice. “Readings indicate his supersoldier abilities have already contained the bleeding, and the ribs should heal on their own by the week’s end.”

“Thanks, J.” Tony lands on the ground next to Steve. They watch Natasha usher the children towards the perimeter that Shield agents, who finally arrived at the scene, have set up. Worried parents, some of them openly sobbing, stand behind the barricades, waiting to be reunited with their children. “Captain. You’re hurt,” Tony informs Steve as a matter of fact. 

“I hadn’t noticed,” Steve says, deadpan, and lets out a pained breath. 

The faceplate lifts. Tony gives a half-smile at Steve. “Let me carry you back to the infirmary. You need medical attention and my husband is a big fan. He’ll lose his mind when I tell him I carried Captain America bridal style back to base.” Fortunately for Tony, whatever objection Steve’s about to raise dies on his lips as exhaustion wins him over. He collapses face-first on the muddy field, and Tony’s kneeling by his side in a flash, checking for a pulse. He sags inside the suit in relief when he finds one, and JARVIS helpfully diagnoses “severe fatigue” for the Captain. The AI chooses that precise moment to reveal to Tony that Steve Rogers hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in three months. 

“Avenger down,” Tony tells the team. A chorus of concerned voices floods the comms channel. “The Captain’s had a long day. I’m taking him back to medical, you guys handle cleanup and Coulson. I am busy in the evening, so, don’t call me or page me unless the world is on fire and one of you is actually dying." 

No one speaks for a few moments. Clint cuts through the static in a flat, disinterested tone. "What’s keeping you busy, Stark? Sexy date in the Bahamas with your imaginary husband?" 

"If you have to know, birdbrain, it’s our anniversary and I’m going to the base to see him.”

Clint chortles. 

“You still won’t tell us what base he’s stationed at. Let me guess, is it Area 51? Is your imaginary husband an alien, Stark? Holy shit, you’re married to Superman." 

The words vex Tony. "Do you ever shut up, Barton?” He doesn’t wait for a reply and turns off his comms. Tony carries Steve in his arms and flies back to the Tower.

***

A few weeks later, after pulling another all-nighter in the lab, Tony walks in on Steve, Natasha and Bruce gathered in the kitchen for breakfast. Clint’s on vacation. Tony counts that as a blessing. He knows despite Clint’s cynicism, at some point, the archer started tailing Tony’s every move, inside and outside the Tower, to find out more about Platypus. Working as an assassin over the years, Clint honed his ability to stay under the radar, but all of that training didn’t stand a chance against JARVIS and his all-sensing presence.

“Barton’s been following me,” Tony says, pouring himself a coffee. He curses—someone, and he knows it’s Thor, keeps leaving coffee grounds inside the pot. That barbarian. “He thought he was being clever by using the vents, but nothing gets past JARVIS.”

Bruce narrows sleep-heavy eyes at Tony: “I thought J doesn’t surveil us.” The words come out as nothing more than a low, gruff mumble. Stifling a yawn, Bruce slouches forward and rests his face on the granite countertop. His eyes droop; for all of his unparalleled work in anti-electron collision theory, Bruce Banner remains incapable of being a morning person.   

“He doesn’t when you’re in your private quarters. The vents are public areas, and standard building security protocols apply.” Tony strains his coffee. He makes a mental note to speak to Thor—the Asgardian proved himself to be a fast learner of Earthly etiquettes. He’s come a long way from smashing coffee mugs to ordering customised drinks at Starbucks without pissing off the baristas. Even Captain America sometimes gets the stink eye when he asks for soy milk instead of dairy. Tony suspects baristas around the city are too enamoured by Thor’s godly presence to ever crib about his order.  

“Why would Clint stalk you through the vents?” Steve asks. Tony finds the puzzled look on Steve’s face endearing. “50% of his DNA is bird. He’s just following his instincts,” he says. Tony bites back a laugh at Steve’s hardened expression; he appears genuinely distressed by the idea that one of his human teammates may not be 100% human. 

Tony admires the way the Captain works hard to adjust to his new life in the 21st century—waking up to an alien invasion led by a horned Norse god proved to be a hell of a way to get over the initial culture shock. And, while Steve made a quick study of smart kitchen appliances and most of the Internet, genetic modifications and other advances in technology set off regular alarm bells in his head. Noticing the way Steve’s lips curl downward, Natasha offers a quick clarification: “Tony’s being an idiot. Clint’s not actually part bird, even if he is as obtuse as one." 

"Well, birdbrain has to get more creative than vents to get the jump on JARVIS,” Tony says, squeezing between Steve and Natasha. They hear Bruce’s gentle snores—he really hates mornings—and Tony whispers. “Honeybear is the only one who has gotten past J.”

On cue, JARVIS chimes in softly: “That is correct. His method was delightfully inventive, one that has enhanced my detection abilities tenfolds.”

Without being prompted, Tony volunteers the information to his teammates in a hushed tone: “We had a bet. Each of us picked a random day to break into Stark Industries. The goal was to get into my office without alerting J." 

Steve and Natasha listen, their expressions dull, as Tony explains in unnecessary details how his husband got the jump on artificial intelligence—Natasha makes mental notes to make her own attempt later if only to test her own skills against an all-seeing machine. 

"Honeybear set off a small and easily contained fire in our backyard while I was sleeping. Because J’s primary protocol is to protect me, he had to assess its threat level. But, it was in a contained environment; the variables were known, and the calculation should’ve been easy, except his protocol says he cannot dismiss the threat until it is eliminated,” Tony says, watching Steve’s eyes widen. The Captain, ever the cynic, is probably working out a hundred different world-ending scenarios about a rogue AI. He and J aren’t so different in their personalities, Tony thinks. 

“JARVIS spent most of his processing power keeping an eye on me. His second protocol says he must at all times protect the Stark Secure Server, my private server. And, no, Natasha, I know that look. It’s not at Stark Industries, I know you’ve looked, and I won’t tell you where it is so that Shield can go snooping.” Natasha glowers at him, her cheeks flushed at being caught red-handed. “That left J with very little juice to handle everything else for all Stark Industries offices around the world. He didn’t even notice Honeybear walk onto the premises or enter my office.”

Tony pauses to let his teammates absorb and appreciate his husband’s ingenuity: Steve looks impressed, Natasha scowls at Tony. Bruce, with his eyes still closed and head down, breaks the silence. “I’ve seen J’s documentation. You wrote him to back himself up on local servers precisely to avoid this situation. You said your roommate at MIT gave you the idea. Plus, you use an insane amount of RAM, I’ve seen your set up.”

Tony claps.

“Finally. Someone who sees the obvious error in this story. And yet, somehow, Honeybear got into my office undetected. Either he’s the superspy of the millennium—sorry, Widow—or someone is lying.” Tony glances at the ceiling. “What? You like him better or something?” JARVIS doesn’t respond. Instead, music flits in from the overhead speakers: Tell me lies. Tell me sweet little lies (Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies). Oh, no, no you can’t disguise. 

“Smartass.”

***

On Christmas Eve, Tony arrives at the common floor and overhears the team in deep conversation. His curiosity plants him in a corner outside the lounge, within hearing distance, but strategically hidden from the occupants inside. He picks up on Natasha speaking with an underlying worry in her tone. “That’s not the point, Clint. When I assessed him, he was dying. Very painfully, if I may add. He’s proven himself to be a team player and he’s a vital member of this team—" 

Clint cuts her off. "He’s delusional, Nat. He’s making up an entire person and coming up with these larger than life stories. It was funny the first time, but it’s clear he believes in the stuff he says. If he’s losing it, we need to know because we’re a team. We have got to have each other’s backs at all times.”

Steve chimes in: “His life is his own. We should respect his privacy, Clint. I’m sure when he’s ready, he’ll introduce us to his husband. Don’t force it on him.” Tony’s built-in cynicism would have once made fun of the unadulterated optimism behind Steve’s words. But, hearing the Captain speak in his, and Platypus’, defence like that makes Tony want to immediately buy the Brooklyn apartment he knows Steve’s eyeing and give him the keys in a gift-wrapped box with a bow. 

Captain America’s assurances fail to convince Clint or soothe his exasperation. “Your optimism is misplaced, Cap. There is no husband, no boyfriend. Nothing! Nat and I have looked everywhere and there’s not a trace of Stark ever getting hitched, let alone to another military man. I get it, don't ask, don't tell when that was still the law, right? What about now? There has to be some kind of a legal record, somewhere, if Stark's really married.”

“Maybe it’s a manifestation of his trauma,” Bruce supplies. “He’s well overdue a psych evaluation. He hasn’t talked to anyone since the invasion. We should cut him some slack.”

Clint doubles down. “We need to know if he’s hallucinating before someone tries to take over the world again. It’s one thing if he’s making it up for street cred, but if he genuinely believes in it…" 

"He’s creating another armour,” Natasha says. Tony feels vindicated by the admission—he knows she pokes around his lab whenever Stark Industries business calls him away to the other coast. Her clandestine efforts fail to outsmart J’s all-sensing presence, but confronting the Black Widow about it, and risking dismemberment, ranks low on Tony’s list of priorities. To have her admit it in front of their teammates takes a small weight off his chest. “I’ve seen the blueprint. This is a leaner, tougher armour with some serious firepower.”

“Yeah. Fury commissioned it,” Steve says. Someone—Bruce—curses out loud at the revelation. Tony bites his lips and presses a hand over his mouth to stop himself cackling. Fools, those god-damn irredeemable fools, Tony thinks. Steve continues. “He wants to recruit that Air Force Colonel he always raves about.”

“James Rhodes.” Clint jumps in. “See, now he is an impressive man. I’ve read his files and I can see why Fury’s in love with him. Hell, I’m in love with him, too.” Tony’s close to tears from holding back his laughter at the archer’s enthusiastic tone; he doesn’t want to risk giving away his location and miss the rest of the conversation about the new recruit. “So, Stark’s agreed to make a suit for the Colonel. That's…surprising, seeing how possessive he is of his tech. He tased me last month when I tried to get a good look under the hood.”

“Maybe, Fury made him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“Does Stark know?” Natasha asks. “About Fury’s plans to recruit the Colonel? I heard Nick mentored him in college.”

“Shit,” Clint shouts. Tony regrets the lack of visual cues to go with the congregation inside and makes his own: Clint jumps on the sofa without warning next to Bruce, who turns a deep shade of green. While Steve and Natasha work to calm Bruce down, Clint squats on top of the backrest, like a bird perched on its nest among sky-high branches. Tony laughs at the imagery in silence. 

“Rhodes went to MIT too, didn’t he? He studied aeronautics and astronautics—basically, rocket science. And, he’s Stark’s age. It’s not impossible they crossed paths there. Do you think Stark is holding onto some creepy university crush or did he make up his fake husband based on the Colonel?" 

"He really needs that psych eval." 

That’s when Tony decides he’s heard enough. He can barely keep himself together and in his excitement, he knocks into a solid, immovable mass. "Fuck,” Tony mutters and looks up into Thor’s dark blue eyes. Maybe the city baristas had a point, Tony thinks, and it’s futile to fight the Asgardian charm that oozes from every pore on Thor’s body. 

Tony still pinches himself from time to time and wonders how a god fell out of legends, waltzed into his life and took up residence in his penthouse. After butting heads over Thor’s murderous brother Loki, they forged a friendship based on mutual respect—another thing which puzzles Tony because Thor’s a deity and he’s just a guy. Thor protested once when Tony blurted it out. “You’re not just a 'guy’.”

Thor’s quieter and more reserved than his broad GQ-model-like physique suggests; he prefers to observe instead of participating in the team’s special brand of eccentricity. Everyone on the team agrees that Thor is immeasurably perceptive. 

“Hello, Pointbreak,” Tony says, clasping his shoulder. “What are you doing out here? You’re missing all the fun inside. They’re talking about having me committed because they don’t believe Platypus is real. They think I’m hallucinating.”

Thor’s face twists into a frown, a contrast to Tony’s playful grin. “Then they are silly,” he says. “I have seen how fondly you speak of him, Tony. You love your husband." 

"More than I can put into words, buddy.” Tony sighs as his smile falters, his arms crossing over his chest. “Platypus is the bedrock of my life. Got me through some really bad times. After everything he has seen me say or do, he’s still here, and I wonder what I did to deserve him. You know? It’s surreal. Which god answered my prayers that I got so lucky?”

Thor steps forward until he’s up in Tony’s face, mere inches separating them. That man may possess a delightful and exuberant personality. But he has no concept of personal space, which Tony files under 'Usual Asgardian Oddities’, along with Thor’s habit of speaking to inanimate objects when he thinks no one is looking. Large hands rest his bony shoulders in a hard grip, and Tony thinks Thor is about to impart some godly wisdom. Interruption, if only to point out the awkwardness of their proximity, may come across as rude. "Listen here, Tony Stark. I have lived and watched over your realm for a thousand years. I’ve seen civilisations rise and fall, kingdoms destroyed by greed, great men brought down by hubris. But, you, my friend, you are among the best of them. Midgard should be proud to call you her son. Never ever doubt your worthiness.” Thor beams. 

Tony tries to think up a response to that, but his mouth snaps shut. How does one top a speech where an actual god calls you worthy? In the end, Tony nods and stays still until Thor lets him go. “I will consider it a great honour the day you choose to let us meet the man who has stolen your heart. For one who’s deserving of your love, I also consider him worthy.”

On his way out, Tony texts his husband: You won’t believe it but I think Thor just blessed our marriage. 

The reply comes immediately: Holy shit. I feel blessed already. Merry Christmas and see you soon xx. 

***

Fury calls the team for an urgent meeting after New Year’s Day. His memo reads like every other missive he sends, curt and to the point: Meeting at 10 @ HQ. Don’t be late. 

They take Tony’s private jet to DC because the Quinjet was out of commission, undergoing repairs after their latest mission—a villain holding Manhattan’s power grids hostage—damaged the engines. Onboard, they huddle in front of the flatscreen watching CNN analyse Justin Hammer’s trial. Tony gives them a breakdown of his business rival—how Justin tried to sabotage the Stark Expo by presenting cheap knockoffs of the Iron Man armour that blew up the entire venue. The anchor reads out charges levelled against Hammer: money laundering, racketeering, fraud, public endangerment, copyright infringement. And a dozen lawsuits from Stark Industries and affected civilians.

“Ouch,” Clint says, reclining in his seat. “That’s a bit excessive, even for making cheap knockoffs of your suit and blowing them up at your expo, Stark.”

“Trust me, birdbrain, we take corporate espionage very seriously,” Tony replies. A live feed shows Hammer arriving at the courthouse in orange overalls, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair in disarray. The press swarms around him, shoving microphones and cameras in his face. Hammer tries to push his way through the crowd. “Oh, Justin. You know, if he had even an ounce of charm in his bones he could’ve gotten the charges reduced.”

“You can’t charm your way through everything, Tony,” Bruce points out. 

Tony smiles. “Not everyone can, no. My husband on the other hand—” The shift in the atmosphere is palpable. Clint tunes out of the conversation to stare out the window. Bruce shifts uncomfortably in his seat, Natasha presses her lips together in a frown, and Steve surveys the lines on his palms. Only Thor shows interest, so, Tony continues. “Few years ago, I dared him to charm a store manager at Macy’s. They had this perfume set from their exclusive collection. I wanted to see if Platypus could convince her to give him a set for free. You should’ve seen him, Thor. He knew all the right things to say, the right moments to smile, and I think if he had asked, she’d have given him the keys to the store. We gave it back later because it would’ve come out of her paycheck, otherwise. Platypus is a real charmer. You’ll love him.”

Thor’s laughs drown out Clint’s audible scoff. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“We should buckle up, we’re about to land,” Steve says, pointing to the seat belt sign. 

***

Fury waits for them in a conference room on the top floor of the Triskelion. One by one, the Avengers fill in, with Tony being the last to enter. He takes the seat closest to the door. 

“I’ll keep this short,” Fury says, without preamble. It’s one of the few things Tony admires about the director—he loathes wasting time as much as Tony. “The Avengers Initiative was started to be Earth’s first and last line of defence against extraterrestrial threats. We’ve shown the world why we need to exist and your heroic efforts have won us more goodwill from the public than we have anticipated. My bosses have instructed me to expand this team. You will meet the new recruits over the course of the year. They will train with you and Stark has agreed to house them at the Tower.”

Clint perks up. “Colonel Hottie said yes?" 

Natasha kicks him under the table. 

"What? He’s perfect. He’s smart, brave, and real. No offence, Stark.” Tony shoots him a dirty look. Clint turns to Steve. “Hey Cap, what’s your opinion on team romances? Yay or nay?" 

"Clint,” Steve gives him his best 'Son, stop disappointing Captain America’ look. “This is neither the time nor the place.” The archer slumps in his chair and says loudly, “Look, I just want to know how many protocols I’ll be breaking to ask Colonel Rhodes out on a date." 

Before Steve or Fury can answer, a new voice replies. "The answer would be none, Mr Barton. As flattering as your proposition sounds, I am unfortunately off the market.” All seven pairs of eyes turn to the doorway—James Rhodes leans against the doorframe in a grey polo shirt, a black bomber jacket and a pair of tight-fitting black jeans. Clint swallows and stammers. Natasha kicks him again. 

“Colonel Rhodes,” Fury says and motions him to come forward. “Meet the team." 

Rhodes takes stock of the room, his eyes resting a millisecond longer on Tony, and says, "Hey. Call me Jim." 

Steve’s the first to rise as he moves in to shake Rhodes’ hand. "Good to meet you, Colonel. We’ve heard a lot about you from Fury, and we’re looking forward to having you on the team.” Bruce and Natasha go next: They exchange quick, courteous 'hello’s before Clint almost trips over himself to greet Rhodes. He tries to play it cool but stutters at the last moment, and the words—"I’ve read your file, Colonel, where have you been all my life?“—come out all jumbled, lacking the charm and finesse he had practised ever since Steve let it slip that Fury was trying to recruit Rhodes. On his turn, Thor flashes the Colonel a knowing smirk, and despite never reading any of Rhodes’ files, he says, "Good to finally meet you, Jim. I’ve heard a lot about your adventures." 

Finally, Rhodes turns to Tony, who has been hanging back with his hands jammed in his front pockets and a closed-off expression on his face. "You look like the cat peed in your cereal today." 

"It’s your fucking cat,” Tony grumbles. He doesn’t move away as Rhodes treads over and steals a peck on the lips. The rest of the team stare in stunned silence; except Fury, who rolls his eye, and Thor, whose indulgent smile suggests he feels pretty damn good about himself for uncovering some hidden knowledge before everyone else. Steve notices the identical wedding bands on Tony and Rhodes’ fingers first, and it finally clicks. “You’re married to Tony?" 

"I am afraid the secret’s out, Captain. I am the mystery husband you’ve been hearing about and I assure you, I’m very real.” Rhodes slings a hand over Tony’s shoulder, and Tony melts into the touch, leaning on him for support, with a hand around Rhodes’ waist. No one speaks—no one fully overcomes the shock around the revelation, and though Steve looks like he’s working out the right words to say in his head, he stays quiet. At some point, Thor starts recording the confusion in the room as it unfolds—for a Space Viking who gives off strong Luddite vibes, he turns out to be exceptionally adept at using Earth tech. Tony isn’t surprised that Thor not only knows how to use a smartphone camera but he also developed a keen sense of when to use it—Barton looking like a flustered deer caught in headlights should be memorialised in every medium. 

“I’ve been told the secrecy around my existence has become a matter of concern among the team,” Rhodes says, fixing his gaze on Clint. The archer shrinks in his seat. He avoids looking at Tony. Or Rhodes. “I’m happy to answer questions, perhaps over dinner, and provide clarifications on whatever my husband has told you about me. He likes to exaggerate, as I’m sure you know. But if you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy with Tones right now. We haven’t seen each other in a year and this meeting was not my idea of a reunion. It’s lacking in some quality action if you know what I mean.” He leaves very little to the imagination. Steve’s scandalised; jaws clenched and his eyes dart from Tony to Rhodes and back to Tony. Thor continues recording as he holds the smartphone in front of the Captain’s face until Steve tries to swat it away, and misses. Only Bruce, Tony notices, shows remorse for doubting his accounts and questioning his sanity. 

With a final nod at the team, Rhodes walks out. “Coming?” He asks from the doorway. “I’ll catch up,” Tony says and lingers long enough for Fury to dismiss the team and leave. Clint’s sour expression—his nose crinkles as if he smelled something horrible—clashes with the way Tony’s eyes sparkle and his grin stretches ear to ear. “Hey birdbrain, how does it feel to be a clown? For what it’s worth, you never had a shot with him because I sealed the deal in '87. You were still working the circus. Yeah, that’s right, I read your files too—even the 'redacted’ ones.” Tony trots out of the room as Clint flips him off, with a big, smug grin plastered over his face. Some things are worth the wait—Rhodey has always been worth it. 

–FIN–

#james rhodes #tony stark #ironhusbands #tonyrhodey #rhodeytony #avengers #mcu #fics #asks #rhea writes #theherothechampiontheinquisitor