#Thanks so much for this comm and letting me have freedom with it. Missed drawing him

[tapeworrmart]

🦂💫 Trevor commission :)

#Always ALWAYS happy to draw more of him #Thanks so much for this comm and letting me have freedom with it. Missed drawing him #(I literally drew him couple of weeks ago lmao. Still. Miss him) #Trevor philips #Gta v #Gtav #gtav trevor #Grand theft auto v #Grand theft auto 5 #Gta 5 #fan art #art #sketch #character art

[loverhymeswith]

'Cause I'd Rather Feel Pain Than Nothing at All

Pairing: Rick Flag x GN!Reader

Summary: Inspired by the Three Days Grace song of the same name, this is an angsty little drabble that has been sitting in my drafts for a few months.

Word Count: 829

Warnings: Description of injury, angst

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Despite your clenched jaw, the lie slips out easily. Still, you avoid eye contact with Rick as he examines your bruised and swollen hand; his uncanny ability to read your emotions won’t serve you well right now. If he thinks for one minute that you’re badly injured, you’ll wind up on desk duty faster than you can say Bloodsport. That is, if either of you make it out of here alive.

“Really?” The word stretches out into the darkness, filling what little space there is between you. “Because it looks pretty damn bad to me.”

With so much cynicism lacing the colonel’s tone, your eyes involuntarily flicker upwards, landing on his familiar worry-worn face, illuminated as it is by the weak orange glow of your twin torches. Shadows dance across his battle-scarred features, eerily emphasising all his sharp curves and edges – a Picasso painting brought to life, albeit temporarily.

Thanks to the explosion rocking the building only minutes earlier, the two of you are trapped in what had once been the ground-floor comms-room, a mountain of rubble outside the door now separating you - somewhat ironically - from your squad of deadly prisoners. Those prisoners are undoubtedly enjoying their fleeting moment of freedom at your expense. If this situation doesn’t kill you, Amanda Waller surely will.

“Really. It’s probably just a sprain.” You tap the cracked GPS device somehow still strapped to your injured wrist and send out a silent prayer that Harley and the others will try to find you. And soon. Much like your ongoing attempt to convince Rick that you’re ok, the signal -- and your hope -- is weak.

The second lie draws Rick’s attention away from your hand, his hazel eyes finding you effortlessly even in the darkness. You quickly subvert your own gaze from the sweat beading across his filthy brow. It’s unfair that in such rotten conditions he still manages to look handsome.

“Let’s leave the diagnosis to the doctors, huh?” Calloused fingers brush across your knuckles. While it’s the ghost of a touch, you still find yourself gritting your teeth against the pain. Something is almost certainly fractured, but your hand is far from the only part of you that is wounded in Rick’s presence.

“If you say so.”

Spite tempts you to point out that hospitals and doctors seem like a distant fantasy when the pair of you might be lost down here forever. After all, any potential rescue attempt rides solely on Harley’s twisted moral compass. Between the two of you, have you shown her enough kindness? Perhaps she’ll leave you here to rot – and who could blame her?

But Rick is an optimist; he sees the good in people while you only see all the ways they can let you down. The colonel is no exception.

Careful not to jostle your hurting wrist, you snatch up one of the torches and aim the beam towards the door. The force of the fallen debris from the floors above has warped the metal in such a fashion that nothing short of another explosion is likely to free it from the frame. And you’re fresh out of nitro.

“Where was your head at?” Rick’s deep voice shatters the cloying silence descending over the room.

“Huh?” For the briefest of moments, you’d forgotten he was here. No easy feat considering his proximity, propped up beside you against the wall.

“Exactly. You’re somewhere else today. Distracted.”

He could be referring to any number of events: how you almost missed wheels-up because you couldn’t drag yourself out of bed; how you forget to check-out Harley’s weapons cache, leading to a meltdown of epic proportions from the princess of crime; how easily the guards got the drop on you.

Rick presses on. “You can talk to me, you know. If something is bothering you-”

 “I’m fine.” You cut him off decidedly, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Fine…

Has anyone ever said that four letter word and truly meant it?

From the flash of his eyes, it’s clear Rick doesn’t believe you.

You want to tell him the truth. You want to tell him that yes, your hand might be bad, but you’ve experienced far worse. That the pain you carry around with you every day has dulled your other senses, so much so that a knife to the gut would probably hurt less. But you don’t. Instead, ignoring the familiar and constant hurt throbbing deep in the cavern of your chest, you subtly shuffle away from him.

All things considered, the pain of your injury is a welcome relief, allowing you to focus on something other than the truth.

Because Rick Flag broke your heart without even knowing it. And now you’re stuck here beside him, waiting for almost inevitable death together in this dank, dark room.

Perhaps this was how it was always meant to be.

Joel Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @yespolkadotkitty @babblydrabbly @heresathreebee @phoenixhalliwell @weallhaveadestiny @lavenderluna10 @immyownlittlebitch @katjnordstrom96 @kirsteng42 @littlefreakingfangirl @s-u-t @xoxabs88xox @lacontroller1991 @mayhem24-7forever

#rick flag #joel kinnaman #the suicide squad #rick flag x reader #does this mean my hiatus is over?

[lilisloverboys]

“No. Have a good day.” I hang up the comm and let out a grumble at having to deal with that, rolling over in my bed and drawing a little heart on my wrist for Anakin.

The woman sighs and finalizes the paperwork before pinging both of their collars, organizing their folders while she waits.

When the two of them approach her desk, she smiles softly, looking them up and down. "Hello boys. I'm going to miss these bodies."

Voran frowns a little, "I'm... sorry Master, I don't understand. Where are we going?"

"You have been freed." She gets up from her chair and holds their folders out to them. "Lili, the woman from Corsucant who previously reserved the two of you? She has purchased your freedom."

Voran lets out a stunned noise and looks to Anakin, who's already silently crying as he stares at the papers. "She- freed both of us," he murmurs, looking back down at his own paper.

Anakin glances over at his wrist to see the heart, grinning through the tears that fall quicker now.

"Congratulations," the woman nods. "You may go home once you collect your things," she says to Voran, knowing Kit will be waiting for him. "And you, Anakin... she is your soulmate, I have figured out. Best of luck getting to her. She has left you both some money as well," she holds the bills out to them, nodding in encouragement when they just stare at her in shock. "Go on, take it."

"Thank- thank you," Voran breathes, taking Anakin's and placing it in Anakin's palm before grabbing his own, "How can- is there a way for me to contact Lili and arrange for Anakin to meet her somewhere? Is she coming here?"

The woman shrugs. "She said to leave you her number, give you the money, and 'send you'. I suppose it is up to Anakin to get to Coruscant."

"Come home with me," Voran tells him with a nod. "Come home with me first, and we will figure out the safest travel route. I don't- want you leaving here blind."

Anakin nods a little, grabbing his marker and drawing a shaky heart right back. Thank you. Thank you so much.

He lets Voran do the rest of the talking with the woman and quickly makes his way back to his cot, shoving all his droid parts and blankets and gems into the satchel he was provided as he got older.

He's... free. He's out of here. Finally out of this hell hole- and so is Voran. His togruta friend deserves it more than anyone else... Voran has been through so much here. Sometimes to keep Anakin safe and/or give him a break. A favor Anakin will never be able to fully repay.

He meets up with Voran ten minutes later, after both of them have had the bombs deactivated and collars removed, blinking back tears as he gives Voran a big smile. "Let's- let's go."

"Kit will be so excited," Voran says softly, walking Anakin out of the building and into the blazing suns.

Anakin squints until his eyes adjust, peering around the city in awe at how busy and lively it looks. He doesn't take time to admire it for long, though, simply excited to go see Kit.

When the two of them reach Kit's home and exchange tight hugs and many, many more tears, Kit finally pulls out the comm he managed to save up for, typing the number of your extension in before hitting dial for Anakin.

Anakin puts it to his ear, listening to the dial tone in awe of how these things work.

[chibinightowl]

First Contact

Inspired by @tanekore‘s utterly amazing Jason Todd piece, Freedom Fighter. I meant to have this up last week, but life threw me a ton of lemons, so I had to deal with the influx first. The story is set a few years in the future of a JayDick piece I wrote last year, which can be read here (forewarned, it’s E). This story is most definitely not. ^_^

---

The quiet ping from Tim’s comm put him on instant alert. And what a time for it, right in the middle of a conference vid with Federation High Command. Thank the stars he was alone in his office on board the Titan because otherwise, someone would undoubtedly notice the quiet shift of his hands as he brought up a holoscreen beneath his desk.

Normally, he wouldn’t go through the effort during a meeting such as this, but the alert was one he’d been waiting, no, hoping for since he lost contact with the merchant vessel his ultimate trump card was carefully stashed away on. The AI was his greatest accomplishment, so the loss of the ship and his agent were devastating to his plans to regain control over the hijacked Unternet, the sub-particle web that connected all the planets and colonies in the system with Earth. Anything was possible on those data streams and the government needed to regain control before Ulysses Armstrong realized exactly what he now had access to.

Tim suspected Moneyspider was involved somehow and Oracle concurred. Between them, they knew just about everything worth knowing in the Earth Federation; their respective roles in the Intelligence Service giving them more power than that fool of a President could ever dream of. Unlike the Penguin, he and Barbara Gordon were determined to use this knowledge for the betterment of all.

There were plans in place to overthrow the current regime, plans that they’d been ready to implement at the start of the next election cycle. Plans that were now crashing around them because of Armstrong. The AI had been key and now, despite all the odds, it was signaling it was back online.

How was Tim’s main question as his fingers flew over the small screen while maintaining eye contact with Admiral Wayne and the other Commanders of the six fleets that made up Naval forces protecting the solar system. From what was always a favorite unvoiced question of his since most of their turmoil came from within rather than from beyond. Case in point, right here as Armstrong was one of theirs, a former Naval officer with a massive chip on his shoulder that was often directed right at him.

Humans and their drama, he’d heard a Kryptonian say with derision once where he wasn’t supposed to overhear. It wasn’t entirely wrong, especially since humanity seemed to carry with them eons of history that they behaved as though occurred yesterday. Always looking to the past, the Kryptonian had added before changing the topic. 

Like they were ones to talk. There was a reason they were banned from this system. Or any other system with a yellow star. 

Tim swiped at the small holoscreen, tapping in the codes to receive data from the AI. Where was it? 

Streams of information flooded the screen, so fast his cybernetic-enhanced eyes could barely keep up. Dammit, this vid needed to end now. He could only listen to Ogilvy and Lark rehash the same stupid event for the third time. Neither of them came out of that looking great and both were determined to blame the other while trying to regain face with the Admiral.

Apparently, Admiral Wayne couldn’t stand to listen to it again either. “Alright, I think we’ve reached the end of the walk-ons,” he interrupted when Ogilvy paused for breath. “I expect to see all of you planet-side for the Naval graduation in three weeks. Until then, standard channels unless an emergency crops up.” 

He didn’t give the others a chance to reply and disconnected the vid, ending the conference. 

“Thank you,” Tim breathed, sending his holos to eye level with a flick of his wrist and expanding them. “TIM, load a chart of your current location.”

“Loading.” 

A large blue orb appeared on a third holo above the other two. 

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Neptune? How under the sun did you arrive there?”

The lost shuttle had been traveling between his base above Jupiter and Mars, using the interplanetary gates. Neptune’s current orbit could not be further away if it tried. 

A new stream of data appeared, complex figures and symbols that only someone with cybernetics could understand. What Tim read made him grimace because Oracle’s suspicions were now confirmed. Armstrong had used the Unternet to interfere with the interplanetary gates.

This was not good. At all.

“Current status?”

“Power cells at 15%, no exterior damage, and my scans indicate no internal damage either. However, I am in the hands of a human male who claims to be one of the greatest hackers who ever lived and he’s on the verge of cracking my HUD.”

“Son of a bitch,” Tim swore, fingers flying across the screen as he attempted to narrow in his own satellites and scanners on the AI’s location. “Any chance to draw power from elsewhere?”

“I’ve got enough power for a self-destruct. Should I initiate?”

Good question. Tim frowned and glanced back at the screen showing Neptune.

“Get me a visual on your hacker.”

The image flickered and a face appeared, framed by untamed red hair and a grungy cap that should have seen the trash bin ages ago. He was human alright, and smart enough to wear protective goggles as he poked around at TIM’s HUD. There was something familiar about him, but with his eyes concealed, it was up to facial recognition to narrow the possibilities. 

A list of possible names popped up, and Tim honed in on one immediately. Roy Harper, alias Arsenal. Member of the antigovernment group the Outlaws and listed as their resident munitions and technology expert. Hacker could probably fall under that category, although Tim suspected the man’s claims to be exaggerated unless things had drastically changed since the last time their paths crossed. 

It was times like these that Tim missed the relative simplicity of his Academy days. Dick would not be happy if he were to learn about this. 

Best not to tell him then. 

“No need for self-destruct yet,” he instructed the AI. “The Outlaws aren’t as antiestablishment as they’d like the press to believe. In their own way, they’re trying to take the Penguin down too.”

Not that they were doing a good job of it. They needed a plan, structure. A leader who didn’t fly off the handle and blow things up at the drop of a hat.

“Standby then, sir?”

Tim watched as Harper leaned in closer. Another figure stood behind him, just over his shoulder, but wearing a full-face mask as opposed to Harper’s goggles. He zoomed in and stepped back in surprise. 

It was an oni mask, grim and fearsome, and as red as the eyes of the man whose face it concealed. The thing was, he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this sector of space. In fact, if he remembered correctly, the file stated he was near Venus on the New Arkham penal colony, sentenced for a lifetime of hard labor in the mines for more murders than Tim had fingers and toes. 

Jason Todd. The Red Hood. 

What the hell was he doing here? 

Tim’s nearly obsessive need for answers had him sitting back down in his chair, eyes locked on the vid. “Yes. Standby and observe.”

---

Ghost ships never failed to give Jason the creeps. Death and him were old friends, but it didn’t make it any easier when the people bumping into him in zero-g never had a chance. An interplanetary gateway malfunction, Roy had guessed when they came upon the ship hanging in Neptune’s gravity-well. The large shuttle definitely wasn’t the type to travel long distances, and there wasn’t much out this far unless a person was readying to leave the system altogether. They were lucky the Starfire was of Tamaranean design, otherwise there would be no oxygen slowly filtering in from the docking port. This shuttle wasn’t the biggest he’d ever seen, but it was large enough for a good fifty or so passengers.

Where had it come from?

Jason pushed another drifting body away from where Roy crouched on the floor, the magnetic pull of their gravity-boots allowing them to stand still. “Seriously, let’s get out of here already.”

“Someone afraid of a bunch of dead people?”

“I see dead people all the time. You’re next if you don’t move your ass.”

Roy ignored him, entranced with the new toy he’d found drifting amongst the other detritus. “You don’t get it, Jaybird. This is DI tech. Drake Industries. We’re talking top-of-the-line, best of the best, tech here. It’s so expensive I can’t even afford it in my dreams.”

“You can’t even afford a new hat.”

“Go poke through the engine room. If there’s any charge left to those ion batteries, we’ll be sittin’ pretty for a cycle or more.”

Jason sighed as he wandered away. This was what he was reduced to, sifting through wreckage of dead vessels and scavenging for goods that would put food in his stomach and recharge the fuel cells on Kory’s ship. The last attempt to gain a foothold in the Federation had crippled the Outlaws more than the government likely realized, and it wasn’t just because they’d captured him.

No, even after his rescue by the two most incredible people he’d ever known, it all boiled down to one thing.

Money.

Well, money and information. Neither of which were in great abundance at the moment.

So here they were, out in the back of beyond licking their wounds and biding their time. Another opportunity to take a stab at the Penguin would come again. It had to, because otherwise, what was the point? What had he given everything up for if not for that one chance to make things right, better for everyone in the Earth Federation?

Not for the first time, an image of Dick flashed before his eyes and Jason shoved the thought away with a grimace. Fuck memory lane and fuck Dick Grayson. The past was the past and he’d more than learned from the mistakes he’d made there.

The engine room proved to have nothing but inert batteries, the charge to them utterly neutralized by the energies of a malfunctioning gateway. Jason shoved the last tube back into its casing and scowled. There went any chance of a decent meal unless he wanted to sift through the luggage in the hold.

Why the fuck not? It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, not with Roy still poking and prodding at that piece of DI tech.

The cold, dark air in the storage compartments made Jason shiver as soon as he entered. With all the pods, it reminded him of a tomb. In a way it was, as everything down here wasn’t needed by the people floating up above. Chances were likely all the passengers died when the gateway created the wormhole that sent them out here, but there might have been a few stragglers who slowly suffocated as the air ran out.

He got to work, switching on a light-stick to see by, and sorted through the luggage pods. There were a few promising items. Earth gems always garnered some decent creds outside the system, so the jewelry he found was stashed away quick enough. A silken robe he set aside for Kory, and in the depths of one suitcase, he found a stash of physical cred chips.

Maybe there would be some beef to add to his broccoli after all.

“Hey, Jay!” Roy called from above. “You down here?”

“Yeah!” Jason returned to the stairs so he wouldn’t need to shout. “The engine room was a bust, but you might want to check it out, just in case. Got a few things in here that might be worth something if we head over to Vega for the exchange.”

Roy clomped down the stairs, the pull on his boots against the metal making it ring with each step. “You won’t believe what this is.” He held out the thick, circular disc he’d been messing around with earlier.

“Something we can trade for a shit ton of creds?”

“Technically, yes. However, I think we might want to keep it.”

Jason frowned, not sure what his best friend was getting at. “Why?”

“Because this isn’t just DI tech. This is Drake Industries AI tech.”

Well now. Even he’d heard rumors about the kind of artificial intelligence DI was involved with. All military grade stuff too, the kind that required the highest of clearances to even be in the same room with it.

And now, here they were with what could be one of the most cutting-edge AIs in the system.

He sighed, not looking forward to poking through the bodies upstairs to see who it might have belonged to. “What have you done to it?”

Roy laughed, eyes a little wild as he slipped his shades back on. It didn’t matter that it was darker than the murk that constantly surrounded New Gotham, the man could see perfectly with them. “Charged the battery a bit. It was almost dead.”

“Are we gonna die if we turn this thing on?”

“Probably not.” Roy handed the disc to him. “At least, I’m 60% sure.”

Jason had lived through worse odds, but because he had a reputation to maintain, he still gave his friend shit. “Gee, that’s reassuring. And since you’re just so goddamned skilled at putting me at ease, I’m covering my face. The last thing we need is the Federation on our asses right now.” 

Roy shrugged and took a few steps back as Jason slid his oni mask on. It used the same lens technology as Roy’s shades. “Your funeral.”

“Yeah, it is.”

It wasn’t that Jason didn’t trust Roy. He knew in the coldest cockles of his heart that the man would never betray him. The problem was, his best friend was erratically brilliant and if what he said about this piece of tech was in anyway accurate, then they had a treasure trove of information and access into the inner workings of the Federation in their hands.

This was the edge the Outlaws needed to get back in the game. 

If he wasn’t, then chances were likely they were about to get fucked because that was the way their luck had been of late.

“Here goes nothing.” Jason pressed lightly on the activation sensor. 

The device illuminated and spun in his hand, glowing with a faint blue light as it hovered before them. A hologram appeared, about ten inches in height, of what appeared to be a human male. A rather attractive one at that, with fine features, sharp cheekbones, and an even sharper jaw. 

Whoever made the AI, they were definitely projecting a fantasy because no man could be that good looking. 

The hologram’s eyes narrowed. “I am TIM, designation 003-07-19. Who are you?”

Was that a bit of sass Jason’s ears detected? “Who do you think we are?” he asked instead, wanting to see what this thing could do.

A small HUD light up in front of TIM the AI. “Visual scans indicate Roy Harper, known as Arsenal, and Jason Todd, the Red Hood. Members of the antigovernment group the Outlaws.” Those eyes narrowed again. “Such an original name,” he muttered.

“Hey, who’re you to judge?” Jason shoved his mask up over his head because there was apparently no point in hiding behind it. With the light the AI was giving off, he could see just fine. “What kind of AI are you?”

“I am TIM,” the hologram replied. “Tactical Information Manager. Series 003-07-19.”

At least he answered direct questions. Why wasn’t he checking for clearance codes? Was this a private piece of tech rather than Navy? If so, whoever created this was a goddamned genius.

“Okay, TIM. Here’s the deal. We found you on board a ghost ship. There’s not a living soul out here except for me and Roy. You do what we tell you, we’ll bring you back to the inner ring.”

Eventually. Jason crossed his toes in his boots, a habit from childhood he never quite grew out of.

“My files indicate you are supposed to be on the New Arkham penal colony.”

Jason smirked. Looked like the government didn’t want to admit they’d fucked up and lost him. “Does it look like we’re on New Arkham? I don’t think so.”

“No, coordinates indicate we are orbiting Neptune.”

Looked like TIM’s data relays were connecting to the Starfire’s mainframe. Whether that was a good thing or not was for Roy to decide. Although, Kory would be pissed if they’d managed to fuck up her ship while she was undercover on the Titan.  “Yeah, it’s a real gas.” 

The humor was lost on the AI. “Did you escape then? Please tell me how so that I can update my files.” 

“Don’t think so, Timmy. If the government wants to believe they still have me all safe and sound in that hellhole, let them. It’s their fault they couldn’t keep me there in the first place.” Not that he ever made it there, but the AI didn’t need to know that.

“My name is TIM, not Timmy.” The AI sounded almost prissy. 

Jason leaned forward. “Your name is whatever I feel like calling ya.”

“Then that will make it hard to determine if you need my services or are speaking to the bots.”

“What the fuck kind of AI are you?”

“The best kind.”

--- Behind the HUD, the real Tim snickered as Todd’s posturing turned more and more into bewilderment the longer he bickered with TIM. Or maybe it was his makeshift uniform because who under the sun finds a man with an ice cream pin tacked onto his jacket intimidating? It even smiled. 

Still, this was a unique opportunity and one that he wasn’t about to waste. The Outlaws were working toward a similar goal as he and Oracle, even if they approached it from a different angle. How did that old adage go? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? 

Yes, he could make this work. Possibly even use these men to further his own goals and take out Armstrong. Wasn’t there a third person who was part of the main crew, a Tamaranean female? He’d have to check.

“The best kind,” Todd repeated, mocking while Harper snickered beside him. “Someone’s got a massively high opinion of himself.”

“Says the man who’s holding his life and jacket together with safety pins and duct tape,” Tim replied, and the AI repeated the words.

Todd’s face turned red and he pointed a gloved finger at TIM. “Listen here, TIM. I recognize DI tech when I see it. That shit’s top notch and so are you. And right now, you’re mine. So whatever backtalk you’ve got programmed into your behavioral patterns, forget it.” 

“I’m afraid you’re sadly mistaken,” the AI stated on its own. “Part of my programming includes the ability to verbally spar. My maker designed me so.”

Yes, and he was rather proud of that little fact. TIM was an extension of himself after all, designed to go where he could not.

“They programmed you to annoy the fuck outta people?”

“You are not my maker and I am not being used for my intended purpose. As such, anything I can do to complete my mission, I will.”

Harper whistled, low and slow. “Wow. I had no idea AI technology was this advanced. Those are subversive behavior patterns, right there.”

But Todd grinned slowly and held TIM higher. This close, Tim found himself face to face with a pair of stunning teal eyes, not red at all like the file stated. Were they his real color? He mentally smacked himself. Now was not the time to fixate on a pair of attractive eyes.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”

The sad thing was, Tim was highly inclined to agree with him.

#chibinightowl writes #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #preJayTim #space AU

[halfblood-fiend]

Star Trek Bingo 2020: Vertical Prompt 3

Chess/”Board” Games

Show: Voyager

Words: 1,841

Rating: General Audiences

Warning(s): shenanigans

Dungeons and Bandwagons

When Giana attempts to organize her first D&D campaign onboard the Voyager, it turns out to be a bit more complicated than she thought.

Read it on AO3

We’d been going around and around for most of our lunch break. I did not think that introducing twenty-third century people to D&D would be so difficult.

After another explanation, Harry Kim stared at me with his hands folded beneath his chin for too long a while. “I don’t get it,” he said finally, picking his fork back up to resume playing with his food. “How is that supposed to be better than a holodeck program?”

“Uhhh… it’s interactive and adaptable?”” I offered. “Your DM makes the story up for you as you go.”

“An adept programmer could make the holodeck function in the same manner,” Vorik chimed in from my right. I had to keep from rolling my eyes.

 “Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

He shrugged without looking at me. “I am on the side of logic.”

I ignored this, shaking my head and insisted to Harry, “There are scenarios you just can’t plan for.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like…”

God. Like deciding to bang the first NPC you meet. Why? Eh, just ‘cause. Like deciding as a group to put on a spur-of-the-moment chili cook off to grant the deed to the town’s tavern to the winner because, obviously a chilli cook-off is the most fair way to make decisions. Or like deciding to betray your entire party for your character’s freedom, and then betraying those new allies and running off alone. Or like solving every kidnapping or murder problem by rolling the unwanted body up in a rug, and then lying to so many people about your rug selling business that your party all decide to petition the city for an actual business license, thus derailing the campaign for weeks as you all turn in your paperwork and get in touch with a real estate agent within the fantasy city in order to find a place to house your Totally-Not-Fake Rug and Carpeting Business.

But how to explain all that?

“Man… you just gotta trust me,” I sighed. “There are way too many variables to be able to make a program that will adapt to all of them. You have no way of knowing what could happen during a D&D campaign. Trust me.”

“Eh, I’m down to try,” Lyssa Campbell said. When Harry gave her a doubtful look, she shrugged. “Hey, it’s gotta be better than that poker everyone is always playing. And as long as we’re all relaxing and talking and having fun, then it sounds like it’ll be just fine.”

“Sounds like a rip off of my Grendel program,” Harry muttered. “And not even as interesting because we aren’t fighting holographic monsters. We’re just—what? —imagining everything happening?”

“Aha! I got it,” I said with a snap of my fingers, cutting off whatever he was talking about. “Dice!”

Harry raised his eyebrows and Vorik said, “Explain.”

“You can’t roll dice on the holodeck.”

“So?”

“So! Rolling the dice to try and see how well you do things is the best part!”

“If you’re telling me that’s the best part of this game, I’m really doubting how much “fun” you claim it to be.”

“Aww, come on, Harry! Let’s just try it!”

He shook his head again, but a smile started pulling at his lips. “Fine, but I’m not going to have fun and I will complain the whole time.”

“Doubt that,” I replied with a wink. “But I’ll take it for now.”

“Giana! If you can spare a moment, I have an inquiry regarding your role-playing game.”

Similar sentiments had been asked of me by most of my friends and future players, but Vorik was the last person that I had expected to have any trouble with character building. Yet here Vorik was, appearing at my shoulder before I could enter the turbolift to leave Engineering.

“An inquiry? Now is that more or less important than a plain question?”

He gave me a puzzled look as we entered the lift together and I smiled.

“Nevermind. Shoot.”

“What?”

“Ask me the question. Deck two.”

The turbolift slid into motion and Vorik began, “I was looking over the documents you sent those of us who required characters for your Dungeons and Dragons—”

I smiled at his use of the name but nodded.

“—and I noticed that ‘Human’ is among the other more fantastical races that one can play. It gave me an idea that I wished to discuss with you.”

“Oh, yeah… I mean, I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s just an old Human-made game, remember? Don’t take it too seriously. I, like, literally never actually played a Human before. That would just be like playing myself and, sure, you always kinda do that but who wants to be so obvious about it?”

Vorik blinked. “I would.”

It was my turn to ask, “What?”

“If Humans can exist in this world, then I would like to role-play as a Vulcan.”

I chewed my lip, my heart sinking because I felt like Vorik was missing the point. Here I thought he was going to do something interesting when he asked to join the party. I was excited to see what he would come up with. But, then again, it wasn’t like he role-played very much when we played Skyrim together on the holodeck either. His inflexible and aloof attitude usually confused all the Nords until I stepped in to use the “proper” language. Made him useless at price haggling.

Since he wanted to play at all, I conceded to myself, that had to be close enough. I didn’t want to totally control his play. I never liked it when my DMs had done that in the past.

He a little confused, but he got the spirit.

“Okay,” I relented, “I’ll see what I can do about homebrewing a ‘Vulcan’ stat-block for you, just…promise me one thing?”

My Vulcan companion quirked an eyebrow at me. “Yes?”

The turbolift stopped and opened its doors. I could hear the sounds of soft chatter and laughter coming from the mess hall. Whatever Neelix was cooking wafted up the corridor and smelled really promising. My stomach grumbled in response.

“Just don’t play yourself,” I said as we both stepped off the lift and the doors slid closed behind us. “If you show up with a character named ‘Vorik,’ I’m going to kick you from the game. And then, literally kick you in the shins.”

“An extreme reaction, don’t you think?”

I put up my fists as if I was gonna fight him. “Oh, I can get more extreme.”

Looking at my poor guard dubiously, he said dryly, “I’m sure. Your Human penchant for hysterics?”

“Hysterics?! Oh! Well how about your high drama, mister??”

“I do not know to what you could be referring.”

The line at Neelix’s kitchen counter was somewhat long, which gave Vorik and I plenty of time to debate the “logic” of Vulcan fashion choices back and forth. I insisted they were dramatic for no reason and Vorik tried to act like real thought went into all the high collars and zig-zagged diagonal clasps. Neelix’s pasta dish actually did look as promising as it smelled, which was a nice surprise.

“Ah, Miss Giana, I almost forgot,” Neelix gasped as I turned away, drawing me back. “Ensigns Swinn and Jurot wanted to ask you about—ah—something called a ‘character sheet’?”

I thanked him with a smile and motioned for Vorik to help me pick them out of the crowded hall at dinner hour.

The day had come to start our campaign and not a moment too soon. I was excited as all hell. I’d hardly slept at all the night before, choosing instead to expand some NPC backstories and prepare a few more monsters. Just in case.

All of my players’ character sheets were checked and filed on my PADD for reference. I couldn’t help but laugh when Vorik sent me his and I saw the name at the top of the sheet. He had listened to me and wasn’t playing himself…but I was very curious to see how Surak the monk was going to handle my adventure. I was pretty pleased with everyone’s character concepts, actually. I had a pretty balanced group.

I’d decided some time ago that a grand total of six players was all that I could conceivably handle. But that hadn’t stopped everyone else from trying to ask for a spot. Dozens of requests had flooded my inbox from all corners of the ship (Neelix’s doing, I assumed) and I had spent a good chunk of time yesterday writing personal “sorry, maybe next times.”

Even Chakotay had sent me a note! Not to, like, join or anything, but still! He mentioned that he was familiar with the old game and wanted to tell me that he thought it would be good for morale and crew unity and other things commanders cared about.

I practically sprinted away the second my shift was over, bolting to the door before Lieutenant Carey had even said goodbye.

I was the last player on duty, and my group’s attitude towards D&D had changed dramatically once they’d built their characters. They all made me promise not to keep them waiting for too long.

And speak of the devil.

The communicator badge on my chest chirped before I’d made it halfway down the corridor. Harry’s voice crackled over the comm.

“Uhhh…Giana?”

I tapped the badge to answer. “Yeah, yeah, Harry. I’m on my way as fast as I can, okay?”

“Oh… No, no. It’s not that…”

Was I hearing things, or did I detect the hum of a lot of voices in the background?

“What is it?”

He sounded uncomfortable. “I think we need to find a different venue to play. Your quarters are going to be a little cramped…” Muted voices spoke rapidly but I couldn’t catch any words. “Meet us in the Lounge instead. Vorik says he has a code and he’d grab the PADD with your notes. I made him promise not to look.”

Nervous laughter bubbled from my mouth. “Uhh…why?”

Vorik’s voice resonated over Harry’s comm. “There are thirty-six other people who would like to spectate our game. At first it did not seem inconceivable to accommodate a few of them when they asked…”

“But all of us told a couple people that they could come and now there’s thirty-six of them,” Harry finished. “Sorry, Gee…”

Thirty-six… That’s forty-two people…

My jaw actually dropped.

“Okay,” I said in a small voice. “See… S-See you all there…” I killed the line by tapping on my badge again and wobbled.

I was shaking when I boarded the turbolift.

I’d never DM-ed a game before in my life, even though I’d talked about doing so on several occasions back home. So, without experience, or my old friends to ask for tips, I was already starting out nervous.

But now?

Holy shit.

What was I gonna do??

I blinked and the turbolift doors slipped shut on me, whisking me away to an uncertain fate.

#Star Trek #Voyager #Star Trek: Voyager #Voy #Ensign Vorik #Harry Kim #Giana Moreno #ah...what the heck #OTP: Two Worlds Collided #Star Trek Bingo

[shreyamistry]

Do you still accept requests? Sorry to disturb you but can you make a reader swoon #27 prompt for Miranda x Princess?

Pairing: Miranda x Princess Marguerite

Prompt: ”And now your hand is in mine and I feel like the luckiest person to walk the planet.”

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Princess Marguerite is getting married, can Miranda convince her to do otherwise, to pick her, to put her own happiness first for once in her life? All while reminising on their past together.

A/N: Thanks for the ask! Masterlist in bio. Requests are open, be sure to read my rules before requesting anything.

Thanks for reading! I hope you like it!

Miranda’s hands trails from Rita’s shoulders down the fabric of her wedding dress. Her eyes heavy with tears as she looks over the beautiful bride-to-be. The lace detailing on the dress reminded her of the dress Rita told her about since they first met and talked about the idea of getting married. Her eyes followed over the design sucking in a breath. She would not be the one to walk down the aisle with the Princess today, her eyes fell back on her.

“You look stunning.” Miranda whispers, “The tiara is lovely.”

Marguerite smiles, “Miranda…”

Despite Lee’s voice in her ear, Miranda couldn’t hear them as they dispatched with Sybil in tow. Miranda moves her hand to the princess’ face cupping her cheek in her hand with gentle fluid movements as she brushes a few pieces of fallen out of place hair from the commotion of her arrival.

“Simply ravishing.” She whispers, “I can’t believe you’re to be married tonight.”

“I would trade the world for it to be you, Miranda.” The princess whispers in response, her own hands falling on Miranda’s sides holding her from a distance still taking in the shock of Miranda actually being with her right now. “I always pictured you wearing white to my wedding.”

Miranda laughs bitterly, the Princess’ face falling with her reaction. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“I understand.” Marguerite nods, “I would be bitter had I been in your shoes.”

“I’m not bitter because of you though,” Miranda reassures, “I care deeply for you still. You must know that alone.” She draws the Princess closer to her body her arms wrapping around her neck holding her tightly as though her life depended on this very moment. The princess draws her arms tighter around Miranda’s waist resting her chin on Miranda’s shoulder listening to the beat of her heart against her own.

A soft song picks up from outside the dressing chambers, as Miranda and Rita sway in beat to the song. Her hands pressed firmly against Miranda’s lower back as she guides them backwards a step, Miranda laughing sweetly in her arms as she pulls gently away to look at her, taking her hand into her own.

“I’ve missed dancing with you.” The princess comments.

Miranda smiles, “I’ve missed it as well. You were always so light on your feet.”

“I had a passionate partner teach me.” Miranda blushes at the words, guiding the Princess through a sweet twirl, before pulling her back into her arms. Her feet glide as she leads them now in longer strides finding the footing, she’s long forgotten from her life at court with her. She remembered the Prince’s faces when Miranda and her would dance after she cut the dance short asking to step in for them. Unaware to the entire room the nights they shared and the life they lived together in secret.

“Do you think about us a lot?” Miranda questions her words on the edge of cracking. Rita meets her gaze a sadness flickering between the both of them before the Princess takes her turn to twirl Miranda earning her another few seconds before having to face the question. She turns her twice for good measure, Miranda’s sad smile on her lips as she’s pulled back into the embrace.

“More than I wish. I still wish you’d join us back on the court.”

“I have more fun in my new life. You’d benefit from it as well.” Miranda responds. She can’t ever seem to forget her lover, when she showers, when she brushes her teeth, when she looks in a mirror, walks to a cafe, when she’s tried to date other women, everything led her back to Marguerite. “Lee cares about their crew. We could live on the run, go to Tokyo like we always talked about. Climb the Eiffel Tower. Visit the grand pyramids of Egypt. Have an authentic New York subway experience and do it all over again.”

“Oh, Miranda.” Marguerite smiles. “That’d be lovely.”

“But?” Miranda asks.

Marguerite sighs, “Don’t be coy, Miranda.”

“I can’t lose you again.” She drops her head, pulling away from the Princess, approaching the vanity set up in the room. A frown overtakes her features as she neatly folds her legs under the desk sitting on the chair looking over her hair. Miranda brushes her fingers through her hair with a wistful sigh. “Why would you give up your chance at freedom?”

“It’s not so black and white, Miranda,” Marguerite replies, approaching her. She places both of her hands-on Miranda’s shoulders toying with the edges of her sleeves. Her fingers sliding underneath letting the warmth of Miranda’s skin elope her hands with a calmness she’s only ever felt in Miranda’s arms. “My family. My country. My people. There’s much to consider.”

Miranda falls silent thinking over her words. Marguerite plucks a lipstick off the vanity, turning to face Miranda completely leaning in as she uncaps the lipstick. “May I?” Miranda nods, as she brings the lipstick to the part of her mouth that smudged, Miranda’s favorite color. The Princess could never bring herself to throw out the lipstick she used. She caps the lipstick bottle, brushing her thumb under her lip to ensure it doesn’t get caught on her skin. 

“Consider me first for once. That’s what I want, Rita, more than anything.” Miranda breathes out, trying to keep her cool. “Your mother could handle everything without you. We don’t have to even go on the run, just let him go. Refuse to go with it, your people would support you, Miranda. They care for your happiness.”

Miranda eyes her carefully, a mix of emotions decorating her features as she processes her lover’s words so carefully. Her life and her future depended on them after all, everything that would happen following this decision would shape their lives finitely. She looks back to the hopeful look on Miranda’s face as she leans overtaking her hand.

With a hesitant smile, she says, “Yes. I will tell him. I choose you.”

“Are you certain?”

“With every fiber in my heart, dearest Miranda.”

Miranda squeezes her hand tightly, turning in the seat to face her completely. “And now your hand is in mine and I feel like the luckiest person alive.” She takes Rita’s other hand, pressing a sweet kiss to the back of it. She moves to place that hand on her waist moving her hand to the Princess’ cheek afterward, drawing her face closer to her own. A few moments past before their lips finally meets a sudden reddening of the Princess’ cheeks.

Their lips move in perfect sync, drawing each other closer and closer with every passing moment. Her hands explore the Princess’ back, thinking of their previous life together. The memories flashing through her mind remembering the tiny details that made her fall in love with the princess all over again. The scent of her perfume engulfs her, the way her hair tickles her face when she’s leaning over her kissing her, the taste of her Chapstick; the same brand and flavor she’s always used, and the passion behind them.

The Princess’ draws Miranda up from the seat pressing her back against the counter giving them an easier less awkward position. Her hands follow the natural curves of Miranda’s body, gliding over the lean fabric of her dress.

Before the moment can get out of hand, Miranda hears Lee in her comm. She answers quickly, holding Rita’s face in her hands stroking her cheeks as she listens to their instructions a smile on her lip focusing on Rita over the call. When the communications move towards Sybil, she turns her attention to the Princess completely.

“I have to part with you right now. I will be back to take you with us.” She reassures, “Wait for me just a bit longer?”

“It’s you who’s always waiting for me. Let it be my turn for once, Miranda.” The Princess nods.

Miranda steals a kiss from her unable to let go just yet, “I’m not ready to lose you again.”

“And you won’t.” Rita encourages.

“You promise?”

“With all my heart.”

#miranda moreau #miranda x marguerite #princess marguerite #playchoices #the heist: monaco #th:m #thm #the heist monaco #request #prompt #my writing #and now your hand is in mine and i feel like the luckiest person alive #marguerite x miranda

[queenangst]

Lifeline

Time loop AU. When Keith wakes up after crashing his ship to stop Naxzela from exploding, he thinks it's a dream. And then it happens again.

Some days he dies like this, closing his eyes to a light that burns him to the core. Other days, Keith dies with a knife between his ribs, or in the hull of a ship, or with the others as Naxzela renders the sky to pieces. Over and over and over. Again and again.

read on ao3 / ffnet / a lil thank u to @kcgane for making these tracks because. they’re good.

chapter one

Keith’s eyes shoot open.

He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, going so fast that it feels like his chest might split open.

His hands are clenched into fists at his side, not meant to throw a punch, but instead mimicking his grip on the controls of a Galra ship. There’s sweat on his forehead, and his shirt is clinging to his skin.

“A dream,” Keith says, sitting up and drawing his knees up to his chest. “A nightmare.”

It has to be. Has to be.

Because the last thing he remembers… the last thing he remembers—

A clipped wing. The distant voices of his teammates through the comms. Matt and Lance and Hunk and—Shiro’s voice, of course, sounding strained, and…

…he leans forward as the ship picks up speed. There’s no time to think, but Keith has never bothered much with thinking, anyway.

This is the only option. The rebel ships can do nothing. Voltron is too far. Keith is the only one who can make a difference; if he doesn’t act, then everything he’s been fighting for will fall.

The ship shudders a little, but Keith pushes it, faster, further, gunning for the barrier.

Keith squeezes his eyes shut and counts down from ten. There’s a blanket over his legs and a knife under his pillow and this, this is real, and dying is not.

His breathing evens out after a bit. There’s things to live for, after all.

Keith strips his shirt off, making a face at the resistance it gives. It doesn’t take long for him to get dressed in the thin black suit and then the armor that follows.

There’s the echoing of footsteps from down the hall. It sounds awfully familiar, but Keith ignores it in favor of studying himself in the mirror on the wall.

A moment later, Kolivan is standing at the door.

“Keith.”

He fits on the last of his armor but keeps his hood down. There’s no need for it.

“You need me?”

Kolivan inclines his head. “I am about to speak to Team Voltron. I think you should join me.”

Keith nods. “Got it.”

They make their way to the bridge. It’s not unlike the Castle’s, but it is smaller, with only standing positions at the controls. Keith crosses to the front, and Kolivan pulls up the comms channel.

They patch through to Voltron.

Compared to the Blade’s ship, the Castle is brighter, and past them, Keith catches a glimpse of orange sky. Shiro and Allura, as expected, as standing in the front. Between them is a map of the system, one that Keith has long since had memorized.

“Entire Galra fleets have been mobilized,” Kolivan says. “Zarkon seems to be out looking for Lotor.”

Keith grits his teeth at the mention of Lotor, but he keeps quiet.

“It’s only a matter of time before he gets the Empire back in order,” Shiro says. His face is grim and determined. Keith likes the look; it means he has a plan. “We need to take advantage of this moment.”

Allura’s mouth is set in a frown.

“What are you getting at, Shiro?”

A dream—memory—flashes through Keith’s mind.

“The coalition,” he says without thinking. “Naxzela.”

Shiro meets his gaze, approving. “Keith’s right. We need to assemble the coalition we’ve been building. With intelligence gathered by the Blades-” Here, Shiro inclines his head toward Kolivan in a show of thanks. “-and coalition observers, combined with the power of Pidge’s Galra tracking software, we’ve put together a detailed map of the Galra Empire.”

It spins into view, purple and blue planets dancing in the air.

Keith bites the inside of his cheek. He’s been here before, has seen this map before. It’s like there’s something he’s missing, a piece of a puzzle dangling just out of reach. Like he knows a passcode but not the last number, but he needs to unlock this—whatever it is.

Shiro’s gone through the first part of the plan already, but it doesn’t matter. Keith has a feeling he already knows it.

Dream, dream, he chants in his mind. Dream, dream, dream. Not real.

“If this works… the Voltron Coalition will have taken back a third of the Galra Empire’s territory. It would be a huge victory.”

“And inspire a new wave of rebellions.”

Shiro crosses his arms. “There’s no time to waste.”

The fight would be crucial—a critical blow against Zarkon. Keith scours his mind, trying to see if he can fit enough pieces together to find an outcome.

There’s nothing. Cold settles in his stomach. Nothing after that burning light brighter than the sun and quiet and jolting awake in his quarters, sweat on his skin and a scream on his tongue. He doesn’t know if it will work or not, but… he does know he could trust Shiro.

That has to be enough.

On the other end of the channel, Shiro turns to face the team.

“Suit up,” he orders.

Kolivan turns and begins barking orders of his own. Anju’s already set course for their coordinates. Keith spots Inek weaving through the Blades, her shorter stature and barbed tail making her easy to identify.

Keith already knows his role.         He’ll be with Kolivan and a few others to infiltrate the cannon. He’s needed there.

“Are you prepared?”

Keith blinks. Kolivan looms over him, a figure intimidating to most.

“You seem distracted,” Kolivan offers when Keith doesn’t respond. “The mission we are about to undertake is an important one. You need to focus.”

This—this conversation he doesn’t remember. Keith sucks in a long breath and tries to clear his mind.

It doesn’t matter if he’s done this before or if he’s dreamed the way the day would go or, hell, if he’s woken up in a different reality. In every situation, he needs to be on top of his game.

Focus, Keith thinks. Patience yields focus.

It’s enough. Keith nods. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got this.”

“Worry,” Kolivan says, like he doesn’t know the word. He’s already turned away. “Keep the comms channel open.”

On Voltron’s side, the others are getting ready. Shiro is ready in less than a minute; when he catches Keith looking, the corners of his lips lift up. He lifts his hand like he wants to touch Keith’s shoulder but settles with a wave.

Keith swallows and waves back. He can’t get the sound of Shiro’s voice in his mind, can’t escape the feeling that they’re walking into a trap.

He opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it again. He can’t run on feelings alone, not right now, and—well, Shiro might not listen to him, anyway.

Behind him, Lance and Allura are talking quietly together. There’s a smile on Lance’s face that Keith hasn’t seen in a while. He glances over, and his grin grows wider before he turns back to Allura.

Pidge, Matt, and Hunk are gathered around a laptop. Probably discussing the Galra-tracking tech. As he watches, Shiro crosses over, putting a hand on Hunk’s shoulder casually as he leans in and speaks to them. Pidge adjusts her glasses and nods, and Shiro uses his other hand to ruffle her hair.

Keith is suddenly hit with a pang of loneliness.

The scene is a familiar one. He’s seen it before, has lived it before. Keith glances down at his Blade suit, and his mouth turns sour with the memory that he no longer belongs there, with them.

“It’s time to gather the coalition,” Shiro says, straightening and crossing back to the map. “We need our friends and allies from across the universe now more than ever. With their help, we finally have a chance to turn the tides of this war.”

This is it, Keith thinks.

“We’ve been waiting for this moment, and now we are more prepared than we’ve ever been.”

Allura’s eyes blaze with the light of a thousand suns. “Let’s do this.”

Keith falls in step behind Kolivan as the screen blinks out. It’s replaced with a map, and the Blades begin to speak in low voices together about strategies and their own roles in the upcoming fight.

Keith follows Kolivan and a few other Blades to their mission ship. They’re about three times larger than the pods in the Castle, better suited for missions but still small enough to escape notice if they’re careful.

“The broadcast will be starting soon,” Anju reports, already at the controls. “Setting coordinates now.”

“Power to the thrusters,” someone says.

“Ready to fly.”

“Go,” Kolivan says, and they take off without fanfare. Keith stands shoulder-to-shoulder with another Blade, the two of them gripping a bar as they stand in line. They’ll be dropped not too far from the cannon’s base before they cut through the brush to ambush it.

“Broadcast is live.”

Kolivan nods. “Play it.”

Allura appears on the screen. It strikes Keith then, how much her presence resonates. He feels like she’s in front of him, staring at them. Her eyes are sharp, her chin lifted in pride. Regal, commanding, and the face of a revolution.

“Fellow members of the Voltron Coalition,” she says, and he feels the words in his chest. “If you are hearing me now, it is because you have pledged to stand together with Voltron in the fight against Zarkon and his enslavement of the free peoples of the universe.

“But that enslavement is about to be dealt a crushing blow. The time for a full-scale attack on the Galra Empire is now. Far in the future, when they speak of this day, they will speak of our sacrifice, but they will also remember this as the day that freedom began to overtake tyranny.

“You all have your missions.”

Keith lets his mask cover his face.

“We’re approaching,” Inek says.

“You know what to do.” Allura’s gaze bores into him. “Good luck. We’ll see you on the other side.”

The other side, Keith mouths to himself, pouring over the words, but then the doors open. Wind ripples into the ship, buffeting at their suits.

One by one, they drop into the open sky. Far below them, grasses and trees wave like they’re waiting for him.

The Blade next to him leaps. Keith blinks, and then there’s only four Blades left on the ship—Anju and Inek to pilot, Kolivan, and him. He can feel Kolivan’s gaze on him even through the mask.

Then he lets go of the bar and falls.

It’s kind of exhilarating, the fall. There’s a split second where he feels weightless, the blood in his veins singing. And then Keith curls in on himself, the ground racing up towards him.

He rolls when he hits the ground, carrying his momentum into a run. Shadowy figures dart through the trees, one moment there, the next gone. This is the way of the Blade—never seen, never heard, deadly and efficient in their every move.

The cannon is perched on the edge of a cliff. From far away, Keith spots guard after guard standing in protection.

The comms crackle.

“Blades!” Captain Olia cries. “We’re in trouble! What’s the status of your cannon? Blades!”

Keith darts through the trees, lungs burning.

“Copy, Olia,” he says, voice muffled by the mask. “We’re en route. Hold on for just a little longer.”

Up ahead, the Blades are breaking through the trees. Keith leaps over a gnarled root and finds himself out in the open again, the cannon looming over their heads.

It’s massive, as big as one of the Blade’s main ships, and Keith knows from sight that it can take out a fleet in minutes.

They scale the cliff easily. Keith is one of the last to reach it; he grits his teeth and throws himself upward, the claws in his suit extending and gripping onto the cliffside easily.

A rock crumbles under his hand. Keith keeps quiet like he’s been taught and finds another hold, sweat already making itself known on the back of his neck.

There’s a hand in front of his face—Keith looks up and sees one of the Blades waiting.

“Thanks,” he says softly, gripping it. The Blade only nods as he’s pulled up, and then they split up, surrounding the base.

The sentries guarding the base are fast. Keith is faster.

He pulls his knife from its sheath and cuts clean through a sentry before it can react. Keith tosses his knife and then catches it to drive home in the other sentry’s back.

He’s first up the steps leading to the cannon. Footsteps follow his as they keep going.

Short blasts of gunfire ring in the air, and then there’s silence. Keith grins to himself.

Inside, there’s a captain surrounded by guards, his voice bellowing orders. He’s not even done when Keith rams into a guard.

He trusts the others to get the job done and guns for the controls, vaulting over a sentry’s head as a blade takes it out. There’s the sound of falling metal as he reaches the controls, gripping it tight.

Keith drops his mask, mouth curling into a victorious smile. “Now let’s see how this thing works.”

“The Zenfama Saiforge cannon is ours!” Coran announces. “Naxzela attack is underway.”

Keith wastes no time. Kolivan sets in a target, and he lines up his shot, watching numbers and figures dance across the screen. He can’t fully understand Galran yet, but he knows enough.

“Olia, come in,” Kolivan says. There’s no response. “Captain Olia.”

“We can’t take this fire for long!” Olia yells. “Blades, we need your help.”

“We got your back,” Keith reports. He reads as much as he understands, makes the necessary calculations, and then takes a deep breath in through his nose.

“Patience,” he murmurs. “Patience yields focus.”

There’s snatches of panicked conversation over the comms. Now is the time to attack.

“Fire.”

“This one’s for you, Lance,” he mutters, and then he fires.

The beam tears through the sky, bright purple as it rips past clouds and into space like a backwards-comet. Keith’s heart is racing in his chest as he watches it disappear.

“Shields down, Captain!”

“Alright, let’s get control of that cannon!”

“Get ready,” Kolivan warns.

“I am,” Keith says.

“Zaiforge Cannon Base is ours!”

“Ready to provide the Taujeerans with cover,” Keith says, gearing up for his next shot.

“Cannon acquired. Ready to provide backup.”

“Copy that. Coalition, you’re clear to begin.”

He’s not there with the fight, but Keith doesn’t need to be. It’s in him, fire through his veins and water in his lungs.

Aim. Lock. Fire.

Aim. Lock. Fire.

Ships fall under the force of the cannons, torn apart by their strength.

“We’re doing it,” someone reports.

Aim. Lock. Fire.

Aim. Lock. Fire.

“We’ve almost taken the entire area!”

“Communication is back online,” a voice warns. Coran repeats the words a moment later, but it’s Shiro who replies.

“Doesn’t matter. We’ve just about taken Naxzela.”

The planet’s name sends a chill down Keith’s spine. He has a feeling it’s not as easy as it seems to be. There’s something else at play here, and Keith knows it, but he can’t remember what.

“It appears at all of the planets we’ve engaged have been pacified, if not totally liberated.”

“Good,” Kolivan says sharply.

“Wait. There’s another Galra battle cruiser approaching Naxzela.”

He can see it.

He can see it in his mind’s eye, the shape of it, the cannons, every detail down to the shield that surrounds its hull.

Keith’s eyes widen.

The shield.

—heading for the barrier, his ship painted with reddish-purple light that washes over him—

“Sector Zar Niomfor is clear. Let me see if I can get a line on that battle cruiser.”

Keith’s already let go of the controls, turning towards the exit. There’s no time to explain.

“It’s not gonna work,” he says breathlessly, pushing past his fellow Blades. “Matt, it’s not going to—”

Matt cries out over the comms, a noise of surprise that makes Keith stumble.

“Zaiforge cannon Senfama, are you still operational?”

Keith tears out of the base as the entire cannon powers down, the lights going out. An alarm begins to sound.

“Negative.” The word falls from his mouth.

“That incoming battle cruiser must have shut them down remotely!”

And then, after this—

“Shiro,” he calls. “Shiro, do you copy?”

“No artillery support?”

“Yeah,” he says. “But—”

Matt cuts in. “What should we do about that cruiser?”

“The cruiser doesn’t matter. It’s going to be too late. We’ve almost secured Naxzela.”

Keith’s feet have guided him to a Galra ship. He leaps in and takes off without thinking, tearing through the sky. Orders be damned, the Blades be damned—he needs to get to Shiro.

“Shiro,” he gasps. “Listen to me.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Get off Naxzela!”

“We can’t. We just need to take out the last of the heavy artillery, and it’s ours… Keith, where is this coming from?”

“Please, Shiro,” Keith says. “Naxzela’s a trap. You have to get off.”

“Oh, quit being paranoid,” Pidge snaps.

“I’m not—”

He bites his tongue. They’re not listening to him. They’re not listening to him.

Keith pushes the ship harder, burning through the atmosphere as he wheels around to face Naxzela.

Something is about to happen.

He can’t stop it.

The feeling of foreboding grows stronger as the team continues. Pillars, he thinks, or generators, something like that rising up on the planet’s surface.

“I say we get outta here,” Lance says, his voice carrying over the comms. “Pidge, plot a course for our escape.”

“I agree with Lance,” Keith chimes in. “For once. You have to get off Naxzela.”

“Hey, look at that. Keith agrees. Let’s go.”

“Hold on.”

And then there’s a collective cry from the team. Purple light inches across the planet, covering it. No.

He has to take out the cruiser. If he can take it out, none of his dream will play out like he remembers.

Except, a dark part of him whispers, curling at the edge of his mind. Except you will die.

“No, I won’t,” Keith says. “Not this time.”

And he sets course for the cruiser and flies.

“Captain Olia, Matt, Rolo, do you copy?”

“We hear you. What’s up?”

“I need backup,” Keith says. “We have to take out that battle cruiser somehow. It’s messing with Naxzela.”

“Team Voltron, you there?”

“Their comms are down. Keith, what’s your plan?”

“Uh, don’t have one. You think you can get the cannon back online somehow?”

“Probably,” Matt says, and Keith feels hope blossom in his chest. “But it’ll take too long. If I had Pidge here, it’d be faster, but working by myself, I can only get so far.”

“Dammit. Coran!”

“Here, Keith.”

“You think you could give us a hand with this shield?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Number Four. I’m on the other side of the galaxy, and I don’t have enough of Allura’s energy left to work the teleduv. And—oh, that Galra fleet heading towards Naxzela stopped.”

“Stopped?”

“Quite a distance away, too.”

“Perhaps the Galra decided it’s too well-fortified to attack.”

“No.” The word comes out harsher than he intends. “Victory or death. The Galra accept nothing else. I need your help. The only thing left to do is attack the fleet.”

A beat. Keith held his breath. “We’re with you.”

“Stay where you are, Coran. We might need you there.”

The role of leader—of Black Paladin—comes back to Keith easily. He streaks towards the cruiser, rebel ships falling in formation behind him.

“Ready,” he says in a low voice. “Follow my lead. We’ll need to fire at once—hopefully it’ll be enough to break through.”

“Copy that.”

“All other members of the coalition should get out,” Keith orders. “They’re not safe. Coran, if you can help—”

“I’m on it, Keith.”

“Keith, can you hear me?”

His heart leaps in his throat. “Shiro!”

“We need to stop Haggar.”

“Way ahead of you,” Keith says as they line up together in front of the barrier. “We could really use your help if you can get here. Hey—you guys ready?”

“Just say the word.”

Keith powers up his ship’s blasters as strong as it’ll go. “Fire!”

Ten beams slam into the cruisers’ shield at once, but Keith already knows it’s not enough. “Keep it up!”

Allura’s voice is weaving in and out of his ears, commanding but frantic.

“Keith, it’s not working,” Matt growls.

“I know. I know.” I know.

“We’re not going to make it,” Hunk yells.

Enemy fire clips his ship’s left wing, and he dips.

Keith knows what has to happen next. Knows, because there’s no other option left; knows, because he’s seen this; knows, because the surety of it is rooted in his very bones.

This time, he says, “It’s been an honor flying with you guys.”

“Keith?” The rebel ships disappear out of sight as he dives. “Keith, what the hell are you doing?”

It’s like this again.

Keith feels like he’s trapped in a dream, a bit like he’s floating in between realities.

Red light falls over his ship. Keith leans forward, forcing his ship to go faster, further, gunning for his target. The ship shudders, like it knows, too, and Keith thinks, this is how it ends.

He closes his eyes, and the light swallows him whole.

#vld #vld fanfic #keith #vld s4 #vld s4 spoilers #keith au #voltron legendary defender #keith kogane #vld keith #happy birthday keith #i promise i will write u something happier tomorrow #my vld #my fanfic

[takadasaiko]

Demons at the Door: Chapter Twenty-Six

FFN II AO3

Summary: Nez goes one-on-one with Ellington's hacker and Ellington makes a play for escape.

Chapter Twenty-Six: At the End

Nez took the hacker off her feet mid stride, putting her in her back hard enough to stun her. She had slipped ahead, taking advantage that some of the guards had doubled back, leaving her exposed. The hacker stared up, trying to catch her breath, and Nez stepped forward with her gun drawn. "You don't get to breathe without my say so," she told the younger woman and reached out. "Hand me your bag. Slowly."

She held the hacker's dark gaze as she took the bag from her, feeling the weight of the laptop inside of it. "Your people don't care enough about you to come back. Ellington used you and abandoned you."

"Abandoned's a bit harsh," she answered with a shrug, her accent similar to what Kat's had been and Nez felt a new wave of anger.

"He left you here to rot. Your best chance is hoping you haven't done so much damage that no one will strike a deal with you."

The shorter woman snorted a laugh. "He left me here? And how many people did your boss send you in with? Not enough. The Hargraves sent you in to be slaughtered while they sit back in their nice, comfy little war room and watch you do their dirty work without any backup."

"Got the doors open and backup is on its way," Dumont chimed in in her ear and Nez smirked.

"You've lost. We're going to find Ellington, but if you tell me where he is we might be able to work something out."

Dark eyes met hers. "Where's your buddy?"

There was something about her tone that sent a sweeping chill through Nez and the two women watched each other for a long moment even as Nez heard footsteps behind her. She turned, ready for a fight, and found her own people rounding the corner. Nez turned a smug look on the hacker. "Can't say I didn't give you a chance."

One of the Halcyon operatives moved closer, speaking softly enough that Nez was the only one that could hear. The uncomfortable feeling returned, but she schooled her expression, nodding. "Don't take your eye off her," she instructed as she started back down the hall.

He had taken out Ellington's men, leaving their bodies scattered. It looked like the board members that the hacker had been using had been caught in the crossfire. Having a moment to look closer Nez recognized Maggie Ellis was being untied from a chair, beaten and bloodied, but she looked mostly whole.

It was more than could be said for the man slumped against the wall.

Nez swallowed hard, steeling herself as she approached the operative knelt down next to Matias Solomon, putting pressure on a wound that had already bled too much. He looked back as she approached. "Med team was released and are on their way, ma'am," he assured her.

"I've got him," she said quietly a took the man's place, watching a pair of dark, unfocused eyes slide sluggishly open.

Solomon smirked a little for her. "Much better option," he chuckled, coughing out the last word.

Nez pressed a little harder and a hiss of pain escaped him. "Easy. It doesn't do any good if we don't slow the bleeding until they patch you up. You're not dying here."

"I am stubborn," he acknowledged. He leaned back, his head thumping lightly on the wall. "We have them?"

"Close."

"Job's not finished at close."

"We've done what we came here to do. Guess you'll have to trust Tom."

Solomon groaned dramatically and it pulled a small smile from Nez.

"Go," he murmured. "You're still in your feet. Keen needs all the help he can get."

She caught his gaze and held it. "I'm right where I need to be."

He stared at her, confusion flickering through his eyes and she leaned forward and pressed a short kiss to his forehead. It was hard. She knew it was hard. The job was was truly everything for people like them, but maybe - just maybe - they could figure it out what was beyond it. Tom had. If he could, as dedicated as he was, maybe she stood a chance at something more. It was worth the risk to find out.

"Pacing isn't doing anyone any good."

Scottie turned, leveling a glare at her husband who sat calm and collected in a seat, studying the monitors where they could see the carnage that had ripped through the halls of their company but could do nothing about it. She had spent plenty of time relying on others in the field, running point from where she was and trusting in them to get the job done. She had never felt so helpless not being in the fray. "I should have gone in with them. They don't know Miles like I do."

"And he doesn't know them like he knows you."

She frowned, leaning on the desk he was sitting at and she chewed on her bottom lip, dark eyes fixing on the screens. "I need to see him before Red ships him off to wherever he'll send him."

"You don't, Scottie. You need to let it go."

She nudged his chair, drawing his gaze. She needed to make sure she had his full attention and she spoke lowly so only he could hear her. "I know I hurt you with what I did-"

"Is now really the time?"

"-but you and I have time to speak, to find… closure or whatever it is that we'll find. He betrayed me, Howard. I grew up with Miles and he took my son, threatened to kill my husband, and tried to kill me on more than one occasion. I need this."

She watched him carefully, the truth burning her tongue, raw and painful, and she could see his clever mind turning the words over. "Reddington has information from St Regis about Tom's past. Things even you can't fill in. We owe him that, Scottie. We both do, and Miles Ellington is the payment for that."

"And he'll have it. I will hand him over to Red personally, but I need five minutes."

Howard pushed a long breath through his nose. "Fine."

"Thank you," she breathed, surprised at how easily he'd given in, but she wasn't going to risk the decision.

"Just know if you screw us - if you screw our son on this - you won't get any more chances."

It sounded like a threat. His tone was dangerous, his gaze sharp, but it was hiding the fear beneath it. She could see it just below the surface. He was worried she would betray them for Miles.

"Medics are with Solomon," Dumont called over.

"And Agent Keen and Tom are closing in on Ellington as well," Aram added.

"Remind them that we need him alive," Howard said from his place.

"Their backup?" Cooper asked.

"We've redirected some of the onsite operatives their direction. Ressler and Navabi should meet up with them pretty quick too," Dumont said as his fingers flew over the keyboard in front of him.

Cooper nodded silently, watching the screen as it focused in on what Scottie recognized as the lower level exit. Miles was trying to make his escape and Christopher and his wife would be the only thing in his way.

Howard's hand touched her arm. "He's good."

"I know."

"He'll be alright."

She nodded, not trusting her voice. He would be alright. He had to be.

Ressler and Samar met Liz and Tom just before the firefight broke out. There had been no time to exchange information or even get on the same page as the bullets started to fly, ricocheting and biting themselves in the wall behind them. It was a distraction. They all knew it was a distraction. The problem was that it was working.

The ginger agent pulled back, avoiding the spray of bullets that were covering the escape. They'd followed Ellington down into the basement levels that had access to the streets.

"Can't your people lock it down?" Samar shouted, returning fire.

"It's a manual lock off the grid," Tom answered, ducking down. "It's supposed to provide an escape option if someone ever took the building."

"Or Ellington a way out," Ressler grumbled.

Tom shifted over to Ressler's side, joining him in a crouched position. "If I give you cover, you think you can get up to the catwalk and get a clean shot of him? We've got to bring him in alive."

Clear blue eyes surveyed the space. He didn't have a rifle, but he had hit small targets with more in the way than this. It would have to line up just right, but if it did they'd have him. "Maybe."

"I'll take maybe," Tom said. "I've got you covered. The stairs are there, catwalk will lead you to the opening."

"You get me shot and-"

His partner's husband flashed a grin. "Don't trust me, Ressler?"

The agent snorted and shot him a warning glare as he moved. He'd never admit it out loud, and even thinking it made him uncomfortable, but he did trust him to have his back here. He just hoped that trust wasn't about to get him killed.

Ressler took off for the stairs and Tom covered his run through an opening that would have left him vulnerable. He took the steps two at a time, risking a look when he reached the top. Ellington was nearly to his exit and they were almost out of time. He had to take the shot then and there or he wouldn't get to take it at all. He aimed, hands steady, and shot.

Ellington faltered in his race for his escape, stumbling, but not falling all the way to the ground. Ressler cursed softly. He'd only winged him. He darted forward, closing some of the space, and stopped as the older man started up the ladder to freedom.

He hesitated just a moment. There was no clean shot, but he couldn't let him get away. Whatever Tom thought he'd get out of the man wasn't worth him getting away there.

The bullet pinged the ladder and missed him, Ellington climbing out of sight.

Ressler loosed a breath and leaned against the railing. The others had taken out what was left of Ellington's support. He was alone and injured. They could find him. They would find him. They had to.

"Ress?" He leaned over the railing to see Liz staring up. "Dumont says they think they know where he's going. We're going to head them off."

He glanced over to see the man in question speaking into his comm, his expression focused. It had been close, but they weren't done yet.

There wasn't time to stop and try to patch himself up. Miles hadn't gotten a good look at the person that had taken a lucky shot, but blood was soaking through his jacket from the wound in his left shoulder. He held the arm close as he walked.

It was one thing after another, and he wasn't accustomed to losing. He had lost more men than he had expected at their HQ, and then his team that he'd taken Halcyon with had not been enough. They should have been. They were enough to take over the facility, and he'd never meant to hold it. He'd meant to take the codes to the Artax Network and find Whitehall, but Scottie had chosen her team too well. Her son had led them. Miles had seen Tom Keen amongst those fighting. When this was said and done, when he had everything he needed, he was going to make the boy regret that decision. He had plenty to lose, and that started right here.

Miles gripped his hand gun in his right hand as he climbed the steps of the apartment complex. It was getting dark outside, but he had lost any tail that they had managed to follow him. It would be a small window, he knew, but if he got what he'd come for it would be a devastating blow.

His hands trembled as he picked the lock, finally hearing it click to open. He pushed the door, sending it swinging, and it opened into a tiny apartment. Miles kept his gun up and ready as he inched in, ready. The room was littered with boards with notes scribbled on them, loose papers, and notebooks. There was a cup of coffee on the table, though, and it was warm to the touch.

"Lower it," a voice said from behind and Miles felt brief pressure on the back of his head to indicate that there was a weapon there. Slowly, purposefully, he lowered his gun.

Tom adjusted his grip on his own weapon, careful to watch any movements for a sign of a fight. He was injured. Ressler had been frustrated with the shot, but it had slowed Ellington down enough for them to get ahead of him and now they truly were at the end. They'd gotten Whitehall out of the safehouse before he'd gotten here and been waiting with a few minutes to spare.

"What now, Christopher?" he asked, his tone more amused than worried. He was either underestimating him or trying to make Tom think he was.

"Now you drop it and kick it away. You're going away."

"Going away? Is that what you think is happening?"

"I think that you've exhausted your resources. You're done, Ellington. This last ditch effort failed. You don't get Halcyon, our network, or Whitehall. If you're lucky, you'll get a deep dark hole somewhere to live out the rest of your life."

"Listen to you. Our network. You've really taken ownership, haven't you? Yet here you are…. what? Cuffing me so your wife's team can take me away? You and I both know that, no matter how thinly stretched my organization may be that I have people inside. I won't land in a deep dark hole. I'll be out soon enough and there will be nowhere you can hide. How's that pretty little daughter of yours?"

Tom closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself and talking down the instinct to immediately put down the threat. He wanted to. This man had caused so much pain and could continue causing it. If one thing went wrong and he got away it put his whole family in danger. He knew about Agnes, and could she ever truly be safe if he was breathing? Were his answers worth that?

Ellington must have sensed his indecision because he turned suddenly, striking out. Tom lurched back, barely missing the blow to the face and stepped around. Ellington was moving slower, the injury hampering his movements, and Tom swung around, landing a hard blow to his injured shoulder. Ellington went down and Tom took hold of his right arm, wrenching it behind him until he gave a satisfying cry of pain.

"Feel better?" Nez asked, entering the apartment.

Tom put his boot against Ellington's back and the man stopped squirming. He leaned in, closer to him, his voice controlled. "I don't have to kill you," he said lowly, "because you know what I'm capable of. I'm trying to be better, but you come at my family ever again and I will personally show you every technique Bud McCready taught me in interrogation until you bleed out. Am I clear?" He shoved him hard, receiving a grunt in response as he straightened, looking at his partner. "Everything set?"

"Just like you said," she assured him.

He nodded. "Good. Our people only."

"Got it, boss," she answered with a smirk.

"Nez?"

"Hmm?" she answered, cuffing Ellington none too gently.

"How is he?"

She paused, her expression darkening. "In surgery."

"Get him loaded up and go."

"Tom-"

"Go."

He watched her nod, not risking her voice, and she met a couple of Halcyon operatives in the hall to escort Ellington. As they moved, Liz came into view, watching him carefully. Tom stood there for a long moment, feeling a strange sensation washing over him. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but it left him tired and worn. It was over. It was finally over.

He didn't notice Liz moving until her arms were wrapped around him and he sank into her embrace, his chin resting on her shoulder as he pulled her close. He could feel her fingers grip the back of his jacket, holding on, and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "You okay?"

Tom cleared his threat, trying to pull himself back around. "I, uh…" He swallowed hard. "Full disclosure, Ellington's in Halcyon custody. I'll talk to Cooper after the exchange has been made."

"He'll understand. Maybe not at first, but he'll understand."

"Your partner may not."

"I'll talk to Ress," she promised, pulling away just a little so that she could meet his gaze. "Hey," she called softly, "are you okay?"

He loosed a shaky breath. "I don't know."

Liz nodded slowly and leaned back into him, her ear pressed against his chest and he kissed the top of her head, doing his best to focus on the peace she always brought to him.

She didn't have much time, but if she had all the time in the world it might not have been enough. She'd trusted him once. Idolized him once. He was brilliant and they'd been going in the same direction. Life seldom worked out as planned though. You just had to learn to move with the twists and turns.

The van pulled into the warehouse and Scottie Hargrave checked her watch. Ten minutes, and she imagined not a second more. She closed her eyes, her fingers touching a small shell necklace inside the pocket of her dress, her lips moving and her voice barely a whisper. "Rubber baby buggy bumpers."

"Ma'am," the driver greeted her and her eyes popped open. It was time. He walked with her around to the back, opening the doors.

Miles Ellington sat cuffed in the back seat and Scottie climbed in, the doors closing behind them. Funny. She'd been in a van much like this one not too long ago and Tom had sat across from her. Miles wouldn't be so lucky.

"Ah," he breathed. "Your boy didn't have it in him, but you do, don't your Scottie?"

"I'm not here to kill you, Miles."

"What then?"

She pursed her lips together and studied him. "Answers, maybe. Closure." He snorted and she tilted her head. "Why, Miles? After everything."

"That should be my question to you. You had so much promise, Scottie. We could have dominated the intelligence community. We could have made this world a safer place, but you let sentiment get the better of you. Tell me, how's that working?"

She let a thin smile tilt her lips. "Some things are more important than the job, Miles. You might have lived longer if you'd learned that."

"I thought you weren't here to kill me."

"I'm not." She paused, hearing the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside.

Scottie watched his expression turn questioning as she stood, knocking on the door and it opened from the outside. Raymond Reddington was stepping out of the town car.

"Miles! I don't believe we've had the pleasure yet," Reddington said cheerfully. "I believe you know an associate of mine. Vincent Lucero. He's simply dying to see you again."

Scottie smirked just a little at the way the colour drained from Miles' face. "I lied," she told him, pulling his attention back to her. "I came to look you in the eye when you realize you've truly lost. He's all yours, Red."

She passed her husband's old friend and even as Miles shouted her name from the van, she refused to look back. She had made her choice, and Scottie Hargrave chose her family.

Notes: Holy crap this ending has kicked my butt and I'm so sorry, but those gorgeous Keen2 pics they released today on EW gave me the final push. I just wrapped the last chapter today, so I thought I'd celebrate by posting the next to last!

Next time - As the dust settles, truths are revealed.

#the blacklist #the blacklist: redemption #Tom Keen #Elizabeth Keen #Donald Ressler #Nez Rowan #Matias Solomon #Howard Hargrave #Scottie Hargrave #Raymond Reddington