Sam, I just adore Polk's nose freckles. If you can (without causing her upset), would you please boop the snoot for me? If that is too great an injustice, please just give her a scritch from me.
She loves to cheek-mark, so it is very easy to boop the snoot! I booped it twice just to be sure.
It’s so funny to watch the freckles grow -- I think eventually they’ll take over her nose, but she didn’t have any when she was a baby, and I have like, photo documentation of them as they slowly spread.
bubblelounge on this post:
Ok I’ve seen some weird shit on tumblr in my days, but never did I think I’d see a post about my profession (mf’ing development) and fandom.
(And Nate would drive major gifts crazy…all that capacity, apparently inclination and no big dollars 😂 disqualified!!)
If they did peg Nate’s capacity accurately, he’d be like that one guy every new gift officer wants in their portfolio, sure that THIS TIME they can crack him. Prospect Resarch just rolls its eyes, updates the bio for the ten millionth time (it WAS very exciting when they found out he was in prison!) and leaves them to their folly.
aeternalegacy on this post:
Ooooh, I love this!
My headcanon for Eliot in particular is yes, he’s definitely anonymous but I say he has set up trust funds for the kids of fallen army buddies. If he hears through the grapevine that one of his army buddies has fallen on hard times, mysterious cashiers check appears, when they need it most.
In theory he could probably just set up a nonprofit specifically designed to help out his old army buddies and their kids. It’s a legit thing for a 501c3 to simply make cash gifts to those in need. Their database is made up solely of names he’s given them of people they should keep an eye on and help out if needed. He could call it A Very Distinctive Foundation.
freakierthanthou on this post:
Okay, but as someone who is in the middle of the gift processing from the giving day, consider: Hardison uses increasingly confusing fake names, sometimes names of real people, just to be a butt. (This past week I easily caught “Derek Awesomeballs”, “Spots Monarch” almost got me, “Semen [redacted]” was, unfortunately, actually a real person.) Hardison has a bit of a competition going with the gift processor at a certain children’s cancer charity who keeps tying his gifts back to the alias he first gave under. (If she ever goes into prospect research, he may just have to recruit her.)
One time someone caught Parker dropping off her bag of cash and managed to get her into the system as Alice. This led to some poor gift officer having the most baffling donor meeting of their life.
HAHAHA I love the idea that the gift processor handling Hardison’s gifts has like, a whiteboard in their cube with all the fake names he’s used.
And I LOVE the idea that Parker uses her Alice persona to take a meeting with a gift officer twice a year purely to practice Being Normal. She always cuts a check (the gift officer told her he can’t take cash without someone else to double-count it) so they put up with it and return to the office with another great Alice Story.
26. A memory they want to share and 18. A memory they’d love to change
Thanks for the prompts, @a-muirehen @honekitteh and @aeternalegacy ! They fit together well and finally got me to write out this scene, so yay!
---
21 ATC, Commander’s quarters
“Hey, you got a minute?” Theron kept his voice even despite the nerves and adrenaline coursing through him and resisted the urge to get up from the sofa to pace. Why was he so nervous? He was simply returning something that she’d lost ages ago.
Sanna's smile made his heart stutter to a brief stop before thudding loudly in his ears. “For you? Always. What is it?” she asked softly as she sat beside him.
“Well, I have something for you.” At her curious look, he stammered, “I didn't buy it or anything, it's already yours. What I mean is, umm...” Theron swore under his breath — how the hells had he messed this up already? — and pulled out what had been in his possession for years: a double-bladed saberstaff, its tarnished silver casing etched with angular designs comprised of triangles and diamonds, so similar to the tattoos etched on her skin. He knew that if he flicked it on, the blades would glow a bright, silvery blue, and he held it out to Vassanna with a smile.
Her violet eyes widened in recognition and, in a brief instant, too many emotions flickered across her features for him to read before her Jedi mask slammed into place. Was he imagining things or had she recoiled from the saber?
“Where did you get that?” Her voice was hard and flat. “How did you get that?”
Theron’s mind drifted back, through a handful of lonely years, and he set the saber on the cushion between them. “It was...” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It was years ago, after the Republic’s treaty with the Eternal Empire, but before I found out that you weren’t really— that you were still alive.”
He paused, concerned over the wariness in her eyes, but continued. “SIS tasked me and another agent to retrieve data and any holocrons we could find from the old Jedi Temple on Coruscant and —”
“How dare you!” Vassanna hissed, her features twisting with anger and something else he couldn’t place. “That place is a burial ground and you just went traipsing through it like it was some— They all died there and you just dug through it like it was nothing?”
(Yeah. This was going way worse than he’d thought.)
Theron could barely breathe, frozen in shock over her outburst, blinking as he tried to figure out how to soothe her ire — and how exactly he’d provoked it. “No. Not at all,” he said, hands extended in a peaceful, calming gesture. “We were careful not to disturb anything as best we could.”
(He probably shouldn't mention how they got in.)
“Look, I know what happened there, Sanna,” he said, unable to stop the irritation that slipped into his words.
Her lips pursed and jaw clenched as though she was forcing herself to keep quiet and let him explain, so he did. He told her how he and his partner had crept through the eerily quiet rubble, stepping softly, respectfully. How they’d found just about everything they’d gone in for and how they were nearly crushed on the way out — part of what was originally a wall had lurched sideways, careening toward the door they were trying to use. The huge piece of duracrete had stopped barely half a meter from him and the saber slid out from underneath, skittering to a halt at Theron’s feet.
“Linné — my partner — is a Kiffar.” He wondered idly if his former colleague was still alive all these years later; he hoped so. “She's got psychometry and when she picked up the saber, her eyes went all glassy, like she was watching something far away. After a moment or two, she blinked and handed it to me. ‘This belongs to the Jedi Battlemaster,’ she said. ‘Be sure to return it when you see her next.’” Theron huffed and shook his head. “I tried to argue with her that the current Battlemaster was a male Togruta, but then she described... you. Perfectly. And I've had it ever since.”
Sanna met his gaze briefly before looking away with a sigh. “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she whispered, and he brushed off her apology — it wasn’t necessary. “How old were you,” she said, a thoughtful look on her face, “during the Sacking?”
“Thirteen.”
She nodded, then gave a small gasp, looking at him in horror. “Where were you? Were you on Coruscant when—”
“No, no,” Theron answered, reassuring her. “I was still on Haashimut, though Master Zho and I had just... parted ways.” His heart squeezed in his chest as her eyes narrowed briefly, knowing the way she felt about how they’d parted ways. But then she sighed and melted in relief, an “oh, good” falling from her lips. The puzzle pieces started falling into place and his stomach sank.
“Sanna, where were you?” he asked. His Jedi wouldn’t look at him and a chill ran down his spine.
“The Archives.” Her soft answer, barely a whisper, punched him in the gut and he let out an impressive string of curses. Gods above and below, she had been there.
“How old were you? You couldn’t have been more than ten.”
“Nine.” Vassanna closed her eyes, visions of red blades and fire dancing in her memory. He deserved the full story, to know why that saberstaff was in the ruins of the Temple, so she took a deep breath and began her story.
“It was my fault.” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat, starting again. “It was my fault — we were supposed to have been en route to the Outer Rim for a treaty negotiation.” Oh, stars, she couldn't bear to look at Theron, to see the damnation or pity in his eyes — she didn’t know which would be worse. “I was at the Archives with my first Master, my Uncle Brennick, doing research on local histories and treatises. I helped at first, but he knew I was bored, so he shooed me away, told me to find something else to research.”
She spoke in detail about the book she'd found — a real paper book — on crystals, formations, and their use in lightsabers and other ceremonial items. The problem she'd run into was this: the book couldn't leave the Archives, but she hadn't finished it before it was time for the pair to leave.
“I begged him to let me come back first thing in the morning so I could finish reading.” Vassanna couldn't help the small smile that crept onto her lips. “He was never one to dissuade me from learning, so he rearranged our schedule to give me extra time.” She took a huge shuddering breath and continued, irritation spiking at how small her voice sounded. “I only had a handful of pages left when Malgus walked through the door.”
She described the hush that fell over the whole Temple, then the crash that shook the building to its core. Master Brennick had rushed into the Archives and instructed her to leave — there was a back exit into the Works and she should take any younglings she came across with her.
He’d given her a hug and a kiss on the top of her head and asked her to give his love to the family. Now go, Vassanna, he’d said. Go and do not look back. Then, he pressed his comm into her hands and shoved her toward the exit, waiting to turn until she was on the steps.
“That was the last time I ever saw him.”
Her finger absently rubbed the scarred skin on the bridge of her nose. “There was a Mandalorian in the hallway, and she stood between me and the exit. The room I’d just passed was used for training, so I went back and grabbed a vibrosword. She laughed and said that while she admired my fighting spirit, she didn’t have time to swat at flies. Instead, she shot... something at the marble pillar next to me and flew off. The stone exploded everywhere — I’m lucky none of it caught my eyes.”
Stars, she hadn’t talked about this in years. Sanna sat silently, torn over whether she wanted Theron to say something or not. The silence between them grew, gaping and empty, until she couldn’t take it.
“That’s not really my saber,” she whispered. “Though I suppose I’ve inherited it now. I don’t want to touch it; I’m afraid I’ll see... I already felt it and —”
“Sweetheart,” he murmured as he wrapped strong arms around her, crushing her to his chest and stroking her hair. “Oh, babe. I’m so sorry.”
Hard as she tried, Vassanna couldn’t keep the tears burning at the corner of her eyes from falling. With Theron’s soft encouragement, she slipped her arms under his jacket and let him hold her while she mourned.
aeternalegacy replied to your post “Seriously I’ve legitimatley seen takes like Finn is a Nice Guy and...”
The cognitive dissonance is mind-blowing....
@aeternalegacy
Indeed
It’s interesting as those sorts will be like KYLO IS LIKE SO COMPLEX AND FLAWED AND LIKE A BASTION OF AN EMOTIONALLY VULNERABLE MAN
But yet the flaws they apparently see in other characters are somehow bad
Also it was really weird when I saw someone praising Kylo for like BEING THE LEAST TOXIC TRADITIONALLY MASCULINE STAR WARS MALE AND SO EMOTIONALLY VULNERABLE
Ok uh yet again what films have you been watching lmao?
From approximately ten thousand years ago- #23. A kiss, in relief.
As soon as the engines cut out she darts down toward Theron’s little shuttle.
Even in the nebulous hours between too late and too early the launch bay’s never quite deserted and with Torch’s people laying claim to whatever space they can the chaos is deafening, a cacophony of welding equipment hissing out orange-blue sparks in the dim light, whirring hydraulic lifts and the companionable chirps of astromechs. If she had more dignity she’d walk, slow and measured and in proper control of herself, and greet them all as she moved past. If she had more dignity she wouldn’t run.
If she had more dignity-
Oh, fuck it.
The Mandalorians won’t care. If their tactics on Darvannis weren’t proof enough that she doesn’t play by the standard rulebook her impromptu duel had certainly done the trick: apparently it was not usual form to engage the new Mandalore in a one-handed knife fight, tihaar notwithstanding, even if it was the other woman’s idea- which it was- and even if the consensus was that Shae had let her win to seal the contract between the Alliance and the clans- which she hadn’t; the woman’s an absolute monster and she thinks she’s got more bruises from the challenge than the Zakuulans’ bombs. But they are all fighting a war and she feels like maybe they’re finally winning and that must have some sort of currency, she thinks. If she has to sacrifice her dignity in order to deal in victories then so be it.
Dignity’s overrated anyway.
So she runs. When the loading ramp opens Theron reaches out and she launches herself at him, laughing as he pulls her in close.
“Hail the conquering hero.” He’s teasing her, words dancing off his tongue- she’s no hero and she’s told him that a hundred times- but he can’t quite mask the worry hiding underneath. “You’re okay?”
“I’m fine. I promise. Just a few scratches left after the kolto.”
He’s pretending she didn’t say that; she can tell by the way his breath catches and she draws him down for a kiss until she feels the tension go out of him, giving way to soft relief. “See,” he says finally, teasing again, “you didn’t need me after all.”
She wraps her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and he lifts her up and spins her round like dancing (which is one of her very favorite things that he does. It’s heavy inside her head sometimes, even in Valkorion’s entirely suspicious and entirely welcome absence, but in Theron’s arms, oh, she flies). “Not true. What about the factory plans you sent?”
“You’d have managed-” between the words she sneaks another kiss and someone whistles so she kisses him once more, just because- “just fine without them. Isn’t that what you always say?”
“I do not. And you found us an army.”
He shrugs. “They’re with us because of you. I just got them to show up.”
“You’re allowed to brag a little bit, you know.” And he ought to. Like so many of the galaxy’s leaders during the war she slept through, Mandalore the Vindicated fell beneath the swarms of the Eternal Empire’s droids and after that the clans fell silent. She’d never have thought to try to drag them back in. But Theron had- and more than that, he’d actually managed it. “You’ve certainly earned it, even if I wish you’d told me first.”
“D’you think so?” When she kisses the bridge of his nose he tilts his chin up a bit, preening- reckless lovely stupid clever boy, Void, she missed him so even if it was only few weeks spent apart- before finally setting her back down on the ramp. He doesn’t let her go entirely, though, still wrapping her up tight in his arms. “And I know, but it was supposed to be a surprise.”
She squints at him. “Flowers would be a surprise. Chocolates.”
“That stuff’s for amateurs.” His fingers trace the remnants of a bruise along her cheekbone, one last faint reminder of Darvannis. “Only the best for my girl.”
Since I’ve had a few more followers jump on -- THANKS FOR THE FOLLOW!! -- I thought I’d leave a little “About Me” pinned post so you know what you’re getting into.
I’m Michi. Nice to meet you! I’m a bisexual, neurodiverse,disabled Asian-American Generation X woman. I’m likely old enough to be your geeky aunt.
I feel very strongly about all aspects of social justice. Social Justice Gray Jedi at your service. This is a safe space for all LGBTQIA+ folks. Black Lives Matter ✊🏾. Asians for Black Lives.
Fuck TERFs, radfems, Nazis, fascists, and all those other people that make me sick.
My Tumblr username comes from the name of my legacy on SWTOR.
I’m an unabashed geek and love pretty much all the usual geeky interests. I’m a fangirl circa Generation X. Some of my fandoms are likely older than the majority of people stopping by. I don’t bite but I do yell at people to get off my metaphoric lawn occasionally.
Science fiction, comic books, genre television are all favorites of mine.
I post a lot about:
Leverage, The Librarians, Almost Paradise (read: I love Dean Devlin shows with Christian Kane. I’m a simple person.)
Star Wars (current canon as well as Star Wars: The Old Republic)
Ask me about my SWTOR OCs. Really. I love it.
I also run the sideblog @very-distinctive-eliot dedicated to Eliot Spencer’s hair.
Yes, really. Make of that what you will.
... and, um, you may see more than a few thirst posts regarding Christian Kane. I’d apologize but I’m not sorry.
Star Trek, particularly Lower Decks and Star Trek Discovery.
I’m embarrassingly late to this fandom and head over heels gay for Georgiou and Tilly.
Also, Jett Reno is my patronus and I aspire to her level of cantankerous chaotic engineering lesbian energy
I have a passion for technology and specifically, infosec. I’m a sucker for realistic hacking. (Spoiler alert: most Hollywood depictions of hacking are horrendously innacurate.)
Once upon a time, I was an IT professional. Now I’m a technical writer and technology content writer, specializing in infosec.
The majority of my work isn’t exciting but pays the bills.
I wanted to write cyberpunk for a living, not live a cyberpunk reality. FUCK.
I write fic that I never complete but that I post anyway. (AO3)
I make gifs that I do finish and post, which is a bit of a miracle.
I’m also working on videos, specifically of Leverage right now but also Star Wars: The Old Republic gameplay and possibly White Collar.
