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firstofficerwiggles · 3 years

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Chapter 8: Desperately Seeking Mandos

Link to Chpt. 7, Link to Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: M/E, 18+ only

Warnings: SMUT, oral sex (F and M receiving), explicit description of sex (still romantic smut though), canonical violence

Word count: ~11K

Author’s Note: This chapter took a bit longer than I originally planned, but my semester has reached its busiest time and it’s harder to carve out as much time as I’d like to write. So, thank you for being patient with me. Also, I would like to send a special thank you to @imthemandalornow for being an excellent source of inspiration -- you’re the best, darling. As always, thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

You sit in the passenger seat of the Razor Crest as you stare out at the blue glow of hyperspace, normally you find it pretty and rather peaceful, but today you’re sitting tense and fraught with worry. Din monitors the scanners regularly and it appears as if you have avoided detection by any Imperial vessels. Still, the feeling of unease stays with you. Din talks to you about some possible planets you could try to avoid detection, but neither of you seem very sure about what your next move should be. You’re distracted from having to decide when the comm dings with an incoming transmission.

“Princess and Mando, are you there? It’s Mistress Eira.” Her image comes in over the holo and she looks distressed.

“We’re here, Eira,” Din replies. You come over to stand close to him so you can see the holo better.

“I’m so glad to hear your voice, Mando, I was so worried for you both, something terrible has happened here,” she tells you in a serious voice. “There were ex-Imperial officers here; they killed Mistress Sigrid.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, Eira,” you tell her with a heavy heart, “Was anyone else hurt?”

“No, but, honestly you shouldn’t shed any tears over Sigrid,” Eira sounds angry now, “She had some type of deal with them, apparently she was helping them find you. I’m calling to warn you.” You gasp at this news, you didn’t expect such treachery from Sigrid.

“Eira, do you know who any of the Imperials were?” You feel like you already know what her answer will be.

“Yes, the man that killed Sigrid is a Commander Kerrick Hoven, we have security footage of their interaction and then the shooting,” Eira confirms your worst fear, “I have to tell you, Princess, the man seems obsessed with you, the footage of him is unsettling, he was… talking to you, well, an image of you.”

“I’m sorry, Eira, I had no idea he was looking for me, I haven’t seen him in years and I never would have thought that I was putting anyone in danger,” Ok, technically you did know there were Imps after Din and the baby, but not you too. But who could have predicted that they’d find you on Angel One of all places?

“It isn’t your fault,” she says, “We’ve discovered that Sigrid has been in contact with the Empire for years making many underhanded backdoor deals.” Eira pauses for a moment and then says, “Listen, I’m going to send you the security footage, I think you should see what I mean about this man, you need to know what he’s like.”

“Alright, thank you, Eira, any information we can get about him will be helpful,” you say.

“Do you have any information about their ship?” Din asks Eira.

“Oh yes, I’ll send all that we have to you now,” she replies.

“Eira, thank you for helping us, you’re a true friend,” you tell her before she ends the holo.

A few minutes later, the files she promised come through. Din reviews the information for Kerrick’s light cruiser and confirms that it was the one the scanners detected as you were leaving Angel One. After he’s stored all the pertinent details about the ship, you know it’s time to see the second file.

As the holovid begins to play, you watch as Kerrick goes from an icy calm officer, to an angry bully, and then to a disturbing ex-lover. You clutch Din’s hand as you watch and you cringe in horror, as it continually gets worse. When Kerrick finishes his creepy soliloquy to your image, you feel ill.

“Oh, cyar’ika, come here,” Din stands and pulls you into his arms, “Don’t cry, my love, you’re safe here with me.”

You didn’t even realize there were tears streaming down your cheeks until he says that. You let your arms come around him tightly and you try to even out your breathing. Din rubs your back and murmurs soothing words to you and slowly you feel yourself calm down. With your face still pressed against him, you say,

“I had no idea Kerrick still thought about me, let alone that his feelings for me have become so twisted, ugh and he still calls me his ‘doll’, I always hated that, even when we were a couple… I can’t believe we ever were,” your voice shows your disgust.

“I’ll do everything in my power to keep him from you,” Din pledges to you.

“I know that you will, Din,” you murmur against his chest. You hear a sad little coo and look over to the child who is looking back at you with teary eyes.

“Oh sweetie,” you say, and you go over to him, pick him up, and hold him tight to your chest, “I’ll be alright,” you look back to Din, “We’re all going to be alright,” you promise.

“Maybe you should take him downstairs and try to get some more rest?” Din suggests his voice full of concern, “I’ll reach out to my contacts and work on finding us our next destination.”

You’re feeling exhausted and so you pull Din into a hug with you and the little one, before heading down the ladder and crawling into your bed. You don’t bother to put the child in his hammock and instead let him cuddle up next to you. You rub his back as you watch his tiny face and see as he slowly drifts off to sleep. Eventually your own eyes start to feel heavy and you fall asleep too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frustrated, Din ends another holocall without much to show for it. He’s been at this for almost two hours now and he still has no idea where to go, or what the best course of action will be. He knows he needs to be more patient, he’s made the calls for assistance and now he has to see what comes from them. Still though, the churning in his gut keeps him far from patience and instead brings him doubt and worry. It doesn’t help that he can still hear Kerrick’s disgusting words in his ear, calling you his ‘doll’ and promising to rid you of the ‘vile Mandalorian’. He’d never wanted to shoot someone through a holopad before, but as he watched that holovid his fingers were itching to pull out his blaster. When you first told him about Kerrick, Din had thought about tracking the man down, thinking maybe he’d help you get a little revenge on the man who broke your heart and betrayed you. Later, he realized that was just a silly fantasy to make himself feel important to you, but once Din understood how much you’d come to care for him, he had stopped thinking about your ex-lover altogether.

Din sighs, rolling his neck and stretching the muscles there. He’s wishing he could go down and join you in some sleep for a few hours, when the holo dings.

“Din Djarin, I hope you are well,” he hears as the Armorer’s image glimmers into view, “Word has reached me that you are being pursued once again by Imperial forces.”

“Yes, that is correct, I am seeking shelter for a few days to formulate a plan,” Din replies.

“The Covert has regrouped and joined with another,” the Armorer tells him, “You will join us here and we will assist you in your strategy.”

“I- I do not wish to endanger the Covert, I should not come to you,” Din responds, his tone regretful as he remembers all that the Covert has sacrificed already on his behalf.

“By its very nature the Covert is always in danger, it is a fact that we accept,” she states calmly, “We are gar vode, your brethren, and we welcome you in your time of need. We are always here for you. This is the way.”

“This is the way.” Din responds and he enters the coordinates she gives him into the nav. As he does this, he tells her about you and the latest trouble that has managed to find you both. Din feels comforted by the Armorer’s genuine interest in you as he tells the story, and he greatly appreciates her willingness to help you.

Feeling a sense of relief Din after his conversation with the Armorer ends, he switches on the autopilot and heads downstairs. When he sees you and the child sleeping so soundly, Din feels a sense of contentment wash over him. As he snuggles up next to you in the bed, he knows that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you both safe and that it will be worth it no matter the cost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Din explains that you’re heading to his Covert, you feel reassured at first because you know how formidable your Mandalorian is and you can’t think of safer place to be than surrounded by a whole group of them. Nonetheless, it dawns on you that this is Din’s family that you’ll be meeting and you find yourself wishing that you were getting to meet them under better circumstances. You also start to feel a tad nervous about making a good first impression.

The Covert is currently located on Dol’har Hyde, a planet almost entirely covered in dense forests. When you land in a clearing that is just large enough for the Razor Crest, you wonder if the coordinates were correct because you can’t see any type of settlement or structures of any kind. You follow Din down a narrow forest path listening to the birds singing and enjoying the natural beauty of the place. It’s soothing and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the planet was uninhabited. The further you go down the path, the thicker the forest becomes and it seems as if you are walking in twilight as the multitude of leaves above you block out more and more of the sun’s rays. Finally, the path appears to end and you see the opening of a cave.

“This is it,” Din says, and you look up to see a small carving of a mythosaur in the stone entrance. You get no more than five steps into the dark cavern when two Mandalorians appear out of nowhere asking you to identify yourselves with blasters raised. Different from Din, their armor is decorated with paint, one in orange and the other in blue. Once they recognize Din, they lower their weapons and greet you.

“Welcome home, Djarin,” the Mando in blue says as he thumps Din’s pauldron in greeting, “Still getting into trouble I see.”

“Vizsla, still a pain in the ass I see,” Din replies curtly.

“I’m afraid the trouble is my fault,” you speak up, not wanting Din to take the blame for your past catching up to you.

“Well hello,” Blue Mando welcomes you with a pleasant tone, “The Armorer mentioned Djarin was bringing someone with him, who knew you’d be so pretty.”

His compliment surprises you, and you stutter out, “O-Oh, thank you.”

Din makes a grunting sound as he places his hand on your lower back and steers you past the two guards, “We’re going to see the Armorer now,” he informs them.

“I’ll take you to see her,” Orange Mando offers.

“Thank you,” Din responds.

“I guess I’ll see you later then, pretty one, you too, Djarin,” the Blue Mando chuckles as you walk deeper into the cave.

As your eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting of the cave’s passageway you can see that there are drawings on the walls, many featuring Mandalorian helmets. They look like they could be children’s sketches given the simplicity and the height of most of them. It makes you smile, knowing that you’ll be somewhere with families, maybe your own little one will be able to make a few friends while you’re here. Eventually, you can hear the sounds of other people and when the passage opens up to a large room in the cave you see a comforting and homey site.

This part of the cavern has a small pool in the middle and it creates a beautiful soft glow as the water reflects back the artificial lights that have been arranged throughout the space. Around the room, there are small groups of people chatting with each other, playing sabacc, helping children with schoolwork, polishing armor, and performing all sorts of small domestic tasks. It makes you smile to yourself. Everyone here wears helmets, including the children, and all of the adults wear armor too. You notice a few helmets turning towards you as you move past the groups and you wonder if you must seem odd to them with your face uncovered.

There is a second passageway on the other side of the room and you follow Orange Mando down this next path. As you walk, you can feel a hot wind run through the tunnel and you hear a metallic clanking in an almost rhythmic pattern. The noise grows louder and soon you reach a warm room where the Armorer is working. You are mesmerized by her striking golden helmet and the graceful but powerful movements she makes as she forges a piece of beskar armor. When she sees Din, the child, and you, she pauses in her work and nods in your direction. Din motions for you to sit on a stone bench and the three of you sit patiently as she finishes her work.

“I see your foundling is doing well,” the Armorer comments, “And this is the caregiver.” She looks over at you and you offer her a smile and a nod. She rests her tools on her workbench and comes over to you. Din stands and you mirror his movement. The Armorer offers you her hand and welcomes you to the Covert.

“Din Djarin tells me that you are a very special woman, it is clear you have been a positive influence in his life.” The Armorer speaks in such a deliberate way that you feel honored to hear such praise from her.

“Thank you, I’ve tried to do my best to help him and we’ve grown very close, but I feel such regret that it’s my fault we’re in trouble now,” you admit to her and you know your face shows the guilt you’re feeling.

“It isn’t your fault,” Din corrects you, “You have no control over Kerrick’s actions.”

“Din is correct,” the Armorer affirms his statement, “You are not responsible for the actions of an evil man who seeks to control you. We will do all that we can to assist you. This is the way.”

“This is the way,” Din repeats.

“Thank you, I am beyond grateful for your help, and for making me welcome with your tribe,” you tell her.

“You are welcome,” she responds, “I must ask now though to speak to Din alone with the other members of our tribe, if you do not mind.”

“Of course.”

You hear footsteps behind you and you see that several other Mandalorians have joined you. Several of them give you a nod in greeting in your direction and a woman with purple armor steps forward.

“I can take you and the child to the place where you’ll be staying while you’re here,” she offers. You turn to follow her, but before you can, Din reaches out to give your hand a squeeze and says, “I’ll find you later, cyar’ika.”

Din watches you leave and then turns back to the Armorer, feeling a little nervous now that he is alone with her and those who remain in their tribe. His own feelings of guilt rise within him as he looks around the room and realizes how few their numbers have become.

In a low voice full of shame and remorse he says, “I am sorry for Nevarro. I can never thank you enough for helping me and the child, but I--”

“Have nothing to apologize for,” Paz interrupts him in a gravelly voice laden with emotion. Din turns his head toward him in surprise.

“We were honored to help you and we would make the same choice again,” a female member of the tribe speaks up.

“It was our duty and our privilege to fight alongside of you in Nevarro,” another tribe member says.

“You are ner vod, an important member of our tribe and we are here for you,” yet another person tells him.

One by one each tribe member speaks up to reassure Din of his place in the tribe and to express that none of them hold him responsible for the attack on the Covert in Nevarro. His eyes fill with tears and he can feel them slowly gliding down his face in response to their acceptance and love for him. He’s felt so disconnected from the tribe since being forced to flee but being with them here now, and hearing their words of support makes him feel like part of a family again. It is so much more than he could have asked for and it means everything to him.

“Th-thank you,” Din chokes out when the last person has spoken, he wants to say more but his emotions are causing a tightness in his throat and it’s all he can get out now.

“Now, let us discuss the threat against your companion,” the Armorer says.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Purple Mando leads you to a small room with modest furnishings where you are able to stow your bag of belongings. She asks if you want to rest, but you tell her that you’d rather spend time with the others if that’s alright.

“I know that little one would love a chance to run around a bit too and maybe play with some other children, if he can,” you suggest.

“That sounds like a nice idea, and you can meet some of my tribe members.” Her voice has a pleasant tone and her friendly demeanor puts you at ease.

When you’re back in the larger cavern that seems to serve as the common room for the Covert, she introduces you to a group of her friends.

“Look at your little foundling, what a cutie he is,” one of the women coos at the kiddo.

“He’s a sweetie,” another one says, “He’s welcome to go play with the other children, here, I’ll introduce him to my two boys.”

“Thank you,” you reply and you put the child down so he can toddle over to the other little children who are playing with blocks. “Be sure to share, buddy,” you call after him.

“Oh, is he in the ‘mine’ phase?” Purple Mando asks you.

“It’s hard to tell really, it’s more that he doesn’t have much time to spend with other children so he’s used to all the toys being his,” you explain.

“Ah, I see, well I’m sure he’ll be just fine,” she says in a reassuring manner.

“So, will you tell me a little about your tribe? I’ve only ever met the one Mandalorian.” You’re really curious to know more about their way of life.

“Sure, we’re happy to tell you anything you want to know.” Her friends make positive sounds and nod their heads in agreement. “But you also have to be sure to tell us all about you and your Mandalorian,” she says with a small chuckle.

You agree with a smile, and the women proceed to tell you about the tribe. They’ve been here in this Covert for quite some time now. On the other side of the cavern system there is a settlement where they can go for various necessities. Unlike Nevarro, there is less threat here so they are able to leave the Covert in small groups. The adults in the tribe have one of four principle jobs. The protectors assist with guarding the Covert and training the others in fighting techniques. The hunters are responsible for bringing in fresh meat from the surrounding forest. The crafters make weapons, vibroblades and other knives in particular, that they sell to help earn income for the tribe. Finally, the caregivers are responsible for the domestic tasks including maintaining a large garden to grow food for the tribe. There are also a few members who have special jobs like the tribe’s two healers, the Armorer, and the beroya, a bounty hunter, like Din.

“Although we hear your beroya is more skilled than ours,” one of the women says, hinting a little at the subject of Din.

“Well, he isn’t one to brag, but he always seems to be successful in catching his quarry, at least as far as I’ve seen,” you explain but you can’t keep a note of pride out of your voice.

“His tribe has only been with us for a few months, but we have heard stories about him,” Purple Mando tells you, “And they were very pleased to hear that you were coming to stay with him for a bit.”

“Really?” This surprises you because you wouldn’t have believe that Din’s tribe would give too much thought to you seeing as they’ve never met you.

“Mmhmm, yes, apparently he’s never been serious about a woman before, so they’re all wondering if he’s finally ready to settle down,” she laughs lightly as she says this and tips her helmet in your direction.

“Oh I- I don’t know about that,” you stumble over your words a bit, feeling flustered at the implication, “He um hasn’t said… I mean, I wouldn’t assume anything… I-”

“Don’t let her tease you,” another woman pipes up, “She’s a hopeless matchmaker.”

“Oh c’mon, what can I say, I just adore love and a riduurok,” Purple Mando giggles.

“What’s a riduurok?” you ask.

“A marriage ceremony,” she tells you, “When two people become each other’s riduur, or spouse.”

“Well, I appreciate learning new words in Mando’a,” you say with a chuckle, “But I don’t think there’s going to be a riduurok any time soon, unless one of you are getting married this week?”

The women laugh with you and you feel a contentment that you haven’t felt in days, it feels like you can let your guard down with them. As much as you enjoy spending time with Din, you’ve missed having friends. The afternoon passes quickly as the women fill you in on the gossip in the tribe and you watch the child playing happily with the other kids.

When Din returns to your side with several members of his tribe, he introduces you to many of them although all without names as per their tradition so you continue to refer to them in your mind by the colors of their armor. Even though some of the colors are repeated, the patterns of the paint vary sufficiently that you can easily tell everyone apart.

One woman with pink armor seems very chatty and interested in you. She asks you all about your work with languages.

“Oh, how did you know about that?” you ask surprised.

“Din told us of course,” she says pleasantly, “He’s very sweet on you and talked at length about your many accomplishments while we were catching up.” As she comments on Din’s affectionate side, she nudges him slightly with her elbow and it’s clear she’s teasing him. It’s cute and it reminds you of the way you used to tease your brother about girls.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” you whisper conspiratorially to her, “I’m sweet on him too.” You hear Din let out a chuckle at that and he rests his hand on your knee. He’s relaxed here in a way you’ve not seen before and it’s nice.

“Oh, but yes, languages have always intrigued me, I love figuring out how they work and learning about new ones,” you explain, “I’ve even learned several words in Mando’a today.”

“Which ones?” Pink is curious to know.

“Well, beroya, talking about Din, of course,” you say with a smile, “And then a few related to families, ad’ika, aliit, and buir, oh and then riduur and riduurok too.” You’re just happy you remembered all the new words.

“Hmm, riduur and riduurok, talking more about Din, I suppose?” she giggles.

“Oh! No! I- I didn’t mean in reference to him, it- it just came up…” you trail off embarrassed to have implied such a thing. You’re thankful that Din is deep in conversation with one of the other men and doesn’t appear to have heard that.

“Don’t worry, I’m only playing,” Pink reassures you, “I’m just so happy with my own riduur. It’s only been eight months and I’m already expecting.” She tells you this excitedly and places a hand on her lower abdomen tenderly where you can see a small baby bump.

“Congratulations!” you beam at her with delight, “That’s so exciting.” You ponder her news for a moment and then ask, “What’s it like? Being pregnant, I mean? I’ve always been curious.”

“Well, at first I just felt really tired and I could throw up at a moment’s notice,” she explains, “But now, I’m further along and I just feel really happy and excited. Plus my riduur is just so proud and happy too.” She points to a man in black armor. Then she leans in closer to you and drops her voice low as she whispers, “And honestly, the sex has never been better. You’d think he was trying to get me pregnant twice.”

You laugh merrily along with her, not realizing that you’re drawing Din’s attention back to you when you pipe up to say, “I’ve always fantasized about being pregnant, it seems like such a special time, knowing that a new life is growing within you.” Your face takes on a dreamy, wistful look as you say this to her. But then thinking about your reality, you say, “I guess it’s just a far-off wish, but it’s fun to dream about it.”

Din’s helmet snaps to look directly at you when you say this, and, as it turns out, so do several other curious helmets. Something deep inside Din’s chest pulses with a desire to make your wish come true. Suddenly he can see what you would look like round and swollen with his child, the beautiful glow you would have, the tender way you would look at him when he’d caress your belly, and so much more. He wants to say something, anything to you, but he can’t think of the right words, especially not in front of so many people. Happy giggles from you and your new friend distract him from these thoughts.

Pink giggles at your statement and then leans in to stage whisper, “You should be careful saying that around a bunch of Mandalorians, one of them might take you up on it and put a baby in you tonight.”

Her statement is rather blunt, but it just makes you laugh along with her. After the stress you’ve been under all day, you’re enjoying making a new friend and just giggling along with her. As nervous as you were about meeting Din’s tribe, you are so thankful to be here now.

“So Djarin, your woman wants a baby,” Paz ribs Din, “You know if you’re not up to the task, I’d be more than happy to oblige her.”

“Shut up, di’kut,” Din mutters at him.

“Vizsla has a point; she is a beauty, I’m surprised you’re not trying harder,” another guy sitting next to him gets in on the teasing.

“Not you too,” Din replies and gives the guy a shove.

“Maybe we should introduce ourselves, get to know her,” Paz says cheekily, then walks over closer to where you’re seated. “Hey, mesh’la, how are you doing this evening?” he nods his helmet in your direction.

“I’m pretty sure he means you,” Pink snickers.

Not wanting to be impolite, you smile kindly as you answer, “I’m having a nice time; everyone has been so welcoming.”

“That’s good; we all want you to feel welcome.” He props his knee up on a rock formation and then leans his arm down on it so he can be closer to where you are. “Maybe later you’d like a nice tour of the caverns? I know some really nice spots.”

Din stands up at this and positions himself between you and Blue Mando, “You want to ask her that again, Vizsla?”

“I dunno, maybe she’d rather see some Mandalorian sparring? Let her see how a real man fights,” Paz jeers at Din.

“Why not? I’m sure she’d enjoy watching me kick your ass.” Din taunts back.

“Whoa, guys, there’s no need for this,” you try to interrupt, but the air is thick with tension and testosterone. This seems to be an older dispute, and you’re just a convenient spark to reignite the flames of the argument. You’re worried that they might actually start fighting when the child comes to your rescue.

The little guy toddles over carrying a big piece of paper in his claws. He wants to show Din and you a picture that he’s drawn.

“Hi, buddy!” You purposely step between Din and Blue Mando to reach down and pick him up. “What do you have here?”

It’s a drawing of a stick figure family with flowers and what looks to be frogs surrounding them. One of the figures has a helmet-shaped head, another has hair that looks a lot like yours, and the third little figure has big green ears, so it’s clear that he’s drawn his own little family of Din, you, and himself.

“This is so good, buddy,” Din tells him and then he leans over to pat the kid on the head.

“You did so great, kiddo!” You say enthusiastically, feeling a bit relieved too. You lean in and kiss the child on the forehead, and then whisper, “Good job calming down your papa too.” He coos at you in his happy way and you could swear he understands everything you say to him.

Just then, a soft gonging sound rings out across the cave. You watch as the other children scramble back towards their parents and little groups begin to funnel out of the room.

“What’s happening?” you ask Pink.

“It’s time for the evening meal. The food is prepared collectively, and each family goes to collect their portion before heading to their private quarters to eat. Follow me and we’ll get you three all set up.”

You follow her and the rest of the Mandalorians towards another large room with a buffet of food. It all smells delicious and you didn’t realize how hungry you’d become. The child starts wiggling in anticipation when he sees the feast before him. He starts making little whiny sounds and grabby hands towards the dishes.

“It’s ok, sweetie,” you tell him, “We’ll get our food very soon, I promise.”

Din moves forward to begin collecting your dinner and he quickly scoops up a bun that had started to mysteriously float upward and hands it to the child so he won’t get too fussy. “Don’t get too impatient, kiddo,” he says gently reproaching the child.

You retreat to your appointed room with your meal and once you make sure the child can’t peek over at Din, you’re able to enjoy the food. For a while, you simply eat in a comfortable silence. There’s been so much going on today, it’s nice to be here where it’s more tranquil and you have a moment to yourselves that doesn’t feel as stressful as early in the day.

“I’ve really enjoyed meeting everyone here, they’re so caring and nice,” you tell Din, “Pink and Purple did a great job of introducing me to lots of people and teaching me about the Covert.”

“Pink and Purple?” He asks, confused.

“Oh, well, I don’t know anyone’s names so I’ve just been referring to them by the color of their armor in my head, Pink, Purple, Orange, Blue, you know?”

Din laughs at this and says, “You’re so adorable, cyar’ika.”

“Thanks, darling,” you say laughing a little with him, it is rather funny, “Seriously, I’ve felt so safe and at home here, even though it’s only been a few hours.”

“It makes me happy to hear you say that, cyar’ika,” he responds, “I hope you don’t mind but I told my tribe a lot about you, I wanted them to know how hard you’ve worked to take care of the child and keep him safe.”

You feel a fluttery sensation in your chest at his words, “I’m honored that you wanted to tell them about me.”

“Of course I wanted to,” Din says, “You’re very important to me.”

“You’re important to me too, Din,” you admit softly, trying not to get too choked up as you share your feelings with him. You hear him come closer to you and then he’s placing his arms around you, hugging you to his chest. His helmet is still off and you can feel him nuzzle his face into your neck and hair.

You sit like that for a while, just enjoying the closeness; you’re holding the child in your arms and Din is holding you in his. After a bit, you start to rock the child a little and hum a little song to him. He’s had a long day after running around with the other children and now that his belly is full, you can see he’s getting drowsy. As his big eyes start to blink longer and longer, you get up to put him in his little pod for the night. When you close it, you can feel Din has followed you and is standing right behind you.

“I have something for you,” he says, his voice a little gruff, but modulated so you know he’s wearing the helmet again. You turn and face him and you see he’s holding out a small leather pouch for you to take.

You smile broadly at him, “A gift for me?”

“Yes,” he confirms.

You untie the strings of the pouch and reach inside to pull out a necklace with a heart pendant made of beskar. It glimmers in the light and you can see there is a mythosaur skull imprinted on the heart. You hold it up and smile, touched by the gesture.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Din,” you breathe out in delight, “Thank you so much. Will you help me put it on?”

You hand him the necklace and then turn away so he can clasp it at the nape of your neck. He tries to do it first with his gloves on, but then you hear him mutter, “Kriffing gloves,” followed by some shuffling before you feel his bare fingers against your skin as he finally secures the clasp for you.

“How does it look?” You ask him.

“Beautiful, just like you,” he says, before adding, “It’s made from a piece of my armor.”

“It is?” you gasp a little, “So it’s like I’m wearing a little piece of you?”

“Mmhmm,” he nods.

“Then I love it even more,” you tell him truthfully. “If I close my eyes, can I thank you with a kiss?”

“Absolutely,” Din says. You let your eyes flutter closed and then you feel his lips on yours, kissing you softly and slowly. It’s so sweet and romantic, you feel like you want to swoon. His tongue comes out to brush lightly against your bottom lip and you open your mouth letting him deepen the kiss. You pull him closer to you, running your hand up into his hair as you tug lightly and shift against him to position yourself to an even better angle. This rouses something in Din and he kisses you more passionately as his hands run down your back to your hips before pulling you flush to his body. After a bit he breaks away from your lips, only so he can trail kisses down your neck and throat, traveling further down until he kisses your chest right above the pendant.

“I’m glad you love the necklace,” Din says and you can feel his breath on your chest as his fingers lightly play with the pendant, “It… it means a lot to me, giving this to you means I feel attached to you… it means that you have my heart.”

“Oh, Din,” your voice fills with emotion, “You have my heart too.”

“Then I don’t need anything else in the galaxy, cyar’ika.” After those sweet words, Din moves back up to give you another scorching kiss.

When he pulls away this time, he rests his forehead on yours and asks, “Did you think to grab the sleep mask before we left?”

You giggle a little at that and say, “Yes, I did. It’s in the outside pouch of my bag.”

He kisses you again, “Can I get it?”

“Yes, but, do you think it will be ok with the little one right in the room with us? I mean I know he’s in his pod…” you trail off, really wanting things to continue but a little torn given the sleeping accommodations tonight.

“His pod is soundproofed, but I’m sure we can be quieter if we try,” Din replies, “But if you’re not comfortable with that, we can just sleep.”

“Well, if you think we can be quieter,” you reply honestly, “I’d rather keep going.”

“Me too,” Din says and in almost an instant, he’s back by your side slipping the mask over your eyes and kissing you soundly again.

“Cyar’ika, can I undress you?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you respond. Gently, Din removes each piece of your clothing. He is unhurried as he reveals more of you to him, almost as if you’re a present and he’s savoring the unwrapping. When he reveals a patch of skin, he pauses to kiss you there, sometimes letting his hot tongue slip out and taste you. Each time he does it, you melt a little more into his touch. When you’re completely naked, he guides you to the bed so you can lie back. He kisses your lips one more time before telling you, “Let me remove my clothing now, I’ll be just a bit.”

You wait in anticipation, and when you hear him moving closer to the bed again, you’re surprised when you feel him kissing your toes.

“Din!” you yelp in surprise.

“Shh, cyar’ika,” he murmurs, “We’re supposed to be quieter.”

“You surprised me,” you explain, but in a softer voice this time.

You feel his lips again on your feet as he starts to kiss his way to your ankle and then up your calf. He’s gradually parting your legs as he works his way up higher and higher. You can guess his destination as he places a kiss high up on your inner thigh, but then you’re surprised again when he pulls away. When you feel him kissing your other foot, you realize he’s repeating the whole process on the other leg this time. He’s taking his time kissing and tasting your skin, and it feels so good that it’s turning you on more than you can believe. This time when Din gets to your inner thigh, you’re trembling in anticipation. As he lingers, you can’t take it anymore and you start to beg him.

“Din, please,” you whine out so softly it’s almost a whimper.

“Do you want more, cyar’ika?” he says against your skin and he lets his tongue caress the very top of your thigh. It’s so good, but it’s still too far away.

“Yes, please, higher.” This time it is a whimper and you don’t even care just so long as it gets him to finally kiss and lick where you need him most.

“Well, when you ask so nicely…” Din finally brings his tongue to your pussy and licks a path from the bottom all the way up to the very top where he places a kiss directly on your clit.

You let out a soft mewling sound and he says, “Was that better?”

“Please, more,” you manage to get out in a breathy voice.

“Anything for you, cyar’ika,” Din says before licking you again in the same deliberate manner. He keeps this up, licking in long strokes but very slowly, driving you completely crazy with desire. You start to try to grind your hips against his tongue but his hands come up to hold you still.

“You’re so eager,” he chuckles, “But be patient, my love; I’ll make it good for you.” With that comment, he pushes his tongue inside you as his fingers come up to draw light circles around your clit. It feels incredible and you let out a shaky moan as he finally starts to give you more. His tongue and his lips start to explore you in earnest, tasting and sucking on your most sensitive parts, turning you into a moaning mess. It an attempt to be quieter, you hold your hand up to your mouth to muffle the sounds because you just can’t stop making them.

“Mmm, that’s a sound I like to hear,” Din says between licks, “Reminds me of when you were first on the ship with me, late at night, I’d hear you trying to be quiet as you touched yourself.”

“You heard that?” you manage to gasp out, you’d be a little embarrassed but considering where his head is now, you don’t care.

“Yes, and I lived for it,” he tells you before diving back in and picking up his pace. You keen up into his mouth as he sucks hard on your clit, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste, and you feel your thighs starting to quake. When he pushes two fingers deep inside you, you can feel yourself starting to tighten around them. Your pleasure builds and just when it seems like you can’t take anymore, you feel yourself coming apart all over his face and hand.

You’re still panting when he makes his way up your body and then pulls you into another passionate kiss. His enthusiasm for you is humbling, but truthfully, you feel the same way, like you can never get enough of him. You break the kiss to move down his body now; you place hot, open-mouthed kisses all down his torso. You stop at both of his nipples to tease them with your tongue and nip at them lightly. Now it’s his turn to moan as you let your hands and mouth guide you lower and lower.

“Where are you g-going, cyar’ika?” Din grounds out, his voice stuttering as your tongue delves into his navel.

“Mmmm, can’t you guess, my love?” And with that, you let your mouth envelope the head of his cock and swirl your tongue all around it. Din lets out a loud groan that is almost a whine and you smile to yourself.

“Now who needs to be quiet?” you tease before returning to let your tongue caress his shaft all over with long, wet licks.

“Aaaahhh, just feels so fucking good,” Din breathes out, his voice low.

“I’m going to make you feel amazing,” you promise, and you return to the head, rubbing your tongue across the sensitive spot just underneath before sucking him into your mouth. You go about halfway down this time before pulling off him again. You return to taunting him with licks, this time running your tongue over his balls before you resume sucking him. You repeat this teasing process, each time sucking him deeper into your mouth until you start to hum to open your throat as you begin to reach his base. When you finally take all of him, he’s practically shuddering at the sensation. You take pity on him and instead of continuing to tease, you hollow your cheeks and begin to glide up and down, showing him how much you want to please him, wanting to give him the same intense pleasure he brought you a few moments ago. You can hear him doing his best to muffle his moans as he shakes and writhes underneath you. You can tell he’s trying not to thrust into your mouth, but he can’t help bucking his hips a little and when he does, it causes your throat to constrict around him increasing his enjoyment. You can tell he’s starting to get very close, but before you can get him there, he’s pushing you away.

“No, no, wait, I… I don’t want to yet…” Din gasps.

“Are you sure? I wanted you to finish in my mouth,” you explain, still eager to resume.

Din groans a little, but moves to haul you back up against him, “If I do that right now, I don’t think I’ll be able to make love to you anymore tonight, and I want that more.”

“Oh, Din,” your voice catches a little, “I do want you to keep making love to me, but sometime, I want you to let me finish you with my mouth.”

“Yes, sometime,” he kisses you to seal the promise. Din rolls you onto your side so that your back is flush against his chest, “I want to take you like this, cyar’ika,” he says. His hands are already maneuvering your legs so he can slide himself between them, and then you feel his steely erection rubbing deliciously between your folds.

“Yes, Din… aaah, like this is perfect.” Your breath hitches in your chest as he positions himself to enter you.

“Tell me,” he says.

You reach back to cradle his head with your hand and bring him closer to you, “Take me like this, Din, I want you… I need you.”

With that, he thrusts into you in one swift motion causing all the breath in your body to push out in a gasp. As he moves within you, he winds his arm around you tight holding you close against his chest. It’s like there’s no space between you at all. His mouth attaches itself to your neck where he’s biting and sucking a new mark into your skin. You can feel him everywhere and it’s overwhelming in the best way. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the stirring of your climax again and you start to struggle to stay quiet. In this position, every thrust hits on your most pleasurable spot deep inside you and it’s taking all that you have not to scream out Din’s name. You know he must be getting closer to his peak too, as he’s also starting to groan and grunt more.

“Are you close, cyar’ika?” Din asks you desperately and he drops his hand to your clit to rub fast circles there. All you can get out is a whimper and a shaky breath, as you start to feel the waves of your orgasm lapping at you. Din doubles his efforts and starts to beg you, “Please, cyar’ika, please… I’m so close… want you to come first… need you to… oooh, please.”

Hearing him plead with you like that is all you need to send you over the edge and almost as soon as your inner muscles begin to flutter around him, Din is following right along with you. He holds you as tight as he possibly can as he pumps himself into you and bites down on your shoulder to keep himself from crying out. You’re so stunned by the sensation you feel like you might black out from the pleasure. You’re shuddering from little aftershocks of bliss when Din starts to speak to you again but he’s speaking in Mando’a and you can’t fully understand what he’s saying.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika,” he says reverently and turns you towards him so he can kiss you fully.

When he breaks the kiss, he speaks again, only this time in Basic, “I love you, my sweetheart.”

Your heart skips a beat and then you tell him, “I love you too, Din.” His lips find yours again in the sweetest, most tender kiss.

When you break apart the next time, you ask him, “Will you say it in Mando’a again?” He does and you carefully repeat it back to him. You barely get the last syllable out and he’s kissing you again, as if he can never kiss you enough. You kiss him back fervently trying to pour all of your love into it, wanting him to understand just how much you love him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next two days pass pleasantly in the Covert. Din feels pleased that you fit in so well with everyone and it warms his heart to see how eager you are to learn more about his culture. It fills him with a new hope for the future, and he lets himself daydream about being able to return to the tribe permanently with you. Still though, Din can’t ignore the danger that you’re in and each hour that passes makes him anxious that the Imps could be headed here right now. In discussing the predicament with his tribe, Din was able to come up with a plan to keep you on the move and, hopefully, to find a stronger Covert that could help you defeat Kerrick. While his tribe and the others in this new Covert offered up their fighters, Din refused to accept based on their already reduced numbers. Now each moment that passes, his unease at being caught builds. It’s on this third evening, that he brings up his worries with you.

“I think we should leave tomorrow,” Din suggests, and you can hear the concern in his voice.

“You don’t think we’re safe here?” You’d been feeling so much better since arriving, that you’d hoped you’d be able to stay longer.

“It isn’t that-- I… I don’t think we’re safe anywhere, really,” he pauses and looks down at the ground when he says, “I’m worried that if we stay any longer, I’m endangering the Covert again, like Nevarro.”

You know all about Nevarro now as the other night the Armorer and the rest of Din’s tribe spoke about it, wanting both you and the other Mandalorians to understand more about that part of their history, and as a way of honoring those who lost their lives during the battle. Din was very quiet though as the story was being told, opting to simply grip your hand tightly and listen. You could tell that he still felt responsible for the loss of the Nevarro Covert, despite his tribe’s endeavors to show everyone that only the Imperial forces were to blame.

“I understand,” you reassure Din, “We can leave tonight if you think we should, it won’t take long to get our things together.”

“Can we? I think it would be the best option.” You can hear a note of relief in his voice as you agree with him and let him know that you’ll start packing right away.

“I just need to speak to the Armorer again,” Din tells you, “I shouldn’t be too long.”

When he finds the Armorer at her forge, she appears to have been expecting him. He doesn’t know how she does it, but it’s almost as if she can anticipate his thoughts, it’s always been that way with her. He wonders for a moment if she might share some of the child’s powers.

“Din Djarin, I have the pieces you have requested,” she speaks in her carefully measured voice.

“Thank you, I appreciate that you’ve worked to complete them so quickly for me,” he responds and watches as she moves to collect two small leather pouches. When he opens the first, he pulls out another beskar pendant; this time it is a mudhorn, the exact match to the one on his pauldron. The second pouch contains three rings, one is a ring of yours that Din swiped from your jewelry collection, and the other two are matching bands of beskar, one in the same size as your ring and the other sized to fit his own finger.

“I see that she wears the heart pendant with joy,” the Armorer tells him, and then asks, “When will you ask her to join your clan?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Din admits a bit bashfully, “But I want to be prepared to ask her when the time is right.”

“You have the blessing of the tribe, if you should want it,” she declares to him, “Your woman has mandokarla and we will always welcome her.”

“Thank you, that means so much to me,” Din replies gratefully.

“You have decided to leave us,” the Armorer states, again already seeming to know his thoughts before he shares them.

“Yes, I think it is for the best.” His voice can’t contain its concern, but he knows she understands as she nods to him.

“You must do what is best for your clan. This is the way,” she confirms.

“This is the way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later and you’re back in hyperspace. You’ve been following the plan that Din’s tribe helped him design, stopping at some remote outposts in hopes of finding other Mandalorians. So far, the information the Covert shared with Din has been reliable and you both feel confident in your efforts. A sudden pinging on the dash draws Din’s attention and he sees that a transmission is coming in.

“Brother, we heard you are seeking assistance,” a strong voice speaks out into the cockpit, but no holo accompanies it.

“That depends on who’s offering,” Din responds carefully.

“Our Covert has heard that you need warriors to battle against some Imps,” the voice says, “We are willing to help you in that endeavor.”

“How did you come to hear that?” Din questions the voice.

“We are in communication with many other Coverts, and heard of your needs through our contacts,” the voice explains.

Din stays quiet as he thinks; the caller’s explanation seems logical but trusting a disembodied voice also seems a bit naïve. He continues to hesitate in his response when the voice speaks again.

“We also have information about where you can find the Jedi.”

“What are your coordinates?” Din asks, his mind made up. If they know about the Imperials and the Jedi, then they must have spoken to his Covert.

“We’re transmitting them now,” the voice informs him.

“Thank you, for being willing to help us,” Din says graciously.

“Ibic mando’kar,” the voice states.

“This is the way,” Din replies before ending the call.

As soon as the transmission is cut off, you speak up, “Do you think they’re the Mandalorians we’ve been searching for?”

“They must be, I know they’re an older sect and it makes sense that they’d say ‘Ibic mando’kar’ for ‘This is the way’,” he explains to you, “I think they can help us.”

You’re about to ask him more about these Mandalorians and what he knows, but you’re stopped by the child who has started fussing and crying. You go over to pick him up, but he’s worked himself up into a real tantrum, and no matter how much you try to soothe him, he won’t calm down.

“Are you hungry already, buddy?” You pull out some snacks from your pocket for him, but he shoves them away and cries harder. You know Din needs to focus on piloting the ship to the new coordinates so you descend to the hull with the poor little guy. You try rocking him, singing to him, even a warm bath, but nothing seems to help. He doesn’t seem to be in any visible discomfort so you simply sit and hold him hoping that ultimately your presence will show him that everything is ok. Eventually, he’s exhausted himself and falls asleep. You clean the tears off his little face, and although it’s finally quiet on the ship, you can’t shake a feeling of unease after how upset the child has been. However, you’re exhausted too after trying to care for him and you find yourself curling up on your bed your own eyes closing shortly afterwards.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You reach the coordinates provided to you by the Covert on a remote planet whose name you don’t know. The scenery does nothing to lift your mood, as the place appears to be an old industrial center and now looks run-down and abandoned. Although, given what you know about the need for the Mandalorian Coverts to remain secretive, you suppose that makes sense. You follow Din off the Crest with the child’s pod floating right beside you. As you walk to the designated meeting point, a large warehouse building, the child begins to whine again. You see the familiar sight of a mythosaur skull painted above the doorway to the warehouse and you breathe a sigh of relief, that this must be the correct place. You enter the building, but everything is dark and dusty inside and it doesn’t look like anyone is around. Thinking back to Din’s Covert, you expect that some guards will probably appear like before. When you see a helmeted figure in the shadows, you think you must be right, that is until the person turns to reveal the stark white helmet and armor of a storm trooper.

“You found us!” An eerily cheery voice trills out, making your blood run cold. It’s Kerrick.

Din instantly moves to shield you behind him, but you know it’s in vain, as now you can see an entire squadron of troopers moving out of the shadows to surround you. Even with Din’s impeccable skills as a gunslinger, there’s no way you could take on this many troopers, you are hopelessly outgunned.

“Come now, my little doll, don’t be shy,” Kerrick’s voice is almost sing-songy in his joy at trapping you, “I’ve missed you so very much, baby doll.”

Your heart is lurching in your chest and you feel sick to your stomach. You’re running through all the possible scenarios in your head, but there’s only one that you can think of which will keep Din and the child from being hurt.

“I’ve missed you too, Kerrick,” you call out, stepping out from behind Din.

Din’s hand reaches out to pull you back, but you gently shake your head and pull away. Before you do, you try to look into his visor with all the love you can and silently try to tell him that everything you’re about to say is a lie, but you have no idea if he can understand that.

“My sweet baby doll, come here and give your man a kiss,” Kerrick leers at you with a wide grin.

You raise your hands up as you walk slowly towards him, and you make your voice high pitched and girly, the way he used to like when you were in bed together, as you say, “Kerrick, all these guns are scaring me, can’t you have them put the blasters away?”

“Oh, my little doll, those are for your protection,” Kerrick explains condescendingly.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I can come any closer, I’m too scared,” you tell him.

“Alright, my doll, for you,” and he motions for the troopers to lower their blasters.

You feel a tiny sense of victory as you can tell you still have some power over Kerrick even with how twisted and vile he’s become. You move closer to him and when you’re within arm’s reach, he becomes impatient and he reaches out to grab you. Din’s instincts kick in and he draws his blaster without thinking and aims directly for Kerrick.

“Uh, uh, uh, Mandalorian, she just said she’s scared of blasters,” Kerrick admonishes, “You don’t want to scare my doll any more than you already have, do you?”

Oh no, you need to salvage this and quickly, “It’s not like that, Kerrick, he’s been trying to help me find you,” you lie, “I’ve been so lonely and sad without you, and he’s been protecting me until I could get back to you.”

“Is that true?” Kerrick asks, skeptical, “From our visit to Angel One, I was under the impression that you’ve been acting like a little whore for him.”

You want to die as you say these next words, but you know you need to convince Kerrick to let Din and the child go, “I was just using him, so he’d keep helping me, but it was just so I could find you again, Kerrick, after all, I’m still your doll.” Your hand comes up to your chest to sit over Din’s heart pendant hidden under your tunic and you hate yourself for having to put Din through this.

Din’s blood is boiling and he feels heartsick as he hears you lie to Kerrick. He knows you must be lying in an attempt to save him and the child. But he can’t ignore how much your words hurt, even if they’re not true. Hearing you call yourself “doll” though and seeing you grip your pendant, he tells himself that you don’t mean what you’re saying, that you do really love him, and that you’re prepared to sacrifice yourself to save him. He’s so angry with himself for leading you into this trap and he’s desperate to find another solution, but like you, he’s out of options. He has to do all he can right now to reign in his desire to start shooting.

Kerrick’s arms are wrapping tighter around your waist, and you know you’re going to have to muster up every acting skill you have if you’re going to convince him of your falsehood. You bring a hand up to caress his face, and he nuzzles into your touch. You thought he was handsome once, but his years with the Empire have changed him and his smug, pretty boy face holds no attraction for you now. You push these thoughts deep down though, and close your eyes as you bring him closer to you for a kiss. It takes everything you have not to shove him away in disgust. As Kerrick forces his tongue into your mouth, you tell yourself to be calm and then you pretend you’re kissing Din. It’s a struggle, but you manage to fool Kerrick enough that when he pulls away he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Let’s go, doll,” he says and he starts to tug you away.

“Wait, Kerrick, will you do something for me, please?” You do your best to make yourself look as sweet and innocent as you can and you use the girly voice again.

“What can I do for you, baby doll?” He looks at you like you’re a child asking for a treat.

“Will you let the Mandalorian go back to his ship? He really did help me find you, and if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have this wonderful reunion.” You pray Kerrick won’t see through your ploy.

“You always were so softhearted,” Kerrick says as he pats you on the ass.

“Please, for me? Please, Kerrick,” It’s soul crushing to have to beg him like this, but if it can help Din even a little you have to do it.

“Oh alright, I don’t want you to be sad or distracted all night. I have much better plans for us,” Kerrick tells you suggestively. You do your best not to throw up right then, but plan to save it as an escape for later.

“You six, take the Mandalorian back to his ship,” Kerrick motions to a group of troopers. Ok, six is still kind of a lot, but if feels like a number Din can probably handle. You don’t believe for a second that Kerrick is actually going to let Din go without a fight, but at least now he’s not facing an entire squadron.

“Can I say goodbye?” You know you’re pushing it, so you add, “To the child.”

“Fine, but make it quick,” Kerrick pats you on the ass again and you run back over to Din and the child. You scoop the baby up in your arms, but you look directly at Din and mouth, “I love you, I’m sorry.” He inclines his head in the slightest of nods and you know he understands. It doesn’t stop your heart from breaking in two though and you know tears are threatening to spill from your eyes.

“That’s enough!” Kerrick’s sharp voice calls out and you place the baby back in his pod before fixing a fake smile on your face and turning back to Kerrick. It’s shaky at best and you know you can’t hide your teary eyes so you throw yourself back into Kerrick’s arms hoping that a seemingly enthusiastic hug will mask your true feelings.

He chuckles, pats your head, and says, “Don’t worry, doll, I’ve got you now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The troopers lead Din out of the warehouse and each step feels painful, as he knows it’s taking him further away from you. All he wants to do is run back into that warehouse and fight for you, but he knows a deathtrap when he sees one. He doesn’t believe for one second that the troopers are going to let him leave, but he’s pretty sure he can take them out and get to the ship fast enough to get away. If he can make the jump to hyperspace before Kerrick’s cruiser can realize what’s happening he should be able to escape with his life.

“Be sure to get the asset,” one of the troopers is muttering to another, and Din knows it’s time. He charges and fires his whistling birds taking out four of the troopers at once and as he turns to fire at the other two, he sees their bodies being slammed together forcefully. Despite the terrible situation, he smiles to himself as he sees the child’s hands raised, helping him defeat the Imps. He quickly dispatches the last two troopers and then dashes to the Razor Crest.

He takes off as quickly as he knows how and, risking everything, makes the jump to hyperspace while he’s still in the planet’s atmosphere. It’s incredibly dangerous but it pays off and thankfully, the Crest manages to get away.

As hyperspace glows blue around him, Din plots in a course back to his Covert. He needs reinforcements and this time he can’t let the past hold him back from accepting help.

“We’re going to get her back, buddy,” Din vows looking at the child, “Don’t you worry.”

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

Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter. Link to Chapter 9: Not Without My Cyar’ika

Mando’a glossary:

gar vode = your brethren, your brothers

ner vod = my brother

beroya = bounty hunter

riduurok = marriage, wedding ceremony

riduur = spouse

ad’ika = little one (affectionate)

aliit = family

buir = parent

di’kut = idiot

mesh’la = beautiful

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum = I love you (literally, I know you forever)

mandokarla = having the right stuff, the epitome of Mandalorian spirit

Ibic mando’kar =This is the way (there is some debate about how to say it)

Tag list: @grogusmum @wellofeternalthirst @idreamofboobear @theamuz @fangirlalexia @callmekane @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @theravenreads @nicotinebirds @boomtownboy @nova646 @wandering-storm-lost-shadow @becks-things @sleepwithacommunist @mackycat11 @som3thingcr3ative @punkdalek @pinkninja200 @s-unflowxr @ladyjenny19 @peppywitch @haley7242 @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @hotsauceonabiscuit @asta-lily

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian smut #din djarin smut

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dailydoseofserotonin · 3 years

Text

A New Day, A New Dawn, A New Life

Words: 1,806

Beta: @bambii-brambles

Notes: Alternate Universe. Not really any ships, but some are implied, No Quirks but some people do have abilities

Warnings: Nothing besides Bakugo's language

"Report to your stations immediately. This is not a drill. We are under attack. We are under attack!"

The sound of gunfire and explosions ring out loudly as two boys join hands. Just outside, heroes known as the World's Avengers, are in the process of infiltrating a LOV base in Sokovia.

Making her way towards the base, Creati crashes against a forcefield, the impact taking her completely by surprised. "Shit!"

"Language!" Reprimands another voice, Lemillion, as he takes down armed men. "Hatsume, what's the view from upstairs?"

"The central building is protected by some kind of energy shield. Imasuji's technology is well beyond any other LOV base we've taken"

Landing between several men, a blonde man swings his hammer taking out several of them. This is ChargeBolt. "Sero's scepter must be here. Imasuji couldn't mount this defense without it. At long last"

Several feet away another blonde takes out more men. This one is known as DynaMight. Locking his legs around one of the soldiers, he shifts his weight and swings the man off his feet, effectively knocking him unconscious. "At long last” is lasting a little long, idiots"

Taking cover behind a tree, a duo colored hair man fires multiple arrows. "Yeah. I think we lost the element of surprise"

"Wait a second. No one else is going to deal with the fact that Mirio just said "language?"

"I know" He sighs as he throws his bike at some soldiers driving up in their truck. "It just slipped out"

Inside the base, Imasuji made his way down towards the science lab. "Who gave the order to attack?"

Following behind him, one of his men answers. "Goto Imasuji, it's the Avengers."

"They landed in the far woods, the perimeter guard panicked."

Cursing under his breath, he turned to the scientist, Kyudai Garaki. "They have to be after the scepter." He then turns back to address one of his men. "Can we hold them?"

"They’re the Avengers!"

Clicking his tongue, he turns away. "Deploy the rest of the tanks."

"Yes, sir."

"Concentrate fire on the weak ones. A hit can make them close ranks." He ordered. As soon as they filed out, he turns his attention back on the scientist. "Everything we've accomplished... But we're on the verge of our greatest breakthrough."

"Then let's show them what we've accomplished. Send out the twins." He says. There's a certain mad gleam in his eyes.

"It's too soon."

"It's what they signed up for."

Shaking his head, Imasuji turns away. "My men can hold them." With that said, he makes his way towards the door. Taking the stairs he makes his way to where he knows his men are gathered. Entering the room, he takes a quick survey of the room's occupants, spying the aforementioned twins in the corner.

Once he's in the middle of the room and has their attention, he clears his throat. "We will not yield. They sent their circus freaks to test us. We will send them back in bags. No surrender!"

"No surrender!" They echo.

Quietly, so as to not draw any attention to himself, he turns to Garaki behind and whispers. "I am going to surrender. You will delete everything. If we give the heroes the weapons, they may not look too far into what we've been--"

"The twins." Garaki interrupts.

"They are not ready to take on--"

"No, no. I mean... " He points to where said twins were standing, but are now gone. "Twins."

Back outside, Shoto continues to take out armed men. Just as he goes to fire another shot, lined perfectly at the enemy's bunker, his arrow is snatched right out of the air the minute he releases it. "What the.. " Frowning, he repeats the motion and fires another shot only for the same thing to happen again, however this time a teenage boy saunters onto the field, his arrow in hand. He then winks and before he knows it he's knocked on his back, the wind successfully knocked out of him.

Smirking, the boy looks down at him as he goes by. "You didn't see that coming?" He taunts and then speeds off once more as Shoto quickly rights himself to fire another shot at him.

Rocked from the hit and the boy's sudden emergence, he doesn't see the enemy fire coming until it's too late.

"Peppermint!" Off to the side, Bakugo quickly runs over as his friend goes down.

Not too far from them, Mirio also gets knocked flat by the same speedster. "We have an enhanced in the field." He relays to the others, a bit dazed.

"Shoto's hit!" Bakugo yells, dragging him away from the bunker firing at them. "Somebody want to deal with that damn bunker?" Immediately after he voices this, a hulking mass of muscles barrels into said bunker, taking it out. "Fucking thanks"

As Mirio exchanges blows with the soldiers, he glances in the general direction to where he knows Creati is. "Momo, we really need to get inside."

"I'm closing in." She says, engaged with the enemy. "Hatsume, am I...closing in? Do you see a power source for that shield?"

"There's a particle wave below the north tower."

"Great, I wanna poke it with something." As he says this he fires at the forcefield, successfully bringing it down. "Drawbridge is down, people."

"The enhanced?" Kaminari questions as he lands besides Mirio, his landing creating a small seismic event that knocks nearby soldiers off their feet.

"He's a blur. All the new player's we've faced, I've never seen this. In fact, I still haven't."

"Shoto's hit pretty bad. Fuck, we're gonna need evac." Bakugo relays over the comms.

"I can get Todoroki to the jet. The sooner we're gone the better. You and Momo secure the scepter." Says Kaminari.

As they converse, reinforcements make their way closer towards them.

"Copy that"

Gesturing towards the incoming soldiers, he cocks his head. "It looks like they're lining up."

Shrugging his shoulders, he glances their way. "Well, they're excited."

Twirling his hammer around, Kaminari jumps into the air then slams it down on Mirio's shield with his hammer. The resulting wave from the joint attack knocks the soldiers off their feet and destroys in the incoming tank.

Twirling his hammer once more, he addresses Mirio. "Find the scepter." He says as he flies off.

"And for gosh sake, watch your language!"

Sighing, he looks to his feet. "That's not going away anytime soon."

Entering the LOV base, Momo makes her way through as soldiers immediately begin firing at her. "Please, stop, we can talk this through. As she says this, she knocks them out with explosives from her suit. "It was a good talk."

One of the men groans. "No it wasn't"

Typing away at his computer is Garaki. Clearly he's attempting to clean everything from the system before the heroes get to it, but he's intercepted by Momo who shoots him down.

Stepping out of her suit, she walks over to the computer the man was working at. "Sentry mode" She orders as she looks over the files on screen. "Okay, Hatsume. You know I want it all. Make sure you copy it to Ashido at HQ."

"We're locked down out here." Bakugo says, as he surveys their surroundings.

"Then get to Kirishima, time for a lullaby." Mirio answers.

Back inside the base, Momo continues looking around the room. "I know you're hiding more than files. Hey, H, give me an IR scan of the room, real quick."

"The wall to your left...I'm reading steel reinforcement... and an air current."

She makes her way over towards the wall, mumbling to herself as she goes. "Please be a secret door, please be a secret door, please be a secret door…" She pushes and the wall opens up. "Yay!"

Back outside, Bakugo makes his way towards Red Riot. "Hey, shitty hair. The sun's getting real fucking low."

He scowls at him as Bakugo kneels in front of him and puts out his hand. He regards his hand warily, before reaching out to touch it. Bakugo then begins to stroke his palm slowly, smirking a bit as he calms down.

Pulling his hand away, he stumbles as he begins to shift back into Kirishima. Still smirking, Bakugo watches as he stumbles away.

Inside the base, Mirio encounters Imasuji. "Imasuji Goto. LOV's number one thug."

"Technically, I'm a thug for HPSC" He answers back with a smirk.

"Well then technically you're unemployed. Where's Sero's scepter?"

"Don't worry, I know when I'm beat. You'll mention how I cooperated, I hope." As he speaks, his eyes leaves Mirio's form for a second to something behind him before locking back unto him.

"I'll put it right under illegal human experimentation" He says, unaware of the approaching figure behind him. "How many are there?" He's then blasted into the wall. Scrambling to his feet, his eyes lock unto the boy's own as he quickly leaves, sealing the door shut behind him. "We have a second enhanced. Male. Do not engage."

"You'll have to be faster than--" He's cut off as he's knocked out by Mirio's shield.

"And I got Imasuji."

"Yeah, I got... something bigger." Inside the hidden room, she's found a variety of technology, as well as recovered artifacts from the Battle of New York, including a gigantic Nomu leviathan and some of it's scrapped armor. She then spots the scepter. "Kaminari, I got eyes on the prize."

The same figure who attacked Mirio from before creeps up behind Momo. As soon as he gets close to her, he raises his hand to her head and curls his fingers, releasing a sort of energy that creeps into Momo's mind, turning her irises red briefly. Quickly he steps away.

Blinking rapidly, Momo shakes her head as if to clear her mind. When she glances up once more, the corpse suddenly comes to life and lunges at her. Flinching, she squeezes her eyes shut in reflex. After a few seconds, she opens them again to find her friends laid out before her, dead. Walking closer towards their corpse, she kneels beside Mirio, horror frozen upon his dead face. Suddenly, as if out of a horror film, he grabs her wrist and they lock gazes. "You… could've.. saved us.." Turning away from his body, she looks up to see Nomu's invading Earth, but it all melts away as she's snapped back into reality.

Unbeknownst to her, off to the side are the twins, who watch as she calls her armor towards her to surround her fist.

Stepping forward to stop her, the taller of the two is stopped as his brother raises his hand against his chest. "We're just gonna let them take it?" He questions, frustrated.

Not answering, the brother simply smiles to himself as Momo takes the scepter.

To be continued…

#midoriya izuku #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugou #bhna deku #kirishima ejirou #momo yaoyorozu #mirio toogata #kaminari denki #shinso hitoshi #todoroki shōto #shindo yo #overhaul

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tvlovesfandom · 4 years

Text

Mandalorian Season 1 Finale predictions

Or: how all those ‘Filler Episodes’ are foreshadowing the end of Season 1.

(Take 2 because tumblr ate the original)

Contains so many spoilers for The Mandalorian, Episodes 1 thru 7.

Aight, so.

Episode 7 of The Mandalorian walks up to you with a baseball bat and beats you over the head. It opens with Mando receiving a ‘plea for help’ from Greef Karga that raises more red flags than a Soviet Convention. While our protagonist can clearly see every single one of these red flags, the idea of getting the heat off his tail is just too tempting. Who can blame him?

Mando, proving to be Genre savvy, heads out, looking for backup.Of course, it all goes to hell anyway.

In Episode 7, we bring back characters from previous episodes and we also bring back certain aspects of Mando himself.

Hoo boy this is a long one. I’ll give you my best guesses for what goes down in Episode 8.

Episodes 1-3: The main plot line of course.

1-Greef Karga is a man of honor, same as Mando. His personal sense of honor is different than that of a Mandalorian of course, and it’s built around the Bounty hunter’s guild. But the honor is there, and it comes out in Episode 7.

(I find it really funny that Greef hasn’t repaired the hole in his jacket, FYI. Looks like he still has the beskar plates in there too.)

2-Kuiil and IG-11.

3-Episode 3 showed us that Mando can go on a rampage of destruction when he feels the need. It was not a heavily planned out rampage, clearly the plan was made up as he went along, but he is clearly a good improviser.

4-We were introduced to the Mandalorian clan on Navarro, even if it is pretty clearly stated that they’ve moved after Ep 3. Or were planning to before the Imperials rolled in.

5- Mando does have a short temper when he’s been having a rough go for a bit, look at him using his flamethrower to ‘negotiate’ with the Jawas.

6-He hates droids, but he is willing to work with one and can form something of a bond… not enough to let the droid kill a child though.

Episode 4: Hey look! It’s Cara Dune!

1-Episode 4 introduced us to Cara, and the fact that she and Mando can go toe to toe. The brief scene of her and Mando talking after their initial fight tells us a lot about her: She’s a shock trooper for the new republic, she was part of strike forces meant to take down Imperial warlords. She deserted when the republic set her to acting like a riot cop.

We see Cara as a no-nonsense fighter who knows the risks, and attempts to find the best solution. Look at her trying to get the villagers to move away after she learns about the AT-ST. But when spurred, she helps the fight and defend their home. She shows off her mettle, coming up with a plan on the fly and putting herself in danger to lure the AT-ST in.

When she comes back in Episode 7, we see her having fun with combat when it isn’t life or death. We also see that her and Mando can relax around each other and josh, as their arm-wrestling bout shows.

2-Episode 4′s ending was to emphasise to us that Mando can’t just leave the kid behind, that the baby is unsafe unless with a highly trained killer prepared to go to lengths to protect him.

3-In character building moments, we see Mando break his usual stoic nature to actually explain to first Omera, and then Cara, aspects of his culture. He turns out to be reasonably talkative when you’re not a bounty target or someone he distrusts! When Omera asked how long since he’d taken his helmet off in front of others, just the age he was would’ve been enough, but he adds more information about joining the Mandalorian clan unasked. Also, at the beginning of the episode, he makes a point to talk to the baby when it’s clearly demanding attention.

Episode 5: You know, initially I was going to say “uuuuhh… IDK”

1-MANDO CAN’T FIND WORK. He’s cut himself off from the only source of income that he’s familiar with. He has to take what’s offered, even if he knows it’s a bad idea.

2-Mando doesn’t have any way of keeping the baby safe when he’s working other than to lock him on the ship and hope for the best. He got really lucky with Pellli.

3-This episode reinforces again that the baby will be constantly hunted right from the opening scene.

4- We’re not done with Fennec Shand, I suspect. Or the person who found her body. Was it Moff Gideon? Maybe, though why would he have gone to find her himself?

5-This episode shows us what we might’ve forgotten from the opening of Episode 1: That Mando is actually a really competent Bounty Hunter overall. He has lots of tricks up his sleeve. Those flares were a chekov’s gun used within the same episode. Wonder if we’ll see them again.

Episode 6: Which buttons to press to piss off Mando.

1-Mando is really good at keeping his cool around people who are absolute motherfuckers to him.

2-Harass him, insult him, he doesn’t give a damn unless you actually try and start shit. He will end that. Don’t touch his things, don’t touch his kid.

3-Again this episode brings up that Mando is having to do work that he really doesn’t want to because he has few other options.

4-We see just how violent Mando gets on droids when he has the chance, but we also see how coldly calculating he is about them. To rope a droid, take it’s arm and use it to escape a cell like that? Damn impressive.

5-I can’t believe he didn’t kill those three who were on the prison ship with him. They’re out there, still alive. Just waiting to be brought back into the show.

6-We see that Mando knows how to turn the odds to his favor very quickly. We also see that he can go full on horror movie monster when he wants. He’s proving to be one hell of a Determinator.

7-Baby’s learning from the best! The fact that the little goblin can play hide and seek like that could easily come up! Honestly, that kid seems to understand more than you’d think.

SO! This brings us to episode SEVEN: What have we seen within the episode that calls back to the rest of the season? What predictions can we make based off what has happened, and the general style of the show?

Well, A couple very important things we’ve seen, some of which reinforces things brought up in previous episodes:

1-This episode makes it very clear that Mando KNOWS Greef’s offer is a trap, but he also knows that he’s running out of options. All those moments of him and baby being hunted down, all that effort to find work? That’s flashing through his brain as he considers this red-flag laden offer.

2-Baby can float? Wall-climb? He was hanging upside down from the ceiling SOMEHOW. Let’s add this on to his hiding abilities.

3-Baby can force choke a bitch.

4-Baby can heal a fatal injury.

5-Greef Karga, like Mando, cannot bring himself to betray a being that has saved his life. Lovely cinematic parallel there.

5-IG-11 is on Mando’s ship. According the Kuiil, the droid won’t attack people anymore, but it will defend. This droid has all the tools to lay some serious hate if sufficiently motivated though.

6-We see Mando relaxing and playing with Cara during the arm wrestling. He’s playfully competitive with her and joshes with her. Again, a good character moment.

7-Another character moment we see: Mando’s panic when he doesn’t know if the kid and Kuiil are safe. The stoic, self-contained man who doesn’t panic no matter how bad the odds is reduced to screaming into his comm, desperate for answers.

8-Kuiil introduces himself by name, and Mando uses it. It’s a small moment, but I suspect it’s light foreshadowing.

9- it is not for nothing that this episode opens straight up with a flashback to Episode 6. “You were hired to do a job. So do it. Isn’t that your code? Arn’t you a man of honor?”

ALRIGHT SO. SEASON FINALE PREDICTIONS. After I watch the finale I am going to see if any of these were right and I will be delighted if even a single one is accurate.

1-First and foremost, I think we WILL see the plot wrap up. Maybe not entirely, but by the end of Episode 8, we should see Mando and Baby reunited, and have a more-or-less happy ending to season 1. It’s fucking Disney, after all.

2- The fact that it was VERY SPECIFICALLY SHOWN that baby can heal fatal injuries in episode seven? Chekov’s gun, thank you, Kuiil is NOT DEAD. Yes, that scene narratively fits in because it’s what was needed for Greef to join the protagonist’s team, but I will feel cheated if we don’t see baby do more Force healing. If Kuiil is actually dead, someone else will be getting healed.

3-Mando’s helmet and how important it is that it isn’t removed comes up CONSTANTLY in season 1. I rather hope we don’t see it come off in the season finale, it is possible, but I do hope that they wait until at least season 2 before going there. There’s something else I’d like officialy revealed first.

4-And that thing I think should be revealed is Mando’s name. It’s something that he has yet to give out, accepting his culture as a title. Same as how Kuill corrected him in episode 7 when Mando called him Uganaught, it would be wonderful if some friend of our hero called him Mando again, and he simply said to them “I have a name. It is Dyn.”

Not only would that be a moment of reinforcement of how relaxed and friendly he can be around his allies, but I feel like it’s be satisfying from a narrative perspective.

5-In the trailers for the Mandalorian, there are only a few scenes or dialogue now that we have yet to see in the show:

-A-Mando comin out of a door and shooting a stormtrooper with Greef right behind him.

-B- Kuiil patting Mando’s shoulder while they’re in the cockpit of the Razorcrest (MORE PROOF THAT I AM RIGHT THAT HE’LL COME BACK. HELL YEA-Gonna be heartbroken if that was a deleted scene from ep 7) ((EDIT: Nope, that’s a scene from Ep 2. Damnit.))

-C- “Mandalorian… Look outside… they are waiting for you.” Aight so, Werner Herzog’s character seems to be dead… but he might not be! Maybe we’ll get some exposition from a dieing Imperial with nothing left to lose. Of course, it could be from a scene that they had planned out before deciding to kill off his character.

-D- Cara Dune being a badass and shooting with her big gun.- I mean yeah, to be expected.

-E- Mando clinging to a flying TIE fighter with his rappeling line and pulling himself up on to it. We see Moff Gideon look up to see a likely very pissed off Mando on the roof.

-F- Stormtroopers moving in on the Mandalorian Armourer.

(I actually gasped out “OH NO” at seeing this in the trailer. I honestly would’ve thought the Mandalorians would’ve relocated ASAP. ))

-G- This guy:

SO!

6-We’re definitely going to see the Mandalorian enclave again. My thoughts were that it was empty, but still hard to find, and Mando and friends were going to head there to have a few minutes to plan. They still might do that, but it’s not going to be an empty hallway like I would’ve thought.

7-I really hope that that brief cut of Stormtroopers moving in on the Mandalorian Armourer is not indicative of the clan being wiped out. Everyone go in being braced for it. I am going to be optimistic and say that Episode 3′s ending of the clan coming to our Protag’s rescue and being an absolute unstoppable force means that they’re going to help clear out the imperials, though there will be losses. Season 2′s overreaching plot will be helping the Enclave find a new place to settle down.

8-This does hint that Baby will meet the Clan. Will they continue to support Dyn, or will he be blamed from bringing this hellfire down on them?

9-IG-11 is going to come rain down HELL on those who took down Kuiil. He will likely pick up both Kuiil and the communicator and be an important link to Mando and crew remotely. Will he pilot the ship to pick up Mando and gang? Very likely yes.

10-Baby is gonna Force Choke a bitch. Hopefully Moff Gideon. I don’t expect baby’s efforts to be fatal, however.

11-Paz Vizla is going to be back in style. Is it too much to hope that, at some point, likely not Ep 8, him and Cara get into a “whose gun is bigger” match?

12- Baby’s going to be more than his imperial handlers know how to deal with.

That’s it for now. I’m sure at some point I’ll edit or reblog this with “AND ANOTHER THING.”

#mine #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian #I spent TWO DAYS on this post and Tumblr didn't put it in the tag for some reason #TUMBLR PLEASE PUT THIS IN THE MANDALORIAN TAG I BEG YOU

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missbrightsky · 4 years

Text

I didn’t know where else to go

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 8: Rhysand

Well, I thought it started out fine. According to everyone else, however, all the signs for a shit show were there from the beginning.

After Amren snuck into Mor’s apartment and informed us of the incoming shipment for Amarantha, we all sprung into action. Cassian was gathering his men to rendezvous with us where it was coming in, Azriel’s spies scoping out the surrounding buildings and streets. Mor disappeared for a costume change.

Feyre… she watched us, only barely looking unsure of her place in all of this. This would be her first mission with us, the definition of out of the frying pan and into the fire. But she took it all in stride. Less than 15 minutes later all of us were sorted into two cars and were on our way to the docks to intercept the shipment. Feyre had emerged in tight dark grey pants and a black long sleeve that clung to her curves, hair tied back and stuffed into a black beanie. Cas let out a whistle and immediately started spouting his shitty pick-up lines. To my amusement and relief, her only response was to flip him off and follow Mor out of the apartment.

That’s when it all started going downhill. Mor and Cas claimed they wanted to grill Feyre on her police training and drug her into Cas’s SUV. That left me with a quiet Az and ever-grumpy Amren in my sedan. Why I couldn’t be the one to ask about her training was beyond me.

Most of the ride was spent in silence, only broken by texts of information coming through. Ten men were expected to be meeting the container. Contents unknown. Amarantha herself was not expected to be there.

This would be the first real lead on her operation, despite myself, I was optimistic. For once, we would have a handle on her plans.

How

Were

Wrong

Thinking back, it’s lucky that we escaped with only scrapes and bruises with only one of the men grazed by a bullet. Very lucky those were the only injuries but now she knew that there was someone on her tail, and that would make tracking her that much harder.

After a more or less uneventful ride to the docks, we parked a few blocks away from the arrival location. My men were at our sides in seconds, quietly distributing weapons. I already had my typical compact tucked away on my person, I seldom left home without it. Extra ammo disappeared into my pockets and a hunting knife clipped onto my belt. Feyre was offered a 9mm, no one batting an eye if they recognized her as the cop that used to hunt us down. She looked at ease, checking the chamber before tucking it into her waistband. And damn, if it didn’t make her that much hotter.

“I’m going to go scout out rooftops, boss,” Az said to me, carrying a sniper rifle. I only nodded to him, turning to Amren to listen to her explain the plan to the others. She and I had hammered it out on our way over, but I wanted everyone else’s input before finalizing it.

“James, Wernt, Niam and Yao, I want you approaching from the left while Johnson, McGuire, Harlan and Tagaras will come from the right. I don’t want any stragglers escaping, we need all the information we can get.” The eight nodded, having no comments to give. It was a standard flanking procedure.

“Azriel will be on the rooftops, he’ll help keep everyone corralled into one spot,” I said. “Cas, Mor, Amren and I will approach from the containers towards the meeting place. Modrow, Cain and Carvalho will cover our backs. Keep low and keep quiet, I want this done without the police being called on us for as long as possible. Watch your shots, try to take them down using force first.”

“Injure first, kill only if necessary,” Amren warned, her silver eyes flashing in the dark alley. “This will be the most dangerous situation we’ve handled yet. Not your typical rent-a-cops from the research facilities. From what we can tell, these are trained hires, most likely private protection company. We have surprise on our side so use it.”

“My flanking groups,” I said, “Only engage once we have, until then, stay in the shadows and keep your eyes open. Comms are going live… now,” quiet static burst in my left ear before fading. Az’s voice came through, confirming that he has a clear view of the delivery point and that ten men are waiting there. Five grouped up near a semi, three spaced to the side watching the water for the incoming boat, two monitoring the surrounding containers.

Feyre lingered at the back of the group, watching Amren and I lay out the plan with a blank face, no hint of whether she approved or was appalled.

“Go now,” came Amren’s quiet command and the groups scattered, each carefully checking the street before turning towards their destination.

Feyre approached us, “Where do you want me?” No demands to be in the middle of the action, no comments on the plan. Amren let me answer her question.

“I want you with the group who will be covering our backs. I trust them to treat you fairly,” I hastily add on, “Not that any of my men would lay a hand on you, they just already know why you’re here.” She smirked at how I nearly tripped over my words. “Also…,” she tensed, unsure of my next words, “I want you to keep your face hidden in case any of Amarantha’s men escape. They might recognize you and I have a feeling that would be bad for your reputation.”

Feyre released a tight chuckle. “It would be ideal that the rest of the world doesn’t know that I’m helping a crime lord.”

The tight knot that appears in my chest before a mission loosened a little. I wasn’t sure how Feyre was going to take being in the shadows, but it seemed I had nothing to worry about. She followed us out of the alleyway, her steps as silent as ours. The shipyard was only two blocks from our position, but every second out in the open was a risk. Azriel’s spies said that there were only men at the drop site, and they were rarely wrong.

Rarely.

Yards crept by, buildings giving way to a grid of shipping containers and roads. The occasional voice came through on the comm, confirming positions or giving warnings. Feyre easily blended in with the team watching our backs, taking silent cues when to advance and when to hold.

Soon, there was an empty space ahead of us, only the shadows covering us. True to Az’s observations, there were ten men in varying positions, precisely where he said they would be.

Minutes ticked down until a low hum increased in volume. There along the waterfront was a barge, much smaller than the massive ships that frequented this channel. On it was several large crates, all unmarked.

“Hold,” came the quiet command, Amren. It was unnecessary but this operation was too important to take the chance.

More minutes slipped by as the five men by the semi prowled towards the boat, exchanging words that were too low for us to hear. One of the men hopped into a small crane that was on the edge of the water and began unloading the crates when another used a forklift to transfer them to the semi.

“Ready,” Amren breathed. Mor to my left slid her gun from her holster, ready to ambush the clearing.

“Put your gun down.”

My blood ran cold at the growl that came from behind me. Low swearing came through the comms that sounded like Feyre.

The four of us froze, slowly turning towards the source of the sound.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I realized my thought was the exact same thing that Feyre had muttered a few seconds ago.

The man had short-cropped blond hair and green eyes that glittered harshly in the low light. His stance was ready but relaxed, a predator who knew he had his prey right where he wanted them. Three other men were at his side, guns pointed at us.

Tamlin.

Fucking.

O’Toole.

Next Chapter

#acotar #sarah j maas #feyre #rhysand #feyre x rhysand

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oracleofbullshyt-blog · 5 years

Text

Chapter 14 - The Storm

Ship reference: (Because i’m terrible at preplanning)

Destroyer – Atlaua’s Revenge - Carlos Cruiser – Vodyanoi’s wrath - Victor Swarm – Phorcys’s Fury - Isabella Fighter – Salacia’s Retribution - Amelia Rocket Salvo – Arrow of Ullr - Niall and Christine

I dont usually swear in my stories but there are one or two in here somewhere.

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Time unfolded slowly in front of Balme’s eyes as he watched the fleet thrown into chaos. Something had gone wrong; their information was incorrect, and they were thrown into disarray as soon as the enemy fleet had jumped in. Their careful plan was ripped to shreds in front of his eyes as each captain battled to stay alive from the onslaught of the enemy.

“WHO THE HELL THOUGHT A CAPITAL SHIP WAS AN INFILTRATOR,” The wild shouts of Amelia came of the wide band as she flashed past the bridge of Leonidas’s Shield trying to outrun the two fighters that were latched onto her tail, desperately she weaved through the clouds of the system trying to lose them.

Atlaua’s Revenge was being bombarded by a constant onslaught from the swivel mounted rail guns of the Capital ship, this one miscalculation that no one had seen coming could cost them dearly. Vodyanoi’s wrath had been forced to place all power in its shield amidst the constant onslaught from the two destroyers that had blocked her in. Phorcys’s Fury and the Arrow of Ullr were stuck in a stalemate battle against the frigates, desperately trying to outmanoeuvre them. The crew of the Leonidas’s Shield sat amidst the battle still cloaked trying to decide the best course of action in order to turn the tide of battle but none of the simulations that were being run by Omni showed any chance of victory.

“Balme we need to do something! They’re being torn apart!” “No! Balme stay in cloaking, figure out a way to end this, we’re keeping them at bay for now, they still don’t know you’re here,” Isabella’s frantic voice came over the radio as one of her swarms flashed towards a fighter group in an arrow formation attempting to shred through them.

Omni’s voice came through to him in a low metallic voice, “Captain the odds of every ship coming out of this battle intact is increasingly getting smaller. We have lost, we must regroup and run. Your human lives are too precious to lose at this point.”

The captain looked up at his first mate in shock as he heard these words from the android, “There has to be a way, we can’t leave not yet.”

Omni looked at the captain levelly, and removed all emotion from its voice, “Not even you can do anything to change this, Balme.”

Balme looked at the android lost for a moment before his anger bubbled to the surface, he sat there staring out the bridge window for a moment, the anger evident in his face before bracing himself against his seat and standing up, “Fucking watch me, you glorified toaster.”

“Fleet notice, we’re coming in hot. Vodyanoi’s revenge hold in there, help is incoming. Vats all remaining power to the rear engines, Omni aim us at the starboard destroyer’s power rooms, Initium full frontal shields only. Ben load the heaviest hitting round we have into that rail gun and fire it on my signal, we’re going to force a full shield cycle so there’s nothing in between us and them.”

Vahatu looked on in shock at what he was hearing, “Captain the ship can’t take that kind of stress on its hull”

“Yes, she can Vats, she won’t let us down. Everyone ready for impact. Sciaal a favour please. Full spectrum transmission, all known frequencies, I want every being in this system to hear us. Its time to play our Anthem.”

Across every comm line and speaker in the system, both human and Angamar, a slow rhythmic noise could be heard. Down the length of every corridor and in every room of every ship heads turned at the sound. The Angamar fleet was confused at the sudden and unexpected outbreak of noise, not sure as to where the source was. As the Angamar fleet methodically broke down the defences and shields of the Human fleet the Captain of the Capital ship sat unsettled in his command seat, he had heard this noise before. Something deep inside him was pulling at him to be wary of this rhythm.

The bridge crew of Vodyanoi’s Wraith looked at each other with smiles growing across their faces as they heard it, Victor sat with a grin spread from ear to ear as it washed over him, “You hear this Marines! Wait for the signal and then it’s our turn to show them what we can do.”

Carlos stood in the bridge of Atlaua’s Revenge tapping his foot in rhythm with a smirk. “Ah, and now the show begins.”

Isabella punched the air as she heard it, she stood up from her seat and started shouting orders, her crew became wide eyed with hope, “Now it’s our turn boys and girls!”

Stomp Stomp Clap, Stomp Stomp Clap, Stomp Stomp Clap, Stomp Stomp Clap,

The Captain of the Angamar’s Capital ship looked up as it dawned on him where he had heard this before. His eyes opened in shock as he frantically started scanning out into space for the source.

Stomp Stomp Clap, Stomp Stomp Clap, Stomp Stomp Clap, Stomp Stomp Clap,

As it reached its crescendo across the system, and the first line of the song was heard,

Buddy, you’re a boy, make a big noise

The Angamar were forced to watch in horror as a ship uncloaked, headed straight at one of their destroyers. It approached at a ferocious speed not making any attempts to slow or change course. A single round flashed out of its railgun hitting the shield of the destroyer a split second before the ship did allowing it through unhindered. In dread they watched as the ship ploughed into the midsection of the destroyer, cleaving through as if it was made of paper, they sent the two halves of the destroyer hurtling through the system towards the fledgling star. Smaller explosions wracking the halves of the ship as it was sent adrift. The Angamar were temporarily slowed in their assault at the sheer brutality of what just occurred, and it was in this lull that the fleet took a chance to regroup and try to distance from their respective enemies.

“All stations report, full damage assessment.” “Guns operational” “Engineering requires heavy attention, core is unstable, hull is damaged, multiple cracked pipes, but still operational.” “Shields need to recycle keep us out of combat for a bit captain.” “Communication operational.” “Response team dealing with fires throughout floor one, Cargo has a hull breach and is in lockdown, South end of floor two is in lock down due to hull breach.”

The captain looked relieved and then gave Omni a smirk, “That went better than expected I reckon. All of you attend to your station we’re going back into the fray.”

“Put me on the wide band. All ships listen to new assigned orders. Atlaua’s Revenge disengaged from the Capital ship, I want full broadside on their destroyer with every shield piercing round you have, don’t let up until its dust. Vodyanoi’s Wraith, you’re the only one with the shields and armour to handle the beating of that Capital ship, get in its face and wait till backup arrives. Phorcys’s Fury disengage those Frigates and get behind Vodyanoi’s Wraith, cycle your shields and use your swarms to handle the fighters. Arrow of Ullr prepare for backup we’re coming to help with those frigates. Amelia, wherever you are, bring the Salacia’s Retribution around and jump into our shields to use us as cover. Take a moments breath and cycle your shields, we’ll need you to finish off the fighters.

A chorus of enthusiastic ‘Aye Aye, Captains” came over the comms as the orders were relayed. Now was their time to take control.

A metallic voice came from behind Balme, the smirk was audible in its voice, “I knew that would work.” “Excuse me you overgrown cell phone, you told me the odds were too small.” “Exactly, all known possibilities TO ME, said we could not win. However, the possibility of a human doing the impossible and changing the outcome of the battle was still there. 72% possible to be exact. As long as a suitable challenge was presented” “So what you’re saying, you self-aware kettle, is that you pissed me off to change the odds of us winning?” “Yes, but did it not work?” “Do that again and I’ll throw your Walking fridge ass out the airlock.” “Yes Sir, Captain Ham Sandwich sir”

The captain hated that the talking USB was right, but he had to admit that it worked, it still didn’t mean he couldn’t grumble about it though. He saw the human fleet begin to move to their new positions as he ordered and set about for the ship to get to the Arrow of Ullr in time to help. Now they just had to survive the rest of the battle.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are odd #humasn #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #short story #storytelling #Original Work #original character #space #Space Ship #EARTH IS SPACE AUSTRALIA #Vahatu

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swhurtcomfort · 5 years

Text

Fall Apart, Fall Together --- Chapter 5

Chapter 4 AO3

.......................

While Obi-Wan meditates, grappling with the Force for a clue as to Anakin’s whereabouts, Padmé takes matters into her own hands. She digs up the visitor log from her own medical file and finds the identity of the person who dropped off the note for Anakin. A quick holonet search informs her that it is one of the Chancellor’s personal assistants. There’s no doubt in her mind that that’s where Anakin has gone.

“Come on!”

She drags Obi-Wan by the wrist, startling him out of his trance.

They arrive at the Senate complex, running past the sounds of ambulance speeders in the street.

Padmé heads straight for the commotion in front of the main entrance to try to see what happened. Obi-Wan follows, scrunching up his face as if it were too loud.

“Padmé,” he says, his voice strained in a way that scares her. “He’s inside. And he’s in pain. I—”

Obi-Wan breathes in sharply. The color starts to drain from his face.

“What, Obi-Wan?” Padmé demands. He doesn’t answer. “Screw it, just come on then, I know a back way in.”

Obi-Wan allows himself to be led along, holding his head. Padmé takes them around a corner and uses her access chip to open a side door

Once inside, Obi-Wan slumps back against the wall, grimacing.

“Are you ill? Is it some kind of Force thing?”

“The fourth floor,” he chokes out. “Go, hurry,”

He looks like he’s in pain. He’d said Anakin was too. Padmé promises to return soon with Anakin, then hurries towards the lift.

On the fourth floor, the hair on Padmé’s arms starts to stand up. She wishes suddenly that she’d brought her blaster. Then, just as quickly, she is thankful that she didn’t.

It isn’t hard to find Anakin. He is waiting by another lift, wobbling impatiently on the balls of his feet. He doesn’t appear to be suffering as Obi-Wan was. When he hears her approach, he turns stiffly, and Padmé’s blood runs cold.

“Ani!”

“Padmé,” he says in a low voice. He accepts her hands into his. “E-Everything is going to be alright now.” He doesn’t sound sure.

“Yes,” she says. “It is. Ani, let’s go somewhere far away from here.”

“No. Masters Windu and Fisto are upstairs. They’re going to arrest the Chancellor.”

Padmé freezes, caught off guard. “On what charges?” Anakin doesn’t answer. “What do you know?!”

The lift opens, and he steps inside. “Wait for me here.”

“No.” Padmé throws her arm across the automatic doors so they won’t close. “Ani, are you going up there to help them, or stop them?”

He trembles, jamming the door-close button even though it’s futile. “I-I don’t know.”

“Anakin, don’t be rash,” says Padmé. “The Jedi Council is…often misinformed, but they aren’t dictators.”

Anakin takes a small step towards the platform. Padmé needs to get him out of that lift. She continues, “Whatever’s going on, we can entrust to the republic. To justice.”

“I’ve had enough of the Jedi Council’s justice!” he spits. Just for a moment, a strange light flickers across his eyes.

“What do you mean? Obi-Wan wants you to speak with them tomorrow, he said he thinks he can reason with them on your behalf. You’re lucky to have an ally—”

Anakin’s eyes flicker again, decidedly yellow this time with renewed rage when she says his name. “Obi-Wan was in favor of what they’ve done to me—”

“What have they done?” Padmé asks. “And what do they think the Chancellor has done?”

“—and I didn’t see him sticking his neck out for Snips, either did you?”

Padmé shakes her head. On that they can agree. “He wants to help us, Ani. Something is happening, something in the Force and it’s hurting him. Is it hurting you too? Is it Dark?”

Anakin steps out of the lift onto the platform, holding Padmé’s hand. But he looks back over his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter. I need Palpatine’s help—it doesn’t matter what he is. That’s how we’re going to save the babies.”

“They don’t need saving,” says Padmé. “And neither do we.” She lets go of the doors, and lets the lift shoot upwards without them.

……

Bail gives Padmé the full story, but even if he hadn’t, it’s all over the holonews. Three Jedi died in the Senate complex that day, and a fourth—Windu, according to most sources—is under investigation for his role in the Chancellor’s death. Most believe he will be held guiltless, security tapes clearly showing his actions to have been in self-defense.

Obi-Wan had recovered his faculties by the time Anakin had made up his mind, and rushed to help an injured Windu to the Jedi Healers while Anakin and Padmé slipped off unnoticed. There are rumors that Obi-Wan and the 212th were almost immediately sent off-planet again. Bail’s informants can’t agree on where they have gone—at least, until a new story breaks and the holo footage of him discharging a blaster neatly into Grevious’s heart is playing on every channel, practically on loop.

The galaxy is in tatters. The tide of the war has turned on a dime, and the majority of its citizens don’t understand why.

Several days later, Obi-Wan finds his way back to the medcenter. Padmé supposes it was inevitable.

“Are you ever going to pick up your comm, Anakin?” he asks, entering the room without waiting to be invited.

“Depends who’s calling,” Anakin retorts.

“They’ve grown quite a bit,” Obi-Wan gestures to Luke, lying on his stomach on Anakin’s bare shoulder.

“That’s what babies do.”

They lapse into uncomfortable silence.

“The Council…” Obi-wan begins, and Anakin stiffens. He soldiers on. “The Council wants to commend you for finding the Sith, Anakin. There will be no more talk of disciplinary action for any breach of the Code that might have occurred. It is an invitation, no questions asked.”

Anakin lifts his gaze, almost daring to hope. But he sees Obi-Wan watching him hold his infant son, and he knows it isn’t going to be that easy.

“They are my family,” he says simply.

“The Jedi are our family,” Obi-Wan counters, a note of frustration slipping through his façade.

“What do they want me to do, abandon them?”

“Arrangements can be made to ensure that Padmé and the twins are comfortable. You would do best to formally request not to be assigned to any more missions in the Senate, moving forward.”

When Anakin doesn’t immediately respond Obi-Wan continues, “And in a few years, if Padmé wishes them to be raised in the crèche, I’m sure the Order will be enriched by their talents, but you will limit your contact. Or at least be inconspicuous about it. Attachments fade, Anakin. I know it is painful.”

Bitterness wells up in Anakin. He wants to have it both ways, but he knows he can’t – Obi-Wan doesn’t have to be so obtuse. Luke starts to cry.

“You say you know, but have you ever found something worth leaving for? Do you know what that feels like?”

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “There have been times…but I was wrong, Anakin. There have been times I’ve considered it—wanted it desperately, but I have always chosen the Order.”

“I guess we can’t all be perfect Jedi.”

“Anakin,” says Obi-Wan, tears brimming in his eyes. “You are a fine Jedi—”

“Not anymore,” he says quietly. "I can't be, and I don't want to be." There is a different path before him now. He braces himself for the incoming lecture, but there is no anger flowing from Obi-Wan’s Force presence, only deep sorrow.

“Then you are lost,” says Obi-Wan.

Anakin turns to hand the sobbing Luke to a nurse, because his own hands won’t stop trembling.

Obi-Wan slowly pulls two objects from within the folds of his cloak and leaves them on a table before he turns to leave, averting his gaze. They’re two little beanbag toys in the shape of tiny bantha.

Anakin shuts himself in a closet and allows himself to break down in angry tears.

……

The war is over. They have a chance to breathe, and a chance to grieve.

Anakin’s sleep is deep and dreamless these days, but he lies awake wrestling with questions, and with choices. Wonders if it’s okay to miss Obi-Wan and be so unfathomably angry with him at the same time. Wonders whether it’s okay that he kind of misses Palpatine. He misses the idea of a benevolent grandfatherly confidant, even if the logical part of his brain understands that that person never existed—that Sheev Palpatine was always Sidious in masquerade. Wonders how it could have all gone differently.

Padmé is quickly realizing how many complicated questions this shift has created, and she’s itching to do something about them. Bail is heading up a subcommittee on the legal rights and future settlement of the clone troopers, Mon is appointed interim Chancellor and hard at work organizing a referendum, and Padmé hears news from Sola about sticky situation of filling Palpatine’s seat back on Naboo. But there are also more pressing concerns, starting with her own health. The first month of the babies’ lives has been so regimented and clinical, Padmé and Anakin both mourn the loss of all the ‘normal’ rituals of new parenthood. But the medcenter staff encourage them to be as involved as possible in feeding and changing and caring for the twins. They hold them whenever they can, and read and sing to them when they can’t.

The day finally comes that the little family is ready to leave for Naboo. They do so in a free galaxy.

Padmé has been watching Anakin all morning. She knows he is hoping Obi-Wan might come to see them off, but privately she wishes he wouldn’t get his hopes up.

“You’ve checked the transport half a dozen times, love. Come sit down.”

Anakin sinks down into the seat next to hers. The babies are sleeping, buckled safely into their seats.

Padmé takes his hand and squeezes it. He sighs and kisses the top of her head.

...

Go to Chapter 6

#anidala #anakin #padme #obi-wan #fix it au #star wars fic #one more chapter to go!#i promise there will be emotional resolution w Obi-Wan #I'm not that mean lol #mpost

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kivaember · 6 years

Text

Obligatory Mass Effect Crossover

(I just. wanted. to worldbuild ffxiv into mass effect setting. ok tbh this is mostly FFXIV IN SPAAAACE but y’know. whatevs. i regret nothing!)

Dalamud always looked so ominous.

It was an artificial satellite the size of a small moon, glaring red and menacingly trailing after Menpina around Hydaelyn. ‘Menphina’s Loyal Hound’, it had been called when they as a civilisation were young and ignorant, before they realised that it was a weapon of mass destruction contained within an artificial shell. The aether around it was always warped, prone to unstable flares and splutters, to the point where they had a whole institution dedicated to predicting and mapping those flare ups to warn incoming and outgoing star vessels so they weren’t reduced to superheated atoms.

It was a relic of a very ancient, reckless past – a relic that was still very much in use. Due to the way it was, ah, constructed, only a select percentage of the population could ever work on it. Only 0.01% of Hydaelyn’s population won the genetic lottery to withstand the Elder Primal’s influences slumbering within that ancient relic, and an even smaller percentage of that actually had the skill, intellect and will to be charged with its day to day running. Dalamud was, despite being a weapon of mass destruction, Hydaelyn’s only source of infinite energy.

One of those very very very lucky few in charge of such an important, vital relic… was Aza.

---

“-ing naked when the snow falls around me! Drifting closer to the edge but She won’t have me!”

Aza hummed along to the song blasting through his helmet, idly tapping along the flickering Allagan display. The live support in the control room was still down, but considering that shit was over ten thousand years old and fine tuned for heavily genetically modified Allagan, it was never all that reliable. After an unfortunately incident a century ago where some poor sod asphyxiated to death, it was now mandatory to do maintenance work like you were ready to be spaced within the next thirty seconds.

“Wake up in sweat, full of regret, try to forget, these memories, lurking beneath, lost in a dream…”

The display flickered, and Aza frowned a little when the same error cropped up for the fifth time since his shift started. It was a minor thing – a miniscule percentage rise in temperature and aether harvesting, but it was really strange. There were no solar flares or weird space shit happening for aether levels to spike, so why…

“Unchosen paths, a broken path, forespoken wr- CHIRP. CHIRP. INCOMING CALL FROM FORWARD STATION: H A L O N E.”

“Damn it, just before the best part,” Aza muttered, sending a pulse of aether to the linkpearl insistently chirping in his ear, “Yeah, whaddya want?”

“Aza,” a very pleasantly familiar voice purred, “Is that any way to greet your partner?”

“Well, if it isn’t handsome!” Aza laughed, his mood buoying as he quickly adjusted the little error flashing across the Allagan display. It resolved itself and Dalamud stopped overproducing aether. He leaned on the console and made himself comfortable, his tail lifting in pleasure, “I thought you weren’t back from New Ishgard until the end of the year? Not that I'm complaining. I missed you, gorgeous.”

“And I missed you too, love," Aymeric returned with such warmth is made Aza's heart want to burst into glittery confetti, even if the crappy reception distorted his partner's voice. Seriously, it was good to hear his voice again! The Comm Buoys were still absolute dog wank between Ishgard's newest colony and Hydaelyn, so he greedily drank up every crackly word from his linkpearl, "I returned early as Haurchefant seemed to be handling its administrative and military duties well enough on his own despite the complaints of his ‘conduct’. He was performing well above the standard, to be honest.”

“Whaaat?" Aza gasped in utter outrage, "Who’s complaining about Haurchefant? He’s an absolute sweetheart!”

“Yes, he’s also pure and ‘best boy’, whatever that means,” Aza could practically feel Aymeric's eyeroll, “Unfortunately, his appointment to a rather prestigious position has ruffled more than a few feathers in the House of Lords-”

“Is this because he’s a gay bastard?” Aza harrumphed, “Have they forgotten that their stupid Prime Minister is also a gay bastard? There’re even photos of you being one all over the Aethernet," he adopted a sly, teasing tone, "I really like the drunken one. Y’know, the one where you’re caught groping my ass during that horrible dinner party?”

“Oh Gods, I almost forgot about that,” Aymeric groaned, sounding like he was in physical pain, “Mobbed by journalists for weeks after that, demanding to know all sorts of obscene details…”

“Yeah, I remember you having to do evasive manoeuvres every time you had to go outside. Funny as shit,” Aza sniggered and swept a bit of dust off the Allagan keyboard, taking care not to accidentally input anything. These things were unpredictable. As they were created to interface directly to an Allagan’s brain implant they tended to get confused if you rubbed your grubby hands all over them without keeping a tight lid on your ambient aether.

“So, what’re you doing on the forward station? I thought you would’ve been keen to go straight home?”

“Dalamud is being a little testy today, it seems,” Aymeric said, sounding slightly sulky, “We’re held here until it either calms, or travels to the other side of Hydaelyn, before we can board the landing shuttle.”

“And, of course, you decided to abuse your World Leader privileges to talk to your lonely boyfriend via the control room's comms?”

“I may as well cash in on some sort of privileges for all the torture my government puts me through.”

Aza laughed, pushing up from the console when that annoyingly, persistent little error flickered up again. It was beginning to worry him now. Dalamud was old as shit, so it was believable that program breaking bugs could start developing in the highly complicated system. Even after several thousand years of study, the only explanation magitek engineers and aetherochemical scientists had for how it worked was a shrug and ‘Primal Magic’?

A lot of unexplainable things were chalked up to ‘Primal Magic’… or the ‘Mothercrystal’.

Aza had to spend approximately seven years in Val University to even scratch the surface of how to work the damn console. He knew enough to identify minor errors like these, and to divert major disasters like the venting systems failing, or one of the Meracydian dragons somehow breaking free of their prisons and running amok. The last one was always the hardest – he always felt extreme pity for them, but the law was firm: if they weren’t in stasis, they had to be culled due to the danger they presented to the workers and Dalamud itself. If even one managed to rouse the Elder Primal, they were fucked. End of.

But those were easy issues to deal with, well within his power, no matter how mentally or emotionally draining. But if he was asked to really get into the technicalities… he was clueless. Dalamud was a work of art that was incomprehensible to anyone not Allagan – which was everyone, nowadays. Most he could do was try and mitigate the damage by engaging its thrusters and hoping to fuck he launched it far away enough that the resulting implosion wouldn’t totally wipe out all life in the solar system.

“Aza? You still there? It's quiet.”

"Oh, sorry," Aza gave a small shake of his head to clear the sudden cobwebs, "I was thinking."

"About...?" Aymeric asked with an amused lilt to his voice.

"About..." Aza looked at the glow of the display with a small frown, hearing and feeling the whole structure around him groan and shudder. An ancient prison that held equally ancient prisoners in eternal torment. It was kind of sick they were still using this thing, really. He was struck with an odd, fleeting urge to force it into the sun - which he quickly discarded, because that would just break the Elder Primal free, who was unfortunately sun-proof (is that the word?) and able to survive in the vacuum of space. Still, he just didn't like the fact he was standing one floor above an entire hold crammed with Meracydians contorted into tiny stasis capsules, kept on the very cusp of consciousness in burning pain, to fuel the Elder Primal's existence. There wasn't anything they could safely do about it unless they broke themselves free, but it still felt all... wrong and made him feel kinda bad, more so today.

"Just thinking how horrible Dalamud is," he said honestly, because he could never really lie to Aymeric, even if his partner was hoping for some light, easy banter, "About a month ago one of the locks on a Meracydian's stasis capsule broke and opened up. I always thought it were adults in there, y'know? But it wasn't. It was some dragon pup, just squirming in that stasis goo shit, all... deformed and in pain. I got rid of it like I was meant to, I mean, it was kinder to, right? But, it's still... the... I don't know..." he trailed off.

Aymeric was quiet for a long moment, then; "...how many consecutive days have you worked?"

"I don't know," Aza said, and he felt mildly alarmed at that. He should know how many days he worked. He was meant to track that shit strictly, "Uh, seventy?"

"Long shifts too?"

"Twelve hours, yeah," Or thirteen? It was difficult to tell the time passing here sometimes.

"Is your superior still Y'shtola?" Aymeric asked, but he didn't wait for confirmation, "I saw her not too long ago on the station. I'll speak to her and have you placed on a mental wellness break starting today."

"What- no, Aym, c'mon, it's not that bad," Aza groaned, but... well, maybe his partner had a point? He had been sulking on here because he felt lonely and bored without Aymeric around, and everyone else was busy helping colonisation efforts beyond the solar system, adventuring and shit, while Aza was stuck in Horrible Space Prison. Only a certain type of person could really work here - it wasn't just the very rare gift of the Echo being a necessity, it was having the iron will to endure the strained, screeching edge to the surrounding aether as millions of lives existed in perpetual, pitiful agony all around you, it was enduring that almost sick, corrosive heaviness the Elder Primal exuded even in sleep. It was just... being able to endure. There was always a very real, dangerous risk succumbing to the Elder Primal's influence, Echo or not, if your will faltered for even a moment. While you wouldn't reach the mindless, slavish devotion most Indoctrinated people would, you were still at risk of developing violent paranoia, hallucinations and suicidal depression. Needless to say, Dalamud had a very high 'on the job' death statistic.

It did mean you had a lot of paid sick days. You were allowed to just take breaks whenever you felt you needed them, since it was proven space and time away from the Elder Primal's influence lessened its effects dramatically. But the whole thing still sucked.

"You've lost track of your days, and you're sounding a little off," Aymeric said in that no-nonsense tone of his which meant Aza had already lost, "Quite frankly, I'm amazed it hasn't been picked up on yet. How long until your shift ends?"

"Uh, I have... two more hours?"

"One hour."

"Uh-?"

"I'll speak to you later, love," Aymeric said, "I need to hunt down Y'shtola."

"Aym-" Click. "Arrrgh, c'mon...!"

---

There was something unexplainably good about having your feet firmly on Terra Firma again.

Dalamud’s Caretakers tended to live on Forward Station Halone until they took a mental wellness break. Sometimes this could be months, or even years in particularly resilient individuals, for Aza it was six months since he last set foot on it, when he said goodbye to Aymeric at the shuttle station and not expecting to see him again for another year.

That was an unexplainably good thing too, having Aymeric back.

“New Ishgard is a cold planet,” Aymeric murmured, his large, firm hands gently kneading up and down along his back. He had insisted, even though he must be tired from his long voyage, and Aza was very glad he hadn’t rejected the massage. He could just feel all the tension that had accumulated from those six months on Fucked Up Moon Prison just melting away beneath Aymeric’s gentle touch. He never wanted those hands to leave again, “It can reach -32C on a regular business, requiring specialised survival gear to range outside of the settlements, but it has rich deposit of industrial minerals and ice that we can exploit. Haurchefant is very optimistic about its prospects, despite the, ah, harsh environment.”

“Mm…” Aza could almost imagine it. The needle-sharp smell of snow, the biting cold wind, the ice crunching beneath your boots… “Ice for… nearby stations?”

“That’s right. It will be a source of reliable water if we decide to range further,” Aymeric’s hands paused at the small of his back, and… ah, a gentle press of lips between his shoulder blades. Aza arched to the touch with a low, happy purr, “Do you want to visit it?”

“Mm, yeah,” Aza mumbled, “I wanna see it.”

It wouldn’t happen. Dalamud’s Caretakers were actively discouraged from leaving the immediate Solar System, but there was always that glimmer of hope. If, maybe, they got a large influx of prospective hopefuls, so it wasn’t just ten of them, endlessly cycling in and out and battling the encroaching pressure of the Elder Primal. When Aza had learned he had the Echo, he had been so happy, thinking he could be placed on the Exploratory Team, ready to help colonists in potential First Contact scenarios if need be and acting as force protection.

But he didn’t. Bluebird got that. He was shuffled off to Dalamud’s Caretakers when his Echo scores ranked the highest they’d seen in well over a millennium. It had broken his heart. You couldn’t exactly say no to it.

“One day,” Aymeric murmured against his shoulder, “You’ll see it. You’ll see all the colonies we’ve made. You will not be at Dalamud forever, love.”

“Feels like I’ll be there forever,” he mumbled against the pillow.

Aymeric bit him, gently, but he got the message. He huffed out a sigh that slowly transitioned into a low groan when his partner’s hands started kneading along his tense back again. He melted beneath his touch, and those dim, gloomy thoughts faded a little more into the background. Aymeric was right, he wouldn’t be at Dalamud forever. There was a strict retirement age of forty.

Three more years. He could manage that.

---

Approximately thirty-three million malms away, a tiny, insignificant ice moon in orbit to Rhalgr, the Red Planet, began to shudder.

Dalamud, as distant as it was, registered a spike of unknown energy within the solar system. Automatic systems began to warm up from millennia of disuse at the perceived potential threat, the ancient, complicated machine churning through dusty old programming to decide its proper course of action. The ice moon continued to shudder with such force that its surface began to crack, and Dalamud slotted the unknown event into its targeting solutions.

This was at 2300hrs, 16 04 102018. Last logged event was approximately 10000 years ago, when a cataclysmic tectonic event shifted the entirety of Hydaelyn’s surface. Dalamud was then placed into passive-mode when X A N D E C O N T R O L T O W E R went offline and no further commands were offered. Dalamud scanned for X A N D E C O N T R O L T O W E R and received no response. No response. No response.

At 0001hrs, 17 04 102018, the ice moon violently broke apart. The alien energy spiked. Dalamud calculated and considered. Scanning anomaly. Scanning… scanning… scanning…

0010hrs, 17 04 102018, unknown alien object emerged from ice moon. Energy spikes further.

0012hrs, 17 04 102018, multiple unknown alien objects arrive into solar systems at lightspeed. Alien energy signature violently dispersed. Unknown alien objects were U N R E C O G N I S E D, therefore default to last logged behaviour when confronted with unrecognised intrusion: A G G R E S S I V E P O S T U R E.

Weapon systems were sluggish with disuse. Dalamud increased aetherical input. Elder Primal’s consciousness rose by 0.2%. Within acceptable parameters.

0014hrs, 17 04 102018, targeting solutions complete. Alien objects still U N R E C O G N I S E D, still initiating A G G R E S S I V E P O S T U R E, conclusion is D E S T R U C T I O N O F I N T R U D E R S.

W E A P O N S Y S T E M A H K M O R N R E A D I E D.

T A R G E T S A C Q U I R E D.

A H K M O R N I N I T I A T E D.

F I R I N G.

---

Dalamud, a weapon of mass destruction, built at the pinnacle of the Allagan Empire in anticipation to assist them in dominating their immediate solar system, directed a controlled Ahk Morn through the vacuum of space toward the intruders. In a blink of an eye, it travelled multiple lightyears and speared through the collected fleet of alien ships that had leapt from the unknown, alien object with devastating effect.

It was a very bombastic First Contact with the Citadel Council.

#ffxiv #fanfic #warrior of light #aymeric de borel #mass effect crossover wooooo #i regret nothing #it's mostly worldbuilding so probs boring #oops

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ruffsficstuffplace · 6 years

Text

The Viridian Vanguard (Part 22)

Appropriately enough for an air weaver, Sayuri’s fury was like a raging storm, electricity violently discharging and sparking from her fur and her claws as she shouted at such a high volume and speed, it looked like even someone as normally calm, collected, and professional as Bee was quickly looking overwhelmed.

She quickly shot Weiss a look and gestured for her to back off, a stray jolt of electricity giving her some extra encouragement. Sayuri was still going as Bee tapped her staff on the ground, and a bubble formed around them, dulling the sound of her rage significantly, her ever intensifying discharges exploding, crackling, and fading all over the inner surface.

Penny’s eyes suddenly brightened up, the pieces of her tail rapidly floating off of Weiss’ shoulders as she shot up into the air. She quickly spun around once, before slowing down and stopping at Sayuri and Bee.

“Identity, and source of your elevated stress levels both confirmed,” Penny said as she hovered down by Weiss’ head. “Are you alright, Weiss?”

Weiss nodded slowly. “Yeah, yeah I’m good… should we… should we step in or something?” she asked, watching as Bee seemed to be trying to talk to Sayuri, keeping the warm, friendly expression on her face even as Sayuri was still seething, violently discharging electricity everywhere.

“Definitely not,” Penny said firmly. “If your mere presence alone could incite this level of extreme, violent emotions in Sayuri, you’re best off avoiding her, especially if you don’t have a mediating figure such as Bee, or alternatively, some cause or crisis that will cause her to temporarily put her personal grudge aside.

“I advise you and I both leave until Sayuri calms down completely. In line with that, I’m detecting Winter’s comm-crystal signal nearby; would you like to go to her?”

Weiss nodded, and the two of them made a discrete exit, pushing back into the crowds once more.

They came out of the crush and to a mana water fountain, which seemed to be built out of a still living tree. Winter was loitering by a small pool near the roots, her summons’s soul stones deep inside the water. “Did something happen?” she asked as they came up.

“Just the usual,” Weiss muttered, before Penny perched herself on a nearby branch, and replayed the earlier events.

“Seriously?!” Winter asked. “I could understand her coming for you specifically from the whole team name business, but what are the odds, even, that she’d join up in the same class as Weiss, just in time to save it from being dissolved…?!”

“I’m afraid I don’t have enough information nor similar events on record to make an estimate, let alone an accurate one,” Penny replied. “That aside—and full disclosure, this is speaking purely through basic pattern recognition without any further experimentation, research, or theory testing on my or anyone else’s part—the most extremely improbable events just seem to keep consistently happening to Weiss specifically, against most laws of probability, so long as it inconveniences, threatens, or harms her in some way, shape, or form.”

“Seems Grandpa really WAS onto something when he talked about our family probably being cursed...” Weiss muttered, before she sighed heavily, and leaned into Winter’s side. “I’m really glad you’re here with me now, Winter, and staying for the long-term; it makes me feel more confident about whatever impending shit storm I’ll be facing, knowing you’re back here with me.”

“Think nothing of it,” Winter said, wrapping her arm around Weiss’ side. “I’ve got about a decade’s worth of big sister-ing to catch up to, anyway.”

“Excuse me, don’t mean to interrupt your sisterly bonding moment, but I feel I should really talk to you three before you get to class,” Bee said as she stepped up.

Weiss turned to her and looked around warily. “Where’s Sayuri?” she asked.

“She’s already on her way to class, and I’m happy to report, I managed to talk her down without incident,” Bee said, smiling, before her expression turned serious. “And speaking of Sayuri: I really have to please ask you that you don’t let her be a deal breaker; it took a LOT of time and effort to shift about and reschedule your eight other classmates from your original arrangements, and it’s a serious decision for any teacher to let go of their students to a special class like this, however short-term.

“A lot of the latter are working towards their Master’s Rites, and often are doing this as their full-time jobs; one less student under their tutelage could mean the difference between getting the opportunity to even be considered for the Rites within the next couple of years, or a serious blow to their income.

“Not to mention, if you back out of this now, it’ll be a lot harder for you to argue for special considerations and classes in the future...”

“Alright, alright, I get it! I won’t quit because of Sayuri, you can stop now,” Weiss said, before she shook her head. “Piper, are all you teachers this fond of guilt-tripping?”

“We Fae prefer to think of it more as, ‘politely reminding you of the consequences your actions can have on others,’” Penny chimed in, before she and Bee chuckled.

Weiss scowled, unamused.

“Anyway, you should probably be getting to class now, and meeting your teacher for today,” Bee said. “Most of them tend to be extremely lenient on the first day, but others are pretty strict about punctuality.”

Weiss nodded. “Do you happen to know anything about who they are?”

Bee shrugged. “I’m sorry, I was too busy with the begging and looking for recruits for the class in the first place. I do know that they’re going to be a representative of Primal Wenua, but there’s several of them that could fit the bill.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I really need to go, too.”

“Don’t let us keep you, Bee,” Weiss said. “Thanks for all the help.”

“Any time!” she said, before she hurried on over to a nearby “skyway,” launched herself up into the air via a sudden gust of wind.

“You ready to go, sis?” Weiss asked.

“Of course,” Winter said, smiling before she held her hand out over the basin. “Everyone out of the water!” she said.

There was disgruntled burbling and bubbling coming up from beneath the surface, before five of the six soul stones shot out of the water, arcing into Winter’s palm. She glared at the sixth. “You don’t get special treatment because you’re my main summon, Idun.”

Splash!

Idun joined the others, Winter smiled as she picked her up and slotted her back into her belt. “Good girl.”

With Penny having already calculated the most efficient route, the Schnee sisters followed her to their destination.

Their class was being held at the ground level, at a tent city set up at a long, flat, open field that Penny explained was for a Fae sport, “Huracan.” Other classes, work, and training sessions had already clearly begun, the sounds of shouting, exercising, casting, fighting, chanting, and swearing flooding the air, the Schnees and Penny having to maneuver very carefully through the too thin walkways allotted between tents and sectioned-off areas.

If it was any small comfort, the numerous shields put up everywhere were doing a damn fine job at keeping any potential disasters and mishaps contained.

Boom!

Weiss winced as pieces of a rock target smashed and disintegrated on the translucent barrier just beside her.

<Sorry!> called the air weaver who’d blasted it to pieces.

Weiss shook her head, and they turned a corner down a line of tents.

Fwoosh!

Winter instinctively pulled Weiss to her chest and wrapped her arms around her as a giant jet of fire erupted not inches away from them, the flames licking and raging violently, fighting against a flashing barrier.

Idun flew off from her belt, “fur” bristling and magic lines roiling as she eyed the flames.

<We’ve got it under control, it’s fine!> a fire weaver yelled. <Just keep going!>

Winter and Weiss looked unconvinced, they carefully inched forward, Idun reluctantly jumping back onto Winter’s belt.

WHAM!

The sisters and Penny all jumped as a massive, bulky weaver slammed into the side of a shield, all his limbs splayed out, his face squished up against the enchanted wall as if it were made of glass. He peeled off of it, and collapsed onto a heap on the ground below.

<Are you alright, Weaver?> Winter asked.

He raised a claw, and made a thumbs up. <Mmm a’right!> he said as he picked himself up, and walked back to his fellows

Winter shook her head as they started walking again. “Piper, it’s like I’m right back in the Applied Sciences department at R&D...” she muttered.

“What was it like down there, anyway?” Weiss asked.

Winter sighed, and said, “Let’s just say the Queensguard’s emphasis on ‘you only need to be functional, talented, and capable of taking orders’ was never more obvious than it was down there...”

Eventually, they made it to the opposite end of the field, where most of the space had been converted into a running track, exercise equipment and machines spread out, with a handful of dueling pits in the center, most of them small enough only for 2-3 Fae to fight comfortably. Already, almost all of them were in use, weavers heaving and puffing, sweat pouring down their bodies as the lines of magic on their skin gradually pulsed harder and brighter.

<Heh, about time you three got here...> said a male Fae as he walked up to them.

He was a gazelle Fae, looking to be in his mid-twenties, neatly cut and dramatically shortened horns on his head, what little hair he had tied in a single braid that ran down the back of his head, a pleasant smile on his face and the squint of his eyes so pronounced it was almost like they were constantly closed.

<My name is Rokuro Tygan, one of Primal Wenua’s personal students!> he said opening his arms out wide in welcome, before offering them to Weiss and Winter both. <No need for introductions from either of you, we all know who the both of you are—hard not to, really.>

<It is a pleasure to meet you, Weaver, thank you for taking me under your tutelage,> Weiss said politely, before they each took a hand and shook.

His grip was incredibly strong and firm, the muscles of his bare, lean, and chiseled arms already tightening from just that motion alone. Weiss quietly wondered how the bejeweled metal bands running up from his wrist onward didn’t snap or seem to bend.

<And I have to thank you, for the honour of training the Keeper’s Mate, and her kin, at that,> Tygan said as he took his hands back, and clasped them. <Come, come, we’ve all just been waiting for you before we start—and before you get any ideas, this is the first and last special privilege any of us will be affording you for your status.>

<That’s just fine with us, Weaver Tygan,> Weiss said.

Tygan lead them to one of the few tents in the area, where Sayuri and seven other weavers were sitting around on the benches, tree branches, and rocks, waiting. They all seemed to be teenagers, just entering puberty, or already looking like young adults who’d clearly been through some shit. Temperaments ranged from meek and nervous, tensed up and warily eyeing the others, to bold and restless, clearly itching for the fighting to start already, or debating starting something themselves.

About the only thing that seemed to unite them all was that all of their gear had been clearly modified for combat, reinforced with armour plating; had slings, belts, and packs for extra weapons and/or ammo; or even decorated with the remains of their past kills, bones especially.

Weiss and Winter found a free spot together, Penny readied herself for a live translation as Tygan stepped up in front of all of them. He scanned the faces in front of him, took in a deep breath, and calmly said, <I will be completely honest: I really want to see all of your faces gone from this class as soon as possible.>

Many in the class clearly did not appreciate that, and didn’t hesitate to make it known, through scowls, disappointed sighs, and the odd minor spell thrown at him. Tygan stood in the center of it all, casually dodging or blowing away any projectiles, still smiling.

<This is because as long as you’re in this class, there is something keeping you from regular training with the rest of your peers; working on your apprenticeship to graduate to Adept level; or gaining the much more valuable experience and education that only being on the field, or working an actual job can give you, where the failures for consequences are much higher than a simple failing mark, and your instructor telling you to try and do better next time.

<Then why don’t you just get to the fucking point already?!> a gorilla Fae shouted from somewhere in the front.

Still smiling, Tygan casually held out his finger; electricity arced from the tip, striking the gorilla Fae and him alone.

<OW! SON OF A BITCH!>

Tygan ignored him and continued, <My job is simple: I will teach you all how to fight, and fight well.

<I will not be encouraging you to read up on the philosophy of elemental weaving, write essays and give speeches, and spend long hours in meditation, pondering on the nature of magic and the realm. I will not be testing you on how well you can remember past events, significant weavers and their accomplishments, understand how they led to certain milestones, or the present state of magical theory. I will not be tasking you with internships, and forcing you to contribute your talents and powers to certain ongoing public projects.

<Your job is equally as simple: hit me with your magic.

<Specifically, you will have to do it within five minutes, in a fair duel 1-1, or however many of you you think you’ll need, successfully hit me once with any spell, or magically charged technique. This can be anything from something that knocks me out completely and leaves me absolutely devastated, to a drop of water hitting my cheek.

<Basically, so long as there is clear, undeniable evidence that you have successfully struck me, you will pass, and are free to return to regular training or whatever else you please>

The same gorilla Fae from earlier snorted. <Shit, that’s all? You’re not fucking with us?>

Tygan nodded. <Yes, that is all. Do you wish to try—Goro Aneyama, is it?>

<Yeah, and that’s my name, Teach,> Goro said, getting up from his seat and walking up to Tygan. <Not that you’re gonna need to remember it, ‘cause I’m gonna be out of here soon enough.>

<Are you certain about this, Aneyama?> Tygan asked calmly.

<Did I fucking stutter?!> Goro snapped, throwing his bulky arms out.

Tygan nodded. <Very well then. Mender Polendina, if you will please bear witness and officiate, and if someone else would please help set up our duel, that would be much appreciated.>

Penny and two other weavers came up to draw a circle and barrier just outside of the tent, Tygan and Goro inside of it.

“This probably isn’t going to end well for him, isn’t it?” Weiss asked.

“Definitely not!” Winter said, before she smiled. “If it’s anything like Queensguard screening, though, it’s going to be extremely entertaining, at the least...”

The rest of the class seemed to agree, excited chatter and what sounded like talk about bets already starting, especially among those who knew either Goro or Tygan already. Weiss looked around and shook her head, declining when someone asked if she wanted to throw some money in the growing pot.

The barrier went up, at the barest minimum regulation would allow for two combatants. There was barely any place to move around in, close quarters engagement all but inevitable, little to no time to dodge any projectiles thrown, and absolutely no space to outrun all but the smallest of explosions or area-of-effect spells.

The two combatants put their masks on, pulled their hoods up, and had their respective spotters search and remove any accessories or weapons that weren’t allowed, or would prove a hindrance. As they hauled out of the barrier, Weiss and Winter looked at the combatants in turn:

Tygan, lean but muscular, his “coat” really more just a loose hooded vest, and equally loose pants. There were metallic threads and intricate designs on the fabric, and his rope belt had pulsing, enchanted fibers woven into it, but otherwise, there wasn’t much that would protect him from a direct hit, physical or magical.

Goro, stocky, his muscles thick and bulging, his coat covering his whole body, and adorned with numerous armour plates on non-flexible sections, most prominently his breastplate. Silvery lines covered the ceramic-like material, repaired cracks from battles and incidents long ago.

<Last chance if you want to back out, Aneyama!> Tygan called out, loud enough for all to hear. <No shame in passing on a fight when you know there’s nothing worth fighting for.>

<Oh, shut up, and let’s do the stupid ritual!> Goro yelled, punching his palm.

Unfazed, Tygan shrugged, and said, <Alright!>

Penny lead the pre-duel rites and projected a timer from her tail: 5:00. The audience started to cheer and howl as the two fighters got into their stances: Goro roared and slammed a foot on the ground as he threw his arms out, hands and the blood red “eyes” of his mask exploding in flames; and Tygan calmly spread his hooves apart, moved his open palms up to his chest.

One of the spotters blew the dueling horn, and Goro figuratively and literally exploded into action.

Fwoosh! Fwoosh!

He swung his arms wide through the air, throwing out five fireballs each time!

Tygan barely moved his hands, every single one of the projectiles suddenly violently veering off-course, exploding harmlessly on the barrier.

Goro roared as he charged Tygan with his fists swinging, flames raging from his knuckles to his shoulders, fiery explosions filling the barrier as he punched, lunged, smashed, and grappled with him. Tygan dodged and weaved around each and every single strike, ducking and bending his body at dramatic angles and elaborate poses, seemingly disappearing into thin air as he escaped Goro’s grasp and circled around and behind him.

<Hahaha! Teach is just straight fucking with him!> one student cried.

<Go Goro!> another one cried mockingly. <Flail harder, you’ll get him eventually!>

Goro howled in rage, exploding into white-hot flames; he cocked his arm, a brilliant flash erupting from his fist as he threw a flaming haymaker at Tygan!

Boom.

The students shielded their eyes, or cried out as they were temporarily blinded. A section of the barrier broke, thick white smoke pouring out of the breach before it quickly healed. Inside, Goro waved an arm in front of him as he shook his punching hand, his whole body glowing with faint red, magical residue.

The air suddenly cleared, the blinding smoke exploding out from the top of the barrier like a volcano; at its base, Tygan, calmly whisking his glowing hands up in turn, completely, absolutely untouched.

Goro stared at him, slack-jawed, before he glanced at the timer:

0:37

He turned back to Tygan, looking straight at him with his “smiling” mask, his arms spread wide as he made a “Come at me” gesture with his palms.

Goro roared, pounding his fists on his chest, the lines of red magic all over his body glowing painfully bright, fire shooting out from the silver seams in his armour, his whole figure enveloped in brilliant white flames.

He jumped up and raised his fists, slammed them both into the ground and sent a giant wall of fire and molten earth exploding out around him!

Tygan swept his foot in front of him, the burning shockwave blown away just before it reached him, the molten rocks flying to the side and breaking harmlessly on the shield. Then, he threw his glowing arms out, a ball of yellow, crackling magic spreading out around him, going past Goro, and sticking to the edges of the barrier, the inside now tinted in Tygan’s topaz yellow magic.

Goro snarled as he pulled himself out of the new crater in the ground, angrily pounding his fists on the dirt, before he suddenly gasped, clutched at his neck. His flames died out quickly as they burned through what little oxygen was left in the bubble, the red lines of mana all over his body rapidly faded. He frantically raised a violently trembling hand, the tip of his finger glowing in ever intenser red...

Pew!

Tygan didn’t even need to move as the feeble laser Goro shot at him missed completely.

The timer hit 0:00, one of the spotters blew the horn. The arena was filled with a loud, rushing sound as Tygan dispelled his magic completely, Goro gasped, coughed, and violently trembled, curling up into a ball as he hyperventilated.

Tygan stepped out of the dirt circle and left Goro to the spotters and Penny, taking his mask off to reveal the same pleasant expression as always. <Does anyone else want to try today?> he asked, holding his arms out. <You get a single chance every session, whenever you please!>

No one took him up on it.

<No takers?> Tygan shrugged, before casually thumbing behind him to the track. <Then all of you, except the spotters, Polendina, and Aneyama on the track, now, please.>

Note: A Vacuum Field is rarely, if ever used in real combat situations, as it can be easily escaped if used without the help of other physical/magical barriers, and the spell itself requires constant, intensely focused channeling by an air weaver to prevent new air coming in, much more for the time it would take for all the oxygen levels to deplete so dramatically that living beings aside from the weaver start to suffocate.

Unless they were being completely protected or unseen, the channeling can be disrupted very easily, and the spell will fail nigh instantly.

Air weavers are able to control their breathing extensively, to very dramatic effect at higher levels of skill. This is what allows them to completely hold their breath without ill-effects for stealth, survive poisoning by gas if they are unable to simply vent it or sustain a field of clean air around them, or stuff extremely, ill-advisedly large portions/servings of food in their mouths in one go.

Bee is still at Initiate level, but at the cusp of graduating to Adept, likely within the next few years after continued apprenticeship under Aeilana. The rest of the class still have a decade or so to go, excluding Weiss and Winter who are exceptional cases.

Tygan is already at Adept level, and remains under Primal Wenua as a post-graduate, assistant teacher. He is 25, and currently has no solid plans for trying to qualify for Master’s Rites.

There is no set minimum age for graduating to Adept, but the average age is 20, standard deviation of 3 or so years.

Only a very small percentage of Weavers ever graduate to the level of Master. Alongside having exceptional skill that far exceeds your peers', you need to have proved that you can apply said powers to the betterment of Fae society in a significant manner, and earn an endorsement from an unbiased source.

This can involve training the newer generations of weavers and pass on your expertise (which can take decades of work, but is considered one of the two surest paths), but it can also be earned through exceptional combat records on the field or even just in the Pits (controversial and easily contested, but relatively faster and easier); through inventions, innovations, and advances in magitech and/or arcane theory (the second surest); outstanding service during a time of crisis (heavily reliant on luck and preparation); or a combination of any of the above.

The endorsement generally comes from a current, retired, or only recently deceased (within five years from their officially recorded date of death) Master Weaver, but non-weaver Fae of sufficiently high standing and influence in the society can endorse someone for the Master’s Rites all the same. In either case, however, there is still a screening board made of Adepts, Masters, and chosen individuals from the other Orders, though an endorsement from a Master Weaver tends to go much smoother.

The actual Rites tend to be a heavily guarded secret, mostly known only to Master’s, the most senior Chroniclers, and the Council, though there are allegedly several variations and ancient temples used for the ritual all over the Valley and the Cradle. There is no stigma to having failed a Master’s Rite, and it is generally considered an honorable distinction all on its own.

Once the title is earned, a Weaver can never be stripped of it, regardless of what they do afterward. The folks who endorsed them are rarely, if ever blamed or stigmatized if a weaver’s career tanks, or they go Rogue after achieving Master status.

As far as everyone’s concerned, as soon as you begin the Rites proper, everything you do from then on is entirely your responsibility, and no one else’s.

Glynda earned the privilege to go through her Rite through her teaching work, and her experience with the Watchers, as a field soldier and as an administrator/officer. Aeilana’s was through a lifetime of Watcher service as both a warrior and trainer, along with several successful high risk missions/expeditions over the years, generally during the Flood.

#the viridian vanguard #rwby #white rose #fanfic

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stone-man-warrior · 3 years

Text

February 12, 2021: 4:21 pm:

https://www.cbs.com/shows/the-takeout/

https://twitter.com/CBSNews/status/1360306116685565954

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Major_Garrett

All signs point to The Takeout.

Major Elliot Garret, CBS news Chief Washington Correspondent.

The hostess with the mostess.

Bring him some Krispy Kreme’s, my treat.

================================

4:38 pm:

The record will show that a small airplane buzzed low and slow over my house at 4:38 pm.

=========

4:52 pm:

For those keeping score, I am winning.

https://www.premierguitar.com/articles/31382-mesaboogie-bandlander-50-100---winter-gear-slam-21?goal=0_93db14e670-536d3a40aa-65512397&mc_cid=536d3a40aa&mc_eid=941be062ce

Mesa Engineering: Badlander 50:

Made in USA at the World Wide Arm Wrestling Championship HQ City, Petaluma California.

When the terror takes over, they always go straight to the very best, first.

Mesa Engineering, World’s Premier Amplification Manufacturer.

Made in USA, by Canadian terror soldiers.

I like that Badlander 50.

==================

5:52 pm:

Here, you can watch and listen to two Canadian terror soldiers, Brad the Guitologist of YouTube fame, and Jeff Kiesel of Kiesel Guitars, as they use coded language on Google/YouTube to explain to other terror soldiers the intricate details of how US Citizen, disabled Medicare, Social Security beneficiaries make good targets for many reasons. They openly talk about “Partner Production”, forced experimental surgery on US disabled citizens, with use of Music Industry terminology as a shell basis for the terror language about kidnap and murder of US Citzen disabled people, the income that such people have, and how such Social Security income can be perpetuated after the victims are killed. They talk about a lot more than that with their coded language.

Kiesel has sent me two exploding guitars in my lifetime to my knowledge, and I suspect he sent others that were stolen in transit, and exploded when others in my neighborhood opened the case.

I may have been wrong when I reported that Mark Kiesel exploded along with Donald Trump at the Fred Meyer Gas Station on January 6, 2021, it looks as though I got Mark and Jeff Kiesel mixed up in my memory, so, that man I saw at the Fred Meyer Gas Station was more likely to have been Jeff Kiesel who exploded in a white bus when Donald Trump who was with him, and some others in the bus, opened the guitar case the Kiesel was going to send to me.

The Bus exploded out front of the Grants Pass Oregon Department of Motor Vehicles on Beacon Drive.

When US national Security is done jacking off, and wants to know more, I can say a lot more about Kiesel Guitars, Donald Trump, Fred Meyer, where the C-4 comes from, and a lot about kidnapped US Citizens of all backgrounds who are kidnapped and used as experimental amputation and plastic surgery victims and kept as pets by SAG members.

Until then, you can learn a lot by watching all of the Brad the Guitologist YouTube presentations to learn how to use music industry terms as basis for saying Canadian terror marching orders from Google/YouTube.

The way you can know that Kiesel Guitars are tools of terror soldiers, where buying one will be followed by an assassin, is to see that Kiesel Guitars are sold only factory direct. That is a common formula for terror take out of many “Businesses”. And, see that they make very pretty guitars, is bait, shiny, like a fish lure, and, especially, see that Kiesel makes weird, 8 string, and 9 string, maybe 10 string guitars at their shop, that tells musicians who are in the know about terror takeover to stay away from Kiesel to avoid confusion. The guitars are only a front for mass murder there.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00ReU6IGACo

youtube

https://www.youtube.com/c/BradLinzyTheGuitologist/videos

================

6:22 pm:

https://twitter.com/Pontifex/status/1360204506743545865

The progression of Pope Tweets is a online Vatican request to purchase or otherwise obtain military grade arms.

The Twitter feed malfunctioned when I went to read the Pontifex account and presented that photo of “The Hanging Gardens of Babylon“ there. That photo is a part of today’s Trump Impeachment hearing, in a number of extremely complex ways that US national security is simply not interested in learning, they absolutely refuse to do their jobs, and are allowing ... assisting hard core mass murders who took over US Government, the current US Congress and President is who I mean when I say hard core mass murderers, to continue to kill and replace the population.

This is in response to the Pontifex request for conventional military weaponry: Melania is open for business, again.

https://twitter.com/thehill/status/1360356524531601418

Those drapes where the gold is showing through, is another piece to the “Hanging Gardens of Babylon“ terror comm.

What that is, the “Hanging Gardens of Babylon” is usually Nancy Pelosi’s nick name when money, or goods, or services are requested by terror operatives, she becomes the “Hanging Gardens of Babylon“, as the “Speaker” who is doing the babbling. This time is different, Melania seems to have taken on the role of the arms dealer, while the senate hearings are the “Babylon“, they just keep talking about bullshit that does not matter and won‘t make any difference ever, while all eyes are fixed on the the bullshit hearing distraction, meanwhile, a Biblical Sized set of terror events are taking place in the shadows, behind closed doors, probably in the same building where the bullshit hearing is being done.

Those gold hanging portions of draperies in the Senate hearing room, combined with the Twitter glitch that made that add come up with that gal in the bikini, means all systems are GO!. the Pieces, two of them for a Hanging Gardens Terror scenario, are all present and accounted for. There is a ton of other comm from the hearing that goes with this Vatican request for US Military conventional weaponry where Melania Trump has set up a “Pop-Up” arms vending kiosk, right there at the Capitol Building, not Mar-a-lago.

US national security personnel will likely be told some other bullshit, and they will be the ones that make the arrangements for the delivery of the tanks, airplanes, boats, big guns and bullets that will be taken to places that suit the Vatican, British, and Hollywood terror leadership.

This is not the first time the “Hanging Gardens of Babylon” has been used for supplying the Canadian/British/Vatican terror army with US Military equipment from the US Fake Congress and Office of (SAG) President at the White House.

Read carefully:

The people who are occupying the US Government are terrorists who took over, they are draining all of the US Military equipment out of US Possession, and into the hands of terror army platoons elsewhere, and within USA for use later on against the remaining population, and against other nations for Global Domination Under the Cross, Vatican/Britain rule, and Screen Actor Guild leadership who will become what they call themselves as “The Master Race” who train and command many custom surgically altered slave people to serve the needs of the terror leadership. That is what the “Partner Production“ has been for, to do experimental surgeries for the surgeons to learn what limits there are to crafting custom tailored human beings to use as slaves.

Do a search for: “US Military equipment on a train“ to see a small glimpse of the truth, the amount of equipment being sent away is enormous, and what you will find is only what people were able to see and film, a small percentage of what really is happening is shown.

Say Bye-Bye.

youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGp6AmhUv4g

=======================================

Military leaders convention Q & A from reporters:

☺ “I have a question for the Admiral of the Pacific Fleet, US navy”

☻ “I am the Admiral of the Pacific Fleet, what is your question?”

☺ “Admiral, I need to know who you take your orders from“

☻ “Military commanders take their orders from the Commander in Chief, who rely’s on US Congress to make military decisions”

☺ “Who would take your orders from in event that Congress and White House were hijacked, and the people there have been fooling everyone, and then you were made aware of that, that all of government was fake, and was fooling every one?“

☻ “I take my orders from the Commander in Chief”

☺ “You don‘t understand the question... in event that you learned that the Commander in Chief was a false president, then, who would you take your orders from?”

☻ “I would adhere to my duty to take orders from the Office of the President, the Commander in Chief”

We are all fucked because there are no rules anymore.

==========================================

8:52 pm:

Local Conditions:

40 degrees (F) and drizzle. Absence of wind.

new terror assassins team at 445 Jackpine, looks like a group of four so far. They are associated with Chartrand 376 Jackpine, and with US Postal Service terror cell. That group is likely to be the source of some new and different computer hacking I experienced today.

My guess is Vintage King Audio terror associates is also nearby. VKA and the US Postal Service are key players in “Partner Production”. The USPS is known as “The Stork” because part of the mail carrier’s normal daily routine as a terror army operative is to bring small kidnapped children to the Seventh Day Adventist nannies who raise them as disposable terror soldiers for doing the more dangerous attack and spy work for the Canadian terror army under Screen Actor Guild command hidden in Twitter news stories and in email promotions from the music industry. I suspect the new terror pansies at 445 Jackpine are hear in response to enlightened email I sent to Vintage King Audio in anticipation of luring some hard core murderous terror soldiers to my home, so that I can defend myself, and in doing so, perhaps gain attention from real national security personnel, so that maybe they will help me to regain some freedom, and interview me about what I have learned about global terrorism over the course of my lifetime, and mostly over the past twenty years or so here in Oregon.

The email I sent to Vintage King Audio was such that it should have produced a quick response, and indeed there are signs of such a response, so, all I need to do, is wait for the pansies at 445 Jackpine to make their move. They are likely to play the “Friendly new neighbor routine” where someone comes over to say they moved into the neighborhood, and brings some baked goods, while asking for some kind of item, tool, container, or other thing in return. They attack while the victim is looking for the thing they say they need.

Deadmotherfuckerswaitingtohappen are at 445 Jackpine, in league with whoever is occupying the Chartrand terror cell at 376 currently, as all of the Chartrand’s have been dead for more than six months, yet all of their belongings and vehicles remain at 376, and other people are always there watching, spying, and continuously scheming to try to kill me, while keeping me imprisoned inside of my home.

I suspect Portland Postal Police could be the terror cell at 445 Jackpine, there is one who goes by the name Officer Goonze, hence, the “Goonze Squad” name given to the Portland Postal Police.

“Lick it, stamp it, send it” is their motto.

The grey Mazda Oregon License 098 MDE I think it was, that was at 520 Jackpine, the people that had hopped the fence and stayed there for only one day, with big dogs, is no longer there at 520 Jackpine, and the place once again looks deserted as it normally does until new assassins come to occupy that for attack at my house, happens about one day per week, I don’t often get a chance to see their vehicles though.

I heard one gun shot in the distance from the direction of Grants Pass Community Church just one minute after passing by the cameras that are pointing at my driveway at Monroe’s terror cell. The cameras are everywhere, as I take a walk, I pass by where the terror bastards know where I am, and when I am there, and that is the time they begin their offensive attacking, County Sheriff is always on call to do the necessary frame work, replacement terror soldier plant, and the dirty job of paper work.

I took this photo on February 3, 2021. There, on that stump, on that thin pole at the top of it, is a camera. I am standing on my driveway near my driveway gate, that camera is fixed on the place where I walk, and is where I need to park to open and close the gate when I drive through there. That wire fence is the fence line that separates my property from where Monroe’s took over the property at 434 Jackpine about five years ago.

I have some other pictures I tried to send to my email, but the terror bastards have my phone hijacked, and the photo won‘t send until I kill the son of bitch at 445 Jackpine, then, it will send.

========================

10:01 pm:

Another short walk outside, and that’s one down. Three to go at 445.

They have accomplices stationed at Strong’s at 3747 Russell Road it looks like, there is a dead terror soldier evac happening now somewhere near 598 Jackpine, Manning terror cell, could be at 600 Jackpine Taylor terror cell.

=========================

10:29 pm:

Two more pictures taken on February 3, 2021. This is another angle of that same camera pointing at me for murder hit information as I walk by on my driveway, there is nothing else for that camera to see, it’s pointing at me all of the time, and that is only one of many such cameras pointed at me from many places at Monroe’s. I think the cameras they use for trying to kill me were sent to me by potentially helpful people who don‘t understand that I am the last remaining US Citizen for hundreds of miles around, the terror army is not going to allow me to get anything in the mail or by other delivery other than a bill for electricity, insurance, mortgage, phone or internet service. They certainly will never allow me to get any packages in the mail.

This one is a telescope on a tripod. That too, is pointed right at me when I take a walk or drive somewhere, it looks like it has a camera attached to the side where the viewing scope is at. That telescope has been pointed at me for a long time, from different places, they move that one around from time to time.

Please send help.

There are no public safety persons in Oregon.

All of the citizens have been killed and replaced with terror soldiers from Canada, some US Citizens may be held captive as slaves.

There is no more US national guard, they too were all killed and replaced long ago.

There are no medical services for US Citizens, so, if you do come to help, you need to bring your own hospital.

Please send US Military. There are approximately 50,000 armed terror soldiers in Josephine county. About 75,000 in Jackson county. About 25,000 in Douglass county, and about 25,000 more in Klamath county. Those are conservative estimates.

Be prepared for a verity of poison gasses, armed people who conceal small weapons, swords, nitrous oxide and other “Boutique” airborne gasses that make you sick, unable to defend.

Be prepared for an army that looks like white Christian church goers, married “Mating Pairs” of terror soldiers mostly from Quebec Canada, are bi-lingual French and English, most are illiterate, cannot read English, have “British Still” custom education, is all backwards and alternate English language use.

Please send help.

==============

February 13, 2021: 1:13 pm: Extra:

https://twitter.com/ReutersUK/status/1360622398098309123

Reuters UK requests more BBC information about the “Hanging Gardens of Babylon“ US Military Arms arrangement where the US Shill government does not “sell” arms to Vatican/British terror forces, but rather “hands them over, up the command chain“ because that is what they are there in the US Government to achieve.

So, by request:

“Hanging Gardens of Babylon” terror comm turns into a “Chest of Drawers” after the transfer of the military equipment is complete, for communication purposes.

“Chest of Drawers”:

“Birds of a Feather, Flock to Heather”

She’s dead though, so, that is an old saying for terror comm, is obsolete.

When Tom Fitton Jehovah’s Witness is involved in the comm, “Chest of Drawers” looks more like this:

All is symbolic, and is dependent on the intended recipient of the terror comm.

One man‘s gun is another man‘s bullet, when real terror speaks.

=========================

February 13, 2021: 1:44 pm:

“Time Warp Terror”

What we are seeing on Twitter and presented on all of the news media everywhere about US Government activities, such as the fake impeachment, is all old news that never really happened.

Think about this:

When an author writes a book, it can take many years to complete the book, then get a publisher, then make changes the publisher demands in order that they will print to book.

Also, when musicians write music, the songs are often ten years old before they are ever recorded and made available to purchase.

Those ideas can help you understand that the reality of news media, is all fake, old, and augmented.

That Hanging Gardens of Babylon arms arrangement is old, has been done before with the very same video presentations at the same fake impeachment in 2008 on Beta Twitter, a time before Twitter was made publicly available, but was presented all on fast forward in Oregon, about ten years worth of Twitter time line played out over about a two year time frame.

All of the people we are currently seeing as US Congress, are all either much older than is shown, and are somewhere other than at the US Capitol, or, have died of old age by now.

The scenes are all pre-fabricated to produce some kind of result in real-time, with use of Time Warp of old video made possible by the skills and expertise of Screen Actor Guild and the complex experience of the SAG Writers Guild, in association to the worlds leading cryptographers at GCHQ SIS MI6 Britain.

The pre-fabricated videos work to produce the desired results, while also making enough questionable activity at US Capitol to draw in investigative people there. I suspect there are some wicked traps set up at the US Capitol for capturing those who might go there looking for answers.

Whatever the case is, the videos are all fake, are old, been done before, will work again later. They produce desired results for SAG/Britain.

The people involved don’t do what they do for money. Rather, they are all protected, they are all safe, and they all live comfortably while they are killing everyone, so, a money trail to find the leaders is not going to work, could find the terror army, but not the leaders with following a money trail.

This is the prize they are working to gain control of:

All of it.

That, and everyone, and everything on it, is the prize.

That is why they do what they do without much money involvement to follow to find the leadership, although astronomical amounts of money change hands to achieve the goal, it’s all done in ways that are made to look legit.

0 notes

amoretheiwa · 7 years

Text

The Dark Knight and the Boy Scout

Here is all of Chapter 1: A Laughing Man in one place

Prologue

Read on AO3

While meeting with newly appointed GCPD Police Commissioner James Gordon, Batwoman is introduced to the Prince of Crime when a man calling himself the Joker appears on TV, killing a woman. Signs and clues begin to pop up and make sense as wealthy members of Gotham’s elite are targeted and begin to drop dead. Batwoman is officially introduced to the public and the world as Gotham’s personal hero when inmates from Williams Medical Center are released into the streets—but there are still no answers. When Breanna Wayne is targeted, Batwoman finally makes the right connections: but is she too late to save herself, and Gotham?

“In other Gotham news, Arkham Asylum will be reopening next month as a facility equipped to handle Gotham’s most dangerous and disturbed criminals, along with regular patients in dire need of extreme assistance,” the woman on the television screen reported. Batwoman barely spared the story a glance. It was under her advisement and Gordon’s help that Arkham was going to be up and running again. With the appearance of few criminals who seemed to be above average it was determined that the jail just wasn’t enough to hold them and keep the people of Gotham safe.

“I don’t like the looks of these deaths, Batwoman,” Gordon murmured under his breath. She shook her head.

“Me neither.”

They were looking over the photos and case files for a number of eerily similar deaths with no apparent connection other than how they died. With a horrid, twisted version of a smile on their faces.

“CSI got back and none of the toxin screens showed anything out of the ordinary, and background checks showed no connections to any of the crime families or underground.”

Breanna turned slightly to face the Commissioner better.

“Their deaths were random. There was no purpose behind them—just a serial killer playing with some new toys.”

The voice synthesizer she and Lucius had designed had needed a few tweaks to help also change the patterns of inflection when she spoke, now that she was unofficially working with GCPD.

“As much as I hate to say it, I agree. Now, what—”

He stopped as a commotion on screen distracted them both.

The reporter was giggling, laughing, her volume and intensity increasing. Other personnel from the news room tried to get her to calm down, someone even calling for an ambulance. Both James and Breanna knew what was about to happen but neither could do anything to stop it as they watched the poor woman strangle on nothing, her head falling onto the desk with a sickening thud.

Static took over the audio and visual feed until it was replaced by a dark room. One white spotlight came on, and in the light was a figure facing away. He wore a bright purple suit and seemed to have equally bright green hair.

Breanna stepped closer to the television as Gordon spoke into his radio about getting someone to hack the feed, find its source.

“Hello, people of Gotham,” a low voice chuckled. The man standing in the light slowly turned around. His skin was white—not the white of a pale person but the color of chalk or clown paint.

“Sorry to interrupt your afternoon report but I have some fantastic news you may want to be tuning in for.”

Batwoman opened up a compartment on her left arm where a small device connected her to the mega-computer in the cave at all times. She began typing furiously with the one hand, hoping that her pre-made algorithms would be enough to figure out at least the source of the broadcast.

“You see, Gotham has become such a dreary place what with all the people coming and going and being such obedient little worker drones, and the Bat spoiling people’s fun. So I’ve decided to give you a helping hand, and provide some fun! The first person to experience some fun is man by the name of Henry Claridge—some of you may know him! One of Gotham’s rich, I’ve decided that he will be the first to help you and I with our fun! See you soon! Ta ta,” and with that the feed cut to a cartoon-esque image of a clown with the man’s features and one word: Joker.

Batwoman turned around and started to walk out of the office.

“Batwoman! Wait!” Gordon called. She stopped and turned to face him.

“I’m sending some of my men to watch Claridge, I need you to head over to Arkham—they have something they was you to see.”

One of the orderlies who was set to officially start work the next month when the Asylum opened showed her through the winding halls. It was a dark and dreary place on its own little island, and Batwoman hated every second there.

They finally stopped in front of one of the larger cells being prepped for when they needed to hold someone with more than just a few mental problems. On the wall written in what could only be blood was “One by one, they’ll hear my call. Then this wicked town, will follow my fall.”

After taking some pictures and a sample of the material used to paint the cryptic message Breanna was back in the cave. While the tests were finalizing their results, she replayed the video over and over again. This “Joker” had done a good job, as nothing was visible in the footage except for him. Nothing that could pinpoint a location or motive or identity.

Right as the beeping from her machines alerted her to the tests completion she received and incoming call from Gordon.

“Yes?” She said.

“It’s Claridge. He’s dead—just like the reporter. There, there was nothing we could do.”

“I’ll be right there.”

She hung up before he could say anything more and walked over to the lab portion of the cave. It was to her frustration that none of the equipment had given any information. It was pig’s blood, but there was nothing in it pointing at a location or place of sale.

Breanna leaned back in her chair, the cowl hanging against the back of her neck and her eyes closed. Claridge’s body showed nothing but a sickening grin, and the toxin screens showed once again that there was nothing that should have caused the man’s death. As Breanna Wayne, she had vaguely known the man as an acquaintance. One of the smaller screens had news playing while muted but something caused her to look up. With a few swipes and quick taps the main screen was playing the main channel.

“New footage has surfaced from this man calling himself the Joker, this time threatening Jay W. Wilde. Viewer discretion is advised, but, wait, we’re getting reports in about—”

As the woman’s voice began to take on a panicked tone alarms began blaring in the cave. Batwoman pulled her cowl over her face, quickly pulling the ponytail her black hair hung in through its special opening, and was leaping into the car in seconds, already plotting the quickest route in her mind.

Inmates from Williams Medical Center, many of whom were scheduled to be transferred to Arkham once it was open, were somehow loose and roaming the streets of Gotham.

In almost 15 minutes she was leaping out of the car, sending it to a backroad on the outskirts of Gotham on autopilot. Gordon and some other officers were pinned down behind a barricade of police cars and she joined them. No one had noticed her approached and whispered curses and flinching motions were the sum of the reactions.

“About time you got here,” Gordon said without any real bite in his voice.

“How do they have all these weapons?” One of his men shouted in fear. Batwoman peeked over the hood of the car she was crouched behind and narrowed her eyes.

“Someone armed them, probably whoever helped them break out.”

Gordon nodded and popped back up to take a few more shots.

“We can’t just kill everyone. That’d be wrong and most of the inmates are there on fair terms.”

She nodded once and then vaulted herself over the cars. A few bolas went flying, sending the gun-less inmates to their knees and sides. A smoke pellet here and there gave her enough shadow to function, and show she was going hand-to-hand with five different people at once. Three of them held pocket knives in both hands, and her costume’s armor was taking the brunt of it. The other two were holding baseball bats with the same stylized clown that seemed to have become the Joker’s symbol.

A high round house kick, a low flip, a sweep of her legs, an elbow in someone’s gut, a series of punches, and the five were lying on the ground in various stages of consciousness. Breanna headed towards where a group of inmates had cornered some of the guards and workers of the Medical Center just inside the front door. She listened to the police’s comms with half of her brain as she threw two batarangs, taking out two of the attackers. A few lucky shots from both a knife and few fists and that group was down as well.

By then the smoke she had started had dissipated and as she led the frightened but otherwise unharmed people out into the street she was swarmed by journalists and reporters. The police had everyone under custody or receiving medical attention, and James pushed his way through the shouting crowd to stand next to Batwoman.

“Quiet! One at a time!” He shouted. Breanna desperately wished she could disappear but there were too many eyes on her to do so.

“Batwoman,” a reporter from the Gotham Gazette spoke first.

“Batwoman, what powers do you have?”

She didn’t respond, just chose to look at the next reporter,

“Why now? Why are you terrorizing the streets of Gotham and fighting criminals only at night?”

Batwoman took a split second before speaking.

“I was not ready before now. And bats are nocturnal creatures.”

She looked at the next reporter, one who’s eyes were wide and hands trembling.

“Um, B-b-batwoman, ma’am, where did you come from?”

Batwoman waited a beat and stepped back, smoke pellets already loose in both of her hands.

“Gotham,” was her only reply as she let them fall. She said a silent apology to the Commissioner as the people closest began choking. She stepped back and melted into the newly created shadows.

“I found a lead, Gordon,” she said. Driving back to the Manor she had called him. After it was established that there were no hard feelings she went back to business.

“Ace Chemicals Processing Plant has had a few select products go missing in the past month. I’m going to investigate.”

Gordon sighed over the phone.

“Alright, just let me know what you find. Jay W Wilde was just threatened, you know.”

“I know,” she said and then hung up.

Once back in the cave she began to strip. The black cape came off first, draped over the back of her chair. Dark grey material covered her in similar fashion to a wet suit from neck to wrists to ankles, with layers over her torso, upper arms, thighs, and calves made of Kevlar and other materials. Her cowl was connected to the main portion of the costume with a small slit for her hair to be tugged through, and after going through the necessary motions so as to not shock herself she pulled it off. She took each piece of armor and costume and laid it out on a table just for that purpose before turning to face Alfred, who had walked in during the process.

Under the costume, she wore a sports bra and compression shorts, and her skin was littered with bruises, some fresh scars, and plenty of spots where she was bleeding from. Nothing was too serious but she still allowed her butler to clean and bandage what needed it. Nothing needed to be stitched this time and she quickly went upstairs to her personal wardrobe.

“What is it to be now, miss? A costume event downtown?”

Breanna rolled her eyes as she pulled on the plain grey pencil skirt and equally boring matching blouse.

“I need to find some things out at Ace Chemical’s, the plant on the west side. I can’t do that as Batwoman so I need to disguise myself as an inspector.”

“Understood, miss. Which vehicle will you be taking?”

“I’m going to need you to drop me off somewhere downtown and I’ll take a cab the rest of the way. It’s time for their inspection anyway.”

During the drive to Gotham proper, Alfred had the radio turned on and Breanna groaned, putting her head in her hands, at the news.

“So back to our breaking story, Gerald. It appears that Batwoman does indeed exist and is not just an urban legend or some phantom prowling the streets at night. Commissioner James Gordon had this to say on how GCPD will move forward.”

There was a bit of a pause as sound source transferred, and then Gordon was speaking.

“Batwoman has proven that she is willing to work alongside the police at times. No innocents are hurt and no one is killed, so there’s not much ground to keep hunting her. I for one believe that it could potentially be a beneficial partnership between us at GCPD.”

“Thank you, Commissioner Gordon. Now on to our friends at the Daily Planet, to hear some outside-of-Gotham opinions on our confirmation of Batwoman’s existence.”

Breanna leaned forward and turned off the radio with a sharp clack of her new fake nails on the dashboard.

“I would have thought this would be a momentous occasion, a time to even celebrate, Miss. Why the distress?”

“Because, Alfred,” Breanna shifted in her seat, looking out the window, “part of my goal is to make the criminals of Gotham fear me. People fear the unknown, the monster that lurks in the shadows and the dark, and I can’t be that person if I have an interview on Good Morning America and prove that I’m a regular person.”

Alfred didn’t say anything else, just nodded and “hmmed”. In no time they were parked in an alley between some convenience stores and diners. Breanna got out and quickly put on the cheap blue sweater over her outfit and adjusted the fake glasses that covered half of her face.

“I should be back here in a few hours. Feel free to go do other things, don’t just sit here the entire time.”

She closed the door and walked around the car as Alfred rolled down the driver’s window. She looked down at him as he spoke.

“Oh jolly, there’s some motion pictures I’d been hoping to have some time to go see. If you need me miss, I shall be unavailable.” And with that he drove off. Breanna grinned and shook her head before turning around and walking towards the closest major intersection.

PUBLISHING BREAK HERE

While she was inside the Processing Plant, Breanna had heard the newest targets with the rest of the workers. Judge Thomas Lake—and Breanna Wayne. In the car ride back to the Manor, and as she changed, Breanna shared her new information with Alfred.

“Someone has taken a few of the chemicals at night, but none that combined together would create any known toxin or poison. They’ve wiped the cameras thoroughly and nothing suspicious has happened there for a few months. About a year back there was a worker who had just been fired who fell into one of the vats and died, but other than that the workers and employers are pretty much clean.”

She sipped out of the class of water with a lemon in it that Alfred had just handed her. She was lounging in one of the front rooms, sitting in an armchair.

“I’m glad you’re endeavors paid off with at least some information, Miss Wayne, but are you not worried about the threat this Joker made against your life? Nothing has been able to stop or help the other victims and the Commissioner is with the Judge, not here.”

Breanna, dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans with a loose pale blue blouse, grinned up at her butler.

“There’s already a team on their way, and besides! Batwoman will protect me.”

Alfred rolled his eyes and turned to head back to the kitchen.

Once the police officers arrived Breanna found herself surrounded and making polite conversation with them until their radios began to go off. The sounds and shouts formed one conclusion—some of the goons working for the Joker were attacking Judge Lake’s residence, and there was a shootout going on that instance.

Breanna was about to make a quip one might expect of a threatened billionaire when she felt herself start to giggle. She couldn’t stop herself, even when she put her hands over her mouth. Fear stabbed her heart as she and Alfred shared eye contact. She started to laugh and laugh but couldn’t figure out why she was laughing.

The police officers around her were shouting and hands gripped her arms in an attempt to force her to calm down. Alfred appeared in front of her, the spinning room focusing around him now. She grabbed his arms tightly, gasping for breath as the laughter turned hysterical.

“Forgive me, Miss Wayne,” he said before stabbing her with something. She looked down and felt everything begin to slow and still. Her sight became fuzzy, and soon dark, and Breanna Wayne fell to the ground, almost another victim of the Joker.

Breanna was confused. Everything around her was blurry but for right in front of her. It was like looking down a dark tunnel and being blinded by the small amount of light at the end. She saw three figures, two tall and one obviously, that of a child. As she drifted closer the sound became clear.

“It’s not so scary now! Now I want to be just like Zorro,” the young Breanna Wayne said as she waved a crumpled program like a sword. “But a girl Zorro!”

Older Breanna looked with horror at her parents as they laughed and murmured. She stumbled forward, arms outstretched.

“Mother, Father,” she whispered through numb lips.

But it was with horror that she saw the towering man wreathed in shadow appear and raise a glinting gun.

“No!” She screamed and fell forward.

She sat up with a racing heart to see Alfred on one side and a paramedic on the other.

“She’s up!” Someone shouted and Breanna let Alfred push her back down to lie on what had to be the gurney inside of an ambulance.

“What,” she tried to speak, her mouth dry and rough. “What happened?”

“Your butler was a smart man and gave you an injection of a beta blocker, slowing your heart. Somehow that did the trick and you survived. Here.”

The paramedic handed her a glass of water and Breanna sipped from it gratefully, slowly sitting up.

“And Judge Lake?”

The paramedic stilled, and Alfred answered.

“Dead. Gordon’s men told us how he died like all the other victims, and most of the men shooting at them got away.”

Breanna nodded sadly, and made to stand.

“We need to make sure you’re completely of out danger, Miss Wayne! It’ll only take a few tests.”

When she was finally released back into the Manor with Alfred Breanna lost no time. She immediately went to the cave and began to get dressed.

“Going out so soon?”

“I know how he’s doing it Alfred, I know how he’s got each of us.”

“Oh?”

She looked at before pulling on the cowl.

“He’s poisoned the water.”

As her car zoomed out of the cave, the ringing tone echoed inside the vehicle. When Gordon finally answered she wasted no time with pleasantries.

“Breanna Wayne survived, barely. It’s the water—he’s poisoned the water. Get the Water Reservoir shut down.”

She hung up and sped towards the source of Gotham’s drinking water.

She flung herself out of the car and ran inside the closest entrance—Gordon had contacted her and explained that no one was answering at the Reservoir.

In less than ten minutes, after doing something elsewhere in the reservoir, she found her way up to the control and saw someone who could only be the Joker standing there, looking out over the room.

“About time you showed up, Bats. I thought you’d snub me on our first date!”

Batwoman didn’t reply, just walked closer. The Joker was tall but not taller than her with a slim figure and what looked like very little muscle definement.

He turned around and grinned, a wild look in his eyes. Up close he looked just as he had over the television and Breanna was glad that her cowl recorded everything.

“What, no hello? No introduction?” He cajoled, leaning against the control board.

“You’re too late you know,” he said quietly. “I’ve already poisoned all the water you see here! All of Gotham is gonna take a ride tonight—a ride with a smile on their faces. It’s only a matter of time before the effects get to you too.” He sidled closer to her, casually making his way to the center of the room.

“I wonder how that Wayne woman survived, she must have some smart people close to her. Maybe some…creatures of the night on her side.”

Joker leaned forward, suddenly in her face.

“Does she have you at her beck and call? Do you answer like a dog? Tell me, Batsy,” he moved back in a twirl, laughing with raised arms, “What are you going to do when it’s just you and I left in Gotham?”

Batwoman raised a hand, one that had a button or device of some sort clearly displayed, and showed it to the Joker.

“Oh goodie, what’s this? A toy for us to play with? Some maniacal way to stop me?”

She narrowed her eyes as she pressed the button.

“Yes.”

Something exploded beneath them and the room shuddered. The Joker stumbled backwards and anger crossed his face.

“What have you done?” He asked, all the mischievousness and laughter gone from his face. It had been replaced by a violent expression full of rage.

“Blew the viaduct. Now all the contaminated water is stuck in here, with us.”

His eyes grew wide even as the floor started to crumble in the corners of the room before bursting into laughter.

“Oh good one! We’ll have some fun times, I just know it!”

Batwoman jumped forward and tackled him, pushing their bodies through the crumbling ground to the level beneath them. She landed on the Joker without remorse and rolled off of him into a standing position mere feet away as the floor they had just been standing on came tumbling around them. The room they had landed in was roughly the same size of the control room above but empty, except for the rubble and sparking wires littering the ground.

He lay there, coughing and groaning, for a few seconds before pushing himself up causally. He ran towards her, pulling out a gun that looked more like a party prop than the real thing.

“Clever Bat!”

He pulled the trigger and Batwoman rolled out of the way, behind an extra-large piece of cement, away from the very real bullets that seemed to be dripping some green liquid when they hit the concrete wall behind her.

“But clever won’t get you out of this,” and the Joker continued to shoot at her, laughing raucously, even as the support beam holding up the control room collapsed next to him.

Breanna took a quick look at the room as she dove and rolled, staying in a crouch as he took time to adjust his aim. It was more of a basement, really, than an actual room. Not one meant to be occupied let alone at a time when the building and all the water was about to become one. She calculated that they had maybe five minutes, if not less, to get out before they were crushed or drowned.

She threw three batarangs in quick succession at the Joker and did another dive-roll that she came out of with a swinging fist. What had worked on a thug just early that same day did not work on this villain, as he had been cut by two of the three batarangs and grabbed the last one. The punch threw him back some but not before he swiped with her weapon, tearing a deep gash from her shoulder to the inside of her collarbone.

Batwoman did not scream, but a loud noise of pain did escape her throat. She took a step back before spinning in a high kick, holding her shoulder where she was bleeding profusely. Joker fell to the ground and giggled before licking her blood off of the batarang. He hummed and closed his eyes as if in ecstasy.

Disgust filled Breanna in a way it had not in years, if ever. She stepped back further and threw another batarang with her right arm, keeping her left arm as still as possible. This one sliced the back of his hand and he dropped the stolen weapon with a howl.

“Not fair, Batwoman. Not fair at all,” he growled as he cradled his hand to his chest, something akin to hate gleaming in his eyes. He picked up his gun and without warning started firing again. Breanna heard the walls begin to crack and spared a glance behind her, fear of death by suffocation gripping her heart. Distracted as she was, for that split second, that the last of four bullets the Joker had fired actually hit her in the hip.

With a gasp of pain, she stumbled back, looking down in minute horror only to realize that her armor did protect her and that the bullet had bounced off, melting into a pool of metal on the ground. Batwoman looked up at the Joker, who’s mouth was open in a pleased “O”, but before he could say anything she tossed a smoke pellet. The room was quickly engulfed in a darkness not even she could see through, but Breanna knew she could hear through.

“Come out come out wherever you are,” Joker sang before cackling, his voice echoing some. Batwoman moved forward silently until she knew she was just in front of him.

“Good job, Bats,” he whispered before shoving something into her hip, right where the bullet had bounced off her armor. Whatever it was tore through what the bullet could not and Breanna screamed in pain, stumbling backwards, her hands pressing against the wound that was now also bleeding heavily.

“Enough,” she growled when the smoke had finished clearing. In his hands Joker held one of her batarangs and she was ready to just get it all finished and over with when, with a loud crack, water threw her forward.

In that same moment, she fired a grappling hook at what was left of the room above them, the floor almost entirely gone. Her feet were still somewhat caught in the sudden rush and they clipped the Joker on the side of his head of their own accord. She swung there for a second and contemplated the idea of letting this madman die, drowned and crushed by his own doing. The thought left as soon as it arrived and with a roll of her eyes and sigh of exasperation she lowered herself just enough to grab the now-unconscious clown by his armpit.

After waiting on some higher ground with her “sleeping” companion for the contaminated water to stop flooding and begin to soak into the ground—no one would be able to use it for anything for a very long time—Batwoman finally saw some police cars making their way towards her location. From start to finish it had been a long day (a long week, really), and she had field dressed her wounds as much as possible but knew that Alfred would insist on Leslie taking a look when she finally got back to the Manor.

She pushed a button on her belt, summoning her car, and stood as she waited for Gordon and other officers to finish their mad rush up the hill.

“What happened here, Batwoman?” Gordon asked, shouting.

She waited until he was standing next to her and staring wide-eyed at the Joker to speak.

“He had poisoned the entire reservoir so I destroyed the viaduct. Something tells me the building was no longer up to code, as it came down a minute later. We fought right before that and he was knocked out.”

“And is he…” Gordon seemed afraid to answer and Batwoman wondered if she would regret her decision, her new rule.

“Alive but unconscious. I want him to wake up in an Arkham cell, Commissioner. Understood?”

Gordon nodded and turned around, giving his men orders. Clean up was going to be a nightmare but Batwoman did not have it in her to stay and help.

“You alright, Batwoman?” Gordon asked quietly. His blue eyes, set below bushy eyebrows, showed copious amounts of worry.

Breanna began to wave him off, taking a step forward as the unique lights of her car came into view, but stumbled. Gordon caught her, and helped her to sit down. He pushed her cape back and hissed at the very obvious wounds.

“You gonna be alright? You have someone to help you?”

“I do, thank you.” She murmured. The car rumbled to a stop just a few feet away and Gordon helped her get in.

“We’ll handle it from here, Batwoman. Go home, wherever that is for you. Gotham owes you.”

#superbat #dkandbs #amoretheiwa #amoretheiwa writes #breanna wayne #alfred pennyworth #james gordon #joker #chapter 1 #genderbending #genderbent batman

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amoretheiwa · 7 years

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The Dark Knight and the Boy Scout

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Chapter 1: Laughing Man A