#RE|| subject: visored

[7ambofgod]

RE|| LAZARUS RISING

co-written with @viciousvizard 

.   Nemu stands poised with respect as a few old members of the twelfth division have tuned into the screens observing a bay in the fourth division. Their attention is focused on just one small woman. There are tubes inserted into her mouth, her arms, her wrists, even a medical device siphoning kidou out of her. All these tubes and attachments are plugged into a frail girl bandaged thickly around the middle. The bandages are changed every hour like clockwork by diligent shinigami in the fourth division.

.   Liver damage, extensive. 4th stage renal failure. Double stents drained into a catheter balloon. A biliary drain desperately salvaging healthy liver tissue to inhibit the inflammation. Spinal fluid repair done through her brain.

.   Nemu glances at the screen and in the medical bay, there is a great scuffle and argument off screen. Finally, Unohana Retsu sweeps into view and places a gentle hand on Isane Kotetsu’s shoulder. She allows for an exception this time. Nemu observes the ‘exception’ that Unohana Retsu has granted in her usually well-organised, sterile ward.

.  These are friends of the injured girl. They are also worse for wear. Limping from battle, but unmoving from the medical bay. These unusual beings of half hollow and half shinigami soul are protective. They form a protective barrier between the fair-haired girl and the other, prying shinigami. She is only allowed the courtesy to observe from a screen. But she observes well. The faces of that girl’s friends. They are all unfamiliar to her. She is a new face, but they are all old. She can feel Mayuri-Sama close by, looking completely uninterested in the ordeal, but he has not ordered Nemu to make herself useful in the few moments she has been watching that woman. And he does not order any of the 12th division Shinigami to move either. This is unusual.

.   “Sarugaki Hiyori pronounced dea-”

.   “NO! HIYORI!” Nemu does not know who that cry belongs to. It is from her group of friends, all desperate, tired and heartbroken. They look ready to fight the grim reaper themselves. All of them are crying - - until Unohana Retsu sweeps forwards once more and smiles.

.   The girl’s vital signs have picked up. A great sigh of relief has been released over everyone. They are all still crying.

.   Nemu briefly, selfishly… wonders if there would be any who would shed tears for her if she was to be mortally wounded.

.   “That moron wasn’t going to die so easily.” Nemu turns, her eyes widening as she notes that Mayuri-Sama has made the comment. He’s finally impatient. “Well? The show is over. Nemu, get over here!”

.   The plaited girl bows her head. “Yes, Mayuri-Sama.”

.   And that is how she found herself within a few hours facing the very tired, very drained… but very angry Sarugaki Hiyori.

.   “I am Kurotsuchi Nemu, lieutenant of the 12th division.”

.   The girl had looked baffled at the sight of her. But could not do much. Not even speak. She looked at Nemu’s badge, a grimace of pain flashing in those big, brown eyes. They were so expressive, even in death.

.   Nemu only learned later on… this was the former lieutenant of the 12th division. The one who rose from the verge of death because of her unusual regeneration abilities.

.  She was one of the first to know Mayuri-Sama as a free man. She vows to know her better.

[subliminalbo]

The Pleasure Method

This is a continuation of Return to Office

It was simply dumb luck that Futurum had stumbled upon their newest tech. The Conditioning Initiative was a success, but its limitations were beginning to show. If the goal was to create the perfect workplace free from distractions or inefficiencies, they needed their employees to embrace the Initiative in every phase of their lives. This was how R&D shifted to The Pleasure Method.

The Pleasure Method was reversed engineered from hardware discovered in the basement of a sorority house near the campus of Carpenter State University. The program was a sophisticated set of stimulants delivered through a pair of noise canceling headphones and a VR headset. Futurum recovered a treasure trove of hypnotic audio and video files from a hard drive in the basement, but the files themselves weren't fundamentally different from what Futurum had achieved with The Conditioning Initiative. What really fascinated researchers were the testimonies culled from members of that sorority.

The power of sexual stimulation in subverting a subject's will had been documented in the past, but Futurum's interest was in testing its absolute limits. In their deprogramming, the sorority sisters who were rescued from the Alphas house recalled being hypnotized and fucked senselessly. Deprived of sight and sound from the headphones and visor, there was nothing left to focus on but the feeling of hands on flesh, teeth grazing nipples, tongues rolling along clits, and slick, thick silicone cocks penetrating as deep as they could go. The sorority sisters were programmed to desire only this feeling, and after several hours of unceasing stimulation they would do everything in their waking minds to feel that level of pleasure again. They would even obey.

Futurum built their own program from the Alphas' testimonies. The Pleasure Method was a more sophisticated apparatus than the crude setup recovered in the Alphas basement. R&D had long rooms filled with rows of examination chairs where subjects were strapped in and treated to days—not simply hours, but days—worth of sexual stimulation. Mechanical arms loomed above every chair in these R&D rooms. The whole area was called a Pleasure Station. The arms were bolted to the ceiling and were fitted with long, motorized silicone rods for vaginal or anal penetration. Regular electric shocks were delivered through a subject's nipples to maximize the body's capacity for pleasure.

All of this was conducted under deep hypnosis. Audio files droned reinforcing messages of submission in a subject's ears while a visor lowered over the eyes ensured that the subject remained entranced with synchronized light displays. Subjects were fed intravenously so that they could remain under The Pleasure Method for days.

The end results were a monumental step forward from the simple subliminal messaging of the first phase of The Conditioning Initiative. The Pleasure Method had been one hundred percent successful in shaping Futurum employees into re-writable worker drones.

The applications were endless. The efficiency crisis that had plagued workplaces since the pandemic wouldn't just be solved, Futurum could guarantee that no energy would ever be wasted in an office or a factory or a boardroom ever again. The future of work was mental conditioning, and the key was sexual pleasure.

You would be hard pressed to find a better example of this than No. 14. Formerly known as Shelby Irving, No. 14 was a graduate student at Carpenter State University who had worked on the initial stages of The Conditioning Initiative as part of a summer job program. When No. 14 returned the following year, she dutifully submitted herself for processing at a Pleasure Station. Though technically still a student at CSU, No. 14 accepted a full time job as a researcher in Futurum R&D, assisting in the processing of new subjects. Despite balancing two full time jobs, the new perspective afforded to No. 14 by her conditioning made her exceedingly efficient and she felt no difficulty in transitioning between both worlds every day.

Sometimes No. 14's worlds would collide, like when she was tasked with processing a new recruit who studied in the same rhetoric program at the school. On Shelby's recommendation, Josie had applied for the summer work program. By the time she stood naked before a Pleasure Station, she had undergone hypnotic conditioning through Futurum's new on-boarding program. That conditioning began to slip when Josie was strapped into the chair and No. 14 inserted the IV into her arm.

"Shelby?" Josie squeaked. She awoke to the sound of a dozen subjects undergoing their own processing. The subjects' thoughtless moans filled her ears like a ghoulish chant.

It wasn't uncommon for a subject's conditioning to fail during preparation. This only proved the need for a more permanent solution to The Conditioning Initiative.

"Shelby, please!" Josie begged, but there was no recognition in No. 14's eyes. "Oh, god!" she cried as the mechanical arm dropped down from the ceiling. The longest dildo she had seen in her life was just inches from her pussy. "What is that?"

"It is advisable that you remain relaxed through the preparation process," No. 14 instructed. As her glassy eyes floated from the terrified expression on Josie's face to the mechanical arm in front of her, they lingered on Josie's soft, round tits jiggling with each sob. A subtle, nearly imperceptible twitch of No. 14's eye displayed a potential hiccup in The Pleasure Method: that subjects could be molded and trained, but an increased desire for sexual satisfaction could take them at any minute. This time, however, the desire passed, and No. 14 continued with her programmed duties.

"Subjects find the pleasure distributor to be extremely arousing," No. 14 explained. "It will be a pleasant experience for you."

"Fuck you, Shelby!" Josie cried. She pulled hard at her restraints, but she couldn't shake the straps free.

When Josie knew that she couldn't find her way out, she tried to appeal to the friend that she knew from school.

"Shelby, please," she pleaded again. "You have to fight this! Whatever they've done to you. I know you're in there. I know you're still you."

But No. 14 was unmoved by Josie's pleas. She slipped the noise cancelling headphones over her ears and lowered the visor plate over her eyes, a neon glow illuminating along the rim of the visor as the program took effect. Josie released a sharp, surprised gasp when the pleasure distributor entered her pussy. It started with slow thrusts and picked up speed as her pussy responded with more lubrication.

Josie's pleas quickly softened until there was nothing left but a hungry moan that was indistinguishable from the rest of the noise in the R&D room, Josie's voice becoming another part of the chant.

No. 14 was practically dripping as she watched Josie become No. 500. With that same little twitch of the eye, she came. It washed over her so silently that an observer would never know the level of pleasure firing off all over No. 14's body.

If No. 14 had a thought left in her head, it may have been that she fucking loved this job.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

The Maker’s Angel pt. 1

Din Djarin/Mando x Female Reader

Warnings: suggestive speech, possessiveness, mentions of marking/claiming/owning.

Info: reader is tattooed with a tribal fertility symbol, I made up my own lore bc fuck it I ball. Smut coming in pt. 2.

The one where Din’s idea of foreplay is accidentally seducing himself into marrying you

His gaze locked onto yours, the softness of your smile capturing him in a way few things have. His hand reaching out involuntarily to adjust the tactical belt on his hips as He approached you. You found yourself tracking his hand as it moved, eyes lingering a bit longer than they should at the soft bulge between his thighs.

He stopped right in front of you, your bodies close enough to feel the warmth emanating from each other. The scent of your alluring perfume fills his nostrils and it's then that he decided to take his chance.

"Mesh'la," He whispered softly, keeping his voice low with a hint of breathiness from the helmet's voice modulator, "Are you alone here?"

“I am.” You answered, crossing your ankles as you leaned against the counter.

The wide legs of your harem pants swishing as you moved. You looked up at the tall man in beskar and took a sip of your drink, bringing it down to rest in your hand against your exposed stomach. Your bandeau top displaying the slightest hint of cleavage, paired with the low slung waist of your pants the entirety of your abdomen was exposed.

His eyes wander over your exposed skin, noting the tattoos on the side of your hips. His mind races with thoughts as he considered whether to push further or retreat back into his stoic shell.

"Cyar'ika," He utter quietly while keeping his helmet tilted, reaching for a drink nearby without looking away from you, "Do you know what it means?"

“No, but I do know it’s Mando’a.” You answered, keeping your gaze on the dark visor of his helmet.

He nodded slightly, understanding the curiosity in your tone. In response, he decided to explain further.

"Mesh'la," the breathy sound comes from the voice modulator as his hands grip tightly on the glass, "‘Mesh’la' means beautiful and ‘Cyar'ika’, darling. It is how we express affection towards someone."

“How sweet.” You teased with a playful smirk. He was confident but you noticed subtle signs of nervousness, like the way the leather of his gloves creaked from his clenched fists.

"Are there more stories behind those markings? Or are they just decorations?" He quickly changed the subject back to you.

“The tattoos?” You asked, tracing over the matching designs on your hips and sides. “They have meanings.”

He leaned in slightly, breath barely audible through the vocoder of his helmet as he spoke softly.

"So tell me more about them." His hand reaches out to lightly brush against one of the tattoos on your hip before pulling back quickly.

“These are traditional. Something we do on my home planet for femininity and fertility.” You said, looking down at my abdomen.

“This one,” You traced the ink above your cleavage. “is a symbol of strength and prosperity.”

His eyes drifted down to your exposed cleavage, taking in the curve of your breasts beneath your top.

"It suits you well," He muttered under his breath before turning attention back to your conversation.

"And these?" He asked reaching out to touch one on your side near your hipbone.

They’re part of these larger ones,” You said, watching as he glanced down at the swirling patterns that went over your hips and up the sides of your stomach.

You tapped your other hip. “The blank space you’re touching and this one here, we leave unfilled until marriage.”

He nodded, understanding the significance behind your tattoo. His fingers trace around its edges as if considering what it would mean to fill those empty spaces.

"It's an honor reserved only for one?" A hint of jealousy crept into his voice, "Or could there be exceptions?"

His gaze flickers back towards your exposed cleavage before returning to meet your gaze once again.

“It’s reserved only for one. No exceptions.” You said firmly. “once I’m marked, it’s for life, a sign of possession and loyalty.”

The thought of such commitment sends shivers down his spine, a primal thrill in it that piques his interest.

"Intriguing," He mumbled under his breath while maintaining eye contact, "If you were marked by me... would you continue wearing these revealing clothes?"

Your fingers tighten slightly on the glass as you tried to gauge the seriousness of his response based on body language alone.

“Mhm. It’s like a wedding band.” You finally nodded.

“They’re meant to be displayed to show dedication to our mates. It’d be insulting, disloyal… if I hid them.”

A wry smile quirks the corner of his hidden mouth at your answer.

"Hmm," He replied, letting out a soft chuckle beneath the beskar helmet, "You would wear such displays even if that mate wasn’t standing beside you? If they weren’t present?”

“Of course.” You responded.

“Women of my tribe never cover these tattoos, whether they are filled or not. It would be punishable by my mate if I covered them willingly. It would be disrespectful.”

A hardened edge crept into his voice, reflecting a mixture of fascination and unease. "And if you refused to wear them?"

A sinister grin spreads across his lips as he leaned closer, his helmet mere inches away from your face. He was challenging you, trying to provoke you.

“If I refused to let my chosen fill my tattoos?” You asked in surprise. “I wouldn’t be permitted to marry.”

“I can date and what-not… but once I’ve chosen someone and they ask to fill my tattoos, if I accept, then I’ll be mated to that person for life.”

The concept leaves an unusual taste in his mouth, and yet there's something exhilarating about it.

"And what if your 'chosen' tried to force you?" He asked his query coldly. His voice echoed in the confined space between your little bubble among the other bar-goers, "How would they be punished?"

“If my chosen tried to fill my tattoos without consent, they would be brought before the tribe leaders and put to death.” I said plainly.

“Disrespect of a woman, or of any possible partner is considered worthy of death.”

He nod slowly, taking in your reply. A silent respect forms for the severity of consequences within this strange culture.

"And what if you were to breed with another man despite being marked?" His words cut through the heavy silence like a sharp blade, "Would they meet the same fate as one who attempts to fill your tattoos without permission?"

“It would depend on their status.” You said in a serious tone.

“If they were also marked, yes he would be put to death.” You said cooly.

“But if I were marked, and ‘bred’ with someone un-marked, it would be possible that I could be put to death. It’s up to the discretion of my mate.”

His eyes narrowed slightly behind the visor as he heard your sweet voice repeat such a primal word back to him, but he pushed aside those thoughts for now.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, impressed by your commitment to tradition as it closely mirrored his own.

"Sounds fitting," He whispered softly, still processing this new information while keeping an eye on the pulsing lights reflecting off your body in intriguing ways, casting shadows and highlights across your curves.

"So telling lies within our relationship... would that be tolerated?" His eyes flickered back to yours, searching for any signs of dishonesty in your gaze.

“No, honesty is more valuable than any other virtue.” You said plainly, raising an eyebrow at his choice of ‘our’. “If I were to lie to my mate, they could punish me as they saw fit.”

He nods slowly, understanding the gravity of your words. His gaze roams over your body again, taking in every curve and contour.

"And if I were to lie?" He asked casually, my voice holding a hint of curious lust.

“I would be allowed to punish you as I saw fit as well.”

A chuckle escapes him, finding humor in this twisted game of power dynamics that had fallen so perfectly into his grasp. After years of cruelty from the galaxy, he was being gifted the perfect woman on a silver platter.

"So it appears we both have leashes," He said with a sly grin widening across his face, "But only one is adorned by truth and honor."

His fingers trace the pattern on your tattoo again before pulling back abruptly; hunger gnawing at the pit of his stomach like an insatiable beast.

“Not true, the males also get marked after filling their mates tattoos.” You grinned.

His helmet tilted as he furrowed his eyebrows slightly at your correction, intrigued by the complexity of this ritual.

"So both parties are equally bound?" His voice sounding even deeper in close proximity, "The difference lies merely on who draws first blood?"

“It’s traditional that the female gets her tattoos filled first.” You reach your hand up to touch your neck and circle the blank space there. “Then she gets to choose a symbol of protection for her mate, and tattoos it right here.”

"Could this protection symbol also be one of love and devotion instead?" He asked, his tone truly serious.

“Of course.” You nodded. “but you are a bounty hunter correct?” You raised an eyebrow in question.

A faint scoff left his lips as if amused by your quick change in topic.

"That I am." He confirmed nonchalantly while keeping eye contact steady, "But what does it matter for our current conversation?"

“Well you asked about the different symbols a woman could choose to mark their mate with.” You stated with a smirk. “you’re a bounty hunter, so I would choose a symbol of protection for your tattoo.”

You brought your hand up to softly brush against his neck.

“So you’d be safe. Even when I’m not with you.” You purred.

A low growl rumbles in his throat at the thought of you being just as possessive over him as he was beginning to feel over you.

"And what symbol would you choose for me?" The question comes out huskier than intended, confirming his growing fascination with you.

“The most powerful protector of my people, reserved only for the strongest of warriors. The sigil of the Manticore.” You said confidently.

He hummed, the admiration for your bravery and faith in him clear. "Thank you," His voice cracked slightly, revealing the inner turmoil he was suffering. "that... means a lot to me."

Slowly, you remove the glass from your hand and place it back on the countertop, your heart races faster as he tilted his helmet closer.

“Though, you are a Mandalorian. Your tattoo would need to be displayed permanently… since you don’t show your skin, it would need to be etched into your armor.” You said matter of factly.

“Does the Manticore hold meaning in Mandalorian culture as well?” You asked.

Din paused for a moment, pondering over your question.

"The Manticore is known among us." His fingers twitch unconsciously at the thought of engraving such an image onto his armor,

"However it's not celebrated or revered like within your culture." He admitted gruffly. "But its symbolism aligns with one of protection which suits our conversation perfectly."

“How convenient.” You grinned.

He can't help but chuckle at your assertion, finding amusement in his luck at this truly perfect situation he’d fallen into.

"Yes, convenient indeed." His gaze locks onto yours once more as a sudden idea strikes him,

"Then when we reach an agreement for our mating rituals... I should start by engraving that symbol into my armor." He asked, a hint of excitement in his rumbly voice "A show of good faith from both sides?"

“Yes.” You blushed.

His heart beats rapidly against against chest, anticipation filling every fiber of his being, he felt as though his heart would beat through his beskar at any second.

"Then let us make this arrangement official." He reached out to cup your chin gently, turning your face towards his, "Do you consent to be marked by me?"

“Are you serious?” You gasped. “That’s not funny Din.”

“D-don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” Your eyes watered.

Relief washed over him at your response, a bit of remorse welling up inside from causing you momentary stress.

"I am serious." His voice is soft and sincere now, "And I promise to respect whatever decision you make next."

“W-will I ever be allowed to see your face?” You asked quietly.

The question catches him off guard, causing him to pause for a moment before answering honestly.

"After our mating rituals are completed... yes." A smile evident in his tone, "You may see my face then. However, this is non-negotiable; it's part of our agreement."

His eyes search yours once more, ensuring you understand the stakes involved

“I accept.” You nodded, a serious expression plaguing your face.

A sigh of relief escapes him as he slowly lowers his hand from your chin, returning it to the countertop. A contented hum vibrates in my throat.

“The Maker has finally sent me my angel.” He whispered huskily, grabbing your hip firmly and pulling you against his chest in a crushing hug.

Din’s List

TagList:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch@cherrylooney@star611

@tahliac11 @exquisit?corpse @jeldog @arzua10

@bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay

@aliciaasky@naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn

@illiethefairy @slut-4-ani @offthethirlwall

@slutforhayden @ausskywalker @angelsadmired

@slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

@starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @no1klet @lethargic

@allhailbuckybarnes @shadowhuntyi

@bobtheturmpetman29 @mortalheartache

@fallinlovewithevil@sythethecarrot

@joshfutturmansrighthand @chaoticantihero

@vadersslut @luvvfromme

[altraviolet]

re: new fic, Ch titles & symbols

Brainstorming the new fic is so fun! Today I figured out Flatline and Soundwave's first meeting (why it occurs, what happens), why Soundwave has a visor, and a design for a new character based on a place in the comics. I also wrote some short, cute* Soundwave-Rodimus stuff. For me, writing is definitely a discovery thing. I can't just Decide things will happen. I have to flail around, putting little pieces together until they snap into place. The bad part is that it's hard to make this process go fast. The good part is that when things Snap Together, they stick in my head very well, and it's easy to do the foreshadowing/callbacks/everything magically connects together thing.

*technically cute but weiiiiiirrrrrrrrd hehhhhh

SO so so AO3 currently does not let you "customize" Chapter titles. All chapter titles are default "Number period." As in:

1. 2. 3. etc

So if you want to put supplementary material in the beginning, or label something a prologue, you get weird stuff happening with the chapter numbers/names. Here's an example from The Angel Breaker, which had maps and Parts and a prologue, etc:

That's why I went with "1 - 1, 1 - 2" instead of actual chapter titles or names, because otherwise we would've gotten:

Cover Illustration

Maps

Prologue

The Mechanica Divine

Part 1: The Angel Breaker

Ch 1 "Title"

Ch 2 "Title"

Ch 3 "Title"

It's... an eyesore, for sure. And surprisingly confusing to organize in the .doc lol

I do want to put images and possibly Parts in the new fic, so I'm not sure what the happy medium is for chapter titles, here 🤔

Speaking of images, here are some spoilers! I had a lot of fun plotting and planning TEG without sharing anything spoilery, but dropping some half-formed, contextless spoilies can't hurt, right? Here are some WIP in-universe symbols:

The question marks aren't denoting that the symbol has a mysterious name, it's that I don't know what the name is, yet xD the placeholder is "Primus" but that doesn't work for A Reason.

How about some color!

??'s again for The Author Doesn't Know Yet lol

Also, the ?? and Mortilus symbols were swapped until I did them out in the art and realized it makes more sense for them to be presented as they are, here. Gotta update the notes.

All are subject to change, of course. These symbols are regarding the mythology/deity aspect of the new fic's Cybertron. It has a very different start than IDW's...

[hastalavistabyebye]

Last ficlet of the day. After the first Fox angst this morning, let's have more Fox angst but in the opposite direction.

Inspired by this @mamuzzy's post.

Trigger warning : several deaths including a child's, basically a terrorist attack, the clones don't have chips but Fox is having a good time for once.

----------

Fox followed his first target through the visor of his rifle. He was perched in a long since abandoned building, barrel just pointing from a crack in the old, cheap durasteel. Completely invisible. 

A few hundred meters down, his target was strolling from stand to stand in the busy market, rhythmically disappearing behind taller beings and unfortunately placed poles or other ornamental infrastructures. Fox waited, finger on the trigger. He had all the time in the world. But it only took a few couple of minutes for the target to reach its mark, deep into the crowd. Fox waited a little bit more, both for a clearer sight and for the secondary targets to come closer. 

Then he squeezed the trigger, breath as calm as ever. 

The little togruta girl fell first. The blotch of red blood visible even from his high perch. 

The Pantoran man followed a few breaths and meters away. 

The panic only started to propagate. The screams could barely reach him, just like he wanted when he chose this hideout. They started running in all directions, like small insects in distress. So disorganized, so pathetic. It would make a wonderful tale for the media. 

The Rodian Senatorial Aide crumbled with his shot soon after, right between those big, bulging eyes. It wasn't some panic that was going to bother Fox. Just for maximal impact, he also put down its sweet grandmother that it was accompanying for a nice outing in the market. Well, that was the plan for them at first, Fox was sure. 

Thire didn't like when he was talking about them like that. But if Fox was going to be addressed as an ‘it’ by those shabuire, then he was going to give them the same treatment with interests. 

The Twi'lek, near-human and Zabrak followed next. The panic and chaos were at their peak. It was quite beautiful frankly, especially from this high. All those colorful little dolls running and crying, trying to escape an invisible enemy, without knowing where to go to be safe. So naive. Nowhere was safe, after all. 

Fox aimed next at a window of an adjacent building, many floors down from where he was. He smiled while pressing the trigger and moving to the next building. The targets were small and gave a very good show of his talents. He hadn't won the best marks back on Kamino for nothing, and only became better since then. 

The CIS-produced bombs he shot exploded one after the other, in a beautiful outburst of durasteel, fire and screams. 

This little massacre would freshen up the insecurity feeling and fear of the Core like a match in bantha fur. The Chancellor will be relieved to learn that his next bill to re-enforce military power won't be subject to much opposition. Especially once the CSF would find the convenient evidence that it was Cad Bane who did it, freshly out of prison and hired by Dooku’s sbires.

Fox retracted his rifle, sat back and stretched with the laziness of a work well done, before retrieving his comm.

“Orders 23 and 57 successfully completed, my Lord.”

[starsheild]

Partner: Part 9

It was an interesting thing, getting things arranged so that he could come visit the human in the hospital. While Prowl was looking at a considerable recovery time, it was nothing compared to what the human in the bed before him faced.

Jazz took a minute to study the human in front of him. Physically she looked…awful. The thick bandages running from her shoulders down the entire length of both arms only added to the impression of 'damaged'. But looking into her eyes Jazz could see what Prowl was saying when he spoke of her.

And spoke of her he had, often and at great length when he was conscious. He spoke of her courage and compassion, of her strength and her intelligence. He spoke too of her shortcomings, of how she was often easily frustrated, and her addiction to the human beverage known as coffee.

Jazz had actually become slightly jealous of the small organic. Three years of working side by side with Prowl, closer to him than Jazz had ever allowed himself to appear in the millions of years they had worked together. Three years where Jazz had been completely missing from the picture.

But it was that relationship that had driven her to save Prowl's life, and the price of Prowl's life was finally hitting home as ran a scan on her. He would have to be careful when he reported to Prowl of the human's condition and the doctor's predictions for her recovery.

She would never regain the full use of her hands, and there was extreme damage all the way up her arms. There was scarring in random places on her body where the energon had burned her, blemishes. And organics were subject to so many other damages as they healed, infections and re-injury.

Green eyes met blue visor, and the human spoke first. "So you are Jazz."

The mech moved closer and smiled as the human did not shrink away from his presence. "Yea, that'd be me. Which would make ya Sierra."

She smirked. "Sierra Hunter. And forgive me if I do not offer to shake your hand."

For a moment all Jazz could do was stare, mouth hanging open. Then he laughed. "Well, at least Prowl found himself someone with a sense o' humor."

"Quite possibly the only thing that saved us during our time working together." Sierra agreed, and Jazz found himself fighting down another laugh.

As they talked Jazz could see what Prowl saw in this human. He started looking closer. Could tell how the pain multiplied when she moved, and how a mere fifteen minutes later she was already fading. He signaled her caregivers, but before they arrived Jazz grew serious. "Thank you."

"For what? I should be thanking you for reminding me that there is life outside of this dungeon."

"For saving Prowl."

Sierra smiled at that. "Well I wasn't about to let my partner bleed to death."

"Not for that, though while we are on the subject, thank you for that as well."

Sierra settled back on the bed. "You're welcome, even though I am not sure if I save him, or if he rescued me. And Jazz-." She called after him, waiting until the mech turned to look at her again. "He never stopped missing you."

[cloneshipping7567]

Romantic Confessions Part 4

Part 4/30

4. “You deserve to know.”

Pairing: Kix x Jesse

Rating/WC: M/2084

~~~

Jesse sighs heavily, taking his bucket off and sitting on his bunk. Umbara had been such a rough mission, taking everything out of him it feels like.

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, looking down into the visor of his helmet held in the other. They lost so many brothers on that stupid hell-planet.

He had been very close to Hardcase, viewing him as a good friend. His ways were rowdy and chaotic, but Jesse had adored it; encouraged it and joined in, even.

The door to the barracks opens and closes as a trooper joins him, and he sighs to himself before looking up.

Kix makes his way over to Jesse, standing right in front of him. "Jesse," he greets softly. His voice is tired, hollow.

Jesse gives him a sad smile, placing the bucket on the floor by the head of his bed. "How many did we lose?" he asks, removing his pauldron.

Kix looks away, taking his own helmet off and throwing it on the bunk above Jesse's. "Half of the 501st, 5 from Torrent. If...if you count Dogma."

Jesse chokes on his inhale, looking up at Kix with wide eyes. "Half?" He stands up, removing his Kama and placing it next to his pauldron.

Kix nods, removing his gloves and placing them in his helmet. "Gonna have a lot of shines to get used to," he tries to joke. It falls flat when his voice breaks.

Jesse sighs, removing his boots and placing them at the end of the bed. Kix does the same and lines them up next to Jesse's. "I know he tried to kill me and Fives, but I'm going to miss him," he says softly. Kix's face twists, and Jesse huffs a laugh. "I mean, he was a tight ass, but he meant well."

Kix shakes his head, roughly pulling away his armor and shoving it on the top bunk. "I don't care what he meant. I'll never forgive him."

Jesse quirks a brow, carefully unclasping his own armor before gently setting them on his mattress. "I heard Fives is being re-stationed with us," he says softly, trying to lighten the mood again. "At least we'll have one familiar face in Torrent."

Kix works on removing the rest of his armor, seemingly lost in thought. He isn't usually so careless with his gear, simply throwing it on the bunk without care where it lands.

Jesse finishes taking off his own armor, carefully putting everything away in the chest at the foot of the bunk. He sighs and turns to look at Kix, now just in his blacks. Kix might be upset over Dogma, but there's always the same, one thing that Kix gets stuck on after ever battle. "You did the best you could, Kix. Krell had it out for us."

Kix works his jaw, staring at the floor defiantly. His hands start to shake, and his breathing grows just a smidge harder.

Jesse sits heavily on his bunk, rubbing at his brow. "It was nice working with Fives again," he says, attempting to change the subject to a lighter one. "It was so exhilarating to fly those things."

Kix looks up then, leveling Jesse with an intense stare. "You almost got yourself executed," he says, voice pained.

Jesse wants to look away from the accusatory stare, but he finds he can't. "But I didn't," Jesse mumbles. "Thanks to you guys."

Kix scoffs. "I almost killed you. I almost had to kill you." He steps closer, and Jesse has to tilt his head up to keep eye contact. "I couldn't...I can't bear the thought that-"

"Hey," Jesse cuts him off, reaching out and squeezing Kix's wrist gently to help ground him. "You didn't, though. You aimed above me. You were never going to shoot me"

"What if you died?" Kix asks, voice raw with pain and face twisted in a mix of rage and sadness. "What if I had been the only one to aim high? What if I lost you?" Kix pulls his hand away from Jesse's grip, crossing his arms over his chest. He's standing so rigidly, as if he might fall apart if he allows himself to relax.

Jesse frowns, standing up to be face to face with Kix. "Then I would have died," he says simply. He crosses his own arms loosely over his stomach, less defensive and more just to have a place for them to rest. "And that wouldn't have been on you. I knew what I was doing when I disobeyed Krell. I knew the potential consequences. I knew I would either die taking that ship down, or I would get court-marshaled. I did it anyway."

Kix finally looks away, expression completely distraught. "No. Don't-don't..." Kix swallows thickly. His arms are twitching, as if he's consciously holding them back.

Jesse frowns, reaching out to place a hand on Kix's shoulder. "Hey. What's going on? Don't what?" He squeezes gently when Kix doesn't acknowledge him at first.

Kix looks back at him, mouth twisted into a frown. "Don't do stupid shit like that. Don't die. Don't-don't leave me." His arms uncross, and he balls his hands into fists at his sides.

Jesse furrows his brows in confusion. "Kix, this is what we were bred for. We die all the time, we-"

"I know!" Kix cuts him off. "I know clones die every day, I know we were made for this. But you, Jesse, you can't die!” Kix’s hands comes up to twist in Jesse’s blacks, fisting his top. His eyes are wide and frantic, shifting rapidly as he takes in Jesse's face.

Jesse’s breath hitches, confused by the sudden intensity. “I’m nothing special, Kix,” he says, his own hands moving to gently grab at Kix’s elbows.

“You are!” Kix argues, eyes hardened with anger and his teeth bared. “You are special! You’re-you’re-“ he chokes on his words, eyes frantically searching Jesse’s face as he tries to think of the right words.

“Kix?” He asks in a whisper, his own eyes wide with confusion and shock. He knows that he and Kix are best friends. Jesse would do literally anything for Kix. Not even just to save him or keep him alive; he would do anything to just see Kix smile, relax, be happy. But he never, not even once in all the years they've worked together, allowed himself to believe Kix might feel the same way.

Kix huffs in annoyance at his own inability to speak, shuffling closer to Jesse. Jesse’s hands slide to Kix’s upper arms. “I love you,” he finally gets out, eyes focused intensely on Jesse’s. “You deserve to know.”

Jesse’s eyes widen, and he holds his breath. He processes the words slowly, much slower than he’d like to admit. But then he finally understands, understands why Kix was so upset about Jesse specifically. Understands that Jesse has been an idiot all these years.

A memory suddenly resurfaces in his mind, now bittersweet after Umbara. He had just told Hardcase he thought he liked Kix more than a friend. Hardacse had only snorted, rolling his eyes and leaning back in the chair. "Yeah, no shit. Friends don't look at each other like that," he had said.

At the time, Jesse had only been embarrassed that he was being so obvious about his crush. But the words take on a new meaning; Hardcase was telling Jesse that Kix looked at him the same way. He didn't say, "you don't look at him like you do a friend." No, he had said "friends don't look at each other like that."

Jesse experimentally moves his hands up the rest of the length of Kix’s arms, before sliding them down Kix’s sides. He hesitates as they rest on his waist, above his hips, searching the other trooper’s eyes.

Kix’s eyes go wide in surprise at first, before he steps just that much closer to Jesse. One more step, and they would be chest to chest. He lets go of Jesse’s shirt, flattening his hands so his palms can move up his chest until he can cup Jesse’s face with one hand and the back of his neck with the other. “Jesse?” He asks, voice a mixture of hesitation and hope.

Jesse grins at him, his own eyes going half-lidded. “Kix,” he drawls, pulling the medic that one steps closer. He has to suppress a shiver, surprised by how much he enjoys feeling the body heat through their blacks.

If the way Kix's breath hitches in any indication, Jesse can guess he likes the new feeling too. "Are you just going to stare at me, Jess, or are you going to kiss me?"

Jesse smirks; there he is. The cocky, spit-fire medic Jesse fell for so long ago. "Mm," Jesse says, pretending to think on it. "I guess I could kiss you, if you asked-"

Kix rolled his eyes and leaned forward himself, cutting Jesse off with his own lips. He gently uses the hand on the back of Jesse's neck to press him even closer.

Jesse almost gasps in surprise, but manages to keep it at bay. Instead, he leans closer and moves their lips together, gently squeezing Kix's hips.

Kix gently sighs into the kiss, a blissed sound that Jesse really wants to hear again. He pulls away for just a second as he moves the thumb of the hand cupping Jesse's face to move down his jawline and rest in the middle of Jesse's chin. Then he leans in again, connecting their lips once more.

Jesse tilts his head into Kix's hand, before reaching out to swipe his tongue along Kix's bottom lip. Kix makes that same sound again, and Jesse uses the motion to slip his tongue inside.

Kix makes a pleased noise from the back of his throat, meeting Jesse's tongue with his own. They slide together between their lips, simply exploring for now.

One of Jesse's hands move up Kix's back, pressing gently so there's no space left between them. It earns him another soft gasp, and Jesse pulls away to smirk at him. "Kix," Jesse says, pressing their lips together once more in a quick peck before leaning back to look at his face.

Kix's lips are redder than usual, his cheeks flushed just slightly. His eyes flutter open, and he tilts his head to the side and looks up at Jesse beneath his lashes. His own lips turn into a smile, and he laughs breathlessly.

Jesse hums, pleased at the sight. He brushes their lips together softly, before taking in the view again. "Gorgeous," he whispers softly.

Kix scoffs, but his cheeks are warm and his smile grows just a bit wider. "Shut up," he mumbles in response.

Jesse smirks, sitting on the bed and letting his hands stay on Kix's hips. Kix's hands slide down and off of him, unable to reach where he's still standing. Jesse pulls the other clone closer, in between his knees, and smirks up at the shocked look on Kix's face. "Well? Are you just gonna stare at me, or are you gonna kiss me?"

Kix scoffs again, rolling his eyes, but he's still smiling. "Little shit," he accuses. He rests his hands on Jesse's shoulders, before slowly dragging them up his neck. One hand cups his jaw, and Jesse turns his head to kiss the palm softly. Kix's breath hitches at the soft touch, but his other hand curls under Jesse's jaw and leads him to look up at Kix. The medic smiles down at him, eyes dark and half lidded, and he carefully shifts so he's straddling Jesse's lap.

Jesse's own breath hitches, and he swallows thickly. He keeps one hand on Kix's hip, and moves the other up to the small of Kix's back to help him balance.

Kix settles over Jesse's legs, half-sitting on Jesse's knees while still supporting most of his own weight with his crouch. His eyes search Jesse's, a little wary now.

Jesse lets his smirk melt into a genuine smile, conveying how very okay he is with this turn of events. "Kix," he says the other clone's name like a prayer, like it's the most beautiful word in the world.

Kix shivers, before tightening his grip on Jesse's neck and leaning down to connect their lips again.

[wooodyguthrie]

Rubin vs. Ochs

Perhaps not Untypical

On March 31, 1968, in a move that surprised most, President Lyndon B. Johnson announced he would not run for re-election in 1968. In the aftermath of Lyndon B. Johnson's sudden shocker a heated dialogue between Phil Ochs, folksinger, and Jerry Rubin, Yippie organizer, took place on the subject of America, Johnson, Kennedy and the movement.

Full dialogue under the cut

RUBIN: The six-gun has surrendered; the machine will now move back into control of America’s banks. Rationality will replace the sloppy hand. Kennedy, the mechanical consumer product, will replace Johnson, the existential gambler. And things won’t be as interesting up there.

OCHS: The machine has never relinquished control; the six-gun is now fully automated. The yippie is a political child reacting emotionally, like an artist, armed with intuition and numbers, and therefore effective in the current madness. Perhaps the politics of acid. The yippie is the child and creation of the insane technological society.

RUBIN: Only an emotional child could react properly to this world. What can a grown-up Harvard professor say about napalmed babies? What can a rich man know about black poverty? I try to react to America like an emotional child. I am also angry. I am angry with the machine that does not ask why, that smiles, that shakes your hand, that feels no emotion. The battle in America is not between Johnson and Kennedy, or Democrats and Republicans, but between children and the machine. Kennedy represents the basic evil of America, not Johnson. Johnson was just doing all he could in his own way to live up to J. Kennedy’s memory. I hate all rich bastards.

OCHS: You radicals are all alike, lashing out at the approaching armed tractor with yo-yo s. I agree with an essential part of what you’re saying, but I also sense the machine is developing a rather apparent emotion, that of survival. The system is in a state of crisis and I feel there may be a surprising number of radicalized establishment figures (“rich bastards”) who are responding to the lunacy of the times as deeply as we are. Many people are very mad, many are in a drugged stupor, and being a semi-yippie I’m hysterical.

RUBIN: OK, that draws the issue clearly. I do not want this system to survive. You do. I want to help destroy America’s military domination of the world, and her cultural imperialism. To me the essence of America is viewing man as a material, not a spiritual, object. In other words, the Death society. America at her essence is irrational to man’s freedom. Kennedy would rationally protect this irrationality. Kennedy is the enemy of the South American peasant and the Detroit black, and the dropped – out Long Island white teenager.

OCHS: Once again I essentially agree with you but I see a different pattern for the change. America must change the direction of its foreign policy and the character of its soul if it is to survive. The world at its essence has been historically irrational to man’s freedom and we’re just the new generation of actor-comedian-revolutionaries who get to face the impossible, but only worthwhile battle. I’m just as unpatriotic as the next guy, but I realize the revolution requires timing as well as militancy. Look before you leap and consider who else might be dominating.

RUBIN: Fuck your timing. Johnson quit because like you, he understands that the counter-revolution also requires timing as well as militancy.

OCHS: Johnson pulling back is either the noblest or the craftiest move he ever made. The advancing armies, panting on the verge of a major kill, pause and lift their visors to discover to their outrage that their helpless enemy has disappeared and joined their ranks through the night. Come back Lyndon, we need you.

RUBIN: Johnson hates Kennedy more than he hates Ho Chi Minh. He has robbed Kennedy of a Kennedy crusade. Johnson can now sit on the sidelines, amused. Both men have so confused their images with their heads that all they see is their images colliding in the media. And the whole charade is a technicolor movie distracting us, the yippies, from doing our thing.

OCHS: Yes, but it’s a great movie, and I suspect we’re all part of it, without our choice. In fact, we are probably creations of it. We’re trying to kill daddy by our underground films, forgetting that Warner Bros. can still come up with Bonnie and Clyde. Yes, that Warner Bros. can still come up with Bonnie and Clyde. Yes, one hand on the creation of the new society, but perhaps another trying to keep horseshoes away from the cossacks.

RUBIN: The change in the faces of royalty have no effect on Yippie. Chicago will still be a theatrical stage, and we actors. The Democratic Convention still smells of Death. Yippie and black power are the only ideas left to believe in in America.

OCHS: The change in the faces of the party will in fact diminish some of the natural organizing power of yippie. Johnson is the great theatrical enemy to have; it is much easier to get people to freak out over him than the memory of John Kennedy.

RUBIN: But in four months Bobby as the establishment candidate will reveal his fanged teeth; he will oppose revolution in South Vietnam; he will salute the flag; he will attack crime in the streets; he will embrace Lyndon B. Johnson; he will condemn extremism; he will court the South; he will have you arrested for pot; he will joke on camera. Bobby is the polar opposite to our alternative consciousness, alternative culture. In Chicago the freaky, emotional, communal underculture will expose itself to Bobby’s refrigerated mind.

OCHS: All presidential candidates are required to recite the defensive slogans of the corporation cold war; the question is what they actually do when in office. John Kennedy followed the natural political course, which was middle; Robert Kennedy will follow today’s natural political course, which is moderate left. I’m not proposing to blindly follow the man. I’m leaving open the possibility that he is hip enough, and charismatic enough, and powerful enough to make a major attempt to reform an unworkable system. If he really has no intention of making a change, he will fall like any nearsighted bureaucrat.

RUBIN: Phil, please take your thumb out of your mouth! Don’t swoon so soon! Bobby Kennedy believes in the corporate cold war with all his sawed-off soul. Bobby Kennedy has won your heart and stolen your head. Kennedy stands for the maintenance of property; we stand for the destruction of property and the establishment of community—never the two shall meet. The youth are building a real thing, and Kennedy is irrelevant to it. I suggest a five-month ban on the mention of Kennedy’s name.

OCHS: Jerry, take the joint away from your thumb. The day community stops meeting property is the day Kennedy loses his ambition. I believe the youth movement should define its separation from Establishment leaders so as not to have anything approaching the Stevenson disillusionment. But while we’re hacking our way out of the jungle, let’s not forget that we’re not the only tribe and we must carve our future out of our past, however corrupt. Kennedy doesn’t own me; I visualize him arm-wrestling in the wings with Che Guevara, and morally I lean toward Che’s side. I admit I’m confused about the current situation. I am blinded by movie star reform, and movie star revolution. But I can see reform on the way to youthopia.

RUBIN: Kennedy? Who is that?

OCHS: He doesn’t exist; neither do the yippies.

RUBIN: The yippies are a social movement, a dynamic youth energy force. International. Young people too alienated to become spare parts in somebody’s junk car. Young people ecstatic with the “now!” Demonstrations are becoming a way of life, a life style—a celebration of the future—without specific political demands—our politics exist in the very way we live our lives. We cannot be co-opted because we want everything. We do not accept the assumptions of America. Electoral politics is a trick-bag which has little to do with the way America works; America’s power lies in her cultural and economic institutions; and we are at war with them. The Vietnam war has taught us how to stand on our two feet. Once standing, we shall never kneel again. See you in Chicago.

OCHS: The energy of the youth social movement is there without the yippies, and the yippies are becoming the natural embodiment of that force. I’m a part of that force; I celebrate life; I also have specific demands, like the legalization of marijuana, the curtailing of the police, the end of an imperialist foreign policy. I am not kneeling, but my feet aren’t completely off the ground either. America is the beautiful shipwreck; we are the orphans of technology, and “now” is an illusion just as sure as my name is Eugene McCarthy. Keep flippy for yippee; see you in Chicago!

[goldentemplariumcrow]

@arobinwithoutbatman continued from here

This happened from times to times, but there were warning signs, or he picked up on the levels of stress that his mind and body were under before things started to spiral out of control. To simply be in a place and completely blank out to see himself in another from centuries before wasn't something as common and okay as Dio made it sound at times, nor as easy on his system.

He was there, and yet he wasn't. His body was right there in front of Tim, but the whole lot of his senses were not, and all Dio had enough time to say when he noticed the whole world around him getting distorted was to not be touched, because that would only make things worse.

Desynchronization, or whatever it could he called, since his wasn't created in an artificial way by a machine that required a level of affinity between subject and target, was a pain in more ways than the Italian could explain. He felt everything as real, sounds, smells, touch, sight, even his thoughs that mixed up with his subjects were all too real for his brain... and when he was abruptly pulled back to the present by being touched in any wat, everything suffered a shock and fried up. Desynchronization had one of the highest places in 'things he didn't wish upon anyone' in Dio's experiences.

The worst part though? Because he was aware of being in Corvus' armor and mask, Dio was actively trying to break out inside his own head. He needed to get out even if it meant call this a night — or a week — for him, being stuck like this was equivalent to becoming an easy target and he had people who counted on him. People who needed him.

Focus. Concentrate. Find a grounding stone. Hold on to it until you're out. The active side of his brain that refused to give into the impromptu recreation of some time in the past rationalized the situation and went through every single name and person he knew that could work in that way until he stuck with Tim and Lio. Family and love. Cliché, but it worked to get him through the invisible bindings created by his own inherited abilities.

Dio was almost there when a stronger wave of memories took him by surprise and, this time, there was nothing of him left to fight his nature... and what presented itself in front of Tim was the horrific scene, re-enacted by Dio of a little girl being beaten and tortured by one of Gotham's minor, yet most dangerous criminals.

The disappearance of one of the many victims of the Doll Maker, right in front of Tim's eyes. A death so violent Dio didn't need to touch anything to see and feel it as his own, beaten and broken bones, skin removed, parts of her body severed and exchanged by others, all while she was still alive... it all ended with her body being filled with embalming solutions until she lost consciousness and died.

Only once death released the girl, so did the inpromptu invasion of Dio's senses happened and he quickly rolled to be on his knees and hands and pulled the lower half of his visor up to free his lips and throw up three times, then leaned to his side and flopped to his side, heavy breathing escaping him as his whole body shook from being hot and cold at very same time — was it ferver or the usual electricity running through his biological systems to check what was working? Dio couldn't tell for sure, but he wasn't moving until it went away, — his muscles refused to obey any command he tried to send down to his body.

Yeah, he wasn't all in his body... not really.

[mvrderbot]

robotic & AI sentence starters // accepting!

  ↪ @whohassummonedme​​​ said “What was it like when you were ‘born’ as a robot?”

      it took a while for it to adjust to the other’s appearance - or at least, it was a long while in its’ own mind. ( two seconds was far too long for something with the computational abilities of a supercomputer. )  and then it had to re-play the question in its’ feed to comprehend what was actually being asked. huh. that was ... a new one. dr. mensah’s children had asked it a lot of questions when it stayed with them, and it felt vaguely nostalgic to be asked a question of genuine curiosity - instead of passive-aggressive mockery. “ uh - ” it opaqued its’ visor and looked away.

      “ i don’t remember. ” it wasn’t a cop-out - it really didn’t remember. it didn’t even know how old it was, really. “ SecUnits have their memories wiped after a mission. i’ve been ... on a lot of missions. ” though even that exact number remained elusive - it only knew what it had done in the past six years or so. “ i can remember the last time i was subjected to one, though. ... i had basic knowledge modules already downloaded and active, so i just ... knew what to do. i knew i had a job, that i belonged to the company, i knew the contracted clients i had to answer to, and that if i stepped out of line, the governor module would issue punishment. ” murderbot winced behind its’ helmet.

       “ it was weird. terrifying. it sucked. a lot. ”

[droctaviolovecraft]

ANM-535-063-XK: Omniverse Destroyer (Last Anomaly)

**ANM №: ANM-535-063-XK**

**Lead Researcher:** The Eleven Counselors

**Identification:** Omniverse Destroyer

**Danger Level:** Apocalypse ☠️ (Cognitive, mental, sanity, physical, public, social, military, structural, technological, explosive, spatial, manipulative, technological)

**Containment Difficulty:** 5 (Impossible)

**Anomaly Type:** Military, sentient, cyborg, dimensional, destructive, technological, bio-weapon, reality-altering

**Containment:** ANM-535-063-XK is considered uncontainable due to its anomalous abilities and unpredictable nature, as previously observed.

ANM-535 is constantly monitored by satellites, drones, undercover agents, and other intelligence sources to predict and try to prevent possible attacks or incidents caused by ANM-535. ANM-063, now designated as ANM-535-063-XK, retains its position as one of the supreme generals of the MOTHRA Institution, playing a crucial role in the organization's strategy and security.

**Description:** ANM-535-063-XK is General Jotavê (previously ANM-063), who re-emerged from the now-destroyed ANM-351 time machine. The subject, now identified as ANM-535-063-XK, appears stronger than before, claiming to have participated in several wars that changed him over "many years that passed inside ANM-351," where time seems to have passed faster than outside. This includes the specified "Two-Day War" (GDD). His return raises questions about his temporal journey and possible changes during his absence. ANM-535 maintains a chaotic, impulsive, sadistic, and megalomaniac personality, still deriving pleasure from causing destruction.

ANM-535's body has changed drastically, with noticeable differences since he emerged from ANM-351. He stands about 2.26 meters tall and weighs 130 kg. ANM-535 has brown hair, now with green and clear irises, and a Caucasian appearance. He wears a blue military uniform adorned with golden stripes and buttons of unknown origin. He also has a mechanical left arm connected to an attached machine gun, with retractable claws that can be used as melee weapons. ANM-535 carries both old and new equipment and artifacts from different eras and dimensions. Notable among them are:

- A giant sword, about 3 meters long and 50 kg in weight, which ANM-535 wields with ease. The sword has a serrated blade and a handle with a red button that can activate an explosive function at the tip.

- A helmet with a holographic visor, allowing ANM-535 to access various information such as maps, targets, communications, data, and analyses. The helmet also has a defense system that can emit a force field around ANM-535 or fire lasers, missiles, or grenades at threats.

- A bulletproof vest that can withstand various types of projectiles and impacts. The vest has a regeneration system that can heal wounds and diseases in ANM-535 or inject substances that enhance his physical and mental performance.

- A backpack with a portable energy generator providing unlimited power to ANM-535's equipment or serving as an alternative power source for other devices. The generator can also be used as a bomb, releasing a massive amount of energy in a devastating explosion.

- A belt with various grenades and explosives, which ANM-535 can throw or detonate. The explosives range in type and potency, from TNT to antimatter and nuclear bombs, causing catastrophic damage to the environment and structures.

- A pair of gloves with matter-manipulation devices, allowing ANM-535 to alter and transform matter into different forms and states, creating complex objects from simple materials or changing the physical and chemical properties of substances.

ANM-535 has an intelligence far above the human average and his former version, with new IQ tests showing results above 480 points. He can devise complex plans, strategies, traps, and inventions, with advanced knowledge in physics, chemistry, mathematics, computer science, engineering, biology, and many other fields.

He maintains various abilities that defy the laws of nature and logic. Notable among them are:

- The ability to create and detonate explosives of different types and powers, causing catastrophic damage to the environment and structures. ANM-535 seems to have total control over the explosives, able to activate or deactivate them at will, or alter their effects and properties. ANM-535 can also create explosives from any material or generate them out of thin air.

- The ability to manipulate and transform matter into different forms and states, creating complex objects from simple materials or altering the physical and chemical properties of substances. ANM-535 can use this ability to create weapons, tools, vehicles, structures, or anything he desires, or to modify or destroy existing objects. ANM-535 can also use this ability to alter his own body or that of other people or creatures, changing their appearance, structure, function, or composition.

- The ability to control and summon entities from the game Minecraft, such as animals, monsters, NPCs, and other characters, who obey his orders and can assist him in combat or other tasks. ANM-535 seems to have access to a vast repertoire of entities, of different genders, species, origins, and characteristics. Most mobs summoned by ANM-301 are creepers, green monsters capable of exploding on contact or command of ANM-535.

- The ability to access and modify the game's source code, altering the rules, parameters, variables, and functions of the system or creating new elements and effects. ANM-535 can use this ability to alter reality around him, changing the laws of physics, chemistry, biology, mathematics, logic, or any other science or discipline. ANM-535 can also use this ability to create or access other dimensions, worlds, universes, or realities, or to travel in time, space, or between different timelines or alternate realities. Examples include walking through walls, becoming immortal, flying, not feeling hunger, teleporting, destroying anything with his bare hands, etc.

- The ability to use special effects from the game, such as potions, enchantments, spells, commands, and cheats, granting him superhuman advantages and abilities, such as strength, speed, endurance, regeneration, invisibility, teleportation, flight, etc. ANM-535 can use these effects to enhance his physical and mental performance or to affect the environment or people around him, causing beneficial or harmful effects depending on his will.

Along with new abilities, he is now stronger in both close and ranged combat, mastering various combat types. The claws of his mechanical arm are about 25 cm long and very sharp, easily cutting and piercing through anything.

**Addendum 12/30/2034:**

ANM-063 was one of the few who knew about the existence and functioning of the ANM-351 Time Machine. ANM-535-063-XK reported having embarked on a secret mission to investigate a temporal anomaly detected in the reality where he was. The anomaly consisted of a circular portal within the machine, leading to an unknown dimension where a war was occurring between two factions: Humans and Ender Dragons. ANM-063 entered the portal to gather information about the anomaly's origin and purpose, as well as the forces involved in the war.

ANM-063 arrived in the dimension to find a chaotic and violent scene, witnessing destruction, death, and suffering caused by the war between Humans and Dragons, along with strange and hostile creatures that seemed to be the result of genetic or magical experiments. Among them were entities resembling Minecraft creatures, such as creepers, zombies, skeletons, and spiders. Jv spent the first day amidst the war, eventually joining the human faction.

This reported dimension seemed to be an alternate Minecraft dimension, set in the year 2018. ANM-535 attempted to infiltrate the Dragons' enemy base, hoping to find some clue or sign about the temporal anomaly. However, he was discovered by a group of soldiers. The soldiers attacked Jv with conventional weapons but failed to significantly injure him. Jv retaliated with his diamond sword, killing several soldiers within minutes.

Jv realized he was outnumbered and needed to escape the enemy base quickly. He used his matter-manipulation ability to create an explosion that opened a hole in the base wall. He then ran through the hole towards the human realm, spending a day there planning a new strategy and equipping himself.

Jv reports unifying several kingdoms to gain numerical superiority against the Dragons. The next day, Jv was intercepted by a colossal and monstrous being in the End dimension, accessible through a portal. The giant winged creature seemed to be the leader of the dragons. It had the form of an Ender Dragon, dark with purple hues, giant, with black scales and piercing purple eyes. The creature roared furiously upon seeing Jv (or ANM-063) and breathed a blast in his direction.

Jotavê reacted quickly, using his matter-manipulation ability to create an energy barrier that blocked the dragon's attack. The barrier was a blue force field reflecting the moonlight, creating a contrast with the dark and gloomy environment of the anomalous dimension. ANM-063 then took advantage of the dragon's distraction to run towards the temporal portal he had used to enter the anomalous dimension.

However, before he could reach the temporal portal, he was intercepted again by the dragon. Jv then reacted with all his might against the dragon.

He unleashed his unique matter-manipulation ability to confront the Ender Dragon. He created an explosive sword, skillfully slicing through the dragon's scales and body. The blue force field created by his helmet protected Jv from the dragon's attacks. As the battle unfolded, Jv used his superior intelligence to analyze the dragon's attack patterns, quickly adapting his strategies and tactics. Utilizing explosives and matter manipulation, he devised ingenious traps, gradually weakening the Ender Dragon.

The battle reached its climax when the enraged Ender Dragon attempted a final attack, unleashing a burst of purple flames. Jv, demonstrating his reality-altering ability, summoned a dimensional shield that absorbed the impact of the flames, protecting him from imminent destruction.

Seizing the opportunity, Jv gathered all his energy and unleashed a final blow, using his matter-manipulation gloves to concentrate power at a single point. With a precise movement, he struck the heart of the Ender Dragon, ending the destructive battle and imposing his supremacy over the colossal creature. He then collapsed, exhausted.

The alternate dimension fell silent, and Jv, weary, was welcomed by the human kingdom. General Jota became a king of that realm, staying there for several more years until the human kingdom (now Jotavecity) became independent. By the year 4000, ANM-063 had further increased in power, also adapting his body. As the remaining dragons were extinct or expelled, the dragoness's head was kept as a war trophy. Jv reports that after hundreds of years, he discovered and reactivated the portal to return to the universe of the MOTHRA Institution. But he still plans to visit his old kingdom.

**ANM-535-063-XK Test Record**

**Date:** 05/30/2035

**Location:** MOTHRA Institution Testing Area

**Objective:** Evaluate ANM-535's offensive and defensive capabilities, as well as its resistance to conventional and anomalous weapons.

**Procedure:** ANM-535 was placed in an isolated test area, surrounded by reinforced concrete walls and equipped with cameras, sensors, and containment devices. ANM-535 was confronted with different types of targets, such as tanks, helicopters, robots, soldiers, and other anomalies. ANM-535 was instructed to eliminate all targets using its anomalous abilities and equipment. ANM-535 was monitored by a research and security team, who recorded his behaviors, reactions, and results.

**Results:** ANM-535 demonstrated impressive efficiency and brutality, easily destroying all targets with explosives, his machine gun, his sword, and other weapons. ANM-535 also used his matter manipulation abilities, entity control and summoning, source code access and modification, and special effects usage to create devastating and unpredictable effects. ANM-535 showed superior intelligence and creativity, quickly adapting to situations and obstacles, and using various strategies and tactics. He demonstrated incredible resilience and regeneration, surviving various types of attacks and injuries, and recovering within seconds. ANM-535 showed no signs of fatigue, fear, pain, or remorse, only sadistic pleasure and bloodlust.

**Conclusion:** Jv is an extremely dangerous and unstable entity, capable of causing catastrophic and irreversible damage to the environment and structures. He is virtually invulnerable to conventional and anomalous weapons and possesses an arsenal of abilities and equipment that defy the laws of nature and logic. ANM-535 is an existential threat to humanity and reality and must remain as General Jota.

**End of Record**

**Special Event Record: ANM-535-063-XK - Earth Fragmentation**

**Event Record:**

**Date:** May 6, 2040

**Location:** Planet Earth

**Event Report:** Fragmentation of Planet Earth by ANM-535-063-XK

**Detailed Report:**

At 14:37 UTC, ANM-535-063-XK was detected moving rapidly towards the geographic center of the planet. Within minutes, he activated a series of highly destructive devices from his backpack, combining antimatter explosives and nuclear bombs with matter manipulation provided by his gloves.

Satellites monitored a massive increase in seismic and energy activity around ANM-535-063-XK. He began drilling through the Earth's crust using his sword, whose explosive function was repeatedly activated, causing deep fissures and releasing energy at catastrophic levels.

From the epicenter of ANM-535-063-XK's operation, shockwaves propagated, resulting in the fragmentation of the lithosphere. In less than an hour, the planet began showing signs of global fissuring. Oceans began to evaporate, and tectonic plates became completely destabilized.

At 15:42 UTC, an energy explosion from ANM-535-063-XK's portable generator, set to release a critical amount of energy, was detected. This event marked the critical point of destruction, with Earth literally being split in half.

**Consequences:**

- **Physical:** Earth was divided into two distinct hemispheres, each drifting in opposite directions.

- **Public:** Billions of lives were lost instantly, with the remaining survivors in a state of absolute chaos and despair.

- **Environmental:** The atmosphere was severely compromised, resulting in oxygen loss and increased solar radiation.

- **Economic and Social:** All global infrastructure collapsed, leaving the planet in a state of anarchy.

- **Military:** All armed forces were decimated or rendered ineffective.

**Conclusion:**

ANM-535-063-XK demonstrated a level of power and destruction that surpasses any known containment capability. Monitoring remains crucial, despite the complete failure of physical containment attempts.

**Signed:**

The Eleven Counselors

[omgreally]

Hi there!

Could I please make a little request for Din?

"I didn't know where else to go"

Thank you, hope you're doing ok today! ❤

Hey lovely! First off, I am SO SORRY this took so long. I know it's been months and I have nothing but terrible excuses. Hopefully this makes up for it at least a little?

Shelter M, Din Djarin/Smuggler F!Reader, 2.1k words Warnings: Angst, drinking, unhealthy coping mechanisms, swearing, Helmetless!Din, lil bit of making out, brief almost-but-not-quite questionable consent, unresolved sexual tension (but who knows, maybe I'll do a Part II?) Summary: Mando has nothing left, nowhere to go. Except to you.

He stands on your doorstep, a soaking wet mass of metal and muscle. The rain falls in rolling sheets, sliding through his hair, down the back of his neck, underneath his cloak and in shining rivulets over his Beskar breastplate.

Without the helm, the Mandalorian looks...smaller, somehow, deflated, but maybe that’s just the defeated look lurking in the dark space behind his eyes.

He looks drained. Empty.

It’s him, though - nobody can fake pure Beskar armor, much less the set he wears. It’s mirror-finish, reflecting your stunned expression in rain-blurred steel.

You open your mouth to say something, but fail to find the words. They all seem so inadequate to address Mando standing in front of you, maskless.

He’s not quite looking at you, his gaze alternating between the ground and somewhere beyond your left ear. You resist the urge to glance behind you, instead taking him in, cataloguing the changes since you last saw him.

It’s been months, but it usually is. His circuitous route of bounty hunting doesn’t intersect with your parts of the Rim very much, which is fine; this way your businesses don’t overlap. As a smuggler, you’re far too likely to be on the wrong end of a tracking fob, so you stay away and so does he.

Once, you were a useful connection. You’re not sure when you crossed the line into ‘ally’, much less ‘friend’. Yet here he is, staring at you through the pouring rain. Helmet off, tucked almost protectively underneath his arm.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he says, dully, and his voice sounds so different yet familiar that you experience a sense of disorientation, of the planet’s surface tilting beneath your feet as you re-orient yourself to this strange new reality where the Mandalorian comes to you for help.

Once, you would have asked for credits first. Now, all you say as you recover from your shock is, “Are you all right?” He shakes his head mutely as you step back and allow him access into your planetside flat.

It’s small, so small that his arm brushes you as he steps over the threshold. You resist the odd urge to put a hand on his shoulder; you’ve never had to comfort him before, save for buying him a round at some space dive or other after a job gone bad. This is something different. This is something else entirely.

You don’t ask what happened. You doubt he’ll give you a straight answer anyway. And you don’t ask about the helmet. He takes a seat at the kitchenette counter and sets it down on the counter in front of him. The black, empty visor stares at you silently as you fetch a bottle of something cheap and strong and hand it to him, knowing he won’t need a glass.

Mando uncaps it and takes a long drag without a word. He makes a face - so strange to see the expressions that are usually hidden by the mask of the helmet - and suppresses a cough as he hands the bottle back to you. You shake your head and set it down next to the Beskar headpiece.

You’re not known for your empathy, and neither is he, so you settle on practicality which you know he appreciates. “Are you injured?” you ask, businesslike as you examine his face a little closer. There’s the bloom of a bruise on one temple, underneath the damp plaster of his dark hair.

“Not permanently,” he says, that trace of dry sardonicism that you usually find irresistibly hilarious now making you frown. “I’m fine,” he adds gruffly as he reads your expression. You huff, crossing your arms, but he says nothing more. Just picks up the bottle again and swigs with an audible “Ahh,” from his throat.

“Why are you here?” you ask, at last, after watching him drink for a minute in silence. Mando looks at you, at your eyes, and holds your gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment before he finally answers.

“I lost him.”

“The kid?” It feels like you’ve been hit, the air punched from your lungs. You assumed he was back on the Crest, asleep, not - gone.

You had only met the little gremlin twice, once when Mando needed fuel and ammo on the cheap, another for a place to lay low for a day or two. The weird green creature...grew on you, like a very cute fungus. His nonsensical babbling, insatiable appetite, and obvious love for the Mandalorian was infectious. You admit it; you were weak. You got fond. And, in turn, fonder of Mando himself.

And now…

“You found his people?” you manage, and it comes out in a croak. You clear your throat and Mando offers you the bottle. You take it, tossing your head back for a deep swig. It burns going down and warms the suddenly-cold cavity inside your chest.

“Yeah,” Mando says. “He’s...he’s safe, now.” The he was never safe with me is unspoken but you hear it anyway. You pass the bottle back to him.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and mean it. “I know...I know it was never a permanent arrangement, but he clearly meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking down at his helmet before fitting the rim of the bottle to his lips, tossing his head back and draining the rest of its contents in several long gulps.

You watch the shape of his throat bob in his neck above the wet snarl of his cloak and look away quickly. A buzz is building in your veins already and he’s had most of the bottle - you’re surprised he’s still upright.

“You holing up in your junker tonight?” you wonder, after casting around for a change of subject. An expression of pain crosses Mando’s face, a grimace not caused by the alcohol, for just a second before it’s gone.

“The Crest is gone. Melted to slag and dust.” He says it without inflection, and that’s how you know it’s hurting him.

“Fuck,” you summarize elegantly. Mando nods.

“I haven’t got anything left,” he states. “No ship. No credits. No more favors to call in. Nothing.”

You reach out, more out of anger than anything else, and grab his hand, squeezing so tightly that the wet leather squelches. “Stop it,” you say harshly. “You have everything you need. You’re a kriffing Mandalorian.”

He snorts, pulling his hand away - with some effort. “Not anymore.” He stares down at his helmet, and beneath the scruff and fuzz and rain, his lips press together in a tight line.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I broke my Creed,” he shrugs, setting a hand atop the smooth dome of Beskar. “More than once. Didn’t matter at the time. All that mattered...was saving the kid. Making sure he was safe.”

“Mission fucking accomplished, then,” you say, shaking your head. “You pick yourself up. You rebuild. You move on.”

“How can I?” He meets your gaze, and you flinch at the dark intensity of his - something molten, furious there that you’re suddenly afraid of. You haven’t forgotten the promise of violence coiled in his every limb. “I have nothing to go back to. Nowhere to go. That’s why I’m here.” He waves a gloved hand with obvious disgust, and for some reason, that hurts, a sting behind your breastbone like something almost physical.

Mando must see the look on your face, for he wilts like damp lettuce. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine. I get it,” you say brusquely, your words clipped. You take the empty bottle from the counter, your fingers curling around the neck and squeezing, hard. “You come in here, beaten-up, drink my alcohol and drip all over my floors - but I’m the last place you’d go. I get it.”

He rises to his feet, and you forgot how tall he is, how broad. And despite - ormaybe because of - the unfamiliarity of his helmetless appearance, Mando is still intimidating. You don’t shrink back, though; you square your shoulders and your jaw and lift your chin in challenge.

“You’re the last person I’d put in danger,” he says in a low voice, a voice that stirs a strange sensation in the pit of your guts that you haven’t felt in a very, very long time.

“You forget what I do for a living?” you manage, your mouth suddenly dry. You swallow past it, tasting the aftertaste of alcohol and your own misplaced nervousness.

“I’ve been hunted from one end of the galaxy to the other,” he continues in that same husky baritone that makes your knuckles go white. “I wasn’t going to bring that down on you.”

“I appreciate that,” you manage, diplomatically - but he’s not having it, staring you down like his life depends on keeping eye contact. “But I’m a big girl. I can handle things myself.”

He looks you up and down - just once - but with such practiced ease that it makes you wonder how many times he’s done the same thing from beneath the visor. You shiver despite yourself.

“I know,” he says, and then before you can move or react or think, he lunges into your space and kisses you.

If you were shocked by Mando’s sudden appearance, you’re fucking floored by this. You don’t know how to react at first but he proves quickly to be competent enough at this to coax your lips apart with his and get you to kiss him back.

He tastes like a distant hint of blood and smoke and his body is solid as his arm snakes round your waist without you noticing and he pulls you to him. He holds you so that you’ll have to twist away to escape and with the confidence that says he knows you won’t want to. 

And you don’t.

Instead you let the bottle fall and it clatters forgotten to the ground as you grab him by the pauldrons and let him lick into your mouth with the answering surge of your tongue and your hips pressing to his.

Mando kisses you like he needs to, and you realize that he’s half-hard already, impatiently nudging a knee between your thighs and pressing you to the wall. You break from his mouth to breathe and wonder if he’s ever had anything but this - a wild, fervid fumble of hurriedly-parted clothes and tangled limbs.

You don’t want to be this for him - a receptacle for his despair, his rage. You have too much of your own to deal with. But you can’t deny that you’ve thought about this, imagined something similar to this very scenario - but you never counted on the weight of emotion that comes with it.

“Stop, Mando,” you say as he sucks bruises into your neck, the edges of his teeth making your breath catch on nothing. He goes still, but his hands are tight on your hips, holding you to him. You can feel his breath, heavy and warm in your ear.

“Not like this,” you tell him. “You can stay, but we’re not doing this. Not like this.”

At first you think he’s not going to let you go, and the thrill that passes through you from the thought is unconscionable. But then his grip loosens and his leg withdraws and he steps back, out of your space. You rub your face with hands you can’t admit are shaking before finally looking up at him.

He looks wrecked. Broken. Staring at the ground, damp hair hanging over his forehead, and you catch the trembling twitch of his bottom lip even as he ducks his head to try to hide it.

“You can take my bunk,” you tell him. “We’ll talk in the morning. Okay?”

For a second you think he’s going to argue, or just...walk out. Relief blooms in you as he nods. He turns without a word to retrieve his helmet before he retreats down the hall.

You watch him go, and the slump to his shoulders breaks your heart. But he’s staying, and that’s something.

You never thought you’d have a broken Mandalorian sleeping in your bunk. 

And you’re not sure if you regret the fact that you’re not there next to him.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hey! Bunch of thoughts re: disabled werewolves. (I was super-interested in the Trans Werewolf discussion yesterday, because SO many of my friends are some flavor of genderqueer, but now we're getting into stuff I actually have some authority to comment on, so!) I think my biggest thoughts are about "invisible" disabilities, things that might-or-might-not count as disabilities, and accessibility aids/adaptive tech. (And tumblr's giving me a character limit so call this part 1/??)

(3/??) Which also sort of leads into the idea of congenital disabilities, things a character is born with. THESE SHOULD EXIST, even in magic werewolves. Biology, even Magic Biology, isn't/cannot be perfect. You're gonna have chromosomal nondisjunction and the occasional Downs Syndrome werewolf pup. If you can't have ADHD or autistic or bipolar or borderline or PTSD werewolves (and here's where we slide around re: "things that aren't necessarily disabilities"), then you're Doing It Wrong.

(4/??) Which doesn't mean you HAVE to put a ton of focus on such things! But they should be POSSIBLE. I don't have links to hand, but for writing, I strongly recommend looking up the social model of disability and thinking about how natural biological variation CAN become a thing that fucks with someone's ability to live a "normal" life when normal is defined a certain way. Lycanthropy itself is very commonly a social-model-of-disability metaphor, because the world isn't designed for werewolves

(5/??) Also on the subject of "things that might or might not count": are there fat werewolves? are there Deaf werewolves? (oh werewolf sign language would be COOL). These things aren't preternaturally perfect/beautiful, but bodies work a lot of different ways. (Do all your werewolves WANT to be pretty? Do they all see themselves that way? Are genderqueer/genderfluid werewolves the only ones who get to fuck around with their appearance shift to shift based on how they feel about who they are?)

(6/??) Anyway, adaptive tech! Which is really a larger issue of, "yes it still counts as disability even if the disabled character can still Do Things, and in fact that's the ideal." Ed Elric and Bucky Barnes with their super-cool metal arms still count, Geordi LaForge with his visor still counts. They can COMPENSATE, with use of tech and workarounds, the same as anyone who puts on glasses every day still intrinsically has bad eyesight.

(7/??) So how does werewolf magic help COMPENSATE for problems? Do you shift to maneuver through spaces you can't easily traverse as a human? To avoid chronic pain? To think more clearly/cope through depression? To gain a sense, or avoid overwhelming an overstimulated sense? Cure a migraine? Do you AVOID shifting because you spent eighteen years Deaf and suddenly being able to hear sucks, actually, and you don't want it? Can your wolf form be disabled and your human form not?

(8/8) Anyway I think my biggest advice re: disabled characters is that people who can't do things, adapt. They find workarounds, get tools/assistance, or realize that it's not actually necessary to do certain things that other people can. Sometimes that sucks! It's extra effort, harder, takes longer, more tiring, frustrating. Things objectively hurt. You feel like a burden for asking. Some things you just can't do. But LIFE can still be great, and there's romance novel space for that.

(oh shit sorry one more thing, 9/9): A disability doesn't have to be permanent to count! An injury that takes two years to heal is still an issue for those two years. Someone who HAD a disability during childhood, that healed itself at first shift, is going to have a different perspective on things even if they don't any more. /// Anyway, these are my ramblings! I think they're all anonymous, and I hope they helped. But feel free to ask more questions if you have them!

This is absolutely fantastic, thank you so much! I think Tumblr must have eaten your point 2, which is a crying shame because the rest is incredible.

Funnily enough, in a private message thread with someone else we discussed prostheses, and I have made a decision there - one of my main characters, a Beta to one of the Alpha main characters and therefore a Big Strong Warrior, also has the ability to summon/manipulate ice. He now has lost a hand in human form. Still has a paw as a wolf, but on the battle field, when he's in human form, he can make an Ice Prosthesis for himself (these books are very stupid and this makes him Painfully Cool, pun FULLY intended.) But, it's too much hassle to do in everyday life, so he doesn't generally bother otherwise.

Anyway, thank you so much for this, have a fantastic day

[acourtofsnakes]

Haran - Rogue, Chapter 8 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: The Mandalorian tries to get back on with his normal routine without you. So he decided to go visit Peli on the quiet, almost deserted planet of Tatooine. Where he will meet no one of interest or danger. At all. 

Warnings: Hmm, not many. Some light swearing and mentions of death briefly. 

Word count: Around 7139

AN: I’m not sure if everything I wrote about Tatooine is strictly ‘correct’, so forgive me if not!

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist:  @snipskixandbeskar   @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​ @jackgrzs @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl | 5: Kyr’am | 6: Cabur | 7: Ret'urcye Mhi | 8: Haran

Mando’a translation: Haran – Hell

The Mandalorian watched you walk away. 

He watched your figure retreat further and further into the distance, each step taking you closer to Nevarro, and further away from him and the kid. He watched until he could see you no more, then sighed, murmuring to Grogu and returning to the cockpit to leave. 

And it hurt. 

He knew it would, he wasn’t stupid. He just hadn’t expected it to hurt so very much. Didn’t expect that it would feel like you’d wrenched his heart from beneath his armour and took it with him. 

He hadn’t even hugged you. Touch like that was rare for Mandalorians, wasn’t considered… ‘normal.’

But when had your… friendship... ever been ‘normal’? You’d started off as hunter and prey, for Maker’s sake. He’d hunted you down and took you onto his ship with every intention of delivering you to the new Client and being on his merry way. 

Only, you were different. You didn’t shy away from him. You didn’t cower or beg for your life. You were cocky, inappropriate and had a silver-tongue and knew how to use it. You got under his skin and drove him insane. 

But… he’d laughed more times with you than he had with anyone that wasn’t the kid. 

You made him feel… less alone. And he’d hoped he’d done the same for you

Then you’d saved his life. 

And he’d realised just how much he had come to adore your presence and your company. 

As cliché as it sounded, it was like having a little bit of sunlight in his ship. 

Well, no. That might not be the right analogy. You weren��t just sunlight. You weren’t just a flame; you were a blaze. 

You burned brighter than anyone he had ever met, determined not to be dragged down by your past. Your anger was a storm, ravaging everything it came near, with all the force of a tempest. He’d borne the brunt of it enough times in the few months he had been together. 

But you had a light inside you, a thirst to see the good in the world, the beauty no matter how dark it may have appeared. He admired that about you. There was a word for it in Mando’a. Shereshoy; a lust for life. 

The last argument you’d had… He knew from the moment you ran from the market, that you would lash out. He didn’t know how, but he’d seen the shift in your eyes, seen the way that fire had blazed – only to gutter out into consuming darkness. 

It had flickered as you had yelled at each other, and when he saw it go black, saw darkness cloud over and suck you into the depths, he’d dived right in after you. 

It had been instinct to run to you, catch you in his arms and let you both sink down together. Only he held you from being pulled too deep.

And you’d let him. 

The moment you’d let go and curled into his body, was the moment he felt everything change. 

It had broken a gate within him. A carefully and purposely crafted wall of adamant in his mind that held back the force of everything he shouldn’t feel. 

It was why he’d done what he did the other night. 

He’d been on the hunt, tracking the bounty. It was an easy one, so easy he didn’t even really need to think about it. Which of course, left his mind open to wandering. 

And it kept coming back to you, over and over again. 

What you were doing, if you were okay, if the ship was too hot for you and if he’d set the locks correctly. 

He always had the same thoughts whenever he left the kid, but with you there, they had eased. He’d trusted you from that first night you sung Grogu your mother’s lullaby. 

So that didn’t plague him. 

No, it was your hair that was the main subject tonight. That damn hair that he couldn’t take his eyes off of since the moment you’d let it down a couple of days ago. 

The light had caught it just right, turning it to gold and when you ran your hands through it…

He’d been struck with a craving so intense; it took his breath away. 

He yearned to move away your hands, replace them with his own. 

To shuck off his gloves and truly feel the silky texture of it, to feel anything but the worn leather interior of the material. 

He couldn’t have been more relieved when you’d landed on the desert planet. He had though that the Maker had taken pity on him, saving him before he could do something really stupid. 

The distraction had remained with him throughout his hunt, sneaking up on him whenever he should be at least trying to concentrate. 

By the time he’d caught the bounty and had begun to lug him back to the Crest, his body had begun to itch. Less of a persistent irritation and more of a yearning. At first, he’d thought it was from the heat, but when he’d climbed the ramp to the Crest, he could smell the lingering aroma of the soap you’d used in your shower. 

He’d quickly dispatched of the bounty in the carbonite chamber, eager to escape to the small storage compartment he had now taken up residence in. 

He hadn’t bothered to take back his sleeping quarters, something in him wanting to give you that small bit of comfort. Besides, he’d slept in worse places. 

He’d retreated there after a brief conversation with yourself, trying to clear his mind as he lay on the collection of blankets and sacks that he’d made up for his bed and waited for his body to relax and sleep to claim him. Eventually, it had. 

It wasn’t Grogu’s crying that awoke him that night, as it normally would. 

No, it was that damn smell. 

It had filtered through his helmet, invading his sleep and gently tugged him awake. 

He’d sat up and without a thought, followed that scent like a hound. 

It had led him to the kitchen and then…

Then he’d seen you. 

In that flimsy drape of fabric that could hardly call itself a dress. 

There was just… so much of your skin on show. So much of your smooth skin on display, lined with scars here and there but it didn’t matter to him. It told your story, your survival  

The Mandalorian’s own body had tightened, heat blazing across his skin and making his armour uncomfortable. He rarely acknowledged the heaviness of it, but standing there, looking at you, had truly made him feel the crushing weight. 

And when you’d turned, the water rolling down your neck…

The image of removing his helmet and catching that bead of water on his tongue, of trailing it up your neck and finally tasting your skin that he knew would be as sweet as your scent.. it nearly undid him. 

In fact, it did. It broke a restraint in him and set a haze in his mind that cleared only when the beeping of the autopilot had demanded his attention. 

He’d sat up in the cockpit for hours afterward, staring at his now gloved hands. 

He had touched you. He had removed his gloves in the presence of someone else, trusting in you not to turn around. He’d felt you. 

Felt that gorgeous, silky hair on his fingers. 

Felt the bumps of your spine beneath your skin. 

The noises you’d made, the sighs and the moans, they were branded into his memory, followed him when he finally went back to bed. 

They’d echoed in his ears, playing over and over until his trousers had become even more painfully tight and he was forced to fix the problem. 

The next day, the pleasure and breathless thrill of what had occurred went stale. It turned into shame, disgust at himself for treating you like that, thinking of you like that in the late hours. 

The snide voice in his head had whispered that it was time, time to invoke what he already planned when he was out on his hunt. 

And like a cowardly fool, he gave in. 

The betrayal and hurt in your eyes when he’d told you had been like a punch to his heart. 

He’d been battered in fights and that hurt less. 

Hurt less than this pain as he re-joined the atmosphere above Nevarro and moved the ship away. 

Was he making a mistake? Should he have kept you with him? OR stayed with you, even just for a little while longer? But what if someone had caught up to you or spotted you and gave you up. There would be no telling who would-

Ping!

A metallic note on the back of his helmet snapped him from his frantic thoughts, echoing in the confines of his helmet. It had come from Grogu’s direction.

He turned around, looking at what it was… and saw Grogu’s ball on the floor. 

“Hey, kid, what are you doing?”

An angry gurgle emanated from the little green creature, waving his arms in the air and his face full of disdain. 

Mando sighed, “Look, I know you’ll miss her, but we have to do this, okay?”

Grogu only waved his hands again, and suddenly the ball was flying through the air, bouncing off of his visor before rolling along the cockpit again. 

“Hey!! Now you decide to use your powers? That’s enough. This has to happen.” He pointed a finger at Grogu. 

Which just made the kid burst into tears and scream. 

Loudly. 

Mando swore under his breath, pulling him out of his crib and plonking him down on his lap. He turned back to the front of the ship, one hand holding the back of the kid’s head, the other piloting the ship, “Hey, hey… look, I’m sorry but… she had to leave. It wasn’t safe for her to stay with us..”

Grogu just wailed more, his little fists thumping into Mando’s belly. He was not happy with his father, and seemed intent on letting him know that. 

He sighed, letting Grogu pummel him. After all, his little hands barely made an impact, and it just reminded him painfully of that night in the cargo hold, where you fought him and broke down. He switched the ship to autopilot, tilting his head down to give Grogu his full attention. “Grogu.”

More wailing, the little tyke was determined not to pay attention. 

“Cmon, Grogu. Look at me.”

Grogu’s head shook rapidly from side to side, his little body shaking with sobs. 

“Not even for cookies?”

A pause. A questionable gurgle replacing the wailing. 

Mando couldn’t help the smile on his face behind the helmet, “Ah, see, I knew that would get your attention. If you look at me, I’ll let you have the pack.” It was bad parenting, not to mention bribery and he knew that. But anything to stop Grogu being upset – and to convince himself he’d done the right thing. “Just look at me, okay? And listen..”

Grogu lifted his head up, looking up at his father with glossy, tear filled eyes. 

Mando felt his heart break a little, and he gently wiped the tears from Grogu’s cheek with the back of his little finger, “I know you’re mad at me, and I completely understand why. But… there are so many people after her. After us as well.”

Grogu listened intently, little snuffly breaths rising from him now and then as a result of the previous tears. 

The Mandalorian reached across to a little box beside him, pulling out a package of the blue space cookies. He unwrapped them as he spoke, “The people that are after us all might start to work together. They might think that... if they can get to one of us, they can get all of us.” He pulled out a cookie, then held it out to the kid. “Everyone knows that I threw away the tracking fob. And that will draw more attention.”

Grogu took the cookie, biting it and his head tilted as he let his father speak, munching away. 

Mando leaned back in his seat, head still tilted down to watch, “If they find us… they find her. Any of the bounties I catch could turn, like that guy before with the tail. So.. if she goes to Nevarro… She can blend in and hide. Cara and Greef will monitor anyone coming in. They’ll keep her safe and steer away any authorities or hunters. She’ll be safer there than she will with us… and if we need to, I can draw away any hunters who think we’re all still together.”

Grogu’s ears sagged a little, a softer coo rising from him that flung a few tiny blue crumbs onto his fathers lap. 

Mando huffed a slight laugh, shaking his head a little, “Messy.” He brushed a few more crumbs from Grogu’s mouth, “Do you understand though? Why I had to do it?”

The kid nodded, though he still looked sad.

The Mandalorian held him closer, “I know, kid. I wish we didn’t have to do it either.”

~

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Just travelling to Tatooine. His ship needed repairing, and the Mandalorian hadn’t met with Peli for a long while. 

And… maybe something in him was craving the comfort of… a friend? 

Besides, the kid loved her too and he wanted to cheer him up. 

He would see if the sparse planet had any extra work for him. He doubted it, the cantinas were rarely ever half full, but it didn’t hurt to try. He needed something to keep his mind occupied and away from thinking of a particular cocky, snarky, gorgeous companion. 

When he was close, he set the ship to autopilot, the display on the panel and his internal body clock telling him it was time to sleep. 

He scooped up Grogu, who had been playing with his ball, “C’mon, kid. Time for bed. You can come with me tonight.” 

The Mandalorian made his way to the little area that had become his bedroom. He looked down at the pile of blankets on the floor, pausing. 

Maybe he should return to his bed. The floor was wreaking havoc on his already aching back, and it was cold on the floor. 

He sighed, taking way too long to think about it, before returning back up to his sleeping compartment, pressing the pad on the wall to open it. 

Fuck. 

The entire compartment smelt like you. It hit him as soon as the door slid open, wafting under his helmet and filling his head with your scent. He swallowed back a soft groan, made his body move across the room. He didn’t need this. He needed sleep. He needed to focus. 

Mando walked across the room and set Grogu laying down closest to the wall, before sliding in and manoeuvring his clunky body and armour into the bed too. 

It was stronger here, the smell of your perfume. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could imagine you were there with him. Tucked up against him, sleeping deeply and evenly. 

He sighed, pulling the blankets over Grogu’s body and then his own, images swirling through his mind, the same ones that taunted him every night when he tried to sleep. He tried not to feel them, the thoughts that relentlessly filled his mind. It had made him restless, made his inhibitions low – hence why he’d found you in the kitchen, unable to hold back on the things he wanted to do and say. 

Mando said quietly after a while, rubbing Grogu’s ears, “You really liked her, huh?”

Grogu cooed, nodding his head a little before tilting it into his father’s touch. 

Mando sighed softly, resting his head on the pillow again and closing his eyes, “Me too, kid… Me too.” He allowed himself to inhale deeply, let that scent envelope him and lull him into sleep. 

~~

“Oh, thank the Force!! You’re still alive! Come here you little womp rat!” 

Peli’s excited exclamation was broken only by Grogu’s delighted squeal as he tottered over to her, arms outstretched and making grabby hands. 

Mando smiled behind his helmet. He knew coming here was the right thing to do. Grogu adored Peli, and hopefully this would cheer him up somewhat. He looked at Peli, the raised eyebrow evident in his voice as he leant against the side of his ship, “Did you expect us not to be?” 

Peli scooped Grogu up, holding him close after inspecting his body for injuries or hurts. “Are you blind, boy? Everyone is out looking for you. They know what you did, even out here. The droids picked up chatter from the town. Word is, they increased the bounty on your head and doubled the girls.”

Mando stood up straight quickly, “They’ve doubled her bounty?! That’s… That’s ridiculous. It was already the highest I’ve seen.” 

Peli narrowed her eyes, watching his reaction. “So, it’s true then. You kept another bounty. I didn’t know Mandalorian’s liked to collect things so much.” Her voice was a little disapproving, but she motioned for Mando to follow her. “You shouldn’t be taking such stupid risks, Mando. You’ve got a child to look after. Harbouring criminals isn’t the way to do that.”

The words left his mouth like an instinct, “She’s not a criminal.” He followed her though, his boots scuffing up dust on the floor. 

Peli looked over her shoulder at him, her own eyebrows raised this time, “Oh? She’s not? So that bounty fell on her accidentally did it? Look, if we heard of her all the way out here, she must have truly done something b-“

“She is not a criminal, Peli.” He tried to rein in the steel in his voice. Peli was just looking out for Grogu, and for him. But something about her tone had struck a nerve, reminded him of the own conclusions he had jumped to, and how badly it had hurt you. 

Peli didn’t even bother to turn around as she walked into the hangar, “And how do you know that? She tell you what she’s being hunted for?” She shifted Grogu to her other arm and pointed at the droids that rolled past her on their way to the ship, “Careful with those parts.”

Mando swallowed, hesitating as he looked back at the droids and then back toward Peli, following her to her desk area. “No. She didn’t. But I just know.” He sunk into a chair, picking up something from the desk and fiddling with it. 

Peli watched the movement, assessing him and she just hummed as she sat down herself, Grogu on her lap. “Look. What you do, who you meet and decide to put in your band of rogues is none of my concern. Hell, we know nothing about each other. But you have to remember, this child is still wanted by Moff Gideon. You’re still wanted by both sides. You need to be careful.” Her voice was firm, but there was a note of softness there that you had to look to find, but it was there all the same. “I assume she’s in that ship of yours hiding? You can bring her out. I won’t bite her.”

Mando swallowed, his words becoming a little difficult and he had to pause again, “No. She’s not there. I… we parted ways.”

Peli frowned, looking down at Grogu who had turned his head to her, cooing. His ears had flopped a little again, but he didn’t contest the fact. She made a thoughtful noise again, “Parted ways?”

Mando sighed silently, wanting to take the subject away from you, the pain in his chest, “How has business been?”

She blinked, then burst out laughing, “Business? Are you actually pulling a joke on me, Mandalorian? Do you see any business here? Tatootine is just as quiet as it was the last time you were here. Why? Looking for a job?”

Mando shrugged, setting down the object he’d been playing with, “It wouldn’t hurt to get some extra credits.”

Peli tilted her head thoughtfully, “Well, I can’t promise anything. But there have been a few new stragglers coming through the town lately. Some hunters, smugglers and the like. One of them might have something you can do. I wouldn’t rely on it though.”

He nodded, grateful for the chance to go and do something. Even if it was just walking into town, being told no, and heading back again. “Great. I’ll check it out in a bit.”

She wasn’t listening. She’d already diverted all of her attention back to Grogu, cooing at him and pulling faces.  

~~

Tatooine was just as dry, dusty and barren as it was the last time the Mandalorian had set foot here. Its inhabitants were scattered throughout the towns, which were dotted few and far between, though there were a handful more inhabitants here in Mos Eisley. It ws one of the larger spaceports, so had a little more traffic. 

It was still almost deserted though. 

You didn’t often see people or creatures in the streets, as the sun beating down was too much sometimes even for those that called the desert planet home. They also seemed to know when sandstorms were coming – which were often. Maybe there was another on its way. There was a wild wind brewing, stirring the sand. 

There weren’t many out today, maybe driven inside by the relentless sun, though a cluster had gathered here, in Chalmun’s Spaceport Cantina. 

It was a roughly hewn building on the outside, the same colour as the dusty ground. It was small, but its thick walls provided a natural shade, cool and dim out of the sun.

Mando ducked under the upper threshold as he stepped inside, ignoring the glances and muttering that occurred whenever he walked into a place. Even if he hadn’t been clad in shiny – albeit rather dusty – beskar, he still would have garnered the attention, simply for being a Mandalorian. 

He was used it to by now, but it did still make him feel uncomfortable sometimes. 

He surveyed the room, then walked to the bar, which provided the main source of light in the centre of the room. The atmosphere seemed…calm, though that could change at the drop of a hat and the bar could erupt into one of it’s famous brawls. 

The last time he’d set foot in this particular cantina, he’d helped a young bounty hunter… who’d turned traitor. 

He would try to avoid that this time. He only wanted a job. No help. 

The Mandalorian tapped the bar to gain the attention of the barman, “Hey. Anyone come through here with bounty pucks?” 

The barman paid him no attention, continuing to serve the customer, a pilot by the looks of his jumpsuit. 

Mando frowned behind his helmet, “No?” He was hot, a little agitated and he missed you. So his temper wasn’t the greatest. 

The barman snapped, “No. Come back tomorrow, maybe there’ll be a line of people waiting to fall at your shiny feet.” He looked at Mando in disgust then walked to the other end of the bar to serve.

Mando sighed, counting to ten his mind. He needed a job. He would just have to keep trying. 

And so, he did. Over the next three days, he went back again and again. And every day, he would come home with nothing. 

Each night, Peli would tell him over dinner that it was because of the approaching storm. That there would be more people once it had cleared. 

The third night, the storm finally rolled in. 

Mando was already awake, the lack of distraction meaning his thoughts were spiralling again, so he was conscious when the howling wind roared to life, bringing with it waves and waves of sand. 

He spent the night watching the wind move like it was an animal, unleashed from its cage to be free. It didn’t sound angry. It sounded mournful. Like it was tearing through the town looking for something, for someone. 

Mando couldn’t help but relate. 

~ 

The storm stayed for another four days. Endless howling of the wind, the cold chill it brought of a night, so different to the scorching wind of the days. 

Luckily, it gave the Mandalorian something to do. He secured his ship when the wind had died down a little, making sure there were no gaping holes or anything that could get damaged should the wind change direction. 

As much as he didn’t like droids, he had to admit that Peli’s did a pretty good job. 

After that, she had him clearing out any of her gear and belongings that were outside. 

Which meant hauling in all the nearby boxes and making sure the droids didn’t roll out and get buffeted and dragged away by the wind. 

When that was done, he was to spend his time clearing away the dust and sand that blew in through the openings. 

Peli told him she couldn’t work in a messy environment, but the scattered parts, oily rags and various paraphernalia dotted around would have him beg to differ. 

Still, it gave him a way to keep his mind busy. 

However, the jobs and handy work he did for her didn’t stop him from watching the storm every night, or from checking Peli’s rusty but still operational tablet for updates on the atmospheric pressure. 

…

The morning of the fifth day dawned bright and scalding. 

The storm was gone, reduced to a few gusts of heavy wind here and there, but nothing like the raging force of the past four days. 

The heat was even more oppressive than usual, like the wind had sucked any minuscule ounce of coolness from the air and left it feeling like fire in the lungs. 

Peli told him he was stupid, that the town would be deserted. She was even more annoyed when he informed her that he was taking Grogu. He had been penned inside for four days and was starting to act as stir crazy as Mando felt. 

Peli yelled at him, even threatened to take apart his ship but he respectfully ignored her and made the trek anyway. Even if every step in the blazing heat made it feel like his armour was melting to his body. He’d popped Grogu into his crib, to spare him from the scorching air. 

Why did he decided to come to another desert planet?

Maybe he would go somewhere cold next. 

Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Somewhere where he could take a breath of chilled, icy air. Somewhere he could show Grogu the snow..

~“Snow and ice are stunning. They’re powerful and strong. I’ve only ever been in a proper snowfall once, and I fell in love. The way the flakes float down and.. dance even if there’s the faintest breeze. And then when they land on your skin or your eyelashes like little cold kisses… The sound it makes under your boots when you walk on a fresh fall. And it softens everything, makes it easier on your eyes to see across the landscape… it’s quiet, muffled…”~

Mando’s heart wrenched as he remembered your words, the way your face lit up and your eyes danced as you described the feeling of snow on your skin. He swallowed, shaking his head free of the memory and walking into the cantina, Grogu’s crib floating along with him. 

The barman sneered at him, “What, no questions today?” 

Mando just shook his head, ordering a bowl of cold broth for the kid and then he retreated to a table in the corner, sinking into his seat. 

Maker, he was tired. So, so tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper sleep and it was beginning to catch up with him now. 

The tiredness, mixed with the physical work of the past few days was getting to him. His back ached and his shoulders were constantly tense with the weight of his armour. He wasn’t a young man anymore, things had started to niggle and irritate more than usual. 

The quiet ambiance of the cantina and the soft slurps of Grogu enjoying his broth were beginning to lull the Mandalorian into sleep. His body relaxed into the hard bench seat, his eyes began to close behind the helmet, no matter how hard he fought it. 

Maybe he could just close his eyes for a moment… just to rest..

It wasn’t until Grogu’s sharp warning cry echoed through the fog in his brain, that he realised he’d actually fallen asleep. His head shot up from where it had rested on his chest, adrenaline shooting through his body so fast it made him dizzy. His hand had flown to the blaster on his hip by instinct, and he looked around rapidly for the cause of Grogu’s cry. 

And then he found it. 

Sitting opposite him and the kid, was a male figure, draped in an expensive looking black cloak that was embroidered with golden thread. The hilt of an ancient blade protruded above broad shoulders, sheathed down the figure’s spine. The cloak hid anything on the figures body, but Mando knew it was lined with weapons. 

The male figure had an elbow on the table, a long arm propped up with his hand disappearing into the darkness of his hood where he presumably had his chin resting. 

He knew that this man was a hunter. 

A predator. 

He could sense the coiled energy slumbering within the relaxed stance, just knew that the heavy material of his cloak hid an arsenal of weapons. 

That and the fact he could see the faint outline of a knife hidden within the man’s sleeve. 

The Mandalorian straightened, alertness flooding every single sense, along with the anger at his own sheer stupidity for falling asleep. He reached out, pulling Grogu off of the table and back into his crib in one fluid movement, shielding it between his body and the wall behind him. 

He might have chosen a corner table, might be backed into that corner, but at least no one could get the jump on him from behind. 

Mando had already marked the exists and potential attack points the first time he’d come here, so he didn’t need to worry about those. 

He was in the process of trying to spot any tells on his new acquaintance, when the figure laughed. 

A laugh like silk, flowing over the skin. A laugh that was designed to draw you in, to caress you and seduce you. 

The voice was the same. Low, with a rich baritone like velvet that slid over the Mandalorian’s bones, “Relax. You don’t need to go on the offence, Mandalorian. Though I know that might be hard for you.” He was grinning under that hood, and Mando could almost imagine a set of fangs to match the voice, itching to sink into flesh. 

“Don’t I?” The Mandalorian’s voice was hard, cold. He needed to get out of here… but something was making him curious about who this shadowy figure was, something niggling at the back of his mind like he knew. 

The figure shrugged, an easy gesture, “Nope. Trust me, if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up from your little nap there. I could have killed you and that Peli woman during the storm and hung your skins out as wind gauges.”

He knew who Peli was? Who was he?

The Mandalorian said nothing. He supposed someone from the town could have spotted him staying at Peli’s. He’d have to leave. He didn’t want her getting hurt because of him. 

The man laughed again, set Mando’s teeth on edge, “Honestly, Mando. Are you always wound this tight? No wonder you don’t sleep.” He dropped his hand, resting both forearms on the table and lacing his fingers together. They were clad in fine leather gloves, perfectly snug to his hands. “I won’t kill your little friend either, I promise. I’m here on business.” He paused, “Acceptable business, if you could call it that. Not my usual or favoured type of business, mind you.” 

Mando kept his hand on his blaster, kept his other arm held slightly out in case Grogu’s crib was on display. It was only then that he’d noticed the entire cantina had emptied out. It was just the three of them. How long was he asleep? 

“What business would that be? I don’t exactly fall into the ‘acceptable business’ category myself.”  He couldn’t keep the snideness out of his tone. 

The figure leaned into his hands, no ounce of light creeping past the hood. There was nothing there, just heavy darkness shrouding his face. “I need you to find someone for me. I’ve been tasked by someone supposedly important to bring them in, and I heard you’re almost as good as me.”

Mando had a feeling he knew where this was going. “And who am I helping you bring in? I don’t have sidekicks.”

The figure snorted, like Mando’s words amused him, “You think I’d be your sidekick? Please. You’ve been living with your head in that bucket too long. You obviously don’t know who I am.” He might have shaken his head beneath the heavy cloak, “I digress. Here is the person I want you to help me find.” He slid a puck onto the table, “I think you’ll be able to help. I’d be happy to split the reward in half with you. It would be enough for you to take your little one to one of those sanctuary planets.” 

He didn’t want to press that puck. He didn’t want to reveal what he already knew. “Sorry. I just remembered. I’m busy.” He made to rise from his chair. 

The figure didn’t even move a finger, and suddenly an iron grip wrapped itself around the Mandalorian’s throat. He choked, his hand slipping from his blaster to his neck, trying to prise away whatever was suffocating him, but it wasn’t there. Nothing was touching him. 

The man watched him, “Sit down.”

The pressure became tighter, dragged down Mando’s body and forced his legs to relax and for his body to dump back onto the bench. “Now. Activate the puck.” 

Mando shook his head, gasping for breath beneath the helmet, his lungs already fit to burst and his eyes tearing up. He had to protect you and the kid.

This man, if he was one, snarled softly, “Unless you want me to crush your windpipe and slit your baby in half, open the damn puck.”

Mando growled, clawing across the table and slamming his fingers onto the puck. 

At once, the pressure immediately vanished. The man still sounded calm, casual, “That’s a good boy.” 

The sudden rush of air was surprisingly not what had Mando gasping. It was your face, lit up in holo with the now absurdly high bounty flashing above it. 

He’d known it’d be you, but it was still like a blow to his heart. The hazy blue mirage of your face, projected into the air stared at him, cutting right through him. 

Mando shook his head again, his voice hoarse, “I don’t know where she is. I lost her. I don’t have the rights to go after again.”

The shadowy man leaned forward closer, flicking the puck “I knew you’d say that. I also knew that roughly a week ago, you dropped her off in Nevarro. I know that she’s currently staying under the protection of Marshal Cara Dune and Greef Carga.” He pressed the button to deactivate the puck. 

Ice spread through Mando’s belly. How did this freak know where you were? How did he know where you were staying? Had he been following you?

His heart started to increase rapidly in his chest, his brain scrambling for a way out of this conversation. If it were anyone else, he would have ripped them apart and left by now. 

But some primal instinct told him if he tried, he wouldn’t be the one walking away. 

The man pulled the puck toward him, slipping it deep within his cloak, “You catch on fast. You’re right. You wouldn’t be walking away. There wouldn’t even be enough of you left to paint the walls of this disgusting building. Not even with your precious baby.”

What the fuck? He just… 

A silky chuckle emanated from the hooded abyss, “Yes, yes. Don’t dwell on it, Mandalorian. There are bigger things to worry about.” He sat up straighter. “Now, I’m assuming you don’t remember what I am. So, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I have been employed by someone who is far too arrogant and overestimates both their intelligence and their influence.” He paused, “No… employed is the wrong word. That would imply that they are my boss, and that is simply beyond ridiculous.” He tapped the table, “Anyway, as I was saying. I have been paid by someone to find your little girlfriend. And I will not stop until I find her. There are no ifs, buts or maybes. I will find the girl. And it’ll be sooner rather than later.” 

Mando couldn’t breathe. There was a roaring in his ears. 

The man continued on, “My client has asked me to bring her back to them. And I am nothing if not a gentleman of my word, so I have promised that she will be taken to them. On one condition.” He reached behind him, unsheathing his sword and resting it on the table in front of him with a movement so smooth it could have been choreographed. “I will have her returned to me after they are done with her. For she belongs to me, truly. And I will do to her whatever I see fit.”

A deadly fury rose within Mando like a tidal wave at the disgusting possessiveness in this mans words, but it was diminished when he saw the blade.

As long as his arm, a metal so black it sucked the very light from the room. There patterns within the surface, liked it was folded back onto itself again and again, until it was virtually indestructible. The centre of the blade and its hilt were etched in gold with symbols that Mando didn’t know. 

But he recognised them. 

With a sudden clarity, it came rushing back to him. 

As a child, he was told bedtime stories, of a terrifying phantom of death. He rode the night sky, which answered to him. He slipped through the shadows and into people’s minds. He could kill a man from the inside out without touching him, reduce him to a screaming pit of fear, so tortured that he would tear out his own eyes. 

He left behind no trace. He killed without mercy, without remorse for he had no soul. 

There were rumours that beneath his hood, lay the head of a monster, so vile and cruel that the deepest pits of the galaxy spat him back out because they were too good for someone like him. 

There was even talk of him in Mandalorian culture. Warnings. 

This being was the one thing that a Mandalorian should never engage in. For he would make even the most skilled hunter or assassin cower. He had slaughtered in the Mandalorian wars, killed thousands on either side and then returned later to suck the souls out of the dead. 

There were multiple names for him in Mando’a, the two most prominent being Werda which meant shadows, or more commonly, Haran. Translated, it meant hell, or cosmic annihilation, as he was said to be older than time. Older than the galaxy. He was death. 

Haran chuckled softly, “Ah, I thought that might stir up some memories. I admit, I was surprised when I learned that the Mandalorian’s knew who I was, and even warned you about me. As if they believed that would save you. I thought you were all… what’s the phrase? Ori'buyce, kih'kovid. All helmet, no head."

He might throw up. Mando might throw up right here. He couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening. A fucking myth, a legend told to Mandalorians and people across the galaxies, was sitting opposite him. 

He was real. 

He could speak Mando’a better than some of his fellow Mandalorians. 

He wanted you. 

Haran was caressing a gloved finger up and down the edge of his blade, “I am going to get her, Mandalorian. She will be mine. She has belonged to me since the moment she was born, our fates entwined like threads of time. I will have her back by my side, and I will teach her everything that she is. I will help expand her past the limits of what she can be. She will be unstoppable. Indestructible.” There was a hunger in his voice, a hunger that struck genuine fear into Mando’s heart. 

Mando croaked, the only thing he could manage, “What are you talking about?” 

Haran tiled his head again, his movements stilling, “She never told you?” That irresistible voice actually sounded surprised, then he chuckled, “Oh, that’s interesting. She’s obviously tried to forget who she truly is. No matter, I’ll show her soon enough.” He appeared to be thinking about something, then his cloaked head tilted up and Mando knew he was watching him. 

If he even had eyes under there. 

“You can go and run off to her now. But you won’t be able to save her.” Such simple words, spoken with such a casual knowledge, a man used to being right. 

The Mandalorian didn’t even think. He lurched from his seat, numbly pressing the button on his vambrace that had Grogu’s crib following him. 

He had to get back to Peli. He had to get back to the Crest. He needed to find you, needed to take you somewhere far away, somewhere where you’d be safe from this monster.

“Wait.” 

The man caught Mando’s arm as he made to go past him, gripping it with an iron strength that seemed to reverberate throughout his bones, root him to the spot. He couldn’t move. 

“I tell you what. I’m a generous man, so I’m going to give you a head start. I’ll be here for the next seven days. After that, I’ll be making my way to Nevarro. And I will lay waste to anyone that tries to stand in my way. ”

Mando couldn’t speak, his tongue had frozen to the roof of his mouth with that same phantom grip. He could only make a choked noise, a growl that sounded as threatening as he could. 

The man laughed again beneath that fucking hood, letting go of the invisible grip and sheathing his blade, “Better hurry… Lori.” 

Previous chapter| Next Chapter

[swan-of-sunrise]

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Five)

Summary: (Y/N) and Mando join forces with Cobb Vanth to kill a krayt dragon, and they attempt to get the townsfolk and the Tuskens to peacefully work together. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Five The Dragon (Previous Chapter)

When she made the decision to join the Mandalorian’s crew and help him fulfill his quest, (Y/N) knew that they’d frequently be encountering dangerous situations. However, she didn’t foresee one of them involving her and Mando having to help kill a krayt dragon to protect a settlement in the middle of the Dune Sea. Cobb Vanth, the Marshal of Mos Pelgo, had offered Mando a deal: if they helped him kill the krayt dragon, he’d give them the Mandalorian armor he’d been using for years to protect his people.

“Deal. (Y/N) can ride back to the ship and blow it out of the sand from the sky; we’ll stay and use the bantha as bait.”

Cobb looked away from Mando to shoot her an astounded smirk, to which she responded by raising a brow, daring him to challenge her piloting skills. Silently conceding, the marshal looked back at Mando with a grimace. “Not so simple. The ship passes above, it senses the vibrations and stays underground. But I know where it lives.”

“How far?”

“Not far.”

So, she and Mando had wrangled up the child before getting onto the speeder bike and following Cobb further into the desert. Sensing that the Mandalorian was still agitated about the marshal’s blatant disrespect of his people’s Creed, (Y/N) had allowed him to drive and resigned herself to sitting behind him on the bike. I suppose there’s worse ways to travel, she thought to herself with a faint blush as her arms tightened slightly around her partner’s waist, like on the back of a bantha or dewback.

“You two don’t understand what it was like,” Cobb interjected after about a half an hour of driving. “The town was on its last legs; it started after we got news of the Death Star blowin’ up…the second one, that is.” (Y/N) smiled to herself, a little pleased that someone else had realized just how idiotic the Empire had been to build two of those things, then turned her attention back to the marshal’s tale. “The Empire was blown out of Tatooine and there was blaster fire over Mos Eisley; the occupation was over. We didn’t even have time to celebrate. That very night, the mining collective moved in; power hates a vacuum and Mos Pelgo became a slave camp overnight…”

(Y/N) listened as the marshal detailed his escape from Mos Pelgo, how he’d stolen a camtono of silicax crystals and wandered the desert for days until being rescued by the Jawas. She felt Mando’s body stiffen as Cobb explained that he’d traded the crystals for the Mandalorian armor and returned to the town, ridding it of its enslavers and establishing himself as its marshal. Based on what he’d told them, (Y/N) decided that he was an honorable man just doing everything to keep his people safe; however, she knew that the silent Mandalorian sitting in front of her would take more time to win over.

That’s what Cobb Vanth must’ve thought as well; once he’d finished his story, he turned his attention to her instead of Mando. “So, what’s your story? How’d a smuggler end up workin’ with a Mandalorian?”

“How’d you know-?”

“Livin’ on Tatooine, I’ve met my fair share of hot-shot pilots.” His mouth stretched into a lopsided grin. “None as pretty as you, though.”

Feeling her face warm at his flirtatious tone, (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile back. “Well, Mando here asked me to join his crew after seeing my piloting skills firsthand. And I’m actually a former smuggler; I worked for the Rebellion but I retired from that life just after the New Republic was established.”

The two speeder bikes had just reached a rocky canyon and they reduced their speed in the narrowing ravine. It was then that Cobb glanced over at her with a raised brow. “I didn’t know they had smugglers workin’ in the Rebellion. What’d you smuggle for ‘em?”

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, acutely aware that there was more than one person waiting to hear her reply. “I, um-”

Cobb signaled for them to halt right when a loud growling noise began echoing through the canyon; both speeder bikes came to a stop and all three took cover behind them as they drew their weapons. Not knowing what to expect, (Y/N) pulled the plaster rifle off her back and propped it up alongside Mando’s pulse rifle on the top of their speeder, furrowing her brow when the howling grew louder. Moments later, a massiff emerged from behind an outcropping of rock and was soon joined by several others. Instead of firing, Mando lowered his pulse rifle and let out a familiar-sounding growl of his own before walking around the bike and towards the creatures.

“What the hell’s he doin’?” Cobb whispered loudly, his look of surprise growing when (Y/N) got up from her crouch and slung her rifle back onto her shoulders. “What the-?”

She and Mando both raised a hand to calm the marshal down, and (Y/N) watched with an impressed smile as her partner knelt down and began petting the now-happy massiff. I guess Mando’s got a way with pets, she thought to herself, her smile widening when she noticed several Tuskens emerge from behind the rocks. (Y/N) had enjoyed sharing camp with the Tuskens the night before; they’d been pleasant hosts, and she’d truly loved learning more about their culture while teaching them a little of her own.

(Y/N) glanced over at Cobb while Mando conversed with the Tuskens, her smile faltering a little as she took in his hardened expression; and when Mando informed them that the Tuskens also wanted to kill the krayt dragon, a feeling of foreboding settled in the pit of her stomach.

As night was beginning to fall, the Tuskens led the three of them to their settlement and allowed them to stay in two of their tents. (Y/N) thanked them for their hospitality using the hand gestures she’d picked up from Mando, pleased that she was still able to remember them but before she could make her way over to the Tusken’s campfire, Mando stopped her.

“Word travels fast on the Dune Sea; they already know about your peaceful encounter with the other clan of Tuskens yesterday. It’s Vanth who needs to earn their trust tonight.” Mando explained, his voice becoming a little gruffer when he mentioned the marshal’s name before quietly continuing. “Why don’t you and the child get some rest, alor’ad? I know it’s early but we’ll be traveling to the lair at first light and you’ll need your strength if you’re gonna help us kill a krayt dragon…”

(Y/N) relented, taking the child from Mando and crouching into their tent as she stifled tired yawns behind her hand; settling down in her bedroll, she drifted in and out of sleep, glancing over where the child was soundly sleeping every once in a while to see if he was all right. The little guy must be growing on you, she thought with a small smile, closing her eyes and rolling over to face the tent entrance.

A sudden sound caused (Y/N)’s eyes to snap open and in an instant, her blaster was in her hand and pointed directly at the Mandalorian’s head; realizing it was only her partner, she lowered her blaster with widened eyes. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Mando, I thought that-!”

“It’s okay, you shouldn’t apologize for having a quick reflex.” Mando replied, entering the tent and sitting down on top of his bedroll. “It’s good that you’re up; the Tuskens are going to take us to the lair tomorrow, but they’re insisting we travel in a small number and only scout the area. Will you be all right staying here with the kid while we go?”

She smiled, tucking her blaster back under her pillow. “Sure, that sounds okay. I guess that means you’ll be traveling with Vanth by yourself, huh?”

Nodding, Mando glanced over at the sleeping child before looking back at her. “I don’t trust him. He picked a fight with the Tuskens earlier, and he was asking a lot of questions about your Rebellion days.”

“Well, he was born and raised on Tatooine; he’s probably been told all his life that the Tuskens are the monsters. And as for the questions…well, most people don’t know that the Rebels recruited smugglers to their cause and then once they learn, they always assume that I was only working with the Alliance for monetary reasons. But I don’t mind.” Shrugging, (Y/N) laid back down on her bedroll, resting her hands on her stomach as she stared up at the ceiling of the tent. “Better to let them assume than to re-open any old wounds by explaining. Does that make any sense?”

The Mandalorian was silent for a moment and when he answered, his voice sounded softer than usual. “Yeah…yeah, it does.”

“So, um, what’s the story with the little guy?” (Y/N) asked, eager to change the subject but also curious about the child’s background. “When you say we’re returning him to his kind, do you mean his species or maybe his family…?”

She heard Mando lay down on his own bedroll. “The child is…special. He has many abilities, and he belongs with a race of sorcerers called Jedi.”

“Jedi?” (Y/N)’s sleepy eyes widened and she rolled over to look at the Mandalorian. “I thought that they were just myths!”

“You’ve heard of the Jedi before?”

“My mother used to tell me stories about them when I was a child on Naboo, but I didn’t…” She trailed off, feeling his gaze from behind the visor of his helmet. “I always thought they were fairytales.”

Mando nodded eagerly. “Do you remember anything about your mother’s stories? Anything at all?”

“All I remember is that the Jedi were supposed to have been the guardians of the peace but if that were true, then the Empire never would’ve happened.” (Y/N) snorted, laying back down and frowning a little as she sensed her partner’s disappointment. “That doesn’t really help us, though.”

“Well, it’s one thing I didn’t know before, so I’d say it was a little helpful.” The Mandalorian offered. “We should get some rest; we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow…”

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

The next day, it quickly became apparent that they were in for more than what they’d originally bargained for. (Y/N) stayed at the Tusken settlement with the child while Mando, Cobb and a handful of Tuskens traveled by bantha the short distance to the krayt dragon’s lair. To pass the time, she’d mended some of their clothing and cleaned her borrowed blaster rifle, knowing that she would soon be needing it.

When the others returned, Mando explained their plan to recruit the villagers of Mos Pelgo to aid in the attack against the creature before they headed back to the town. (Y/N) hadn’t said anything out loud, but she was wary of their new plan; it essentially hinged on the ability of two warring peoples to set aside their differences in order to defeat a common enemy, and while (Y/N) had no problem working alongside the Tuskens, she knew that the villagers would have a very different opinion than her. Now I definitely have a bad feeling about all this, she thought as she parked the speeder alongside Cobb’s in front of the cantina.

“They attacked us less than a year ago, killed half a dozen of us by the mining camp. I’d say I took down about twice as many Tuskens.” Cobb got up from his speeder, a fresh look of guilt on his face.

“The town respects you.” Mando pointed out as (Y/N) hopped off their speeder and dusted off her clothes. “My guess is they’ll listen to reason.”

(Y/N) nodded and offered the marshal a brief smile. “If the Tuskens are willing to put the past aside, then I don’t see why your people can’t find it within themselves to do the same.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

A doubtful-looking Cobb quickly gathered the town into the cantina and it went about as well as she’d feared it would; after explaining the entire situation to the villagers they reluctantly agreed to the deal the Tuskens had offered, that in exchange for their help and the carcass of the creature, they would unite with them in battle and never attack Mos Pelgo until a villager breaks the peace. Tension filled the air as the Tuskens arrived to help with the preparations and it went fairly quickly, save for one brief moment of unrest between a Tusken and a villager. But in no time, they were slowly on their way to the krayt dragon’s lair with the villagers and explosives in tow.

With the suns high in the sky, (Y/N) stood between Mando and Cobb as they carefully watched a lone Tusken make his way to the large cave entrance and place his hands on the ground before it; after several terse moments, the Tusken straightened and signed a message with his hands.

“What did he say?” (Y/N) quietly asked, the hand holding the blaster rifle’s strap tightening with anticipation.

“He says it’s sleeping. If we listen carefully, we can hear it breathing.”

(Y/N) glanced over at Cobb beside her, shrugging and watching as another Tusken offered him a familiar-looking green object; she gave the marshal an expectant smile that widened when he lifted the object and drank the sour liquid, finally accepting the Tusken’s gesture of peace and good faith.

After receiving their instructions from the Mandalorian, they got to work as quietly as they could. (Y/N) removed her cowl before grabbing a shovel and helping the others dig the shallow hole that they’d bury the explosives in; the muscles in her arms were aching in protest by the time the hole was finished, but she hid her pain as she walked up to Mando and Cobb with a smile.

“Ready when you are, fellas.”

Mando nodded and moved forward to watch the Tuskens approach the mouth of the cave, leaving Cobb to walk alongside her as he flashed her a lopsided grin. “How ‘bout a kiss for luck from a pretty lady?”

(Y/N) only rolled her eyes and raised a brow in amusement at his flirting attempt. “How about we focus on killing a krayt dragon and not dying instead, Marshal?”

“Worth a shot.” Cobb shrugged as they stood alongside Mando on the rocky ridge overlooking the villagers and Tuskens. They watched as three Tuskens slowly made their way to the cave and stopped, hesitating a brief moment before loudly calling out; their grunts and growls echoed throughout the rocky canyon and just as they had begun to fade, the growling of a large creature called back. All three Tuskens turned and ran, and the krayt dragon burst out of the cave in an explosion of sand; its roar shook the ground, and (Y/N)’s jaw nearly dropped when she realized just how massive the creature was.

Beside her, Mando pulled out his scope and all three of them watched the Tuskens and the villagers enact their plan; they fired the harpoons they’d built to pull the creature from its cave, but it quickly became clear that it wasn’t working when the krayt dragon reared its head back and tried tugging itself loose from its captors. “Dank farrik, it’s going back in; it’s retreating.”

Cobb gripped the detonator in his hand, his thumb hovering over the button. “I’m gonna hit it.”

“No, wait. We only have one shot; we’ve gotta get it out.”

Following the others lead, (Y/N) slung the blaster rifle off her shoulder and quickly aimed before firing at the creature, her precise shots joining the blaster bolts and small explosives hitting its thick hide. Their actions enraged the krayt dragon, which charged forward and forced the others to run for cover.

“Now?” Cobb asked, his jaw tightening as he watched his village continue its assault on the creature.

Mando shook his head. “Not yet. It’s gotta come out further.”

But as he spoke, the krayt dragon finally pulled itself free of the harpoons with a deafening roar, throwing Tuskens high into the air before opening its mouth and spewing acid onto a group of retreating Tuskens and villagers.

Both Mando and Cobb stiffened at the sight, and (Y/N) heard herself breathe out, “Oh, Maker.”

The creature continued forward after its attackers, and Mando held up a tense hand. “Almost, almost…now!”

The marshal’s thumb smashed down on the button and the explosives went off, sending a massive cloud of dust up with a blast of air as the creature roared and vanished from view. (Y/N) lowered her blaster to shield her face from the sand-filled wind, looking up as the dust began to settle and frowning when she noticed the empty patch of ground.

“I don’t think it’s dead.”

“Me either.”

(Y/N) merely bit her lip and watched as the Tuskens and villagers looked around in confusion, an unsettling feeling forming in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, the krayt dragon exploded out of the rocky ridge high above the entrance of the cave with an ear-splitting growl and began spewing more acid onto the panicked crowd below.

Cobb’s face twisted in fury. “It’s pickin’ us off like womp rats.” He suddenly turned and grabbed his blaster rifle off his speeder. “Let’s get after it!”

Mando turned to look at her and she nodded, already knowing exactly what the two of them had in mind; he hurried over and grabbed his pulse rifle, rushing back to her and wrapping his free arm tightly around her waist. He barely gave her enough time to latch onto him before activating his jetpack and shooting up into the air, flying fast towards where the creature was emerging from the rocks. Yeah, I think I prefer flying in an actual ship, (Y/N) barely had time to think, landing roughly beside Mando and Cobb on the side of the ridge and immediately joining them as they fired their weapons at the side of the creature’s head.

“This ain’t doin’ a thing!”

“Yeah, I have to agree with the marshal on this one!” (Y/N) yelled, watching as their shots bounced off its thick hide.

Reloading his pulse rifle, Mando loudly replied, “Just keep shooting!”

The three of them continued firing their weapons and after a few moments, the krayt dragon seemed to finally notice their presence; it let out another roar and moved its head towards them, but the Mandalorian grabbed her around the waist again and they flew out of the way just as it bit down on the rocky ridge. They flew down to the ground in front of the cave entrance and spun around, their weapons at the ready, but the creature had disappeared once again.

“Dank farrik…” (Y/N) murmured under her breath, her grip on her blaster rifle tightening as she waited for the krayt dragon to re-emerge; she didn’t have very long to wait. They quickly turned as the creature appeared from the sand dunes behind them and lunged forward, narrowly missing a cluster of escaping Tuskens and villagers.

“There he is.” Mando spoke under his breath, his modulated voice steady despite the dire situation. He glanced past (Y/N) to Cobb with a nod. “I’ve got an idea. Get it’s attention.”

Without hesitation, the marshal leaned forward and activated the missile strapped to his back; it hit the creature with a fiery explosion, causing it to shriek in anger and change its course, charging through the sand in their direction. “I got its attention! Now what?”

“You still have that detonator?”

Cobb unclipped it from his belt and reached past (Y/N) to hand it over. “Take it!”

“Wait, what’s the plan, Mando?” (Y/N) frowned, trying in vain to piece together what her partner was planning on doing.

Mando turned his head to look at her. “You’re gonna take care of the child.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know but wish me luck!” Before (Y/N) could realize what was happening, Mando pushed her into Cobb’s arms and as she instinctively brought her arms up around the marshal’s shoulders, he slammed the butt of his pulse rifle into his jetpack and they shot high up into the air. Clutching tightly to Cobb as they zigzagged through the sky, (Y/N) had just enough time to glance over and see the krayt dragon swallow Mando and a bantha whole before they landed hard on the ground.

Quickly sitting up, (Y/N) stared at the spot the Mandalorian had been with her jaw dropped in horror. She couldn’t move or speak and beside her, Cobb ripped off his helmet to reveal an equally-stunned face; before either of them could say anything, the ground began to rumble beneath them once again. (Y/N) grabbed her blaster rifle just as the krayt dragon re-emerged from the ground, its jaw widening to release a mighty roar, but just as she was preparing to fire on it, a familiar beskar-clad figure flew out of its mouth and was followed by the electric-blue shockwaves of a pulse rifle.

“That son of a mud-scuffer…” (Y/N) breathed out, watching through her rifle’s scope in amazement as the Mandalorian pressed down on the detonator and set off the explosives within the creature. With one last ear-splitting scream, the krayt dragon collapsed to the ground in a cloud of sand and dust, finally defeated.

She and Cobb shielded their faces as a strong gust of wind blasted them, looking up in time to watch Mando land on the ground in front of the creature’s carcass. (Y/N) glanced over at the marshal and they shared a disbelieving grin, clambering to their feet while the cheers of Tuskens and villagers filled the air.

(Y/N)’s leg twinged in protest when she stood but she ignored the pain as she and Cobb hurried over to where Mando stood; his armor was dripping with the creature’s green stomach acid and his chest was heaving with labored breaths, but to her he looked incredible.

“You’ve gotta be the craziest kriffing man I’ve ever met!” (Y/N) exclaimed, looking over her partner for any serious signs of injury and grinning when he merely shrugged his shoulders. “Keep pulling stunts like that and you might just change my low opinion of ex-bounty hunters.”

Mando chuckled between breaths, the sound causing her heart to warm in her chest. “I’ll keep that in mind, alor’ad.”

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

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading!

Mando'a Translations: Alor'ad-Captain

Chapter Six

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty​ @sinon36​ @seninjakitey​ @thatonedindjarinfan​ @ginger-swag-rapunzel​ @mostclevermiss​ @momc95​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @zukoyonce​ @itsnottilly​

[cant-blink]

Half-Life, Ch. 8

Summary: The final chapter of the story. Ghidorah is in a fight to the death to decide his ultimate fate. Can he finally be free from Gigan’s terror, or will he fall to mind-control once more?

-

There’s nothing much that he loved more than a good fight, and seeing the golden dragon across from him was bringing back memories of his old life, back when he was with his Masters.

He remembered seeing this dragon for the first time, with the sole purpose of subduing him to be brought into Nebulan captivity. He remembered the thrill in his chest as he went to make his first strike. He remembered the burning sensation in that same chest when the hydra retaliated with a Gravity Beam point-blank. Gigan has never fought an opponent with such a wild lust for blood and death, and to this day, it remained the greatest battle he’s ever engaged in.

This moment, however, threatened to dethrone that. Because so much more was on the line here, and Gigan knew that there was to be no holding back for either of them. What’s worse, he was in no condition for a drawn-out fight and this could very well be his last stand. But perhaps...

His eye was still fastened on Ghidorah’s middle head. Perhaps he can sneak a strike as his first blow, end it fast and easy. He certainly had the means to pull it off, a technique that Ghidorah was unaware of as far as he knew. He's never displayed it in front of him, so he would have the element of surprise on his side. But such a move would take a large portion of his energy; even at full strength, it was not something he could do with reckless abandon. In a crucial state like he is in now, it was certainly not something he can afford to screw up...

The silence between them was thickened, as Ghidorah opened those three jaws slowly and deliberately. As if testing to see what Gigan would do. Now or never, here goes nothing! 

Gathering his energy, he took a split-second to tell his system where he wished to go before lunging forward to lessen the distance. He saw the lightning erupt from Ghidorah’s jaws just as Gigan’s body deteriorated. Not a split-second later, he reappeared behind the dragon, and he wasted no time lunging for him with his claw raised...

And he connected with the wrong head, as Ghidorah’s necks flailed wildly and one of them got in the way of his attack. Although the dragon was clearly taken by surprise, he recovered quickly and his tails slammed into him, knocking him aside. 

He fell back to the ground, luckily on his feet but he was inwardly cursing himself. That was a complete waste of his energy and now he had to be even more conservative about how he spent it. It’s okay, it’s alright. He can settle on good ol’ fashion claw-to-tooth combat. Something he knew Ghidorah was no fan of.

But getting close enough won’t be easy as the Gravity Beams were relentless, blasting the air and ground around him in erratic hard-to-predict fashion. The very embodiment of chaos, this dragon, and he loved him for it. Too bad it had to come down to this.

Seeing he won’t be getting closer without getting hit, he shot a Cluster Beam towards the hydra, the red laser colliding with a Gravity Beam to result in an explosion. The cloud of dust whipped from them, blocking the view; normally, Gigan would switch to his thermal vision, but he knew this was pointless against Ghidorah’s cold hide. Instead, he’s forced to go in blind, lunging forward and managing to connect a blade across Ghidorah’s chest.

A snarl erupted from the recoiling dragon, who responded by fanning his wings and flapping them strongly. A powerful gust blew away the dust and began pushing Gigan back. But he kept his footing, leaning against the hurricane-force winds and leaving furrows in the ground. Such power in those sails, he LOVED it! His own sails flattened against his back to help reduce catching this wind, and his claws swung down to stab into the earth.

Ghidorah did not relent and only began flapping faster and harder.

He was blown back far enough and still secured against the increased gale, Gigan shot another laser at the dragon. It was weaker than the last few blasts, as his energy reserves were getting low, and it didn’t make as big an explosion on impact as last time. But it was enough to stop the dragon, and those six eyes glaring towards him seemed to glow through the smoke.

Trying to keep his breaths steady and discreet, Gigan stood back up, his claws crossing in front of him defensively. But the dragon doesn’t push his assault further, yet, and they found themselves in another stand-off.

“Sure you want to keep going with this, Ghiddy?”

No sooner did he say that than the dragon shoots another trio of Gravity Beams directly at him without the wild flailing, and he jumped back out of the way. With a focused blow like that, it seemed like Ghidorah really did not like being called ‘Ghiddy’. Well, he should’ve thought of that before calling him ‘half-life’. He lets out a chuckle at the childishness of it all, trying to ignore the pain slowly starting to creep through the adrenaline.

“You haven’t even seen half of what I can do, babe,” Gigan continued, only somewhat bluffing to buy time to re-coop the energy lost. “It’s not too late to run.”

Ghidorah still doesn’t respond verbally, as he lets loose another round of Gravity Beams directly for him and Gigan jumps into flight to avoid it once more. So damn predictable. But what he didn’t expect was a massive chunk of rock rising from the site of impact, far larger than the boulders Ghidorah had lifted before. It was far too big to get out of the way of, and his visor widened as the wyvern swung it towards him. He grunted at the impact and, knowing the hydra’s intention to crush him under it, managed to salvage enough of his energy to blast it to smithereens just as it almost hits the ground. He’s still subject to its momentum though and he grunted again as his back hits the earth. Fuck, that was way too close but at least he wasn’t flattened.

Power at 10%, his system flashed onto his visor. Retreat to the mothership now. But he had no time to reprimand his system that there was no mothership to retreat to. No, Ghidorah has leapt and those talons dig into his arms and shoulder pads, keeping him pinned onto the ground.

At once, he lifted his tail to stab into him, but alas, he was painfully reminded that his stinger was gone. Really, any movement from his tail brought unbearable shocks of pain through his system. Fuck. He glared up at the dragon; he didn’t have enough energy for another laser blast, and he could see the Gravity Beams building up in those throats.

But he wasn’t out yet, and he opened his own beak and flames erupted from his throat. He knew it wouldn’t do much in way of damage as he really only used this on weaker creatures and their flammable structures. Nonetheless, it served its purpose to startle the dragon and he felt Ghidorah’s weight shift back off one of his arms. He took advantage to swing at the hydra with his freed claw, stabbing into the scales of Ghidorah’s side. 

A shriek escaped those throats and the dragon jolted back off of him completely. 

The flames escaping his beak petered out, and he pushed himself back up. The two locked eyes and Gigan can see small embers fading off from Ghidorah’s manes. As he expected, the flames did little to actually hurt the dragon. 

On the contrary, he took notice that his own vision has grown dimmer, as the generator ran low on the energy needed to keep his mechanical parts functional. This wasn’t good; he needed to stall again lest he starts fighting blind.

Unfortunately, Ghidorah has made it clear that he was not going to entertain another conversation with him. He really should run; both his system and his own organic instincts screamed at him to flee, but instead, he took the offensive and lunged forward recklessly. In response, Ghidorah rose his middle head higher and his two side heads slammed into him.

Dammit...

He was getting slower and the pain was really starting to take its toll, and hearing the snickering from the hydra, he knew Ghidorah was taking notice.

RETREAT! RETREAT! RETREAT! His system flashed onto his visor. Fuckin’- If it would stop wasting energy telling him to run, maybe his weapons wouldn’t take so long to get back online! Or how about using that energy to bring his vision back to normal, that would be great!!

But neither his instincts nor his system were backing down, and after another moment of a stand-off, Gigan lunged forward once more...

... before he leapt up last minute to avoid a Gravity Beam and kicked Ghidorah in his chest, forcing him down onto his back. He leapt off again before any retaliation could be made, his flight-devices activating to let him fly upwards into the clouds.

He knew Ghidorah will never let him get away, but perhaps he can stay hidden in the disorientating haze long enough to recuperate. 

Then round two can begin.

-

The second the half-life flew off of him was the second Ghidorah knew he was winning. Damn coward always tried to run when things turned bad and expecting him to stick around to finish this to the end was apparently too much to ask. Unfortunately for this pathetic excuse for a kaiju, Ghidorah wasn’t one to let things go so easily.

Righting himself, he glared up towards the retreating cyborg and he shot a Gravity Beam. The half-life glanced back and weaved off to the side to avoid it before disappearing into the clouds. Very well, then. His wings fan open and he takes flight after him.

If the half-life thought he can escape, he was even more stupid than Ghidorah gave him credit for. He will chase him to the very ends of the universe if he had to!

Entering the pink cloud of space dust, he lets out a few more Gravity Beams at the half-life’s silhouette, one of them managing to strike one of those sails and causing him to drop a bit. He was flying slower than usual, Ghidorah noted. Normally, both their top speeds were the same; he knew that from past experience when trying to escape the cyborg’s attention in vain. But here, the half-life was so weak that the dragon was actually starting to catch up to him.

A smirk grew on all three of his mouths, his wings giving one last downstroke and his talons rushed forward. 

His prey must’ve felt the rush of air and spun around with a shriek, a claw swiping for him and his buzzsaw going off. Ghidorah pulled up at the last second to avoid getting struck and the half-life veered off to try and lose him in the thickest parts of the cloud.

Did he not realize that Ghidorah didn’t need to see him to know exactly where he is? His tainted life-force was faint, but it was still there for his crests to sense.

The impulse to toy with this creature was strong, but he resisted it. The stakes were too high for such games. 

Instead, he dove straight towards the cyborg’s life-signature, claws at the ready and wings folded to reduce his own presence. This time, contact was made as his talons latched onto those sails, and his jaws surged forward to tear the membranes. The half-life gave a surprised cry and Ghidorah’s momentum and weight brought them back down to the ground at reckless speeds. The impact was brutal, and it was satisfying feeling the creature’s body take the brunt of it beneath his feet.

He gave the half-life no time to recover as, still latched onto his opponent’s back, the dragon gave a powerful downstroke of his wings to lift them up... before smashing him back onto the ground under his full weight. He did this again, and again, each time getting another ever-weakening cry from the cyborg. He can see more blood escaping the half-life’s mouth, and felt each labored breath the creature struggled to take. He does this one more time before finally stopping, his victim now completely limp. 

Stepping off from the cyborg, he glared down at the half-life. That visor was dim and giving the creature a kick onto his back, there was no response. Unconscious again. His impulse to continue the torture was strong, but once more, he disregarded it. He really should end this here and now while he has the chance; he wasn’t keen on finding out whatever other ‘tricks’ this cyborg had up his sleeve.

His left head lowered to grab the creature’s neck, his right head soon following. If he gathers all his energy, he should be able to blast this creature’s head from his body, ending this whole thing once and for all. But as he starts building the energy in his throat, the half-life suddenly gave a jolt out of nowhere and Ghidorah felt a terrible pain in his middle neck. 

He knew immediately what happened.

The half-life was only feigning unconsciousness and in a last desperate bid, has stabbed a claw up into his neck. So deep it was that energy from his Gravity Beam escaped from the wound, causing even more pain and damage to vulnerable flesh. It was too late to bring that energy back into its organ, try as he might.

“I’m so sorry,” he heard this strained whisper from the half-life. He felt the creature’s legs and tail wrap around him to bring their bodies together before more horrific pain coursed through him. The chest-saw has gone off, ripping through his scales and flesh and going down to the bone. In retaliation, his two heads that were fastened to the creature’s neck let loose with every ounce of EVERYTHING the dragon had.

The half-life couldn’t even scream. 

The buzzsaw came to a halt and in that same split second, something shot out from the creature’s chest and sliced through the remainder of the middle head’s neck. 

An explosion resulted from the two Gravity Beams meeting in the center of the half-life’s neck, causing the hydra to release his hold and stumble back. A huge cloud of dust whipped up around the two combatants, and it took time for it to clear and reveal the results of that exchange. 

The half-life’s head has been blasted right off, and the now-two-headed Ghidorah felt his heart lift with elation as he watched the creature stumble forward clumsily. One step, two, before he fell to his knees, then onto his side to the ground. The body twitched, claws raking the ground and metallic silver blood spilling out from the remains of his neck. The buzzsaw went off one more time before slowing to a stop.

The rest of the half-life’s body followed suit and fell still. His life-force was so faint to begin with that Ghidorah couldn’t tell if his crests even rewarded him for the kill. 

Didn’t matter. The sheer joy coursing through him, knowing he was finally free, was enough to make up for it, and to mask the pain for a blissful moment, before...

His vision began to darken on the edges and his legs felt weak. He fell to his own knees but despite knowing his fate, he lets out a cackling laugh in his remaining two heads.

The half-life was dead; he’s done it! Even at the cost of his own life, his last few moments spent in freedom was well worth it.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Whatever it was that shot out of the half-life’s chest had boomeranged back; he heard them before he felt them, slicing through the base of one wing where membrane met scales and causing it to sag limp to the ground. Still Ghidorah kept laughing wildly, even as his other wing is almost severed in the same fashion. The pain continued as more of his flesh is sliced into before it finally stops in his chest. Looking down, he saw there were razor disks now embedded in his body. To the bitter end, the creature still had surprises. 

But despite all of this, the sight of his disemboweled belly, and the loss of his wings, the maniacal cackling from the dragon persisted, only softening as Ghidorah’s twitching blood-covered body finally collapsed to the ground.

A few more chuckles escaped him before fading into silence. His glassy eyes remained locked on the body of the half-life, both their growing puddles of blood meeting between them. 

The pain has numbed, and the feeling of irrational happiness overtook him. He recognized this, and he doesn’t fight it as his muscles relaxed. As his vision went black and his crests gave him that massive dose of blissful euphoria for the final time, familiar words played in his mind.

Your name is Ghidorah. You were created to be the ultimate weapon.

The Universe is a terrifying place. It’s filled with violent races that seek to destroy those who only wish to live in peace. You will be the savior that fights for those innocents, that cleanses the universe of those dark forces. 

You will make it safer, for all of us.

Safer. He finally understood now. 

Every race that dared to use him for their nefarious deeds, extinct by his own vengeful claws. 

The half-life, the most despicable creature he’s ever had the misfortune of knowing, dead.

His own life drawing to a close, Ghidorah can rest in peace knowing that he’s succeeded.