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makeitagood0neao3 · 6 months ago

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Weather Me To Nothing (1/4)

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,916

Summary: Reader is the heir to the throne with an impossible choice to make. Torn between protecting her sisters and finding her way in the universe, will she make the right choice?

Warnings: Dark!Paul Atreides. 18+ only! Explicit sexual content. Arranged Marriage. Non con. See tags for more.

A/N: Welcome and enjoy! Comment and kudos are always welcome <3 Crumble like a temple built from future daughters, To wasteland when the oceans recede.

Read Part 2

The chamber is so quiet, the heels of your shoes echo off the walls as you approach the throne. He is sitting on his gold throne, the House Corrino crest behind him. The lion is bright, making you blink hard as it reflects the light simulating daylight. Behind you, the heavy doors that offer complete privacy clang shut, sealing you in. The hall is nearly empty with only his most trusted advisors and Mentats present. A controlled amount of witnesses. As a child, the sight of the Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV would stop you in your tracks until your mother swept you into her arms and carried you to him. As his eldest child, you were a representation of not only the House, but your younger sisters as well. Now an adult, every movement you make it watched, hesitations noted. Should the tempo of your gait falter, it will be documented. You father still fills the room, though not in size. You once imaged him as huge, the size of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen.

Your father has aged. Perhaps only you can see how his shoulders slump in his chair, though you know his physicality is not a representation of his power. Even now, as you pass by scattered members of his court, you can sense their tension, their straight spines and clenched jaws. He doesn’t need to raise his hand to strike anyone down, including you. When your mother died, he made you an example of your sister’s behavior in front of his followers. The last time you were here just mere weeks ago was the most furious you’ve ever seen him, though his wrath didn’t end in physical punishment.

Playing the long game, he knew to keep you waiting on your planet. Day by day with your toes in the warm sand on the shore, night by night kept distracted from your studies and instead obsessing over this moment, waiting for the moment he would call upon you to return. The Emperor is always a step ahead and you’ve always been clumsy.

Impulsive. Insolent. A disgrace.

You keep your gaze low, though your chin level, every click of your heel is a countdown until you are in front of him. You half bow, a sign of respect, though you have none for the man. When you meet his gaze, you ensure a light smile is on your lips, as if happy to see him. He meets you with the same grin, the crows feet around his eyes deepening. You learned as a child that his throne is also a stage. A place where he can play any role he chooses.

The forgiving Emperor. The doting father. The aging fanatic.

“Daughter. Thank you for arriving so quickly. I hate to take you away from your studies.”

“I answer every call from my Emperor and father,” you smile back. Knowing he wants to hear this above all else, you assure him of your loyalty to him and his empire.

“I have been reflecting on your most recent transgressions against this family and I believe I have found a way for you to atone.”

“I ask again, where is the evidence of this transgression?” You challenged lightly.

You still don’t agree that sending an anonymous warning to Duke Leto that his mission on Arrakis was an attack on his family and House was a transgression. Treason against the Emperor, yes. No one in this court had proof it was you, except for your outspoken disagreement before him and his council. It took hours to slip away from your guards and lure the transmissions Mentat away from his post. The message was sent, but it seems too late. He was reported dead before dawn.

He lowers his chin, his angular face pointing at you like a bird of prey, ready to snatch you from the spot with his talons. It takes everything in your to keep your hands still at your sides, to not pick or clench your fingers. Behind you, the sound of the heavy doors open. You don’t take your eyes off of the predator in front of you, though, a coy smile on your lips. Heavy footsteps echo as the visitors approach. Refusing to give into him, you keep your gaze fixed ahead.

“You have been of age for quite some time. As my oldest daughter, I have saved your union for a worthy ally. I have found the most loyal of them to strengthen the empire!” He says this with enthusiasm, deep in his deluded belief. Everything he does is to strengthen his position.

Your smile falters, lips pressed tightly as you clasp your hands together in front of you, hoping to prevent them from shaking. You knew this was coming, one day. Though as the least poised and submissive daughter in his line, you doubted he would risk marrying you off with an ally. Keen on keeping your nose in books and studies on your quiet planet, you have successfully avoided meeting most eligible matches while portraying the attitude of aloof. Most of the wealthy bachelors don’t want to work too hard to woo someone smarter than them. Someone who has everything and is impressed by nothing. You have tried to instill this in your younger sisters to no avail.

His pleased expression is not enough to convince you that this is not a punishment. Atonements in House Corrino are paid in blood. Duke Leto atoned for his House’s success in the empire with his. Your mother paid for it when she died in child labor. Though you share a bloodline with the Emperor, you are subject to the same kind of cruelty.

The footsteps are loud and thunderous before the stop directly behind you, an ominous shadow. You can feel their gaze on your back, but you are too afraid to see who it is. Too afraid of giving your father the satisfaction of your dismay on your face. To your right, a large form invades your space, standing so his shoulder nearly grazes yours.

At least a head taller than you, the brother of the beast, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. He’s lean, made of chiseled muscle built to slaughter his enemies. His pale skin is contrasted by his black armor. His hairless head emphasizes his deep set black eyes. He doesn’t spare you a glance, instead keeping his attention on the Emperor. You turn back to your father, eyes wide as you shake your head. Always ready with a quip, you are truly speechless. This man killed his own father and not known for his brain, but his brutality.

This is the man your father settles you with?

“Feyd-Rautha has come a long way, Y/N.”

“Father-”

“How is the Dune, Feyd?”

“Spice production is higher than ever, thanks to the harvesters you delivered, Emperor.” It comes out in a rasp, mimicking the sound of his uncle’s voice without the depth.

Dune. You hated that fucking planet having spent an entire standard year there as punishment for something you can’t even remember. The moon the locals referred to as The Hand Of God prevented you from communicating with your sisters while there. Completely excommunicated, when the sun set, you were expected to dine with Vladimir and his kin and most nights you did.

On the rare occasion he wasn’t present, he left you alone with Feyd-Rautha. Neither of them kept it secret that they desired you to join the Harkonnen family permanently. Vladimir complimented your intelligence and strategic mind, while assuring you that your figure could carry and birth a healthy army of great nephews for him.

When your sentence was complete, you left with your skin hot and dry, without so much as a glance back. Upon your arrival, you nearly begged your father to never send you back. He gave you his word so long as you understood your place was behind him and his decisions, you were free from Arrakis.

To keep you from further embarrassing him and his legacy, he sent you on the sabbatical you had currently been on. Out of the way, out of sight, out of mind.

“Do you plan on staying on Arrakis or does your uncle’s business require you on Giedi Prime?”

“I will remain on Arrakis to ensure the production of Spice doesn’t stop. My brother has other responsibilities. My priority right now is to find the remaining members of House Atreides.” There’s a layer of humor in his tone. As if he isn’t standing before one of the most terrifying men in the universe. Perhaps he doesn’t believe he is.

Your head snaps to look at him. For being on a desert planet the majority of his life, he words are cold, lifeless. He would kill anyone his uncle told him to and not contemplate any differently. This man took on three of the best Harkonnen slave fighters in a gladiator game recently and left the arena without a scratch.

A marriage to Feyd-Rautha would mean a lifetime of breeding on a planet so hot it could kill you within two hours in the sand without a Stillsuit. The Harkonnen home planet is no better. Time passes slower, a standard year is almost three of that on Arrakis. It’s heavily industrialized, without oceans or forests. A heavy layer of fog covers the planet, blocking out the stars. If there are any visible nearby. Juxtaposed to the quiet sounds of shifting sand on Arrakis, their planet is loud and booming. No. That is not a life you can live.

“Be sure when you find the son, he is not injured. The other houses in the Empire are not pleased with the way they were handled. There has been chatter amongst them. We don’t want to give them more to talk about.”

An Emperor, no matter how powerful, is nothing without followers. Two Houses are nothing against the legions of the known universe.

“What will you do when you find him?” I ask, curious as to what his fate will be if he isn’t going to kill him.

“Prepare him for your wedding ceremony, of course.” This stuns me and at my stillness, Feyd-Rautha turns to face me. You don’t move, unable to comprehend the strategy of this game. “You are to be married to Paul Atreides. Imagine my surprise when we found out he was alive. I was further surprised when he asked for the hand of one of my daughters. A plea for peace and an alliance.”

“What about Irulan?”

“Irulan is the eldest. She is meant for a worthy match. You seemed to enjoy your time on Arrakis. Making allies with the local swine.”

You don’t speak, stunned for the third time in this discussion. How does he, and to what extend, does he know about your involvement with the Fremen? The help you offered was limited, they mostly refused your help, but you did what you could while there. And you were discrete, not even the Baron knew of your treachery.

Feyd narrows his eyes at you, assessing. He’s wondering why you over your sisters. The answer is simple. Your infertility makes you the perfect match for the bloodline that survived an assassination. The Atreides line will not continue if Paul weds you. Is Paul a vengeful man? What will he do to you when he finds out? Perhaps that’s the Emperor’s hope.

The hand of your father’s cruelty.

“You would give a beloved daughter to the son of the man you had murdered?”

“I like to think of it as ‘removed.’”

“It was an assassination. Who’s to say he won’t take revenge on you by killing me?” It’s the perfect solution to the problem you continue to be for him and is enough of a reason to declare war against House Atreides. He’d have the support of the whole universe.

You slump, shoulders no longer pulled back as your spine bends. The weight of your future is too heavy to hold. Your eyes drop to the floor, unable to keep them on your father, your executioner. Perhaps it’s safer with Feyd-Rautha and you can’t believe that’s the corner you've been backed into.

“That is why, dear daughter, you will kill him before he has the chance to.”

Feyd opens a pocket over his chest and pulls out a teardrop shaped vial with a blue liquid inside. It’s small in his palm as he holds it out to me. You stare at it, afraid that touching it will mean you am agreeing to this.

“This came from one of the herbalists. They found the plant deep underground on Arrakis. It’s a very old mixture that will put one into a deep sleep they won’t wake from. You are a humanitarian, so I have ensured it will be painless.” Feyd voice is kind, but you know it’s one of his manipulations. It was likely his uncle who decided on this poison.

“Is this a Bene Gesserit tincture?” You ask your father. His lips curl just slightly at the edges. You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t kill some-”

“Your interference before is why he is still alive. A loose thread and a threat to this family, to your sisters. Imagine the pain you have caused him, by allowing him to survive.” Your father’s voice from his seat is clear and firm. It is an order you can’t deny, regardless of my convictions.

“And what will I get for this act of loyalty for my Emperor?” I ask him, countering.

He is pleased, his talons curling over the arms of the chair. He pulls himself up and walks half way down the stairs to where we stand. Still keeping the high ground, but seemingly meeting you halfway.

“You get to be free. Free to continue your studies, on whatever planet you wish, and with whomever you wish, or alone.”

It’s too good to be true. He knows being left alone and away from the politics and his bidding is all you desire. You would relinquish your name, title, everything, just for peace. You weigh the options.

If you refuse, you are forced to marry the worst the universe has to offer, forced to stay within the Emperor’s reach as he murders anyone who stands in the way of him and House Atreides. If you agree, it is painless for Paul and only one casualty has to perish. The universe will think it was the Fremen who murdered him and you can live as a widow, tainted by the Atreides heir, alone wherever you choose.

Feyd-Rautha, for once, has read you correctly. You are a humanitarian and knowing you have taken the suffering of your sisters for them, knows you will also save as many people as you can.

You turn to Feyd, palms sweaty with anxiety, and take the vial.

The harsh, unforgiving sun eclipses Dune as the Emperor’s Flagship approaches the planet. You are seated in the haul, a Sardaukar guard on either side of you. Two is light protection, but since you are traveling to a planet with almost the entirety of the Harkonnen army, they are really operating as a formal escort.

Your repeated requests to say goodbye to your sisters were denied. The Emperor commanded you to take immediate leave for Arrakis. Feyd-Rautha nearly drug you from the chamber and to his ship, the rest of his posse stomping closely behind.

You hate to admit it, but for now, Feyd is your biggest protector during this transaction. He sits across from you, his face calm as he watches you like a predator, waiting for the moment to strike. His eyes drop to your chest, where the vial of poison hands around your neck beneath your shawl. It’s cold, the glass hasn’t warmed to the temperature of your skin. You don’t expect it will, either.

Once you arrive, Feyd will escort you to Arrakeen where you will surely dine with the Baron. The day after before dawn, Fed will escort you to meet Paul at a neutral place for the ceremony. Without the chance to say goodbye to your sisters, it’s difficult to imagine seeing them again. Being sent to this desert feels like an exile this time. After you complete the task given to you, you’ll be altered, different. Will your sisters even recognize you after this?

The ship enters the atmosphere and begins descending to the ground. Several Sardaukar ships accompanied by the Harkonnen fleet have landed before you, setting a safety perimeter for the flagship to land. The ship connects with the ground and settles, your guards standing before you. You stand as well, pausing in the middle of the haul as you wait for the door to open. Feyd-Rautha is next to you, preventing the Sardaukar guard from taking his position, invading your space.

“Don’t think I am as foolish as I pretend to be,” if he had eyebrows, they’d be furrowed in his glare.

“I don’t-” Your voice is cut off by his firm hand on your bicep, causing the Sardaukar to place their hands on their swords, though they don’t draw them.

“This arrangement to the Atreides bastard is an insult to my uncle and House Harkonnen. We have done your father’s bidding for generations.”

“Then contact my father for payment.“ Furious he thinks he has the right to place his hands on you, you cannot stop venom that drips in your words.

“You will not leave this planet without me as a husband. I have waited long enough.” He says it with so much confidence. Though unpredictable, he’s never been this aggressive. What makes him think that your guard, the tactical warriors more brutal than Harkonnen’s, won’t remove every one of his extremities if he touches you?

“It’s time you let me go,” you say, though he doesn’t release you. “In more ways than one, it seems.” Your eyes drag from his to the warrior beside you, who appears ready to attack, but is hesitating. If this were anyone else, their swords would have been drawn.

Feyd-Rautha glances at the guard behind you as he leans forward, a fraction closer, before finally dropping your arm. He is testing the boundary line, waiting to be stopped. He turns and leads you out. Before following behind, you glance behind you at your guards, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. It’s a warning to not hesitate again.

The dry and suffocating heat is immediately pressed upon you as you stop into the sun. Doing your best not to flinch at the wind cutting into your skin, you hold your chin level and keep your eyes on him. He is more impulsive than you recall, making him all the more dangerous. He’s approaching a Thropper, hundreds of Harkonnen surrounding the landing zone. They make a show of greeting you, an extension of the Emperor himself.

You call to him when he is halfway up the ramp. He stops and turns, only giving you half his physical attention. You come to a dead stop just before the ramp. Without dropping your smirk, your eyes drop to the step before meeting his. Elegantly, you pull your arm out from beneath your shawl, reaching for him. His eyes drop to your hand as he contemplates.

Though the wealthiest in the Empire, accumulating more wealth than even the Emperor, Harkonnens live in a primitive mindset. Women are not their equal nor worthy of their respect. They are warriors first, the ultimate toxic masculine. You are still a lady, however, and unable to resist knocking him down a peg in front of his warriors.

Still unsure how you will get yourself out of this without murder or marrying anyone, if Feyd-Rautha is right, and you are forced to marry him, you need his men to understand you are not a dog on leash. Their traditions don’t apply to you and you won’t be treated any differently than you currently are.

Finally, he agrees to play this game. Walking down the ramp, he steps off to the side. Once his feet are on the same ground as you, he returns the smirk and offers you his hand. You take it and step onto the ramp. His hand steadies you as you walk up before releasing you once you’re too high. Before your guard can follow, he’s on the ramp again, trailing closely behind you.

His sigh of displeasure is immediate as soon as you find your seat at the front behind the controls. He stands next to you, but you pay him no mind as you buckle yourself in.

“I insist-”

“As do I.” Not even glancing at him as you begin to flip on the overhead switches, starting the motor and engines. You take the aviation headset that rests on the steering handle and put it on. Your actions are enough to silence him, so he sits in the chair beside you, muttering something in Galach you can’t catch from beneath the headset.

The engine reverberates through the floor and sand swirls on either side of the glass when the propellers start. A guard behind you raises the ramp and when it closes, you lift off.

You didn’t think it was possible for this planet to become any more plain, but it has. Mounds of sand surround you in every direction. The spice on the top layer glimmering in the sun, reflecting it’s bright hue back to you. It’s hot even in the Thropper so you slide the shawl off of your shoulders. A fraction of your skin is on display around the thick straps of your dress.

A few hundred meters in front of you, a shimmering object catches your sight. Angling the Thropper toward it, you slow and see it’s a brand new spice harvester. The gears inside the machine tracks are free of rust and the steel casings aren’t discolored from the spice. Your father has spared no expense.

“These are bigger,” Feyd-Rautha’s voice comes through your headset. “We’ve been harvesting one and a half times more a month than ever before. Each comes with an entourage to keep the locals at bay.” His eyes are on you when you turn to look at him, but he’s focused on your shoulder. Fighting the eye roll, you turn back to the window and see two Throppers circling above the harvester, no doubt armed.

You don’t agree with the treatment of the Fremen or the aggression shown to them. This is their planet, their commodity. If anything, your father should be paying them to allow his presence here. It takes a hard people to live here, you can’t imagine ever adjusting to the effects of spice.

Even now, your heart rate speeds up and you attempt to slow your breath. The spice kicked up from the harvester is now filtering through into the Thropper, leaving you to blink hard to focus. Most experience mild hallucinations, but in the year you spent here, it just made you paranoid and unsteady. It heightened sensations and slowed your movements. How can the Harkonnen’s be so unaffected? You regain control over your mental state and continue on.

Landing at the capital, Arrakeen, your guards exit before you. Halfway down the ramp, Feyd-Rautha’s large, pale hand is extended for you to take. You accept, stepping off, and following him as he leads you towards your room. Once there, behind the closed door, you sit in the nearest chair and breathe deep, trying to steady yourself.

Read Part 2

#dark!paul atreides #x reader #dark!paul atreides x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #manipulation #inappropriate use of the voice

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anakinskywalkerog · 1 year ago

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My Very Soul (Chapter 34)

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

Link to Chapter 33

Warnings: a bit of sad reader, a bit of angsty Anakin, FLUFF, clandestine love affair bullshit!! and a very subtle implied *you know* at the very end (rated teen as always)

Summary: Your training with Obi-Wan constitutes a new beginning; you and Anakin reckon with the fight you had after Felucia (WE HAVE NEW CLONE WARS ANAKIN GIFS TO USE I'm screaming)

Word Count: 4.2k

You felt the crisp, cool, morning air of the Temple hit your face like a bucket of water, as if the wind wanted to keep you awake and upright. You walked slowly through the hallways, focusing on your breathing, on the cold air, the hard marble beneath your feet, on anything but the whispered conversations you heard around you. Not heard—felt. You knew that the few Jedi you passed in the halls were not responsible for the accumulation of the voices in your head. This was just how it was for you, now—you couldn't help but pick up too much, like you were receiver that was too sensitive, picking up too many transmission signals.

It was easier to ignore the feel of all of the whispering voices than it was to ignore the pain you felt in your entire being. Walking through the Temple halls, even, felt like walking through thick, piling sand, your limbs aching. But you knew you mustn't focus on the pain—the pain of your grief, still so heavy, or the pain that twinged in your mind as you thought about the fight you'd had with Anakin last night—you mustn't let it consume you. You had work to do.

You felt horribly guilty for how you had shouted at Anakin the previous evening, how you had pushed him away, how you had told him to get out. Not that he had listened; he'd held you all through the night, and even after you'd calmed enough to dose, you still felt the guilt of it in your veins. So, when you'd awoken to the coruscanti light streaming in through the window slats, and you'd seen Anakin fast asleep, his peaceful, beautiful face finally at ease, you knew it wouldn't be right to wake him. You'd taken one last look at his face, admiring the shape of his jaw, his eyebrows slightly downturned in sleep, his eyelashes that shown blonde in the morning light, before you'd slipped out from under the covers and donned your robe, holstering your lightsaber before sneaking out of your apartment.

There would be time to apologize later. Now, you knew, you needed to clear your mind. You kept walking. As you passed the archives, something that you had been thinking about since you had returned from Felucia flashed through your head. Later, you told yourself, turning to look ahead and stilling yourself for what was to come.

You stopped outside the meditation chambers. You knew you didn't need to knock—knew that he would sense your presence. And, as you heaved another sigh, working to keep your body upright, fighting the weight of that ever-present grief, you heard his quiet voice.

"Enter," Obi-Wan said, and you pushed the button on the panel on the wall, walking slowly into the darkened meditation room. Everything inside was a shade of blue and grey, even the pale light slipping in through the mostly-covered windows. The room contained only a few soft ottomans, and gave the impression of stillness, of calm. Even so, you had to hold your breath as you bowed to Obi-Wan and took your place on the ottoman across from his. Everything in this Temple reminded you of Yuma. Everything reminded you that she was no longer here.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," Obi-Wan said gently, his eyes grazing over your form, your face. You realized you still had yet to visit the refresher, your hair still looking like a nest something might crawl out of. You couldn't find it in yourself to care.

"Thank you for...offering, to help me train," you responded, bowing your head again slightly, forcing yourself to look him in the eye.

"I will do what I can," Obi-Wan replied, folding his legs on the ottoman, assuming a straight-backed meditative position. You followed suit, and found that your body felt comforted in this position, like muscle memory, as if its familiarity made the weight a little bit easier to bear.

"It is my understanding that you were unsuccessful," Obi-Wan began, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "when trying to extricate yourself from Yuma's thoughts and memories in the Force."

"Yes," you said, swallowing hard, trying to ignore the lump that had formed in your throat as you thought back to those training sessions, some that had taken place in this very same room. It felt like a different lifetime, compared to the one you were living now.

"And you were unable, as well, to stop reading other's presences, when you tried." You felt Obi-Wan's thoughts drift lazily toward Anakin, and you checked to make sure your own Force presence was folded neatly and minutely into yourself. The last thing you needed from this training was to reveal too much.

"Yes," you said again, watching Obi-Wan with interest.

"What did it feel like? When you tried to disentangle yourself from Yuma's presence?" Obi-Wan sounded genuinely curious. You swallowed again, pushing your head and back up straight, blinking away the pang that her name sent through you.

"It felt like..." you thought back to those training sessions. "It felt like there were thousands of...tendrils, connecting my presence to Yuma's presence, in the Force. And all of the tendrils were tangled together, knotted and looped...it took so much effort to disconnect one, or two, but before I could make progress, her thoughts or emotions would shift, and new tendrils would take their place. I could never get too many disconnected at once."

"An interesting metaphor..." Obi-Wan mused, his hand gracing over his mustache, his eyes unfocused as he considered your words. "My thought is that we are going about this the wrong way." He looked up, making eye contact with you once again.

"I'm listening."

"I've observed your Force empathy myself..." Obi-Wan said, looking at you as if he could see through you, right to your very soul. "I've found that your own emotions form a strong connection to those you read in others."

You thought back to all the times you'd mistaken others emotions for your own...with Anakin, the first day you'd even met him, or with Henry, when you'd seen his memories and assumed they were yours. You nodded.

"Sometimes...sometimes they even become indiscernible," you confirmed. "My own emotions, and those I read in others." Obi-Wan nodded as well.

"Logically it follows that extricating your emotions from the emotions of others would be very difficult," Obi-Wan said. You thought back over your relationship with Anakin—how at first you'd been afraid your feelings of affection, longing, of love weren't yours at all. Over time, though, your own feelings had grown such that their strength couldn't be denied. They had asserted themselves over you, over both of your lives. You shuddered at the thought, at how difficult it felt, even now, to not be by his side, not be in his arms. How those emotions threatened to swallow you whole.

"If the two are inseparable," Obi-Wan continued, snapping you back to attention, "instead of trying to separate your emotions from the emotions of another, I'm wondering if we can cut both off at the source."

"You mean..." you pondered, thinking this through, "not feel anything?"

"Not exactly, no," Obi-Wan explained, his voice thoughtful. "You are gifted at meditation, yes?" You nodded, wanting to see where he was going with this. "Instead of trying not to feel anything, you might think to separate yourself from your own emotions, when in particularly dangerous or high-stakes situations."

"You're speaking of impermanence," you murmured softly. Obi-Wan nodded. It was an old Jedi principle, one you had learned from a very young age—that the root of all suffering was impermanence. That to fear the impermanence led to anger, and then to hate, and then to suffering. A Jedi must accept the impermanence of all things. Especially emotion, you thought to yourself.

"I think you might have more success if you were to try to separate yourself—your being, your very soul—from those momentary feelings. The emotions you feel, and those that others feel, entangled and entwined as they are." Obi-Wan watched you, waiting for your response.

"So, it isn't about trying not to feel..." you said, thinking deeply. "But rather, allowing my sense of self to detach from my feelings, when the occasion calls for it."

"Yes." Obi-Wan affirmed. "It isn't about escaping your own emotions...but rather, forming a stronghold against them, and the ones you might read in others." Obi-Wan paused for a moment while you thought this over. "The Sith are controlled by their emotion." You looked up, and for a moment, instead of Obi-Wan's blue iris, you saw the purple one that had haunted you in your dreams. "They draw strength from it, yes," Obi-Wan continued, "but they also let it consume them. It seems to me that when you intuit Sith presences, that emotion consumes you too."

You thought back to when Count Dooku had taken you prisoner in your own mind. It had felt like being led down a dark path, one that narrowed, narrowed, until...until you'd been trapped. You didn't want to be rendered useless ever again. You didn’t want anyone else to come into harm's way because you were unable to keep your own mind for yourself. As your resolve hardened, you sat up straight, meeting Obi-Wan's gaze.

"What must I do?"

It was difficult work. Obi-Wan led you through a series of visualization exercises, and then meditations. You waded so deeply into the weeds of your own mind that you felt, for a moment, afraid you might get lost in it once again. But Obi-Wan was there, his voice guiding you, allowing you to continue mapping those deepest parts of yourself. You soon found that you were not one whole, but a composite mix of things; you were not solely a Jedi, nor were you solely the self that Yuma had taught, nor the woman that Anakin loved. You were many different things, different forms, ever-shifting and changing along with your consciousness.

By the end of the lesson, you'd achieved a moment—only a moment—in which you had looked at Obi-Wan and felt nothing emanating from his presence at all. It snapped away as you lost your focus, and you'd been certain that it was a mistake, but Obi-Wan had assured you that he did not have the gift of hiding his Force presence, and that if you had not been intuiting it, you had made great progress. You could admit that the flow of conversation in the back of your mind, the ever-present murmuring, had quieted to only a trickle. This was a great improvement from the storm of voices you had grown accustomed to. After only one day's effort, you and Obi-Wan had achieved more than you and your Master had been able to accomplish in six months.

"Thank you," you said, breathless, sweat dripping down your brow from effort. For the first time since Felucia, you felt a bit looser, like you didn't have to try quite as hard to stand up straight.

"I appreciate your gratitude," Obi-Wan said kindly, "but you know it isn't necessary. I want to do anything I can to help you." You nodded your thanks to him, all the same. Obi-Wan's face became thoughtful. "I've never encountered anything like you, in the Force," he added, considering you.

You paused, taken aback. Obi-Wan, one of the most talented Jedi in the Order, who'd had a Padawan that—

"But...Anakin..." you mumbled, confused.

"I've never encountered anything like either of you," Obi-Wan said, chuckling and rubbing his beard. "You astound even the wisest of us." You laughed too, and felt yourself surprised to hear the sound.

"I know it doesn’t help," Obi-Wan remarked softly, "But I…have been in your position before. I watched my own Master be killed." You went quiet, your eyes fully on Obi-Wan, his head bowed, his hair hanging over his face, his eyes glazed with the memory. "And I was there, and I could do nothing to stop it. The mark that it leaves…it gets easier, with time. Easier to bear the weight of it."

You had never heard Obi-Wan speak of his Master before. Qui-Gon’s passing had happened when you were so young—it had scared you, at the time, with all the rumors surrounding how it had happened, but you hadn't thought, at that young age, of the effect it must have had on his Padawan.

"It does help," you told him quietly. The two of you sat for a moment in comfortable silence.

"How do you feel?" Obi-Wan asked, looking you over with careful concern. You considered his question honestly, allowing your body to express itself to you.

"I feel...hungry," you breathed, surprised at yourself. Obi-Wan smiled widely, and you grinned back at him, feeling, for the first time in a while, like there was solid ground beneath you.

Anakin stalked through the halls of the Temple. Jedi who were in his path moved swiftly to get out of his way; a maintenance droid squealed as the toe of Anakin's boot just missed it, but he wasn't paying attention. He looked down for a moment, but could barely see the tendons in his hands as he clenched his fingers into fists. He barely noticed the way the other Jedi were looking at him, his furrowed brow, his tall stature. He had other things on his mind.

He had awoken in your bed to find it empty. Fear and panic had gripped his heart as he tore apart the sheets, looking through the apartment, calling for you. It was only then that he remembered your training with Obi-Wan, your promise from the previous day. It had calmed him, but only a little. He had dressed quickly, sneaking out of your Jedi apartment with ease. He knew he had to find you.

Anakin's heart raced thinking about how you had been these previous days, how immobile you seemed, how you had been refusing to eat or drink, how you hadn't been able to get out of that bed. It terrified him whenever your eyes started to glaze over; when you didn't seem to fully see the room you were in. He was worried you might slip back into that Force haze at any moment, that space where you had seemed all but lost to him forever. He wouldn't let that happen.

The meditation room was empty; Anakin paused in the doorway only for a moment, before wheeling around and continuing down to the lower level. Where could you have gone? Surely not back to the medical chambers, unless—unless something had happened to you, during your training? Unless your mind had gone back into that cloudedness—

Surely there was no way the council had already sent you into command, was there? Anakin himself had been granted a small reprieve after the events of Felucia. He knew the council had appointed you general of the 415th batallion, Yuma's former position. He knew you had accepted command—what else could you have done? But could the council have sent you back into combat so quickly? Panic gripped Anakin's heart as he considered what it might mean if you returned to battle in your current state. He paused just outside the Temple gardens, half-ready to turn around and head back up toward the medical bay, to the council chambers, to demand to know where you were, when—

He felt a tug within him in the Force. It was a familiar presence; it felt like comfort, and reddish brown hair, the sleeve of a tunic...

Anakin found him on the other side of the gardens, in the corner, sitting with a cup of tea.

"Where is she?" Anakin demanded, looking around quickly. Obi-Wan seemed relaxed, so, at the very least, nothing horrible could have happened to you.

"Good morning, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his voice sounding tired.

"Where is she?" Anakin asked again, bouncing back onto the heels of his boots for emphasis, feeling unable to keep still, even in the presence of his seated Master.

"I believe she went to get something to eat," Obi-Wan replied, looking warily up at Anakin.

"To eat?" Anakin asked, pausing for a moment, debating turning around on the spot and heading for the mess hall. But if you had gone to get something to eat, then—

"Training went well, then?" Anakin asked, lowering his voice, perching on the bench next to the one on which Obi-Wan lounged, in the corner of the Temple garden.

"I would say so," Obi-Wan said in his infuriatingly calm voice. Obi-Wan took another sip of his tea, looking out at the garden as if deep in thought.

"What does that mean?" Anakin asked, feeling impatient.

"I'm not sure," Obi-Wan replied, his voice still infuriatingly calm.

"Don't be cryptic," Anakin accused, leaning back on his bench and crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. "Do you think you'll be able to help her, or not?"

"I am optimistic," Obi-Wan said, finally turning in Anakin's direction to look him over. "You should be patient with her, Anakin. This was a serious loss for her."

"I know that," Anakin responded, his heart pounding, his anger jumping up a pitch. "I am being patient." Did Obi-Wan think he, Anakin, didn't know what you needed? How could Obi-Wan not see that your well-being was the most important thing in the world? Of course, Obi-Wan couldn't know about your relationship with Anakin...but didn't Obi-Wan realize the importance of keeping you alive, regardless? Didn't Obi-Wan realize how much danger you were in? Anakin took in the posture of his former Master, how calm Obi-Wan seemed, how superior, and felt his frustration grow. Obi-Wan sucked in a breath.

"She's grieving—" Obi-Wan tried, but Anakin cut him off.

"Felucia, Obi-Wan?!" Anakin rasped, his volume increasing. "That wasn't grief!" Anakin recalled again the way you had looked with your body limp, your eyes clouded over, milky white, unable to hear him, trapped in your own suffering.

"I'm looking into it," Obi-Wan responded quietly, lowering his eyes.

"Well, look harder," Anakin said, his breath coming out in a huff. He leaned forward again, looking to Obi-Wan beseechingly. "If she takes command of the 415th, and she doesn't have this under control—"

"If you don't trust her by now," Obi-Wan began, but Anakin cut him off again.

"Of course I trust her! But you know as well as I do—as well as Yuma did—that her gifts are a liability!"

"She is not a liability to the Order—"

"I don't give a kriffing gundark about the Order! I'm talking about her—her life. You need to help her, Obi-Wan. We need to...to find a way to make sure..." Anakin's breathing was heavy. He found himself looking down at his hands, his shoulders moving up and down quickly with his breath. He blinked, his fear overwhelming him.

"We will help her," Obi-Wan said, putting a bracing hand on Anakin's shoulder. "And she will help herself."

You sat, staring into the archive memory, sifting through the holobooks to find what you were looking for. The Temple library was quiet, the atmosphere one of focused attention. Something about it calmed you, but you also found it a bit unnerving, that every bit of galactic knowledge that existed could be found in these very archives.

Your stomach was full for the first time since Felucia; you were sitting upright, able to fight the weight of the grief that had been threatening for days to consume you. You felt exhausted, and sad, but it was a start. And after attending to your needs in the mess hall, you'd come straight here, to the Temple library. Even in the darkest parts of your grief—even when you'd been totally trapped under that weight—you'd known what you needed to do next. You'd been forming your plan. All you had needed was the strength to begin. And, thanks to your training with Obi-Wan, today you'd found it.

You used the controls to pull forth one of the holobooks, and as the holoimages came up, you sat down to focus. You felt yourself getting lost in the text, trying to remember everything. Your focus was so intense that you didn't feel his presence coming until he was right behind you.

"Why are you researching Galactic Sign Language?" Anakin asked, his hand gently stroking your shoulder. Such a small, subtle movement was likely to go unnoticed by those other Jedi in the archives, absorbed as they were in their own research. The sound of his voice made your body electrify—all of the longing, the guilt, and the desire passed through you at once. You shivered.

"It's a long story," you told him, turning around in your chair to face him full on.

"I'm sorry," you breathed, right as Anakin had said the same thing, leaning in toward you, his eyes wide. You felt the corners of your mouth turn up at the sides, and Anakin's face fell open, his surprise taking away his supplication.

"Me first," you said, getting up out of the chair and shutting off the hologram. As you faced Anakin, you felt through his emotions in the Force, sifting through as if the man in front of you were a different type of archive memory—one that was tangled, passionate, complex, brilliant, and beautiful. His emotions mirrored your own; you felt his guilt, his longing, his love for you. The first and most prominent emotion surrounding his presence was worry, and this made you feel even more guilty.

"I'm sorry I shouted at you," you told him quietly, aware of the others milling about the great library. "I'm sorry I took my anger out on you. It's only anger at myself—" Anakin looked as if he were going to cut you off, but you silenced him, holding up your hand. "I shouldn't have gotten angry with you at all. Not when you are so kind," you voice grew quieter, "and so loyal, and so patient with me." Your faces were closer together now; if anyone were to look over, they might wonder why you were having such an intense, whispered conversation. "I'm sorry I fell apart," you continued, feeling the hint of the tears pinpricking the corners of your eyes. You pushed through, closing your eyes to keep the tears from falling. "You shouldn't have to worry about me. I won't let it happen again. I promise I'll be here for you. With you."

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Anakin said eagerly, acting as if he were about to take your hands in his, and then looking around, thinking better of it. Instead, he surreptitiously reached up and brushed under your eye, stroking away the ghost of the tear that didn't fall. "I shouldn't have said anything about...I shouldn't have assumed I know anything about what it felt like for you, on Felucia."

You nodded, but really, he didn't need to apologize. You'd put your own words into his mouth; it hadn't been a fight between you and Anakin, but one between the warring sides of yourself. And you knew now that you needed to face those warring sides head on, and deal with them before they could manage to hurt anyone else.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," you said, pulling half of your mouth up in a small smile. Anakin's eyes were stars, on fire, the blue looking like it was burning, like it would melt out into the air.

"Obi-Wan said training went well," Anakin whispered, hopefully, looking around you for a moment before grazing your hand with his.

"I think it did," you whispered back, looking up into his eyes. You wanted nothing more than to take his face in your hands, but you held back. All this secrecy, you thought, might just drive you mad.

"And you'll tell me about your research..." he continued, glancing back at the archive computer behind you.

"Another time," you assured him, looking around again, making sure no one was close enough to overhear while you leaned in closer toward him. "You know that I love you," you breathed. Anakin's face broke into a joyful smile, his body leaning in closer to yours.

"You know," he said quietly so only you could hear him, "that I love you more than all of the books in this archive." He glanced back at the other Jedi, huddled in their research. "And more than all of the stars in the galaxy, and more than all of the galaxies in the universe." Anakin met your gaze, his sorrow gone, his eyes alight and mischievous. You felt the intention in his Force presence, and it made your insides turn over, your breath becoming short.

"And I love you more than whatever lies beyond that," you whispered, smiling up at him, your heart full. Anakin surreptitiously stroked his hand over the top of yours once again.

"Do you have much more research to do?" Anakin asked, his face forming a familiar, cocky smile.

"It can wait," you murmured, smiling and cocking your head as you strode past him toward the doors, gesturing for him to follow.

************************************************************************

thank you all for being patient with these updates <3 if you are following this story, you and I are besties, that's how it works

let me know if you want to be tagged when I post the next one!

divider credit to @racingairplanes

taglist: @iyoogi @cluelessgurl @layazul @annadastra @graciexmarvel @galaxiasyamor @organasith @indigoblues1207 @outoftheregular @katsukiswrld @prettyboyrryy @jellydodger @wildflower57 @padmeamidalaslover @em-asian @heavenseraph @iloveinej @leapofblank @sahverah @elsyyie @usuallyunlikelyfox @jadeonce @papadragun @dopejellyfishfury @stxrrielle @lilianashomaresparza @prettylittlecarstairs @deadunicorn159 @atoelicker @arelisskywalker @maythefloorbewithyouanakin @your-local-crzy-lady @dontmindme262 @xenochuguardian @cassiopeiashift @allihavenegativethoughts @hamiltonwc @1-800-nostalgiaaa @heyitsaloy @haydenchristensenluvbot @sunflwrsunnieshine @muthafuckingstargirl @window-to-nothing @shadowhuntyi @jedi-archives @inmourningforanakin @vivsmcdo @betrund @ahqkas @aquaamethyst96 @escapepoet @randomstuff2040 @kenjikishimotosupremecy @nycweb-slinger @anxlaufeyson @magic-magnoliaa @theezlife @unipugrose22-blog @anhsoka @lucyysthings @hopefulpursepeanutdeputy @captainson-of-coul @zelzablues @chrisevansslutttt2

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agentwriter · 2 months ago

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So, I sort of got an Operation Blackout headcanon. Real angsty too to go with the whumptober vibe so be prepared-

I saw a couple days ago a post about how canonically Rookie was doing the laundry when Herbert nabbed him, and I went “damn, that’s anticlimatic” because I imagined things going a lot differently. Picture this scenario:

Rookie is taking a walk around, knowing damn well that he’s one of Herbert’s targets by being the EPF’s Comms lead, if G and Dot’s kidnappings mean anything. He’s been getting bad vibes all day, so he’s been trying to keep his nerves on check by not worrying too much, maybe it’s just the growing coldness getting to him? Or the lack of sunlight despite being day leaving him uneasy? Either way, he continues on, hopeful that Herbert hasn’t caught onto his location yet, even if he’s obviously the least careful around his secret identity of all agents with how much stuffed he has leaked to the media along the years.

He tries to chill out, and that goes fine until Rookie hears a couple of suspicious clicks ahead and spots a couple crabs looking at him, and in any other occasion Rookie would approach and greet them with open arms, however, these crabs aren’t supposed to be here. They should be underwater, burrowing in lumps of sand until the temperature gets warm enough for them to be cozy around the island…

Unless, these crabs are here for him.

He should’ve guessed Herbert’s crab army would be a part of this whole scheme, the agent blinks once and crustaceans are gone, even so, he can feel their little ways watching him from somewhere hidden now. How long have they been following him?! The EPF’s teleportation system’s been broken ever since Gary disappeared (and no one managed to fix it without him) and he couldn’t really run to one of the resistance’s hideouts and risk their existence- So he decides to run to his igloo that is a bit close and lock all the doors as fast as possible.

After doing that, he hears some bangs coming from outside and immediately figures he’s cornered. Rookie shoots an SOS message to other agents but he doubts he’ll be able to escape his fate, especially when Dot, someone known for being able to sneak past the most sticky situations, couldn’t. While Rookie realizes that Herbert is going to take him away from his friends and leak his agent info like he did with the others he captured, he decided to make one final message.

And here’s another headcanon inside another scenario but just hear me out- Rookie is a comntent creator. Even before he joined the PSA he did silly vlog videos and livestreams where he chatted and game’d a bit. Of course, he couldn’t really upload more of his wholesome content while dealing with Herbert’s dictatorship in Operation Blackout, and since the Club Penguin News was taken over too, Rookie, along with many other penguin content creators, became replacement sources of information for all of Club Penguin that wished to know where to find food, shelter, if the resistance is doing any progress and all that, so basically-

The day Rookie was kidnapped, he did one last livestream.

He barricades the door of his recording room and immediately starts the stream. The viewers can see something’s different just by the way the whole thing is setup, Rookie looks nervous, and decides since this is probably the first thing Herbert will leak when he’s captured, he figures it will eb better if he does it himself. So instead of the usual welcomes and smiles, he starts the transmission with “I’m Rookie. Officer of Public Relations and leader of the EPF’s Communication sector, and I have a small announcement for you all…”

The message is actually pretty short, 6-7 minutes at most, and Rookie is overall very serious despite being apparently nervous. He talks about the Blackout, and how everyone that has resisted Herbert has been suffering, and how the EPF is sparing no effort to bring things back to normal, and apologizes since he’s going to be offline for a while. He mentions other channels that could serve as good sources of information while he’s gone and then asks for everyone to maintain hope despite it all, that Club Penguin has faced a lot of disasters together, and that this one won’t be any different.

By this point, the way Rookie was glancing sideways together with the bangs coming from somewhere off-screen, the chat was begging him to escape.

But he didn’t, using his final minutes to do a personal goodbye. He talks about his friends at the EPF, how all of them are incredibly resourceful and fierce, and especially good at their jobs. Rookie asks them to be strong, just as he’ll try to be now. He’s scared but hopeful, and just then, a powerful blow breaks the door down.

The camera is knocked off into the ground and sounds of struggles along with clicks can be heard, the commotion doesn’t take long either, and when EPF’s tactical team finally arrive on the scene, it’s too late.

Rookie’s igloo is empty of it’s owner, and a couple of hours later, Herbert shares the news with glee along with more confidential stuff, as a treat.

And like that, Operation Blackout continues.

So ye, this is the headcanon. There’s more that could be discussed about it like the other agents reaction (jetkie angst yummy) and how Rookie gets an earful by the Director when everything is over. But that’s the main meat of it. I should probably translate this into proper fanfiction format later (idk if there’s a lot of club penguin fanfic readers out there tho), but it would be nest anyways.

Thanks for reading this ^^

#club penguin #rookie club penguin #rookie #operation blackout #herbert club penguin #herbert p bear #club penguin headcanon #headcanons #rookie being good at his job #because hes in the epf for a reason #club penguin angst

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thursdaybracket · 7 months ago

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THURSDAY BRACKET 2

Since the Thursday fanbase has grown so much on here since the last bracket, I decided to run it again to see if anything changed. This version also has more songs, links to listen to each song and hopefully will be a little bit more organised this year :). Vote for your favourite song on each poll, play nice and let's see what the winner is! Have fun!

Links to polls:

Round 1

Understanding In A Car Crash vs Time's Arrow

Autumn Leaves Revisited vs Sugar In The Sacrament

I Am The Killer vs Love Has Led Us Astray

At This Velocity vs A Darker Forest

Paris In Flames vs Panic On The Streets Of Health Care City

Wind Up vs Turnpike Divides

Autobiography Of A Nation vs You Were The Cancer

This Song Brought To You By A Falling Bomb vs Into The Blinding Light

War All The Time vs Circuits of Fever

The Lovesong Writer vs No Answers

The Other Side Of The Crash/Over And Out (Of Control) vs Dying in New Brunswick

Jet Black New Year vs Ian Curtis

Counting 5-4-3-2-1 vs Subway Funeral

Marches And Maneuvers vs Arc-Lamps, Signal Flares, A Shower Of White (The Light)

Concealer vs Fake Nostalgia

Tomorrow I'll Be You vs Streaks In The Sky

Signals Over The Air vs A Gun in the First Act

I1100 vs We Will Overcome

Running From The Rain vs Beyond The Visible Spectrum

Steps Ascending vs Friends In The Armed Forces

Cross Out The Eyes vs Application For Release From The Dream

M. Shepard vs Porcelain

Between Rupture And Rapture vs Ladies And Gentlemen: My Brother, The Failure

A0001 vs Sparks Against the Sun

Standing On The Edge Of Summer vs Even The Sand Is Made Of Seashells

This Side of Brightness vs Magnets Caught in a Metal Heart

Division St. vs As He Climbed The Dark Mountain

Asleep In The Chapel vs Last Call

For The Workforce, Drowning vs Dead Songs

Fast to the End vs Telegraph Avenue Kiss

A Hole In The World vs Common Existence

How Long Is The Night? vs Resuscitation Of A Dead Man

Prelim round

Time's Arrow vs Where the Circle Ends

Love Has Led Us Astray vs Mass as Shadows

A Darker Forest vs Fuck You, I'm In Space

Empty Glass vs Panic On The Streets Of Health Care City

You Were The Cancer vs In Silence

Circuits Of Fever vs Voices On A String

Dying in New Brunswick vs Appeared and Was Gone

Ian Curtis vs Hide From The Orchestra

Open Quotes vs Subway Funeral

Past and Future Ruins vs Fake Nostalgia

A Gun in the First Act vs Unintended Long Term Effects

Beyond The Visible Spectrum vs An Absurd and Unrealistic Dream of Peace

Friends In The Armed Forces vs Middle Distances

Application For Release From The Dream vs Millimeter

Ladies And Gentlemen: My Brother, The Failure vs The Worst Vow

Even The Sand Is Made Of Seashells vs The Dotted Line

As He Climbed The Dark Mountain vs The Roar Of Far Off Black Jets

Last Call vs Stolen Guitars

In-Transmission vs Dead Songs

Introduction vs Common Existence

#prayinggggggg i didnt do anything wrong or forget any songs this time #i was so unbelievably mad when i realised like 30 minutes after posting last years that i had forgotten the envy split #thursday band #bracket tournament

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thejoyofviolentmovement · 1 year ago

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New Audio: SANDS Shares Shimmering "Through This Avenue/The Game"

New Audio: SANDS Shares Shimmering "Through This Avenue/The Game" @sandsprofile @MysticSons @barkdotpr @TransmissionPR_

Andrew Sands is a London-based singer/songwriter, multi-instrumentalist and creative mastermind behind rising shoegaze project SANDS. Influenced by Neil Young, David Bowie, The Smiths, David Lynch, Talk Talk, Echo and the Bunnymen and a long list of others, Sands’ own music sees him seamlessly blending rock, psych rock and elements of pop. Since starting the project back in 2017, the…

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#New Audio #New Single #SANDS #SANDS Nothing Can Go Wrong EP #SANDS S/T EP #SANDS The World&039;s So Cruel #SANDS Through This Avenue/The Game #SANDS Tomorrow&039;s Gone/Burning Man #SANDS Transmission #shoegaze #singer/songwriter \#Single Review #Single Review: Through This Avenue/The Game #Through This Avenue/The Game

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skylermadness · 2 months ago

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Permanent Summer Position (Poolguard TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: June 4, 2024)

Original Description:

First and foremost, poolguards are a species created and owned by Deadringer.Art. The reference page for them can be found here. So this was a TF I've actually been wanting to write for a good few months now. Poolguards are a really intriguing species and the amount of information I could gather from the reference images and stuff Deadringer had uploaded felt like enough for me to do a proper write out of one. Especially since the mention that air was a nanite transmission system meant that I could finally settle on an easy trigger that became the compressed air one. Although I still feel like there may be a few inaccuracies here or there, but I tried to make this story align as properly to the concepts Deadringer has built as I can. Even if a lot of things are just little references and stuff. Also, funny thing, this is the first time I've written any kind of inflatable TF! Had to look up what a pooltoy nozzle was called once and Wikipedia gave me "oral inflation valve". This isn't related to the previous paragraph at all I just thought it would be funny to share. Many of the poolguards featured at the end of this story are actual ones owned by a few of my close friends! None of them have Tumblr accounts though. Story is rated Mature for bulge growth mentions.

The sweltering summer heat encompassed Mike’s form as he made his way across the vast beach. Stray beads of sweat dribbled down the young man’s head and the warm air lapped at the skin of his arms thanks to the short sleeves of his button-up. Adding to the mild levels of uncomfortableness he was experiencing he could feel sand in his shoes. At least it was relatively early in the day so not many people were around, much less near where Mike was making his way towards.

As he walked he gave his phone a cursory glance, one of many he's had since he got here. He had constantly been looking back at an e-mail he had received regarding an application he had sent in a short while back for a voluntary lifeguard position. It was a rather unorthodox choice for Mike seeing as he was generally not the most into outdoor activities or interaction with others on a frequent basis. But also he knew he had to work on his people skills some more and this felt like a good way to do so. Plus it came with free on the job training!

As for the e-mail he received it was fairly standard, even if it was entirely in lowercase. Mainly just an indicator that he had been accepted for the position and that he started on what is now the current date. He was also given the location of the employee specific beachside changing booth, which was why he was checking his phone so often. Although in truth that didn't help much since the stretch of sand-covered land looked the same everywhere. But hey, he was starting to see a row of wooden-lookings off in the distance, so that meant he had to be closing in on it.

Mike’s pace quickened by just a little bit, the young man casually wiping his forehead of some sweat as he did so. “Glad that e-mail said they'll be giving me something different to wear. The sand in my shoes is starting to kill me actually… actually wait, will I have to go barefoot for this-”

It didn't take very long for him to arrive at the row of changing rooms, Mike having spent the minute or so of his walk dwelling on stray thoughts and concerns about his future job. Once he had gotten there however he was surprised to find a severe lack of other lifeguards around, alongside noting a massive tower of some kind that was roughly thirty or so yards away. He didn't focus on the tower much though as he was thinking that even the head lifeguard should be somewhere nearby to greet him, especially if this was where the employees usually hung around.

“Maybe I'm early?” Mike reasoned, glancing at his phone yet again to confirm which booth his stuff should be in. He nervously followed that statement with a concerned, “Or maybe I'm late…”

The hinges of the wooden booth’s creaked as Mike opened it. The insides of it was basically what you'd expect from a beach changing room. Wooden, rectangular, a raised portion in the back of it that presumably functioned as a seat, plus a metallic bar screwed to the leftward wall to hold for balancing. Atop the seating block was an open cardboard box with Mike’s name written on it.

“These things are not claustrophobia-friendly,” Mike joked to himself as he fully stepped into the booth. He listened to the door behind him creak shut, the room now illuminated by sunlight pouring through a rectangular slit that was situated high above the apex of the door.

The relatively small size of the changing booth meant that the contents of the cardboard box was spoiled to Mike in just a few seconds. Although it would be more accurate to say there was a lack of contents within the container since it only had a single object in it.

“Hm?” Mike outstretched a hand to pick up the item and bring it up towards him. It was a pure white metallic cylinder, the material of it warmed by the summer heat. Turning it around also revealed the actual contents of said cylinder, the wording seemingly hand-drawn. “Poolguard-Grade Compressed Air…?”

And beneath that was just a simple sentence that said, ‘Apply any amount anywhere.’

“Uhh, what is… huh??”

Mike was confused to say the least. He knew was going to be provided with some kind of job package, but this was not on his list of expectations. He was expecting sunscreen, some kind of uniform, maybe a pair of sandals. Perhaps even a booklet that went over some basics he'd need to know before training. Nowhere in his mind could he fully grasp why a canister of compressed air would be useful for a job like this.

“This is so weird- and apply it??”

The more irrational side of his brain wanted to say that this was some kind of special waterproofing or something. But such a prospect was an absurd thought even for him. Especially since, again, he wasn't given anything else!

Mike let out a sigh as be came up with one last potential answer. “Maybe this is just some kind of stupid prank.”

He wasn't sure if he should be happy or annoyed about the prospect of signing up to work alongside a bunch of beach bros if that's the case. It could go either way depending on their personalities he presumed. Although the prospect of being surrounded by a bunch of beefy guys…

He shook his head. “You haven't even met them yet you shouldn't be… augh, whatever. If it's a prank I guess there'd be no harm in spraying some on me for fun or something.”

Mike stared at the can for another few seconds. “Maybe make it a, ‘haha, you got me,’ moment!” He then started to shake it, mainly as a force of habit with him and containers. “Cement myself as a fun guy. Yeah, that could work!”

After a few seconds of shaking and talking to himself, Mike was finally ready to apply air to his body. He slipped the canister down in his hand so he could position a finger over the trigger of it. Then, with only a moment of hesitation, he pulled it.

The feeling that ensued was… just that of having some air blow over the skin of his arm. That was it really. No ‘surprise it was something else entirely’ or anything like that. It was quite literally just compressed air.

“...does feel kind of nice though,” he admitted, continuing to spray air up and down his arm and hand just to feel the very small breeze the nozzle created. After a few seconds of doing it to his right arm he switched hands the canister was in so he could spray his left one as well, all just to balance the sensation of it. “Man this looks stupid, eheh.”

Another more few seconds passed before he finally lost the sensory enjoyment of spraying air on his body. That and he was starting to realize his finger was feeling a little stiff. It was an odd feeling since he was only holding the trigger for roughly ten seconds, but he still decided this was body telling him that he should probably stop. However the stiffness didn't end even after he put the canister down. If anything it felt like a majority of his fingers on both hands were being filled with this sensation.

Curious why he was feeling such a thing, Mike looked down at his hands. Once he did so he would begin to bear witness to something very, very strange. “Jeez, what the hell is going… on… uhh…”

In that instant Mike was granted the sight of the fingers on both hands swelling. Each digit seemed to just grow thicker in front of his very eyes. That hadn't even been the only thing that happened to them either as the wider each finger became, the smaller the gaps between them got. And the smaller the gaps got, the more his fingers pressed up to each other. They had practically been squeezing into each other as four fingers on each hand (the thumb not being included) had seemingly merged with each other.

Once the merging had commenced it was becoming evident to him that something else was happening as well. A different shade of color was entering into his skin, his typically ivory-leaning pigmentation rapidly shifting to a more tanned appearance. All the while it seemed as if his flesh was altering by rapidly smoothing over. The texture of it was heavily altering beyond what could be considered skin anymore. This would be further accentuated by the fact the only indicator his mitts had ever had separate fingers were a series of lines that ran down the upper portion of them.

Many of these changes were running down the rest of his hands as well. Tan and texture enveloping as his palms bloated up more and more. This had seemed to cause some kind of increase in length and width within each hand, alongside by certain thickness. This was also when Mike finally took notice of a rapidly budding hollowness within his hands as they continued to lose their fleshy appearance. This was coinciding with the fact that the more his changes seemed to go prominent the more it seemed as if they were inflating more than swelling. Something proven by the way his thumb finally fattened up and altered to fit the rest of these massive mittens he now called hands. Just inflating to become a massive tanned sausage of a digit, gaining somewhat of a roundness as it did so.

“W-what happened to my hands!?” Mike exclaimed out of shock and concern. He held out an arm and backed up a little bit before bumping into the door. “They’re huge, a-and it's-” he used the other hand to just rub the outstretched one, “...made of plastic?”

He wasn't sure if that would be correct really. Barring the fact he was surprised he still had a sense of touch, the actual texture of them felt more akin to that of a pooltoy. A smooth, plasticky vinyl texture if he wanted to try and take a stab at describing it. Although he didn't have much time to focus on that as his peripherals caught on to the sight of his arms beginning to thicken up.

“Crap, it's spreading-”

In truth this spread was happening to a rather lengthy segment of both arms. Every spot where the skin was exposed was swelling up as the tone of it all yet again took on the same tan his hands had. The weirder part was despite the complete smoothness his arms were taking on, the effects of inflation had a certain appearance it seemed to be attempting to emulate. This was a bit more tangible on his forearms, their skinniness subsiding rapidly as they got consumed by a bloating that was almost akin to a spontaneous growth in muscle. A presentation that was so thick and bulky, and yet it had a sensation of being relatively light in weight. He had also taken note of a series of lines etching on the new materials of his arms. There were four lines, and all of them had varying lengths. They also had a clean painted linearity that was rather similar to the makeshift finger dividers on his hands. Although the lines on his forearms looked like some attempt at mimicking arm hair more than anything.

As for the rest of his arms…

The jointedness of his elbows was something that remained constant. Even as the nigh-emptiness filled the region and the skin got transmogrified into something clearly inorganic. Meanwhile the alterations in his upper arms had been mimicking that of the limb’s lower half. In this case however it would seem the changes were not just constrained to the exposed parts of himself. This was proven by the fact that as both areas inflated it was very rapidly filling out the short sleeves of his shirt. The shifting skin pressed up tight against the white fabric, and said fabric was smoothed out before promptly getting tighter over his arms.

Mike got clued into this rather quickly, his attention diverting to witness his shirt’s sleeves attempt to contain his swelling form. He could already tell it was going to be futile, though. The diameter of both arms was increasing well beyond the capacity of what his sleeves could contain. Especially with how much his shoulders were broadening from this transformation, which was causing even more stress on the material of his shirt. It only took just a few seconds after his sleeves had initially filled before splits and tearing ran vertically and horizontally across each one. They could just no longer contain his now ‘beefier’ arms.

Mike let out a panicked squeak at the sound of his shirt tearing. The sight of his tanned ‘skin’ swelling through it was not necessarily pleasant for him. Especially since he was trying to register some way to potentially end the transformation. The rate of change was rather quick for him though, and he could already feel an odd pressure in his chest as the front of his shirt began rising.

“Fuckin’-” his voice cracked for a second, followed by a cough to clear it. “What was in that canister!?”

He took a step away from the door with the intent to inspect the compressed air can again, but a sudden dizziness caused him to quickly lose balance and stumble forward a bit. He managed to take hold of the metal beam on the booth’s side before he had the chance to slam his head onto the sitting box though. “Damn it- A-at least I still have flexibility in my hands…” He glanced at the one holding the bar, then looked away and at the floor after realizing how weird the mitt looked curled around it.

Looking at the floor made him realize two things though. One of those things was that his chest was bigger to the point the buttons of his shirt were beginning to strain in their eyelets. The other thing was…

“Is the floor gettin’-” another cough. “-farther? A-and did my voice… ugh, what's happening to me!?”

Evidently, a lot was happening! Especially since the transformation jumping to his torso was also proving to have some interesting effects on his body. Even if there wasn't too much that was different about the execution of the changes.

This was evident with what had been going on with his chest. The region was inflating in the same manner as to how everything else had been, swelling larger and pushing what had once been his pectorals forward with each passing second. The smoothness remained all-compassing as whatever cleavage Mike could've had was filled as his internals hollowed out and filled with something that continued his form’s constant inflation. However the concurrent shifting of his skin was undergoing a rather different change in comparison to what happened to his arms.

While his skin’s composition still took on the plastic-vinyl form, the coloration of it had shifted even more drastically. Instead of taking on a tan complexion it developed an unnatural bright red hue. This shade of red was quick to wash over his expanding chest, and it was easily wrapping itself around his back at the same time. Mike was even taking notice of it once his chest finally got larger enough to break two buttons off his shirt. Although the sight of it had effectively stunned him, subduing a proper reaction immediately.

His gaze just stayed fixated on his chest. More and more buttons scattered as the sides of his shirt slowly split open to reveal his smooth, red body. He had even realized that a small bump was rising from something that was beneath his shirt. This bump was positioned in the upper region of where his left pec was, and with the placket of his shirt steadily being pushed towards it by his still-inflating torso it wouldn't take too long to reveal just what it was. He just had to wait a few… more… seconds…

Then a few more seconds of stunned silence as the nature of the bump was finally revealed to him.

“…is that a pooltoy valve?”

Sitting on what had been Mike’s left pec was indeed the plastic, white, called nozzle of a pooltoy valve. The weirdness didn't stop there either as a white, plus-shaped marking had seemed to form on the ‘skin’ surrounding the valve. And now that his shirt had been fully busted open and his chest was at full view he could fully see one other very noticeable to the area. Painted across his chest in bold, white lettering was a single word: ‘LIFEGUARD’.

“Bro…” he whispered beneath a breath in astonishment. He then blinked a few times in confusion at the statement, but disregarded it for the time being. Mainly because his brain was focused on the fact he was apparently becoming some weird inflatable lifeguard thing!

“I-I didn't sign up for this! Nor would I want a uniform stuck to-” a sudden cough interrupted him for a second before he continued, “-my bod, man!”

The changes still showed no sign of stopping either. He watched the floor get further away as more inches continued to pile onto his relatively short stature. He could feel the lower half of his button-up strain against his body, his torso seemingly catching up in its inflation process as well. The confirmation that his organs were being atomized into air was not exactly the most comforting of thoughts to him either as he felt that.

It was unavoidable, though. Even more buttons broke away from his shirt, the thin plastic discs hitting the floor constantly as his swelling torso destroyed what had remained of his shirt’s placket. The same red that tinged his chest enveloped the increasingly inorganic ‘skin’ of his torso. At the same time the entire region seemed to flatten, and this flatness created somewhat of an incline that led up to his chest. The most overt change came to his belly-button however as once the inflation kicked his navel just filled, in a way. The internals of it rose until it was at the same level as the rest of his torso giving it a proper consistency. This had also been accompanied by more hair loss around the region as the wave of polyvinyl rushed further down his body.

This meant the button of his jeans would begin to strain, the circumference of his waist becoming wider to fit the rest of his hefty body. However the sensations that caught Mike’s attention the most were those happening directly below the waist. Most specifically on his groin and on his rear.

This was already becoming quite tangible as a roundness had begun to formulate in the front end of his pants, and the fly of his legwear noticeably split open at the pressure this was creating. The sensation that accompanied this had forced a flush in Mike’s cheeks as he felt the nerves in his crotch get stimulated by this. It wasn't the most intense feeling though as whatever went on down there was causing a mixture of strange sensations. As if his external organs were being squished together and meshed into one, almost a similar feeling of pressure that had encompassed his hand prior. Although it only facilitated more growth as his groin became one singular object, the roundness of it furthering in prominence to such an end that the zipper initially holding his jeans shut finally snapped open. The front end of underwear still held together though, but he could already tell that he was sporting quite the bulge now.

Meanwhile his backend was changing at the exact same time. The seat of his pants was getting noticeably smoother, his rear swelling up as air got pumped into it. Rounder the region had become as well, and some kind of fusing occurred as the crack that bisected his buttocks seemed to seal itself shut. This had prompted the roundness to become singular rather than double as the two cheeks merged into one. Of course much like his frontend, his rear ended up developing a prominence on his form extremely quickly. The size of it would even cause a small rip to tear down the middle seam in his legwear alongside a mixture of pressures causing the behind of his undergarments to rip as well. This revealed more of the same red, semi-plastic material his skin had become.

“Dude, that's…” he blinked a few times. He was still flustered, a certain level of eroticism present now. He didn't want to let it become overwhelming though and there was something in his brain telling him not to. Focus on something else, anything else. “W-wait, my voice…”

It's not like he hadn't noticed it in the past few minutes. Those little bits of deepening that had been occurring little by little, the odd laid-back tone that was layering onto it, the fact he kept adding little bits of vernacular that he had never used unironically once in his life. It's just now it was finally dawning on him just how prominent it was getting. How frequent these shifts in his voice were becoming as it was practically overtaking what had been his former meek and somewhat nasally vocal pattern.

“How much of me is gonna change from this, man!?” he exclaimed in frustration. Such a tone sounded oddly out of place for the vocal cadence he was being forced to adopt. He could already sense something in his brain telling him to chill out and just let all of this pass its course. Such a notion still felt odd, but it's not like he knew any way to put this to an end.

His thoughts then broke at the sound of his pants tearing some more. Looking down again he held his leg out to inspect it. Unsurprisingly, even more inflation. It also seemed like that sensation of height gain was speeding up by just a little bit more as well. “At least I’m gettin’ taller, heh. No longer gonna be a little bro~”

For once he didn't grimace at his usage of the term bro. Although he would still end up grimacing anyway as his ears caught the sound of what seemed to be two voices approaching the booths.

“You remember which booth he said he put the new guy in?”

“Three, probably.”

Another squeak escaped Mike’s throat. Did the guy that hired him send some people to check on him? And why do their voices have the same beach bro tone that he was adopting!?

Another series of rips pierced the air of the booth. Of course the changes weren't stopping! He could practically feel the sheer nothingness enveloping the entirety of his legs the more he just stood around and talked to himself. His eyes were still fixed to his legs too, so he could see just how much his pants had filled up by the swelling in his legs. There had also been so many tears in his jeans by this point as well that it allowed him to get some kind of visuals as to what had become of his legs. The same red of his ‘uniform’ having overtaken the upper portion of his thigh. What seemed to be white markings on the outer ends of his thigh which he realized were plus-shaped as the holes grew larger in size. There seemed to be a white line that formed across the middle of his upper legs, and everywhere below that line his PVC-ified skin had gone back to the tanned tone it had on his arms. The tears over the crus of his legs got more prominent, and the bottom ends of his pants had risen up his legs quite substantially that they were now halfway up the region. This allowed him to see the series of diagonal brown lines that inked his lower legs to mimic leg hair.

“C’mon, calm yourself down, dude-”

Then came a knock on his booth’s door.

“Ey, is anyone in there?” a voice called. Deep and laid-back, eerily similar to his own although the tone was just slightly off enough to differentiate.

Another voice then spoke up. “We’re just here to pick up a new recruit-” a pause, “Mike?”

Multiple thoughts ran through Mike’s mind at an impossible to describe rate. Were these other lifeguards? Do they know this is happening to him? Would this be a good time to try and get some help from them!?

“Gimme a sec, bros!” he suddenly blurted out with a level of confidence he knew he didn't have. “Still gettin’ ready!”

A few seconds of silence from the other side of the door, then the first voice responds. “Sounds good, dude! We’ll just be waitin’ out here~”

“...isn't that a little weird to do, bro?”

“C’mon, man, someone’s gotta show ‘im the ropes!”

Mike already started to tune out their conversation from that point and began to whisper to himself, momentary panic inciting within him. “Fuckin’ hell, why did I say that!? I-I need to- aurgh…”

The hand holding the metal bar clutched it harder as the transforming man brought his other hand to the side of his hand. He was beginning to feel a bit woozy, an odd haziness steadily enveloping his mind with each passing second.

“Chillax bro, it'll be-” he started to say himself, a cool grin forming on his face for a few seconds before breaking as he stopped himself from finishing that sentence. “N-no, wait, I- fuck…”

He blinked a few times, his thoughts getting increasingly more scattered as time passed. “Why can’t I… think straight…?” A few more blinks. “Feelin’ fuckin’ weird, dude…”

All while this occurred the changes were overtaking Mike’s feet. The rapidly grew in size as air coarsed beneath the shifting skin. A tone of tan continued to cascade across the plastifying flesh as its gain in size forced it to press up against his shoes. There was a feeling of pressure in the footwear as it did so, both shoes trying to contain his inflating feet. This had resulted in them bulging out in all directions. Notably was the bulge in his toecap, which was shifting from five bumps to three to one rather quickly. This was mainly due to the fact that as his toes bloated up they had merged in a similar manner as his fingers had earlier. This had even included a series of lines where the toe divisions had once been.

The weirdest part of his feet’s changes, however, was what happened in his soles. The bottom of his feet puffed out as a bright red overtook them alongside a series of thin lines that ran horizontal etching across them. This was accompanied by a bold black line running across the top of his feet. Particularly at the border between his toes and foot bridge, only seeming to break its straightness to create a notch in between the border of his big and index toes. By this point his shoes could no longer hold his much larger feet. Black cloth broke apart to reveal the now thick, perma-sandaled extremities, which had also put an end to the transformation on the lower half of his body.

Meanwhile the changes were finally rising upwards and inching up his neck. Tanned PVC overtaking everything and the diameter widening thanks to the air that practically spilled out his now non-existent respiratory tract. His new neck size had clashed with the choker that Mike had usually worn, the leather band straining to keep itself strapped to it. Unfortunately since the neck accessory was only held by a simple buckle it wasn't that hard for it to just snap from all of the pressure. Once it did so, the sound of the choker clattering to the ground had simply just echoed through the booth.

Mike seemed to not have noticed though. The fog in his brain had basically overwhelmed his mental state to the point his thoughts just constantly slipped from his grasp the moment they materialized. Or, more accurately, the thoughts that had leaned more towards associating with Mike. The ones that did remain were thoughts that had been extremely different from his usual ones. Most notably those heavily associated with that lifeguard job he signed up for. Although whatever was happening to his mind was scrubbing away the fact he even signed up for this job. This was coupled with the knowledge needed for this profession being dumped into his brain as well to a nigh-professional proficiency.

“Uurgh, why’s it feelin’ like I was made for this now? I thought I… uh…”

He continued to hold the side of his head in confusion. It was the one part of his body that seemed unchanged to any degree, still containing the human visage that was Mike. Then the changes in his skin started to creep onto the sides of his face. Layer onto his cheeks, beneath and onto his jaw, everywhere.

The transformation enveloping his head was perhaps the weirdest segment of the entire series of bodily shifts. It did increase a bit in size to be more in-proportion with his larger size, and as the PVC took it over it seemed to take on a new shape. His jawline managed to chisel itself out a bit, angles reshaping under the material to become more square-like in appearance. Meanwhile the actual shape of his head seemed to lose some level of human-like definition as the structure seemed to completely smooth over. This had the most prominence with the appearance of his face from the front, it becoming increasingly more straight at the sides which gave it a more rectangular look.

What had been the strangest of the changes was how it all affected his actual facial features. When everything had been smoothed over by his shifting skin, that included just about everything on his face. Polyvinyl cascaded over his mouth, the once open orifice getting replaced with a perfectly painted mouth that somehow managed to retain the expressiveness of his formerly organic one. A tan enveloped his nose as it practically shrunk—flattened—right into his face, only leaving an outline of a nose in its wake. His ears protruded prominently out the sides of his head as they inflated with the air that was rapidly filling his whole head. What had happened to his mouth had also happened to his eyes, painted PVC overwriting them to make them large circular additions to his flat face.

Then there was the last of his hair. It was already obvious that it was going to become artificial, especially considering the various lines of alternating length drawing themselves onto his jawline in an attempt to emulate stubble. The hairs of his eyebrows practically sunk into the new material of his ‘skin’, brown fuzz becoming black ink with ease while they maintained some level of thickness. There were also the thin sideburns that inked onto the sides of his head.

Meanwhile, the actual hair that adorned his scalp was more properly assimilated into the new material of his form. His hair lost its prominent fluffiness as well as all the follicles got properly merged into the PVC. Coloration was severely shifting, brown tone being almost completely overtaken by a blonde one. Although the areas that closely bordered his ‘skin’ retained their brownness. It also seemed like his hair lost the initial style it had previously possessed, the thick mess seeming to be forced into a strange attempt to replicate a more swept-back style. This had resulted in it taking on the same flat smoothness the rest of his body had, with one exception being on the back of his head over his neck’s nape where instead a few brown bumps inflated in an attempt to at least try and retain some level of his hair’s previous fluffiness. There had also been a single clump of hair that curled over his forehead which would end up getting rapidly inflated. This caused it to obtain a more balloony appearance, transforming into quite the thick attempt at recreating the hair curl with PVC.

And all while his head morphed, his mind had been altering alongside it. The constant amount of air surrounding, replacing his brain was doing a number on his thought process. And that number was probably zero for the amount of brain cells he was about to have…

“I was panickin’ over somethin’, right?” he muttered. “Can't remember what though, man…”

So much concern and worry was just being washed away and replaced with a calmer mindset. A calmer personality even as all that reserved neuroticism that he had once possessed was dispelled into nothing but the air in his body. Instead it had been replaced with a loud, confident extroversion that completely contrasted who he had been before.

Then there came another knock at the door. “Doin’ alright in there, Mike-bro?”

“Mike…?” the sentient inflatable repeated. His identity felt just as scattered as everything else had been, but something about that name just felt off to him. Incorrect.

He was prompted to try and piece together something at that moment. All his mind could properly revolve around was an overwhelming duty towards his job as a lifeguard. There was a sensation of that being his only purpose in his life now. His personality was modeled around it, his very identity was modeled around it. The air in his head could only really register a mindset of a beach bro with a goal to help others. That was all it seemed to have in there, anything that existed prior having effectively been dispersed into the nitrogen and oxygen that composed of his insides. He was a poolguard after all!

And the moment he came to that conclusion was the moment he turned around to open the door. A cool, confident grin was plastered on his flat face as he hung out the doorway. “The name’s Mick, broskis!”

Outside the door of the newly minted poolguard's booth had been two other poolguards. Right outside of it was one wearing orange-tinted sunglasses that barely concealed that fact they were missing an eye, alongside possessing thick ‘hair’ whose blondeness faded into a deep purple. Meanwhile a few feet away and standing on the beach was one with noticeably blue irises and hair inflated in such a manner that it mimicked a manbun.

“Ey, this bro turned out to be quite the cutie, Preston!” the purple and blonde haired one exclaimed.

The manbunned one, Preston, seemed to nod in agreement. “Can't disagree with you there, Austin-dude.”

Austin let out a low chuckle. “So you're the newbie we've been sent to bring in?”

Mick stared into Austin’s eyes (or well, crossmark and eye) for a few seconds. He can't remember shit right now, so... “I think so, bro!”

“Well then why don’t’cha get your butt outta there?” Austin rhetorically asked, his smile having that same chill aura as Mick’s. He then continued to speak as he stepped away from the threshold of the booth. “Gotta bring you up to the tower to get some photos of ya’!”

Mick walked forward, his PVC sandals leaving the wood of the changing room and stepping into the beach’s sand. “Sounds great, dudes! Mind showin’ me around as well?” He then let out an oddly relaxed laugh. “No matter how hard I think I just can't remember anything!”

“Of course, bro!” Austin agreed as he slung his arm around Mick to pull the other towards him. “We’ve all been there! That's why we were sent here to getcha~”

Mick nodded. “Dope!”

Austin led Mick away from the booth and towards the tower that was positioned at the furthest end of the beach. Preston was about to follow, but noticed something on the floor of the now open changing booth. He stepped up to the structure and stretched out a hand to pick up the object. “Ey, Mick!” he yelled, “This thing yours, bro?”

Mick and Austin stopped to turn to look at Preston. Mick specifically squinted in order to see what Preston was holding. It was some kind of collar thing with a gold buckle and a red jewel dangling from a ring on that buckle.

Mick had probably spent a good thirty seconds just staring at the object as it glistened in the late morning sun. But no matter how long he stared at it he just couldn't dredge up any sense of familiarity or attachment to it. “Heck if I know, dude. Thing looks nothin’ like anything I've seen!”

Preston nodded. “A’ight, a’ight,” he then gently threw the collar thing into the box that was already in the booth. “Another dude’ll get it,” he said to himself before turning to join Mick and Austin in their trek to the tower.

It had only been a three minute walk from the changing booths to the towering structure that had resided at the beach’s end. The short trek was filled with a surprising amount of conversation between the three poolguards as Austin and Preston gave Mick the rundown of his job here at this beach. Not that the newly minted guard didn't have the knowledge for the position, but he sure was oblivious in regards to the overall area. At least for the time being.

“-most of the beach’s visitors are on the other end,” Austin explained to an eager-looking Mick. “And we’ll introduce you to some of your fellow bros soon- some of which are over there!”

Standing a few feet outside the tower entrance were two more conversing poolguards. One’s hair was inflated to appear like a mohawk which also seemed to have noticeably green highlights at its base. The other was wearing a normal pair of glasses, his hair somewhat spiked with a noticeably higher amount of brown than blonde in its coloration.

The trio walked up to the duo, Preston being the first one to walk up to them and speak. “Hope you two aren’t slacking off, dudes,” he stated, an uncharacteristically authoritative tone in his voice.

A momentary pause filled the air as the three looked at each other, then it was shattered as they all laughed. “Like you'd care about that, dude,” the mohawked one retorted.

“Yeah, you're right!” Preston replied with a smile. He backed up to regroup with the other two.

Austin then brought Mick forward. “Brock, Gabe, say hello to today’s newbie!”

Mick then calmly waved. “Hey broskis.”

The green and blonde haired one, Brock, walked forward to also stand beside Mick while stretching an arm to clasp his shoulder. Meanwhile the bespectacled one, Gabe, just waved back.

“Wasn't aware we were gettin’ a new guy!” Brock exclaimed, casually flicking his gaze up and down Mick’s form. “Man, now I won't be the only one with a forehead curl.”

“Preston’s right there, Brock, you never were the only one with that,” Gabe pointed out.

“Yeah, but look at how thick the new guy’s is!” Brock playfully flicked Mick’s hair curl with a thumb.

“I'm a little surprised it doesn't just go over my eye, heh,” Mick remarked.

“That would be Austin’s thing,” Preston said, eyeing the poolguard in question.

“Bro’s doesn't bend over that far either,” Gabe corrected.

Austin rolled his eye. “I'm tryin’, dudes!”

The five of them laughed in unison at their riffing before Mick steered everything on track again. “Austin said I had to get some pics taken or somethin’.”

“Yeah, Mick here needs to get an ID!” Austin said, lightly squeezing Mick’s side as he spoke.

Brock unhanded Mick and started to speak while walking back towards Gabe. “Our bro Gabe here should be able to handle all that stuff!”

“Yup!” Gabe nodded affirmatively. “Just need an ID, a whistle, and you'll be good to go, bro!”

Mick beamed. “Awesome! Thanks a ton, dudes!”

Mick’s excitement was quite insurmountable. He may not have known fully who he was or how he got here, but he did know one thing. He's got his bros and he's got his job! That's all that mattered to him, and that's all he feels like should matter.

#character tf #tf #transformation #inflatable tf #male transformation

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 2 years ago

Text

Clan of Three - Chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Sin

Plot: A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the jedi, and a teenager with similar powers with an undiscovered lineage. An unlikely group to travel the galaxy together.

Word Count: 4.3K

Pairing: Father Figure!Din Djarin x Platonic!Teen!Reader

Warnings: Fighting, betrayal, angst, violence/injuries, Mando being a father

------

A Mandalorian, an infant creature, and a teenage girl from Tatooine. No one had expected the three to meet and be the bounties the hunter was delivering to. The ship owned by the bounty hunter exits hyperspace over Nevarro. He had to admit whatever the kid did had improved the speed of being in hyperspace, the travel being cut down. The sound of a call from the hologram is Greef, “Mando. I've received your transmission. Wonderful news. Upon your return, deliver the quarry directly to the client. I have no idea if he wants to eat it or hang it on his wall, but he's very antsy. Safe passage! You know where to find me.” The transmission ends leaving the Mandalorian in silence, he turns to see you still asleep before he hears a cooing noise. Looking back to see the small child playing with a ball from one of the levers.

Mando reaches over grabbing it as it makes a sound of sadness, “It’s not a toy.” He places the ball back onto the level the child staring at it as he takes the ship down to the planet below.

The shaking of the ship wakes you from a dreamless sleep you rub the sleep off your face seeing Mando flipping switches and shutting off the ship, “Where are we?” You mumble letting out a yawn and stretching your arms out. He stands up heading towards the ladder,

“We’re on Nevarro.” The name of the planet was one you weren’t familiar with, you hardly knew the planets in your systems. You follow down below the child’s carrier floating behind you as you enter the cargo hold. Mando presses a button along the wall and the ramp of the ship goes down. The black sands are the first thing you notice the smell of fire deep in the air but no one seemed bothered by it. You follow behind Mando trailing slightly taking in everything, you felt like a child born into the world. Nothing looked familiar to you and the people around you none you’d ever seen.

“So what are we doing here? Getting more supplies before we travel to Tatooine?” You ask running up beside him as he stays silent the people around him moving out of the way just by his presence. He turns down an alley which you have to stop and follow with how quickly he turned and disappeared down it, but you could see the wisp of his cape. Finding him standing outside a building the child in his carrier beside him. “So is this your place or somewhere we’re staying?” You say looking around the alleyway seemed like no one came around here which was weird.

A small hole opens beside the door and a droid pokes through, Mando holds up a disc and a red light from its eye scans it. It makes a noise of confirmation retracting back. A few seconds passed confusing you why the doors didn’t just open when they open revealing two stormtroopers, their armor scuffed and dirty. You instantly take a step back your eyes widening seeing people apart of the empire. A hand stops you from moving farther back and you look up at Mando seeing he was the one to stop you.

“Mando what are you doing with…” Your voice trails off as it hits you and he could tell you noticed. You push off him trying to grab the child and run off when strong hands from one of the troopers grab you pushing you inside the building the other roughly yanks the cradle.

“Easy with that,” Mando says looking at the trooper handling the child glancing back and seeing the other slamming you against the wall pinning your hands behind your back as you struggle to break free.

“You take it easy.” The trooper replies before they lead them all further into the safe house. You enter a larger room where you see an older man seated at a table with another man dressed in an imperial uniform standing beside him. You slam your head back against the trooper's helmet it letting out a shout as you push off him your hands grabbing his blaster and pointing it at the traitor the sound of weapons cocking aimed at you.

“You lying bastard!” You shout at the Mandalorian and your anger boils more unable to tell the emotion hidden behind his helmet. Did he even feel guilty?! “Should’ve killed you when I had the chance!” You shout out as he doesn’t even pull out his weapon just looking at you. The troopers around you shout at you to put the blaster down. Electricity rushes through your body as you crumble to your knees the weapon falling from your hands. Two troopers rush for you one kicking away the blaster as they pull you two your feet your body crying out in pain and numbness.

“A feisty one she is.” The older man says looking over you making you cringe in disgust. You spit at his feet and one of the troopers kicks you to your knees.

“Don’t hurt her!” The younger man says holding his hand out, he comes over and you glare at him struggling in their grasp as he pulls out a device. It pricks your neck before shining a bright red. He nods before moving over to the child.

“You touch him and I’ll rip your arms off.” You hiss out fighting in the two troopers’ grasp as the man looks at you for a second before pricking the child a cry comes from it before the device glows red as well.

“They’re health…very healthy.” The man says and the other man nods.

“Your reputation was not unwarranted.” He says while Mando looks over the two of you.

“How many fobs did you give out?” He asks and the man laughs,

“These assets were of extreme importance to me. I had to ensure their delivery” He pulls out a container placing it on the table, “But to the winner…go the spoils.” He opens the container revealing several bars of beskar. You were sold off for metal. The older man waves his hand out, “Take these two, Dr. Pershing I’m sure you’re pleased.” The doctor nods pushing the carrier holding the child off into another room as the two troopers start pulling you out of the room though you fight.

“You lying bastard! You’re no Mandalorian! I swear you’re dead to me!” You spit venom with your word as your shouts are muffled behind the closed door before it fades. The Mandalorian looks away from the door trying to get those words out of his head.

“What are your plans for them?” He speaks out and the client looks at him surprised.

“How uncharacteristic of one of your reputation, You have taken both commission and payment. Is it not the Code of the Guild that these events are forgotten?” He asks the silent bounty hunter before closing up the container of beskar and pushing it towards him, “That beskar is enough to make a handsome replacement for your armor. Unfortunately, finding a Mandalorian in these trying times is more difficult than finding the steel.” Leaving the building with a case of beskar he can’t deny the tense feeling in his chest.

The Nevarro cantina is filled with music and drinking but mainly people drinking away their lost bounty when the person that stole their reward away entered. Silence fills as he slowly enters the glares and whispers directed toward him as he stands in front of Greef. “Ah, Mando! They all hate you Mando because you’re a legend.” He greets him as the bounty hunter looks around at the glares pointed at him.

“How many of them had tracking fobs?” He asks and Greef laughs taking a sip from his drink.

“All of them! All of them! But none of them closed the deal. Only you, Mando. Only you. And with it, the richest reward this parsec has ever seen. Please sit, my friend.” He cheers him waving him to sit but the hunter hesitates his hand resting on his blaster, the armor he wore freshly made beskar from the Mandalorians, “They're all weighing the Beskar in their minds, but not me. No. I, for one, I celebrate your success. Because it is my success as well. Hell! Even I am rich. Now, how can I show my gratitude to my most valuable partner?” Greef asks his most valued hunter as he sits down taking his hand off his blaster.

“I want my next job.” He says surprising Greef, “ Next job? Take some time off. Enjoy yourself. I'll take you to the Twi'lek healing baths.” He suggest but the bounty hunter was adamant.

“I want my next job.”

“Sure. Fine. You hunters like to keep busy, right?” Greef says pulling out the multiple pucks and looking over them, “Well, these are all far away.”

“The further, the better,” Mando says wanting to get off this planet already

“Well, take your pick. You've earned it,” He says as Mando looks over the details for each puck before grabbing one, “Ah. That's the best one of the lot. A nobleman's son skipped bail. Looks like you're headed to the ocean dunes of Karnac.”

“Any idea what they're gonna do with it?” Mando asks his question not involving the nobleman’s son.

“With what?” “The kids.”

Greef shrugs taking a sip from his drink, “I didn't ask. It's against the Guild Code.”

“They work for the Empire. What are they doing here?” Mando pushes and Greef looks at the bounty hunter.

“The Empire is gone, Mando. All that is left are mercenaries and warlords. But if it bothers you, just go back to the Core and report them to the New Republic.” Mando scoffs looking away

“That's a joke.” He stands up heading for the door

The guild member looks at the bounty hunter, “Mando, enjoy your rewards. Buy a camtono of spice. By the time you come out of hyperdrive, you will have forgotten all about it.”

The empty ship echos his movement and his thoughts as he straps into his seat preparing for takeoff reaching for a lever seeing the ball on it gone, he looks back seeing it resting on the seat. Grabbing it he screws it back to the lever. In hyperspace, it will all be forgotten.

‘You’re no Mandalorian.’

Your words ring in his head as he looks over to where you sat before looking forward his hands on the controls to take off. His hands move across the board the sound of the engine humming off as the ship settles and he stands heading off the ship back into the town.

You were brought into the room by the troopers and the doctor when they strapped you down onto the table. You struggle in your restraints trying to break free. Pershing comes over with a needle making you panic and fight more into your restraints. The snap of one restraint has his eyes widening and the two troopers come over holding you down as the needle presses into your arm and you watch as your blood comes out of your body filling into small vials. You felt weak after multiple vials were taken and the straps are taken off you. The two troopers grab you by the arms dragging you out as you fail to stand throwing you into an empty storage room. You barely catch yourself from smacking into the ground before the door closes behind you locking and shrouding you in darkness. Pushing yourself to your knees and sitting against the wall you take deep breaths trying to calm your rapidly beating heart.

What did the empire want with you? Had they figured it out and that’s why Mando went after you? The thought of the bounty hunter made anger flood through your veins. He betrayed you…he left you for dead with the empire...and the child. You quickly wipe the tears that flood your eyes. You had to stay strong..you needed to fight back. You had to get out of here..you and the child.

The darkness is calming nothing but the sound of your breathing is what you can hear. A rumble shakes the room the sound far off in the distance making you hold your breath to listen. It’s quiet before another rumble and then you hear the sound of blasters. You stand up hearing the sound of shouts and gunfire before it grows quiet again. The sound of footsteps grows close to the door and you press against the wall beside the door as the door opens and light floods the room. You see a single trooper enter the room their blaster ready and you strike. You kick the back of his knee sending him crashing against the ground his blaster sliding across the room. You rush towards it when a hand latches onto your leg tripping you and you hit the ground. A cry escapes your mouth feeling your ankle twist in the wrong direction. You’re flipped over as the trooper pins you down as you try to break free his hands wrap around your throat trying to knock you out. You grab his wrists trying to pry them off looking up the blaster was just within your reach. Your hand reaches out trying to grab the blaster your fingers just brushing it when the pressure on your neck grows tighter. You bring your hand back using both of them to try to get the man off of you. Glancing up the blaster was just a hair away, you reach forward your fingers scraping it making it spin on the floor moving further away before your hand returns to the other around your neck. You could feel your body growing weak the spots of black painting your vision. Your hand grasps out begging for the weapon. The weapon slides into your hand and you swing it out hitting him against the head with it. You scramble back as he looks at you lunging towards you. Your finger presses against the trigger hitting him point-blank in the chest dropping dead.

You gasp pushing yourself against the corner, “Hey what’s taking long we have to-” The sound of a new trooper enters the room, and you pull the trigger again hitting him in the leg he cries out in pain hitting the ground. You scramble to stand and when he tries to grab his blaster you fire again and he stills. Your hands shake holding the blaster. You’ve never killed someone before, sure animals when hunting but never a person before. This person had thoughts, emotions, and life, and you took it away. You felt sick. The sound of more blaster fire makes you stand straight. You had to get out of here. The place felt like a maze as you walk through the halls seeing the aftermath of whatever fight there was, dead stormtroopers lined the halls. Your ankle cries out in pain feeling fire fill it when you put too much pressure on it. You encounter a few but you quickly shot them before they realized it was you and take advantage of your injury. Whoever was attacking this place was on a mission. You had to find the child. You found the laboratory finding it empty with only two troopers there dead. The sound of gunfire sounds loud down one hallway and you felt a sense. The child.

Mando exits the storeroom holding the child only to run into a stormtrooper. He quickly exchanges gunfire letting the bullets bounce off the beskar, shooting the trooper down the second trooper getting burned by his flamethrower. His screams filled the hall as he burns before collapsing to the ground. Turning around to head down the hallway to be at the end of a blaster pointed right between the gaps of his helmet and chest plate. One pull of the trigger and he would be a dead man. What surprised him more was seeing the cold look on your face. Your neck was covered in quickly forming bruises in the shape of hands. He could tell you were keeping pressure off one foot an injury you must have sustained.

“Give me the child and I won’t paint your brains against the wall.” You hiss one hand holding the gun, finger on the trigger the other held out to take the child who coos happily seeing you.

“You don’t understand I came here-” He starts but you cut him off, “Don’t understand that you’re a kriffing traitor? Now give me the child, I won’t ask again.” You demand your finger twitching on the trigger.

“I made a mistake, I’m sorry…you have you believe me. I promise you’ll return to your home.” Mando promises and you look at him still uncertain as you look at the beskar helmet. Your hand twitches your gaze meeting the child in his arms who is looking at you and you sense it, the feeling of trust..to trust him. The sound of a blaster fills the air and Mando stiffens before looking behind him and seeing a stormtrooper with a blaster wound in his chest before he hits the ground. You lower your weapon looking at him.

“Come on let’s go.” You say and he nods leading you through the halls before you enter the same room you arrived in when you first came here. Seeing a doorway leading outside you both moves towards it.

“Freeze! Don’t move.” A group of troopers appears and you all pause in your place, “Hands up. Drop the blaster.” They call out and you sigh dropping the blaster holding your hands up while Mando only holds one hand up.

“Wait. What I’m holding is very valuable.” Mando says as the four troopers circle you cornering you.

“He has the assets, turn and face me.” One of the troopers behind you says as you both turn around, “Now slowly get on your knees,” They order as you both begin to kneel down when you see Mando’s hand move to his wrist. Suddenly bullets that whistle in the air shoot out from his wrist taking out all of the troopers. You look around shocked seeing them all down.

“Come we have to go.” He says helping you to your feet and you wince slightly accidentally putting pressure on your bad foot, “Can you walk?” You nod waving him off and grabbing the blaster you put down.

“Yeah let’s just get off this damn planet.” You say the three of you exiting the imperial compound. You all walk through the streets trying to keep unnoticed in the shadows, you’re glued to Mando’s side using his cape to hide most of the blaster in your hand. You turn down the street right outside the landing zone seeing multiple bounty hunters armed with weapons. A man steps forward looking at Mando and you and the child.

“Welcome back, Mando!” He greets the bounty hunter beside you, did they know each other, “Now put the package down and step away from the other one.” His cheerful voice grows cold quickly and you look at the bounty hunters surrounding you all.

“Step aside. I'm going to my ship.” Mando calls out and the man shakes his head,

“You put the bounty down and perhaps I'll let you pass.” The man speaks about the child and you can see their hands hovering over their own blaster ready for the fight that was going to be inevitable.

“The kids are coming with me,” Mando responds and the man shakes his head.

“If you truly care about the kids, then you'll let them stand by the speeder and we'll discuss terms.” He warns him and you could feel the tension coming off Mando, as he looks at the speeder with an R6 astromech droid ready for the command

“How do I know I can trust you?” Mando calls out and you could see his hand shifting toward his blaster.

“Because I'm your only hope.”

Mando looks down at the child and at you and your jaw drops slightly when he hands the child off to you. You grab it with your one free arm. This couldn’t be happening he wasn’t just giving up, “Mando…” His blaster comes into his hand with a flick of his wrist he shoots one of the bounty hunters, and you feel the ground disappear underneath you as Mando rushes jumping onto the speeder carrying luggage.

“Drive. Drive!” Mando shouts out and the droid drives off. You’re quickly put down hidden behind the crates as he exchanges fire with his fellow bounty members. The sound of the blaster hitting close to you makes you jump and you see the droid fizzling its head blown off. The vehicle comes to a screeching halt sending you sliding. You hiss feeling the pain in your foot grow more painful. The bounty hunters draw in firing at the Mandalorian as he pulls his rifle off his back and he hits two hunters incinerating them.

“That's one impressive weapon!” The man that knew Mando yells out from where he was hiding.

“Here's what I'll do. I'm gonna walk to my ship with the kids and you're gonna let it happen.” Mando shouts out hidden behind one of the crates quickly shooting down a bounty hunter that tries getting a surprise attack.

“No. How about this? We take the kids, and if you try to stop us, we kill you and we strip your body for parts.” The man shouts back and the fighting continues, looking down at the child in your arms you place it down grabbing the blaster before coming up and firing out at some of the bounty hunters. You hit one of the bounty hunters letting out a cheer when pain spreads across your arm. A scream rips from your throat as you drop your blaster falling back in the speeder grabbing your arm where the bullet grazed your skin, the flesh burned from the ray. Mando looks back at you seeing you hit firing back with more urgency.

“Don't hit the target!” The man calls out seeing you get hit. You hiss in pain the cool air brushing against your wound, the blood pouring down your arm. As the bounty hunters grow closer Mando holds out his arm flames pouring out as they scream in pain burning before it runs out. You look up fear and tears brimming your eyes, was it over? He looks at you and the child before reloading his weapon and preparing for his final stand.

As you prepare for the end a large barrage of blasts comes from the air, looking up you see people donning jetpacks shooting at the bounty hunters. Your eye widens seeing the familiar helmets on them. They were Mandalorians!

One of the Mandalorians hovers over you three firing down at the bounty hunters, “Get out of here! We'll hold them off!”

“You're going to have to relocate the covert,” Mando calls out knowing the punishment of involving the Mandalorians.

“This is the Way.” He responds and all the Mandalorians including yours repeat it back in unison, “This the Way.”

He nods as the male Mandalorian takes off fighting them as he looks down at you and the child. Your arm was still bleeding and the child just looked frightened. “Come on we have to go!” He jumps off the speeder grabs the child and you jump over the side almost falling to the ground if Mando didn’t grab you. You shake your head trying to keep the pain in.

“I can’t...my foot.” You say your voice trembling and he looks around before handing you the child again and scooping you up holding you in his arms. You hold the child close to your chest your other hand wrapped around his neck. Rushing through the fighting running into bounty hunters but they are put down by Mandalorians. Seeing the ship ahead he brings the ramp down bringing you on when you hear the cocking of a blaster. Mando turns you and the child still in his arms seeing Greef pointing a blaster at you all.

“Hold it, Mando. I didn't want it to come to this. But then you broke the Code.” He says shaking his head almost disappointed in the hunter. Mando feels cornered when a blaster bolt hits Greef right in the chest. Sending him staggering toward the edge of the ramp. He looks down seeing you holding his blaster before you push your hand out and Greef is sent flying off the ship ramp rolling on the ground. Mando looks at you surprised hidden by his mask before he carries the two of you onto the ship bringing you to the cockpit and quickly taking off. The sound of blasters hitting the ship being protected by the shields as the Mandalorians provide cover fire. Sitting in your chair you see out the window the Mandalorian that spoke to you all salute Mando before flying off.

“I gotta get one of those.” Mando huffs before leaving the atmosphere. The child resting in his lap the other seated on their chair, he looks down at the kid reaching for the ball on the lever. He reaches over unscrewing it handing it to the happy child. The vast space to go off to now an enemy of the guild…the thoughts of the things he’s seen both of these kids do in his head. The kid with the mudhorn and you with Greef. They needed to lay low before he could begin to think more of it.

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