#light up those sectors with purple

[ham44vibes]

I need Lewis to channel his inner Prince for quali plz! Bring the purple rain and blitz the field! 🕯️🕯️💜💜🕯️🕯️💜💜🕯️🕯️💜💜 manifesting

[marlynnofmany]

Little Legends

Eggskin leaned out of the medbay with both scaly hands full of disassembled electronics. “Are you free to run a quick errand?” they asked with the air of someone hoping the answer was yes.

“Sure,” I said, stopping in the hall. “Did something break?”

“I thought it was fixable, but no.” Eggskin rotated a couple pieces and fit them back together, revealing what looked like part of a medscanner. “Waste of time. At least this isn’t the good one for diagnosing, just the one for checking boxes. But we do need a replacement if you can get it.”

I mentally ran down the list of stores I’d spotted on this space station. “Yeah, I think I saw an electronics place that should have those. And we’re not going to leave for a while yet.”

“Excellent, thank you.” Eggskin looked relieved. “I’d go myself, but I have several other items in need of a tune-up.”

“No problem. I’ll let the captain know, then be right on it.” With a wave from me and further thanks from Eggskin, I headed off to find the captain.

Warm light spilled from the crew lounge as I passed. I mentally patted myself on the back for moving my sun lamp in there for everybody to enjoy. Humans may need their vitamin D, but Heatseekers craved warmth, and didn’t always want to ask for it. Paint was currently curled up on the biggest couch, along with Telly: a pile of mottled orange scales and mismatched fur. The cat had also started in just my quarters but moved on to spend time in the rest of the ship.

They looked awfully happy there in the light of the tiny, hovering, artificial sun. Maybe I’d bring a book in and take a seat on the other couch later. Right now, I had a bio-scanner to find. And while it would have been perfectly ironic for Captain Sunlight to be basking in the lounge as well, she was elsewhere.

I found her in the cargo bay, double-checking a new stack of boxes with Zhee. She held a clipboard in her scaly yellow hands while he moved things with his shiny purple pincher arms. They were a study in contrasts. When I told her where I was going, she was glad to hear it.

“Eggskin said there was something wrong with that scanner,” she agreed with a nod. “I wondered why they were using the good one earlier. Go ahead; I’ll make a note of the payment.”

“Righto.” I left the pair of them to rearrange the boxes, trusting that the captain would remember to note the payment later. Her memory was good, and she’d been in charge of the finances even before getting promoted. (The previous captain had only been good at delegating. When he got politely booted off the ship for incompetence, everyone agreed that Sunlight should take over. She hadn’t felt like giving someone else more work to do when she was already familiar with the ship’s record-keeping, so she just did both.) (She was good at both. It worked out well.)

I was good at other things, and one of them was recognizing when human-run stores were likely to have quality products. Luckily there was one such store in the nearest commerce sector.

I left the ship and strolled along a moving sidewalk at a delightfully fast pace, passing station-goers of a range of species, many of which were content with regular walking speed. One Mesmer rushed past in a blur of coppery bug legs, exoskeleton liberally decorated with metal inlays and their attitude suggesting they were late for a flight. The various Heatseekers, Frillians, and others gave them a wide berth.

The hum of a high-end jetpack made me duck, worrying I’d get accidentally kicked in the head. But no, it was higher than I’d thought. And the human using it only had one leg, which probably helped my odds anyway.

I wonder if that came from the same place I’m going, I thought. It seemed likely, since my destination was just coming into view past the big media store. Under the space station’s vaulted ceiling and silver-and-blue color scheme, the “Earthly Electronics Emporium” was an eyecatching collection of green circuitry. The big front windows had a whole section on jetpacks and hover-belts. I wondered if they were made by the same manufacturer as the ones Captain Sunlight had been looking into for a client.

Possibly. But we didn’t want to wipe out all the stock in this place, not when the client was content to wait while we gathered the rest of their order from the planet we were scheduled to visit next.

All in good time. Right now, bio-scanners.

I stepped off the moving sidewalk with a careful eye for momentum, and I didn’t stumble. Upholding human reputation, go me. With my head high, I entered the Earthly Electronics Emporium.

It was very green inside too. Not quite as bright as the outside, but somebody had really decided to lean in on the color scheme. I strolled between green shelves designed to look like circuit boards, on green tiles that glittered with LEDs, under ceiling lights that were mostly white, just with enough green paint around them that they could have been green too. At least the labels were easy to read.

There were a few other people in the store: mostly a group of humans chatting by the counter. It sounded like one was teaching the others a space shanty, which just made me smile.

Then I found what I was looking for, and I grinned in triumph. Got it. Let’s see here … “Good for everything from fleas to termites to truly exotic problems.” That sounds promising. I read the label thoroughly, and decided it was exactly what our courier ship needed for checking the crates we brought onboard. We hadn’t had to deal with an accidental infestation yet — well, not one that a cat or two couldn’t solve — and we didn’t want to.

I took it up to the counter.

When I got there, I was surprised to recognize the guy singing the shanty. When he caught sight of me, he broke off with a smile. “Hey, good to see you! Thanks so much for the advice; the animal calls and the caffeine went perfectly.”

“Awesome! Good to see you too!” I set down the scanner so I could return the handclasp-and-hug while he introduced me to his friends, including the guy behind the counter.

He told them, “This is the one I told you about, the human who’s done everything!”

“Well,” I said humbly, getting immediately talked over as Oscar told the others about how his large and intimidating alien crewmates had been disappointed that he didn’t live up to all the stories they’d heard about human antics, which had all, somewhat embarrassingly, been about me.

“But then she told me that imitating animal calls was impressive — and it was; I called in things for them to hunt, and they were amazed — and she’s the one who told me that the Mighty were lightweights on caffeine.” He grinned while they all chuckled. “You already know how that went!”

I was privately glad to see him so animated and social, since the only other time we’d met, he’d been pretty dejected about his lot in life. I asked for details on his adventures and he was happy to tell them, with the other humans chipping in to add that they touched base regularly now, since Oscar’s ship was making regular stops at this station, and most of them lived here.

“Are you staying long?” Oscar asked me. “You should really meet Aster. He’s been writing songs about human stuff, and he’s probably got some of your legends in there. He just started one about caffeine, thanks to me!” He beamed in pride.

“That’s great! I’d love to, but we’re leaving in a little bit,” I said. “Maybe next time we stop by.”

“I hope so! His songs are really good. I was just telling these guys about the new one. Have you heard it yet?” He launched into a melody. “Thiiiiis pirate ship was the scourge of the spaceways, stealing goods with their threats and their gunplay. The scariest ship that you ever did see … Until they met the skunk.”

I snorted and covered my mouth, eyes wide. I didn’t want to say it, but somehow he guessed.

“Don’t tell me,” Oscar declared, stopping the song. “Somehow that was you too.”

“Not directly,” I protested. “And maybe there are other skunks out there! Keep going.”

He sang the rest of the song, which told the story of some foolhardy pirates who didn’t believe the rumors of a merchant vessel with a hazardous Earth creature onboard. They wound up having to abandon their ship and let it fall into the nearest sun, ending their days as “the smelliest ne-er-do-wells that planet had ever seen.”

I applauded along with everyone else. “That is a great song! And I don’t know if that’s the skunk I knew or not. I did give one to a human on a merchant ship. But it had its stink gland removed, so maybe it’s a different one.”

An older woman laughed. “Or maybe Aster took some storytelling liberties with the song. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Oscar shook his head, still grinning. “Maybe!”

Then it turned into a storytelling session about skunk anecdotes, and while I could have happily enjoyed that conversation for quite a while, I did have a ship to get back to.

The guy behind the counter rang up the sale for me, charging it to the ship’s account successfully. “What a great name,” he said, reading off his screen. “Gotta love a ship called Slap the Stars.”

I told him, “It was named after the human tradition of high fives!” That derailed the conversation even further, and it was with real regret that I had to leave.

A couple of the others said they had places to go as well. Casual hugs for everyone, and suddenly it was like being back home for the holidays. After several tight embraces, I realized I’d been missing that and not realized.

I said goodbye to my fellow humans and promised to check in next time I was in town, then took the bio-scanner back to the ship. The moving sidewalk was just as quick in this direction.

Paint and Telly were still in the lounge when I passed. I gave Eggskin the scanner, checked in with the captain at the cockpit, then grabbed a book from my room.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked Paint.

“Sure; there’s plenty space!” She uncurled enough to wave at the broad expanse of couch.

Telly made a feline “Mrrp,” then put her head back down.

I found the sun lamp’s controls on the table, next to the box of accessories, and turned it up just a smidge. Then I lay down between Paint and the back of the couch, with my book above her head.

She made happy noises about the extra warmth, and Telly mrrp’d again.

From the door to the hall, something hissed, then Zhee’s voice complained, “Why is it so bright in here?”

Paint didn’t look up as she declared, “Basking is a time-honored form of enrichment.”

“I fail to see the appeal.”

“Hang on,” I said, sitting up long enough to grab an effects adapter from the box on the table. I’d checked before; these would stay in place even with just half of the cover. I clipped on the most colorful and glitterific galaxy adapter to the far side of the sun lamp, turning half of the lounge into a space disco that any self-respecting Mesmer would love.

Zhee was no exception. “Now that is lovely,” he said, clicking his way into the room. “Why didn’t you do that to start with?”

He made himself comfortable with a media screen while I settled back into place with my book and cuddle puddle.

Mur’s voice said from the hallway, “Why is it so bright in here?”

Zhee said, “Enrichment.”

Paint said, “You can join us if you like.”

I smiled. “I have a great new space shanty that I think you’ll enjoy.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[messenger-of-babel]

Shooting Stars

Summary: As a fighter pilot, you're Hal's favourite shooting star. Even if that means one day you'll fall out of the sky. (Hal Jordan x reader)

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: I rushed this one a little bit again since I'm falling a bit behind, but I hope you enjoy! I love writing for Hal I'm glad he came back on the rotation. Work is piling up but I persevere. Much Love~! xx

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Hal Jordan had become the Green Lantern, the protector of Earth, the first human lantern. He had defended the sector with his life, and as a result was invited to join the Justice League. He got so used to his life behind the mask, that some nights he wondered if maybe he got too used to being the Green Lantern. The green was covering his skin more than his jacket did, his mask resting on his nose more than his sunglasses. Yet every time he had those doubts creep in, the soft tracing of your fingers across his cheek snapped him out of it.

It didn't matter if he came home in his suit or tracking blood onto your doorstep (okay, maybe you did mind that bit), you just welcome him with open arms and a soft look. When you looked at him like that, he knew. He wasn't Green Lantern in your eyes, he was just Hal Jordan. The gaze that the public, the Justice League, and even Barry failed to see sometimes. He could come home, melt into your arms and let the day's struggle nestle somewhere in the back of his mind to process later. He appreciated you more than you could ever realise, like a breath of fresh air into his life.

Some days, like this night, he came home to an empty house. With a sigh he crawls through the apartment window, flicks the lights on and begins to undress. His body is covered in an array of bruises that map across his skin like a purple map, crawling up his neck and a particularly nasty one resting on his temple. He triggers his headache with a wince when he presses on it, the tender skin screaming under his fingertips. He knew that if you were here now, you'd scold him for the state that he had gotten himself into, but in his defence, there is very little one can do to protect themselves when they're thrown through a building at a million miles an hour. He wished for you to be here so you could patch him up, something he had slowly gotten used to.

He liked the way that your hands traced over his skin, how gentle they were when you applied antiseptic creams or taped a bandage down to absorb a bleeding cut. You had joked that he had begun getting hurt on purpose just so he could be pampered, and he had protested. Even if he had faked the aches and bruises sometimes just so you'd run your fingers through his hair on quiet nights.

You hadn't been here for the last week, making him more irritable than usual. He couldn't blame you though, you had to work like him. In fact, it was the fact that you were a fighter pilot that you both had even met in the first place, so he couldn't complain. You had left with a kiss on the cheek the day you got deployed, letting him know that your squad had been called in for some mission. It was local thankfully, so you weren't going to be far. Hal kept telling himself that, but every step away from his side made the distance between you two feel so much further away each time.

He couldn't help worrying about you when you were away. He knew the ins and out of the job, knew the dangers and risks that it posed. The thought that kept him from checking on your status every day was the fact that he knew how you flew. Hell, he had flown with you himself. You were fast and efficient, a problem solver. You had faster reaction times that he could have hoped for in his own flying, casting him a cheeky thumbs up as you shot past him.

Hal Jordan knew he had been a good pilot, back when he was being called Highball and not Green Lantern. Hal was a test pilot. He flew daring, he flew fast, and without fear. That was his job, but you? You were smart. You flew with your head on straight, always two steps ahead. You were calculated with your strikes, you kept communication open with your team in the air, you made good calls. Hal had thought he had loved flying, until he saw you in the air and saw how you breathed it. How you seemed like a free bird in your jet, high up above everyone else. It was your life, and it was the beauty that had drawn him to you in the first place, a pull he couldn't and didn’t want to resist.

Your first date had been star gazing out at the base, its distance from the city letting the sky dazzle with a million pinpoints of bright lights. "I want to be like them on day." you had told him softly, arm behind your head and grin stretched over your lips. He had rolled to his side, propping his own head up and looking down at you. "you're hot enough already." he teased, making you wack his arm.

"You know what I mean." you groaned, still smiling. "Oh! Look!" you said excitedly, finger pointing to the sky and sitting up. "A shooting star!"

He turned, but he didn't see anything. "I missed it." he whined, pretending to flop back onto the mat you had laid out.

"Then don't take your eyes off the sky next time." you chided, looking at him softly.

Hal shook his head with a slight laugh. "I won't." he whispered. He kept his promise, Hal hadn't stopped looking at you since that night.

He was in the shower, hot water tracing over the tired planes of his muscles when the call came though. With a groan and a hand wiping the rivulets from his face he stepped from the stream of hot water, going to pick up the small receiver beeping on his bedside. "This better be good, I just got home." he snapped. "Emergency lines are for emergencies only."

"Thank goodness it's an emergency then." came the tone of Superman, crystal clear through the small device. "We need you."

"I just finished helping out that crisis in Central City, what kind of threat-"

"Everyone's being called in. Apparently, our friends from the Central City scuffle called for backup. Earth’s looking at an invasion force."

Hal cursed under his breath, lines of his face hardening in exhaustion. "Where do you need me?"

"Metropolis. We need everyone with abilities to try and buy time for our people on the ground." Superman's voice began slightly crackled, noise of a commotion on the other side.

"I'll contact Oa." Hal says curtly, striding back into the bathroom to get his ring. "I'll get them to run who it is, put a call out for an invasion of this sector. We can either get back up or get them to back off." he murmurs. Slipping it on his finger he willed the suit back, the glowing green covering up his patchwork skin once more. He catches sight of himself in the mirror, hair still wet and dripping.

"You want to take them to space court?" Superman says, tone still playful despite the tinge of stress. Hal shrugs his shoulders even though he knows the other man can’t see him. Climbing onto his bedroom balcony, he forces himself into the air, rerouting for Metropolis. "I don't know if it's space court, but my space lawyers will hear about this. See you there." He sighs off, commlink going dead as he flies toward the city.

It doesn't take him too long, seeing the carnage and smoke before he's even landed. He taps his commlink open, eyes scanning the city as he lands on a rooftop. "Hey Supes, a heads up would have been nice," he called. "You know, like saying they had already landed."

The commlink crackles to life, Superman patching through. "Yeah, well I got a bit distracted." he says, grunting and colliding heard over the line. "Just get to the main ship, we have to stop before they deploy any more forces."

"Copy." Hal murmurs, catching sight of the massive ship descending lower towards the city. Thankfully it was over the water, meaning that there was still time before they deployed over the city. As he neared the ship, Batman's voice filtered over the earpiece. "We have government assistance. You need to give enough time for forces to evacuate civilians on the ground. A squad is being rerouted from nearby, they’re being sent to help you in the air. Keep buying time."

Bruce's tone was clipped and sharp, making Hal wince against his headache.

He could see the bright costume of Superman within the ship, trying to get a hold of the controls, bodies of aliens motionless around him. Flying to the large windscreen of the large ship, he set his channel to a personal one with the man in blue. "Can you turn it off?" he asks, watching the other man hover around the controls.

"I can't. Everything I've done won't stop it. It's being remotely controlled. We can't get to it from here."

"Then we need to destroy it." Hal hums back. "We can't waste time. Do you think you can crash it?"

Superman looks up at him worried and slightly incredulous. "That'll hit the city."

"Not if I can catch it." he smirks, flashing his ring and making Superman sigh. "Fine. Let me know when you're in position."

"Roger that." Hal says, making a fake salute before flying off.

He picks a decent position, under the ship. It'd probably be the biggest thing that he'd have to lift with the ring, not to mention the noise and fighting of the battle ringing in his ears. Yet they had no choice. "Ready." he calls to Superman, hearing Kryptonian confirm on the other end.

They should have both known it was too easy, since as soon as Superman burst through the roof of the ship and it had begun falling towards the city, reinforcements arrived. Catching the ship with his ring, the massive unit was enveloped in a green glow. Hal breathes deeply, trying to keep his focus and trying to manoeuvre it further in the direction of the water. He can make out the shape of Superman fighting around him, trying to take out the smaller, back-up pods that tried to target him. The commlink was alive in a myriad of voices that hurt his head, teeth clenched together as he tried to block them out.

But then he heard it, the voice of Batman confirming military involvement followed by the familiar sound of jet engines. He didn't dare look, floating slowly through the sky as he forces his shaking hand to stay still. But when he sees a pod coming towards him, his grip falters slightly. The ship begins to tip and he catches it once more, groaning with the effort. It was like staring down the barrel of a gun, unable to do nothing as it came for him, unable to defend himself. Hal Jordan thought he was going to die.

Everything was ringing in his ears, slowing down as he watched it approach. Then, the pod went up in a burst of flames, making his eyes widen. The familiar roaring filled is senses once more, the vibrations settling in his bones as it flies past. He manages to make out a thumbs up pressed against the cockpit window as the jet flies past and his blood freezes.

It had to be you. It had to be. He hoped it wasn’t.

His mind filled with images of you like a photo album, making his heartbeat deeply in his chest. He wanted to yell at you, scream at you that you might be over your head in this. He trusted you more than anyone in the air, but that was against human planes. When you get hit on your second pass around it’s like the photos in his mind all bleach the black and white, his heart stopping in his chest. His mind feels like it catches every second frame, unable to process in the cacophony of noise.

The jet whirring past him. Your call sign printed on the side. The hit. The fire. Hal instinctively goes to dive for you, until the screaming of Superman snaps him back and he realises the ship was freefalling, veering for the city. He caught it again, struggling to even take a full breath with the effort. His eyes sought you out almost immediately, unable to tear away from your descent. You had been thrown into a spin, heat pooling at the edges of your wings until they flickered to life in tongues of flame.

You were burning in.

Hal was certain that he called for you, screamed your name as you plummeted towards the unforgiving ground, but he couldn’t hear anything anymore. All he could process was the way you fell, crackling towards the earth like a shooting star, his shooting star.

Just like your first date, he couldn't take his eyes off you. Except this time, he wasn't sure if he was ever going to be able to stargaze with you again.

[artsygirl0315]

"Guilt, Dread and Shame" | Mourning AU Fanfic

(Warning; Angst, Mentions of cause of death)

In the midst of looking through documents and files for the organization, Tyler couldn't shake the lingering feeling of a forced emotion welling up inside him.

As if the tears that left his face were pouring out his eyes by it's own will and his heart ached despite his own clear mind.

The staggered images and blurs of purple and green, they flow through his mind like an unrelenting wave of.. Dread? Sadness? Guilt?.. Whatever that was, It's not leaving.

Unbeknownst to him was his hand, it gripped on the pen he was using tightens as each tear drops down to the papers beneath his gaze.

Then a sudden feeling of distress passes through him, the flashing images of his friends.

Their separate unmoving bodies lying in hospital beds.

How he dreaded that sight for all his living years..

His body suddenly acted out, his hands turning to fists as they slammed on the table and his teeth gritted with frustrations, all the while, the tears poured out his eyes like waterfalls and his breathing became rapid.

Why couldn't he save them? Where was he when they needed him? What is he even doing? WHO IS HE?!

Who is he if not a leader.. A brother.. a friend?..

What was his purpose now?..

The door slowly opened behind him, the light emitts through the dark room that it's only form of light was the lamo beside his desk and the one that came from behind the door.

His eyes didn't need to glance at the one behind him, already knowing who it must be as the heavy footsteps came closer and halted a few feet from him.

"Ty? You good, bud?.. I heard something break and thought I'd check up on you.." One of his dear friends, Jeremiah, spoke from behind him with a familiar aura of worriness and curiousity coming from his companion.

Tyler only realized in that moment that a picture frame had fallen from his desk, his eyes wandered to the shards of broken glass and inside the frame was that familiar photo taken on a warm spring day.

His friends, his sector, were on a picnic that day and he himself took that photo. His eyes stayed on those two familiar faces, enough for the tears to continue down his cheek.

Mella, Evan, what could he have done to do you justice?

"I'm fine, Jer.. I'm just.. really really tired right now, I'll clean it up..", He says that but even he knew that it was another made up excuse, He never found the time to clean up in here.

Not after what happened, even then, he couldn't find it in him.

Jeremiah noticed the broken shards of glass on the floor and was contemplating whether or not to prod and poke on the topic further until he realized that he can't get through to Tyler, Not yet at least.

The large boy looked at his leader before a low hum escapes his lips, turning around as his hand reached the doorknob, pausing for a second to make one last remark for his friend.

"You know that we're still here for you, right? Me, Phoebe, Carol, Aiden, Gianna, Reyna, and everyone... All of us.. We're still here for you, and I think it's time we start seeing that.."

Tyler found himself listening to Jeremiah's words and contemplating, he didn't much care for the large boy's tone of warning but..

Maybe he was getting somewhere.

It had been weeks now since they left, since he's last seen their bodies lying on different grounds.

One's skin was filled with burnt scars while the other was covered in red and full of bruises.

He was the first of his sector to witness the aftermath of the crimes committed on his two members, their bodies laying unmoved and their eyes show no more signs of life.

And he was the first to feel the dreadful guilt, the piercing resentment and the weighing sorrow that filled his heart.

He remembered having to be held back by the doctors and nurses as he tried to reach out to them, begging and pleading as his eyes poured down tears and his body shook, watching them being taken from him before he could even reach.

And till this day, it haunted him.

Till this day, he felt nothing but guilt and shame.

When Jeremiah had already left his leader's disheveled room, Tyler could only ponder on the good old days.

Back when they were so happy, so free and careless of what the future held for them.

He wished he had done something to prevent what happened, to save his friends, to find a way to get things back the way they were..

But that was a long shot, an unattainable means to an end.

He can't bring them and he hated that.

He hated himself..

"If I could turn back time, I would've taken that opportunity to see you two smile again.. Maybe I would've had the better strength to give you the life you deserved.. I'm sorry.."

(Almost forgot, shi—)

Mentions of moots!!💙

Carol and Aiden- @kandykatz

Gianna- @numbuh-72

Reyna- @numbuhinfinitys

(Hey guys, Blue here! Sorry for not posting for a little since I've got lots of project and assignments need to be done but I'll try my best to get a few things in the works for the meantime! I made this comic a means to show Tyler's perspective as he is seen to be quite a big jerk nowadays in the AU but he's got heart! There'll be more about this AU soon. Until then, Have a great day, everyone!!💙)

[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING — CH. 1

Chapter One: The Mercury Keeps Rising

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families in need of medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and albeit the bounty hunters as well. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has somehow led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Empath!FemReader

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths,

Word Count: 6.7k

A/N: YA’LL IM BACK TO WRITING MY SOUL OUT HERE YAY! I feel like this is gonna be a weekly updated fic or updated twice a week if I’m feeling speedy hehe. Did I turn to the Enneagram again? Yep! You are an Enneagram Two for this fic! Yay! (Cause I’m an Enneagram Two :>) And Din is an Enneagram One, so ya’ll are romantically compatible. Anyways, my thoughts and explanations are gonna be in the end notes! Leave a comment to let me know if you want this series or if I should scrap it. :)

Song: The Great War by Taylor Swift

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DAWN

Just a little longer now… Shouldn't be much longer. Wait, what is this about? You’ve been having trouble sleeping since you were young. The nightmares were nothing new, but the sharp flares in your chest and side kept bothering you recently. Your nervous system's acting up and now being awake feels unsafe as you lay there in your cot, clutching your chest, feeling each breath that escapes from your nose and out through your mouth as you stare at the ceiling above you.

You were a long way from Bogden 3, where you were raised. Nevarro wasn’t the ideal place to hide. It was situated within a sector of the Outer Rim Territories, in a system with a singular star and asteroid fields. An ashen world of black sands, with rocky and volcanic terrain that consisted of regions of rocky flats and hills along with vast fields of lava, which contained lava rivers both on the surface and underground. 

The planet became a bounty hunter hive after the fall of the Empire. The Bounty Hunters’ Guild owns hubs throughout the Galaxy. One of such hub is located on the Outer Rim planet Nevarro, which functions as a cantina. The cantina works around the clock, has its brewery, offers a wide selection of drinks with snacks, provides coolness from the air conditioner, and is a favorite place for rest and meetings of bounty hunters.

By some luck or the unknown ways of the Force, no one had recognized you nor put a bounty on your head yet. After aiding the Republic during the revolution against the Empire and after the Battle of Yavin as a healer and a medic, you left to medically aid those in need after the war. If you were being honest, you missed your friends in the Soaring Hawkbat Clan and the people who raised you. However, you knew that what you were doing needed to be done. 

Droids may sometimes be unreliable, and no matter how sophisticated technology becomes, there is no substitute for the human touch. No droid, no matter how dexterous, can offer compassion. It might be able to store and process more medical information, but only people can offer a truly sympathetic ear. As one of the few who possessed the knowledge to provide primary care to the sick and wounded, Greef Karga eventually established a small medcenter a few blocks away from the cantina.

You decide to push yourself up and away from your cot, seeing the glimmer of light peek through the window. Cleaning up, getting dressed, and after quickly eating a piece of purple fruit, you sling your brown satchel over your shoulder and hurriedly make your way to the medcenter. As you enter, you greet the 2-1B droid which had modular limbs that allowed them to use a range of surgical tools and other medical instruments based on their patients' needs. You made your way over to your desk, setting down your bag and then sterilizing your hands afterward.

Different energy and buzz were happening around Nevarro. As you patched up one of the Trandoshan and sold them a couple of cans containing bacta for a good amount of credits, you had overheard them talking about receiving a job from the Client and planning a flight to Arvala-7. Living on this bounty hunter-infested planet taught you to listen for information and to use it to your advantage when necessary. They were usually given a holopuck, a simple holographic device used to display an image of the quarry and the bounty payout. However, they were only given a tracking fob, the Trandoshan briefly flashing it to you before tucking it away in their belt.

The next few hours were spent treating different families with various illnesses and injuries, then sending them off with some medication and a specific date to return. This was your usual routine, nothing new to note except for that tiny piece of information from earlier.

The sound of the doors hissing to life causes you to turn your head. If you were being honest, this was the last person you expected to show up in your medcenter. Your mouth gaped open as you take in the sight of the tall and imposing figure in front of you. The unmistakable shape of the Mandalorian helmet and polished silver causes you to nearly choke on your saliva.

“Do you have any bacta spray?” The sound of his rough and modulated voice causes you to try and gather your composure as he walks towards you, which proves to be slightly challenging. You clear your throat and look at his vizor, “Yeah, let me just go to the cabinet to get some.” He doesn’t respond, leaving you to awkwardly stand there for a few more seconds before moving to retrieve the bacta spray.

You usually aren’t this nervous or anxious around anyone, but the Mandalorian was completely different. As you rummage through the cabinet, you try and fight the overwhelming urge to sense his feelings, but it is no use. He radiates with deep hurt from his past but tries to bury his soul in the dark. This Mandalorian weights living heavy on his spine. A man who has created mistakes grips at them until his hands are bruised and burning. You wince at that, nearly dropping one of the bacta sprays but manage to catch it, turning to the Mandalorian keenly observing you as you make your way over to him, trying to ignore the waves and streaks of grey and silver glowing around his figure, you quickly hand it to him while saying, “I hope three is enough for now.” 

He curtly nods, “How much?” You shake your head, “You don’t have to pay. It’s fine.” The slight tilt of his helmet almost causes you to blush, you feel his curiosity and concern, “I insist.”

You blink and shake your head again, “Nope. Just… be careful on your journey. That’s enough for me.” You sense his confusion and interest before he turns and walks away, leaving a trail of gray streaks only you could see, hearing the slight clink sound of beskar, and the doors closing.

Once you’re sure he left, you bring both of your hands to the side of your face, using two fingers to rub into your temple, sighing in embarrassment and disappointment for allowing yourself to nearly reveal who you truly are. Having strong Force empathy abilities involved picking up impressions of an individual's feelings and general emotional state. There was no explanation for the aura you could see around individuals, a specific color for each living creature that encompasses their character, personality, morals, past, present, and sometimes, a rare glimpse of their future emotions.

You try and ground yourself by closing your eyes and breathing, controlled and steady breaths of air as you reassure yourself that you’re safe. The peace doesn’t last long, as flashes of visions begin to cloud your periphery. Loud explosions on Nevarro, blaster fights, the unmistakable loud cries of a child, and the Mandalorian at the center of it all. You fall to your knees, clutching your chest tightly and the other to hold your upper body. You sensed the dark side, anger, fear, aggression, and a lust for power from this planet long before, but now you sense there is something much more sinister approaching.

NEVARRO, 9ABY – NOON

After a few days, you intercepted a transmission from the Mandalorian successfully capturing the bounty from Arvala-7, and must be directly given to The Client. While the Mandalorian was gone you had been secretly training, meditating, and gathering more information about whoever this Client may be, allowing the Force to guide you to the path you must walk on.

You step out of the medcenter to see the Razor Crest preparing to land on the settlement's spaceport and disembark. You toss the hood over your head and use a scarf as a mask, hiding in the shadows, watching the Mandalorian and a hover-pram pass you by swiftly and you catch a glimpse of a green creature inside. Your mouth slightly drops open in shock and the quiet feeling of the Force settles inside of you as you eye the baby.

You follow the two of them from a distance, not wanting to be noticed or seen. The Mandalorian turns right into an alleyway, and you wait a few seconds before trailing him. You hide behind one of the stone pillars, keenly observing his movements. The Mandalorian pounds loudly on a metal door and a TT-8L/Y7 gatekeeper droid,  a simple photoreceptor mounted on a retractable eyestalk. The Mandalorian shows a disc as proof of identity. You notice The Child reacts in surprise as the droid retracts.

The door unlocks, and you realize you must follow them without getting caught. Your eyes close as you calmed yourself, deep breaths in and out, registering the light and sound waves around you, every particle and atom. Tiny pieces of music, notes in the air that only you can hear, each sound of your heartbeat, you hold my breath and try to swim. Making infinite room for hope and oxygen, every cell across your skin comes to life, and slowly willing the light particles to bend and render you invisible to visual and audio detection.

When you open your eyes, you silently gasped, seeing a pair of Remnant Stormtroopers exit the house, and watching The Child lowers its ears and head. Your hands clench in a fist so tight you reminded yourself to breathe, following after the Mandalorian and the Stormtroopers before the door slides shut behind you. Inside the corridor, one of the stormtroopers roughly yanks the Child's cradle. Your eyes narrow in agitation and annoyance, the Madalorian is quick to say, “Easy with that.” To which the first Stormtrooper snarkily replies, “You take it easy.”

The stormtroopers lead you to a frail old man who you assume to be the Client and to a familiar-looking doctor on the side, the Client is delighted, “Yes!” He holds the tracking fob and approaches the Child, “Yes, yes, yes! Yes.” The Doctor begins to scan the child with a device, eventually, the scanner beeps to his delight, “Very healthy. Yes.”

The Client stands taller to speak to the Mandalorian, “Your reputation was not unwarranted.” The Mandalorian isn’t the least bit flattered, opting to question him, “How many fobs did you give out?” To which the Client responds, “This asset was of extreme importance to me. I had to ensure its delivery. But to the winner…” He walks over to the desk, bringing out a large container, “Go the spoils.” After a few buttons are pushed, the sides of the container bloom open to reveal bars of Beskar. The Mandalorian comes closer to the center table, holding two bars of beskar as you frown in disappointment.

“Such a large bounty for such a small package.” The Client says, and the Child cries and coos for the Mandalorian as he is taken away by the doctor. He can’t help the guilt that bubbles inside of him, he asks, “What are your plans for it?” The Client isn’t amused by his inquiry, “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 now forgotten?”

Two more Stormtroopers appear from the room to the right, standing behind the Client, “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.” With that, the Mandalorian places the two pieces of Beskar inside the container. No longer speaking and leaving with his prize as you follow him outside undetected.

Once you were in the main streets of the city, you pull back your cloak and render yourself visible, watching the Mandalorian walks through the marketplace and down the steps into the sewer below. You feel the heavy weight on your chest, unsure if the emotions you feel are coming from him or if they are your own. You shake your head and make your way to the Cantina, needing a drink after all of the information you’ve gathered.

You were taught about Master Yoda, a legendary Jedi Master and stronger than most in his connection with the Force. Small in size but wise and powerful, he trained Jedi for over eight hundred years, playing integral roles in the Clone Wars, and helped in the upbringing of Master Luke Skywalker, to which your clan members were deciding to join him or not. Could this Child be another one of his kind?

The Cantina doors opened and you were immediately greeted by Greef Karga, “Well, look who we have here our favorite medic! Never thought you’d step foot in this place.” You shrugged in response, trying to shake off the stares of the different guests in the Cantina, “I gotta support Mikgel from time to time. Besides, he said he owed me a free drink.” You walk a bit closer to Greef Karga’s table as he asks, “Why would a woman like you, so carefree spirited need a drink?” 

You sit on the other side of the booth, placing both of your arms atop the table, “Would… finding out about Imperial Forces hiding in out in a safe house on our planet count?” Greef Karga chokes on air and winces, you tilt your head down and raise an eyebrow, “Did you think you could keep this from me? What the hell are they doing here?”

He regains his composure and leans forward to whisper his reply, “I never intended to keep it from you. I was trying to protect you.” You scoff in disbelief and annoyance, “Protect me?”

To which Karga says, “Yes! Protect you, if they knew who you were and what you are they’d–” You rarely get angry, always choosing to see the good in people, but you sense the feeling of Karga’s greed and mixed lies.

You raise your hand, palm facing him, “Don’t lecture me about something I’ve lived and fought through. Giving them your services makes you an accomplice, a rat, and a damn coward.” The taste of acid and the waves of color that is radiates off of Karga is a mix of a bright lava orange and red, his simmering anger hisses at you, “Look who’s to talk. Hiding all your life. Running from your own future. Isn’t that a bit selfish and cowardly?” You deflate at that, understanding that he is partially right.

But before you could respond to the sound of the doors hissing open, you turn your head to see the Mandalorian entering the cantina, which silences its patrons as everyone gazes at him. Completely decked out with shiny new armor, he is completely unbothered as he approaches the table where you and Greef Karga are conversing. Karga heartily laughs, “Ah! Mando! They all hate you, Mando. Because you’re a legend!”

You try and get out of the booth and leave but Mando uses his right hand for you to stay put, so you settle back down again. You raise your eyes to hear the raspy voice of the Mandalorian confront Karga, “How many of them had tracking fobs?” Greef Karga scoffs and gestures around the Cantina, “All of them. All of them! But not one of them closed the deal. Only you, Mando. Only you.” The Mandalorian looks at you, “What about her?” To which you look up at him and frown, “No. I’m just a medic getting a drink after a tough day. But congratulations, I guess.”

Greef Karga continues, “And with it, the richest reward this parsec has ever seen. Please sit with us, my friend.” The Mandalorian obliges and unclips his Amban sniper rifle, placing it on the side of the couch before you move a little to the right to give him room to sit next to you. He took up almost half of the booth with his width and physique. You feel your left arm warm up with how close he was, the comfort that allures you to his orbit was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You choose to look straight ahead, trying not to acknowledge him pressed up beside you, luckily Greef Karga opens his mouth to talk, “They’re all weighing the Beskar in their minds, but not me. No. I, for one, celebrate your success. Because it is my success as well.”

Your right leg bounces up and down in anticipation Karga continues, “Hell! Even I’m rich.” He chuckled and digs into his breast pocket to reveal the two bars of Beskar he was given by the Client. You roll your eyes in annoyance, but the Guild Master says, “Now, how can I show my gratitude to my most valuable partner?”

Mando cuts to the chase, “I want my next job.” Greef Karga takes a sip of his drink before placing it down on the table, he eyes him with confusion, “Next job? Take some time off. Enjoy yourself. I’ll take you to the Twi’lek healing baths.” You frown at that and Mando doesn’t seem to care, “I want my next job.” Karga sighs, “Sure. Fine.”

“You hunters like to keep busy, right?” Karaga says with an amused tone, “Well, these are all far away.” He places a bunch of holopucks on the table and the Mandalorian reaches out to grab one, “The further, the better.” Karga smiles, “Well, take your pick. You’ve earned it.”

Mando places the holopuck on the table and it whizzes to life, showing an image of a Mon Calamari. “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.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything and simply takes the puck and moves away from the table, grabbing his Amban sniper rifle, seemingly satisfied with his pick. You turn to watch him go but he freezes, and you use the force to reach out what he’s feeling, to be flooded with waves of guilt. Your eyebrows knit together as you hear Mando ask, “Any idea what they’re gonna do with it?”

Karga is packing the rest of the holopucks, “With what?” The Mandalorian turns to face him, “The kid.” Karga shakes his head, “I didn’t ask. It’s against the Guild Code.” Mando’s voice goes deeper as he points out, “They work for the Empire. What are they doing here?” You raise your eyebrows at Karga, as you smile smugly at him, “I asked the same thing.” To which he says, “Are the two of you working together? The Empire is gone. All that are left are mercenaries and warlords. But if it bothers you both, just go back to the Core and report them to the New Republic.”

You rolled your eyes and the Mandalorian grunts out, “That’s a joke.” Greef doesn’t give a remark about his statement, instead, he says, “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 Mandalorian doesn’t reply and simply takes his leave. You shake your head, scoffing at Karga and he calls out your name as you near the exit, “I suggest you keep yourself out of sight with those Imperial troops. For your safety, of course.” You say nothing and leave the Cantina, you feel the ground shaking under your feet and feel the pressure building until you can't breathe.

You shake your head, and the temptation of the dark side calls to you, to give in to your rage and hatred, you internally fight it off, gritting your teeth as you say, “No.” You catch your breath and focus, rationalizing your decision to break into the Imperial Remnant safe house to save the Child, then you will yourself to move towards the medcenter.

You swiftly walked towards your desk, grabbed your satchel, and opened the flap of the leather. Finding the fabric that wraps around the object you were searching for, you pull it out of the satchel and unwrap it. The lightsaber hilt that you haven’t touched since the day you left the clan, weighs heavy in your hands but the familiar cool touch of silver and gold metal forged into one grant you a sense of comfort. You wrap the hilt once more, not yet needing your lightsaber, placing it inside your satchel and instead arm yourself with a blaster. As you were gathering a few bacta sprays, the double doors sounded open, you don’t look over your shoulder as you say, “We’re closed for the day.”

“I need your help.” You feel your eyes expand and widen, the familiar voice of the Mandalorian causes you to wince a little bit as you turn to see his figure standing a few feet away from you.

You try to act nonchalant ask you ask, “What did you um… need?” Mando steps a bit closer to you, which causes your back to hit the cabinet door, his grave voice echoes through the modulator, “I need your help with rescuing the kid.” You swallow away your nervousness, “What? Why would you ask for my help?”

“You never showed up to the Cantina until today. You were asking Karga about the Imperials and you were curious as to why there were here. You never carry a weapon with you so I’m assuming you’re about to infiltrate their base. It looks like our interests are aligned,” Mando stated plainly as you quietly shook your head, “You don’t know me. So why trust me at all with this?”

It takes him a moment to form a response, you watch as his shoulders rise and fall with every intake of breath, then he says, “I’ve heard the good you’ve done for the people of Nevarro. No judgment or malice. Sometimes giving them medical care for free. You’re right, I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done before. But right now, I do know you’ve only done the right thing. So, I’m asking for your help.”

You were startled by his response, completely breathless by his honesty and directness. You had thought he didn’t know who you were, just some medic around Nevarro, plain and simple. But it seems the Mandalorian also keeps tabs on the citizens around the town.

The color aura of the Mandalorian returns as you blink at him, feeling his emotions bouncing off of him and you becoming the receiver. Sparks of white and silver illuminate him, sensing his sincerity and need to save the Child. You lick your lips as an anxious tick and then nod, “Okay. I’ll do it. What’s the plan?”

The sun was beginning to set, casting shadows on your figures as you swiftly walk down the marketplace and down the alleyway to see the giant green metal door to the Imperial safe house. You make a right to find the hovering pram in the dumpster, and you feel his rage beside you. Like wildfire within him, mountains made of ash and clouds of smoke. It's fight or flight buried in his mind as alarms will sound.

You both climb up to the rooftop of the building across, positioned on his stomach, using his sniper rifle to listen to his targets. Clicking the side of his helmet to which the device whizzes and the static could be heard as you lay flat next to him. You figured he was listening to the targets and waiting for him to relay the information. After a few seconds, the Mandalorian quickly says, “We need to get the kid out of there before they leave.” You nodded as you lifted your hood up, “Okay.”

You both climb down off the rooftop. The Mandalorian bangs on the green door and is greeted by the gatekeeper droid. However, the Mandalorian violently grabs the stem, causing it to screech and rips off the droid's head, causing it to short circuit. He quickly walks away to the side, causing the two stormtroopers to come out to investigate. 

One of them tells the other, “Check the perimeter.” 

You and the Mandalorian plant a grav charge on a nearby wall, he grabs your wrist to hide behind another wall, “Cover your ears.”

You follow his instructions, using both of your hands to cover them, the beeping chirps louder, then sparks begin to fly, blowing a hole in the Imperial compound. Alarms are blaring, as you both walk into the corridor, positioning yourselves and waiting for the stormtroopers to advance.

The yellow lights flicker and eventually short-circuit, catching a glimpse of sparks flying on the side of the wall. You see the stormtroopers pass you and the Mandalorian to inspect the giant hole in the wall, using the flashlights on the side of their blasters to find nothing.

You both appear from behind the stormtroopers, the Mandalorian shooting the both of them from behind. Another stormtrooper enters the corridor and finds his fallen comrades, one of whom has a smoking hole in his chest. The Mandalorian once again appears from the shadows, knocking him down with his blaster and shooting him as well.

So far you hadn’t even needed to draw out your blaster, Mando is truly skilled. You walk through the corridors of the facility, checking each corner for stormtroopers. You and he venture deeper into the compound where he traps a fourth stormtrooper with his grappling cable and stabs him with his vibroblade. 

You shoot a door open and the stormtrooper manages to get a hit on this shoulder pauldron, causing him to jerk backward but manages to shoot the stormtrooper inside the laboratory. You both walk inside and you spot the doctor and an IT-O Interrogation Unit. The doctor begins to plead for his life, “No, no, no, no, please. Please. No. No, no.” You raise your blaster to shoot down the IT-O Interrogation Unit, watching the pile of junk collapse on the ground. 

Mando raises his blaster to shoot at the doctor, but he begs you both once more, “No, please. Please don’t hurt him. It’s just a child.” You and the Mandalorian walk toward him and he continues to plead, “Please. No. No! Please. No. No, no.” Mando grabs him by his chest and shoves him to the side, causing him to fall to the floor. He points and clicks his blaster at him, and he curls into a ball with his arm stretched out begging. You make your way to the machine keeping the child, finding him deep asleep.

You feel the Mandalorian break at the sight, alarms are still blaring, but it's too late for holy water now. He points the blaster, angrily asking, “What did you do to it?” He doesn’t get an immediate response which causes him to repeat the question harshly, “What did you do to it?” The doctor shakingly replies, “I protected him. If it wasn’t for me, he would already be dead! Please! Please. Please.”

The doctor whimpers as you quickly grab the Child and leave with the Mandalorian. You make a right but here the doors open, Mando grabs you and presses you up against a wall to hide behind some of the storage crates. You suddenly feel nauseous and can hear your own heartbeat flutter as you register the cool kiss of his armor against your warm flesh. You close your eyes as you feel the rise and fall of your chest and hear Mandos’ quiet breathing.

You try to push down your powers and senses, not wanting to feel his emotions at this particular moment right now. You feel the strings and waves radiating and intertwining with yours, the silver wisps curling with your bright shining colors. You tightly shut your eyes, hoping that you were almost out of this compound.

Suddenly, you hear the Mandalorian whisper, “They’re gone.”

Your lashes flutter as you open your eyes to meet his gaze through his vizor, there is a spectrum of color, surrounding you both. Your mouth partly opens to say something but there is no sound. For a moment, you believed he felt something too, the pull of gravity within your orbit. However, Mando pulls away from you and the colors disappear once more as if it was never truly there.

Neither of you spoke as you trail behind him and walk into a storeroom. The unexpected sound of the door opening catches you and Mando off-guard as two stormtroopers with flashlights attached to their armor try to shoot you both down. One of the stormtroopers says, “Split up. We’ll flush him out.”

You see their flashlights give away their positions, giving you and him time to defend yourselves. You turn to your left to give Mando the Child, letting him carry it, and make your way to the other stormtrooper.

“Give it up. There’s nowhere to–” You hear the groan of the stormtrooper being taken down by Mando, and you do the same to the other one, hitting him over the head with your blaster before knocking him out completely.

Another stormtrooper announces his arrival, “Hey!” To which you grab Mando’s Ampan sniper rifle on the floor, electrocuting him with the fork end of the device.

As you both exit the storeroom only to run into a stormtrooper. You both exchange gunfire, the sharp whizzing sound of blaster fire echoes in your ears, and the Mandalorian shoots him down. A second stormtrooper blasts his way through, and he unleashes his flamethrower on the second stormtrooper, scorching him. The Child looks away as this happens. The charred stormtrooper falls to the ground.

You groan in annoyance, “How many are there?” Mando hums, “Way too many for the Empire to be considered gone.”

You follow him and enter the meeting room with him holding the Child. Seemingly empty you walk straight to the exit doors, however, they open to reveal four more stormtroopers, “Freeze!” You three are completely cornered, “Don’t move! Hands up!” One of them yells, “Drop the blasters!”

You glare at the stormtroopers as Mando speaks calmly to them, “Wait. What I’m holding is very valuable. Here.” Mando gestures to you to do the same as you get down on your knees to place your blasters on the ground and he gently places the Child on the floor as well. “Now turn and face me!”

A stormtrooper commands, but neither of you moves, allowing yourself to have faith in the Mandalorian’s plans. You watch him clench his fists, and you hear the device on his arm chirp to life. “Stand up!” They command once more but you don’t follow their orders. A beat passes. The sharp sound of whistling birds creating fireworks as he unleashes them onto your enemies, you hear them groan in pain as it takes out all of the stormtroopers.

Mando gently picks up the Child and his blaster to which you grab your blaster from the floor, quickly exiting the compound. You walk side by side with the Mandalorian through the streets of Navarro, feeling the menacing stares of each bounty hunter. You spot their tracking fobs have been reactivated, loudly beeping as they point it towards your direction. Soon enough you are surrounded by several armed bounty hunters.

You spot Greef Karga stepping into view, “Welcome back! I’m surprised to see you ask for help from our talented healer. Now put the package down.” You analyze the several bounty hunters, trying to find an escape. “Step aside. I’m going to my ship.” Mando said, and Karga softly chuckles, “You put the bounty down and perhaps I’ll let you pass and our medic can be easily forgiven, after all, she’s done for the citizens of this town.”

Mando doesn’t relent and states, “She and the kid are coming with me.” You turn to look at him in surprise that he wouldn’t just leave you here to face the consequences of your actions. “If you truly care about the kid and her, then you’ll put it on the speeder and you’ll let her walk away as if none of this ever happened and we’ll discuss terms.” An R6 astromech droid, on the speeder, turns its head.

“How do we know if we can trust you?” You asked and Karga scoffs, “Because I’m your only hope.” You watch Mando walk over to the speeder and you feel your eyes begin to fog with oncoming tears. Karga says your name, “Walk away and we’ll discuss this later.” You clench your jaw and glare at the bounty agent before turning your back toward him, and placing your hand on your blaster as you sensed it, the tingling in your spine and throughout your body.

Mando whirls around and shoots at the other bounty hunters, jumping onto a repulsorlift vehicle carrying luggage. You quickly take cover and shoot down the other bounty hunters running towards the Mandalorian and hopping onto the repulsorlift. Deep and commanding, he demands the astromech droid, “Drive!”

The droid shakes its head in disapproval and Mando raises his blaster at him, “Drive!” The astromech screeches in fear and drives the repulsorlift vehicle while you and Mando are shooting down as many bounty hunters as you can.

You aim for the sniper above and shoot while Mando covers the ground as you drive by. The astromech is shot down by Karga, you see bright yellow sparks and you hear the droid power down. You hear Mando whisper, “Are you okay?”

To which you hum and nod, “Mhm. I’m fine.”

It’s now deadly quiet as the rest of the hunters step closer toward the repulsorlift. The fork end of the amban rifle peaks through the luggage as Mando aims and blasts bounty hunters into ash. Different species groan and clamor to hide behind various objects.

“That’s one impressive weapon!” Karaga states and Mando’s voice booms as he announces, “Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna walk to my ship with her and the kid, and you’re gonna let it happen.”

“No. How about this? We take the kid and the medic, and if you try to stop us, we will kill you and we strip your body for parts.” Karga says menacingly, and suddenly you feel someone pull your leg, dragging you and you yelp out in fear and surprise.

Mando is quick to your aid, using the butt of his rifle and then shocking him with the fork of his weapon, completely stunning the first bounty hunter while you shoot down the second.

You spot the rest of the hunters advancing towards you with their weapons, firing every part of the speeder.

Greef Karga yells, “Don’t hit the target or her!” As a last resort, Mando activates his flamethrower, which causes the bounty hunters to fall back for a moment, only for it to run out of fuel. You lay down next to the Child, craning your head to the right to gaze at his peaceful sleeping form.

You feel the sudden weight of Mando hovering over you and the kid, trying to protect both of you til the end. You hear the Child coo beside you and smile in adoration.

You reach into your satchel and dig for the lightsaber hilt, readying yourself to defend Mando and the Child the moment it comes down to it. Without notice, you hear the whooshing sound of rockets streaking through the air to hit one of the bounty hunters straight through the chest. Fortunately, several fellow members of the Mandalorian Tribe, donning jetpacks and blasters, come to your aid, taking out several bounty hunters.

You watch in awe as the Mandalorians skillfully use their weapons in taking out the remaining bounty hunters, the head infantry lands close to the speeder and says, “Get out of here! We’ll hold them off!” To which Mando replies, “You’re going to have to relocate the covert.” The head infantry responds, “This is the Way.” And Mando echos back, “This is the Way.”

The firing continues and Mando carries the Child and helps to pull you up. You and the Mandalorian board the Razor Crest, but are soon cornered by Greef Karga, “Hold it right there.” You both turn to face Karga as he states, “I didn’t want it to come to this. But then you broke the Code. And you,” he turns to talk to you, “Since you’re with him they will come after you too now. And the Imps will soon follow.” You raise your chin as you steadily replied, “Let them try.”

The Mandalorian uses his grappling hook to trigger the carbonite chamber, unleashing some tibanna gas in an attempt to blind Karga. You expertly doge his attempts to shoot at you only for you to outstretch your hand, using the Force to let his weapon fly out of his hands, he stands there completely stunned and Mando uses his blaster to shoot him off of the Razor Crest.

The hatch closes and you strap yourself in, the Razor Crest takes off, watching the other Mandalorians provide covering fire through the window. You comfortably soar into the skies of Nevarro. You spot the head infantry flying beside the ship and salute him before flying off.

The Mandalorian makes a remark, “I gotta get one of those.” And you snort in amusement. The Child is seated beside his lap and is reaching for something. The Mandalorian unscrews the metal ball on the stick and gives it to him to play with before taking the Razor Crest into space.

End Notes:

YAYYYYYYYYYYYY! SPACE DAD STORY!

You are a force-sensitive empath! HORRAY! 

You can force cloak yourself because this skill tends to come to people as more of a natural talent, for it is extremely difficult to learn otherwise; thus, the reason the ability is rarely seen.

The reader is an Enneagram 2! You are a part of the Heart Center; The benevolent, embrace of the good in other people, engage in every emotional love, you experience and feel their emotions more than anyone else. Helpful, natural nurturers, understanding, generous, supportive, mistaken as the passive, embodiment of what love and embrace look like.

The Mandalorian is an Enneagram One personality type with a Nine wing. Enneagram Ones belong to the body center, along with Eights and Nines, and they naturally make decisions based on gut instinct. The Mandalorian likes to feel in control, particularly of his physical environment. For Enneagram Ones, freedom and independence are important.

SO THAT'S A GLIMPSE INTO THEIR PERSONALITY TYPE AND THE WAY THEY MAKE CHOICES! 

All will be revealed in the coming chapters! I can’t wait for you guys to read them AHHHHHH

Thank you for all the reblogs, comments, feedback, and likes! Ya’ll really are too sweet and I truly appreciate your kind words. SEE YA IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!

TAGLIST:

@wastingspaces @avengersheart @lunatic1012 @keepingupwiththeskywalkers

[laundrybiscuits]

Eddie's mama always used to say that the night sky over Orion was the most beautiful sight in the Alpha Quadrant. She'd tuck him into her side at bedtime and tell him about the way the dim red lamps clustered in the markets never stopped you being able to see the bright stars and the swirling lights of the nearby nebula, so it was just a shimmering sea of red below and a shimmering sea of blue-purple-gold above, light and dark all mixed up together so you couldn’t tell the difference. 

Eddie's never laid eyes on it himself, but he always liked hearing her talk about it. He asked Wayne about it once or twice, when he was younger, but Wayne grew up like Eddie's old man: roaming around systems farther and farther from the Orion sector, following whatever work he could get. Eddie's old man was a sight less choosy about which jobs he'd take than Wayne was, which is why Eddie’s been living with Wayne for about as long as he can remember.

Starfleet offered to help Eddie relocate, after everything went down. They even offered to make sure he got to Orion okay, if he'd wanted it, to reconnect with his heritage or whatever.

He hadn't wanted it. But he also hadn't really wanted to stay where he’d been planetside, where his official job was helping Wayne out with the Starfleet Academy’s satellite campus canteen, and his unofficial job was procuring various not-Starfleet-approved odds and ends for cadets looking for something to help them weather the pressures of the Academy.

Commander Hopper, newly returned from the dead, had made it pretty damn clear that Eddie's sideline was no longer going to be an option, anyway. 

So he'd talked to Wayne, and he'd talked to Commander Hopper, and he'd even talked a little to Nancy Wheeler because she's smart as hell—everyone knows she's one of the top candidates for joining, and a symbiont is going to snatch her up any day now. 

After all that talking, he still doesn’t really know what to do, so Hopper sighs and tells him he doesn’t have to decide right away. 

“I just,” he says later, to Robin. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, but it’s not like I got any big plans somewhere else, either. Plus, everyone on the damn station still looks at me like I’m a murderer. Or at least Orion filth.”

Robin sort of gets it, a little bit, but she’s Starfleet. It’s different in uniform, even for half-Andorians who once crashed a runabout into the side of the base. 

“You could always apply to the Academy,” she says, but she’s got a grimace like she already knows that’s never gonna happen. Even if they’d take him, he’d have no chance of making it through the course, not when he’d squeaked through the standard Federation educational system by the skin of his teeth. He can’t really picture himself in the uniform anyway. Not his style at all. 

“Think those feral bat creatures gobbled up whatever mutant gland makes people want to join Starfleet,” he just says, pulling up his shirt and prodding at his wounds to make her laugh. 

Of course that’s when Steve Harrington walks in, when Eddie’s got his shirt hiked up around his armpits and all his shiny new scars are on full display.

The scars are still a lurid emerald going brownish-purple around the edges. When he’d first woken up in the medbay, he’d been told that they’d probably fade with time, but might never go away despite all the intensive dermal regeneration treatments he’s still going in for every week. He doesn’t mind so much, honestly; he’s never been too hung up on his looks. People who want to fuck an exotic, dangerous Orion aren’t exactly going to be put off by scars, so who knows? This might actually help him out a little in the dive bars he tends to haunt when he gets skin-hungry enough.

But it’s definitely not doing him any favors now, as Steve pauses in the doorway, looking kind of confused. Eddie quickly yanks his shirt back down, hiding a wince. Steve’s already seen him at his worst, Steve’s not a fucking option for a million reasons, so it’s not like it matters, but—anyway.

“Junior Lieutenant Harrington,” he says. “Heard about the promotion. Congrats.”

“Thanks,” says Steve. “I think it’s like, you get three or four concussions saving the station, and the system just puts the promotion through automatically.”

“I can’t wait to see what it takes for you to make Lieutenant, non-junior edition,” says Robin. “Do you think you’ll need to be in an actual coma?”

“Probably, at this rate,” Steve says, wandering over and leaning into her side companionably. “Don’t think anything’s really going to change aside from the pay, though.”

“Nah, just wait.” Eddie rocks back on his heels, grinning at Steve. “You’ll be battling evil wormhole monsters on perilous away missions and teaching alien babes how to love before you know it. The daring adventures of Spaceman Steve! Eat your heart out, James T. Kirk.”

“Henderson still thinks you’re gonna join up too,” says Steve.

“What, Starfleet? Where the hell’d he get that idea?”

“Ugh, we were just talking about that,” groans Robin. “Eddie’s still being stubborn about it.”

Eddie crosses his arms. “Wheeler’s on my side.”

“No shit, Eddie. You’re his…game lord, or whatever.” 

“What—no, dumbass, like I’d ever ask Cadet Wheeler for advice. Nancy goddamn Wheeler agrees I’d make a shit Starfleet officer, so there. Besides,” Eddie says, shifting a little uncomfortably. “I dunno if I could handle not living planetside. I know you guys have missions and stuff, but it’s not the same, is it? You live on a floating hunk of metal, like, ninety-nine percent of your life. Don’t know if that’s for me.”

“Didn’t figure you for the kind of guy who wanted to put down roots,” says Steve.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “It’s not about roots. Don’t you ever feel weird about not living somewhere…you know, real? Everything around you is made exactly for you.”

���And that’s…bad?” says Steve. His brow’s furrowed like he’s actually asking. 

“Not if you don’t think it is.” Eddie shrugs. “I just don’t think it works for me.”

“Okay, yeah, we get it,” says Robin. “You’re off to the next adventure, whatever that ends up being. Better cash in your chips soon, though; Hopper’s not gonna have that recently-reanimated pull forever.” 

Steve frowns thoughtfully. “What about running, like, a transport ship or whatever? Is that weird with the, uh, pirate thing?”

“Little bit,” says Eddie. “But that’s…not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” 

Actually, the more he thinks about it, the better it sounds. Some shiny little skiff, just big enough for him and some cargo, zipping around from planet to satellite to base, hanging out in random ports. It’ll be a little rough to go solo, and jobs might be a little scarcer than they’d be for a human or something, but then again, he’s used to that. 

No, it’s not the worst idea he’s ever heard.

[neon-chemicals]

Let’s talk Purplebloods 2/?

This is mainly me talking about my OCs, and how they’re important

srry

CW: Suggestive, sexual acts mentioned, hard drugs

The Four Jesters

The Four Court Jesters are the authority directly below The Grand Highblood; there has only been one set of these trolls, staying firmly in charge for well over 10,000 sweeps.

The Jesters reside on a large colony referred to as Karnival , this planet is firmly under the jurisdiction of The Jesters and the purplebloods as a whole, The Empress’ influence is extremely lax and she turns a blind eye to most of the goings on.

[Karnival from a distance]

The Jesters are:

The Diabolis ~ Belial Hofman [He/Him]

The Hedonist ~ Namaah Yeoung [She/Her]

The Euphoric ~ Morkis Melpom [It/Its]

The Obscured ~ Morkan Melpom [He/They]

Each Jester is in charge of a sector or quadrant of the planet, split evenly in four where their individual followers can congregate. While the church itself is one entity, young clowns often will select a specific Jester’s subsection of the church to focus their worship on. These are examples of what some of those trolls would be like!

The following are descriptions of the various sectors and the trolls within!

-

The Infernal Ring

Governed by Jester Belial Hofman

The Infernal Ring boasts a host of activities where Purplebloods can attempt feats of violence and strength to impress Jester Hofman and hopefully win his favor. These include High Strikers, a more purple-flavored Muscular Theatre, Obstacle Courses, and above all else, a towering Coliseum.

Conquering the Coliseum is considered the highest feat anyone who follows Jester Hofman, every day there is a tourney where hopefuls fight in a bracket to the death, the final match being between the victor and Jester Hofman himself, no one has ever won against him, nor does anyone know what the prize is. Rumor has it that Belial will give up his seat to whoever wins against him, though when asked about the prize, Belial has always brushed it off with a simple “When it happens you’ll see”, If an opponent impresses him enough during their match, he will spare them and they will be treated like royalty while they’re on their pilgrimage, said to be blessed by The Messiahs with combat prowess to rival his own.

Belial represents the facet of the church that exemplifies violence, cultivating righteous rage, and the art of murder. Blood Sacrifices are commonplace in the ring, doomed trolls get shipped to the planet to be killed elaborately, their bodies are displayed in artistically grotesque ways, bled like livestock to be used as warpaint in the Coliseum.

[picture]

It is considered among the purplebloods to be an honor to be used in such a way, but the trolls actually subjected to it would beg to differ. If a young clown chooses to follow Belial they often adopt a splash of orange somewhere on their outfit going forward.

Belial himself is an intimidating, daunting figure, his physical mutations giving his visage a demonic edge, and his pyrokinesis lets him be as showy as he could ever want to be.

[picture]

His chucklevoodoos are impressive to say the least, his powers allow him to negate any pain he would feel in battle, allowing him to keep going and keep fighting a supernaturally long time before he would ever collapse, he can also extend this blessing to others, though he rarely does so.

[picture]

Privately, Belial seems to be a rather neurotic troll, always fussing about something or someone, particularly his now ex-pitch Namaah.

[picture]

Trolls who are close to him also describe him as a lover of the arts and spoken word, even a gentle soul with the right person. He is also the only Jester with an overall positive view of Grand Highblood Sigmar Patera.

Hedonist’s Haven

Governed by Jester Namaah Yeoung

Hedonist’s Haven is a much different sector compared to its violent counterpart. The ground is covered consistently in a light purple mist that flows and shifts almost hypnotically. The area is covered in beautiful lush foliage, fairy lights, and places to chill out, cushions and piles galore! Namaah doesn’t put herself above any of her followers, preferring to be among them, smoking and ahem, congregating. Special Stardust and recreational downers are provided to make a troll's stay in this haven absolutely transcendent and ethereal. Jester Yeoung’s goal is to make her followers feel all connected with each other and the universe while under her diligent eye. Nonconsensual drugging or touching is absolutely forbidden and Namaah herself assures comfort and safety, including culling any who would disrupt her paradise of calm and togetherness by her own hand and assuring that the most difficult members of her flock are perfectly at peace. Should a follower of another Jester cause such problems, she is not afraid to have a very thorough discussion about how the others should be keeping track of their flock.

Namaah represents the facet of the church that exemplifies community, working together and feeling The Messiahs resonate through the collective. Physical and Mental connection are especially important to her side of things, trolls in her community often participating in psychedelics and physical intimacy as a form of devotion to the whole. If a troll enters the haven upset and stressed, their comfort becomes priority for all inside, especially Jester Yeoung. Young clowns who accepts being brought in to Namaah’s congregation often adds a bit of pink somewhere on their outfit, though followers of Jester Yeoung are easily spotted due to their markedly chill and kind demeanors, most having a rather progressive view on the hemospectrum and how all trolls should try and be as connected as the purples are. Most lowbloods consider this behavior off putting and bizarre coming from a clown. Occasionally Jester Namaah finds a soul desperately in need of her assistance, it is an honor to be considered a project, granted specified attention and eternal bliss.

Namaah, the troll herself is a warm, maternal, comforting figure, always willing to lend an ear and listen to her flock’s concerns and wishes. She is noted as being the most beautiful troll most have ever seen, with striking eyes and a figure to die for. Despite a focus on her appearance being common outside the congregation, most within find her allure comes mostly from her personality, being surprisingly soft and quiet when within the Haven but able to turn on a dime into a commanding, intimidating voice, especially in regards to her recently separated kismesis, Jester Hofman. Her chucklevoodoos are subtle and empathetic in nature, allowing her to feel the emotions of other trolls as if they were her own, shouldering their burdens with them. In more extreme circumstances, her abilities can even be used to erase something from the mind entirely for a time.

Carnevale Phantasm

Governed by Jester Morkis Melpom

Rather than questioning what is Carnevale Phantasm your real question should be what is it not. Jester Morkis’ realm is anything and everything, a maddening, breathtaking array of shifting architecture and dizzying colors. No law of physics is consistent, no location in one set place except for the big top at the center, the eye of the storm so to speak. The Big Top is where Jester Morkis’ physical form resides while it is resting and dreaming, all appearances outside of the Big Top within Carnevale Phantasm being astral projections. Its physical body only gets up and makes appearances outside of its sector of the planet if absolutely required by the other jesters, Jester Morkan speaking for it otherwise.

From the outside looking in, the Carnevale Phantasm looks like a vast eerily silent emptiness, completely void of people, stepping inside, this vision shifts and warps into the fantastical landscapes of Jester Morkis’ most vivid dreams. An endless array of excitement and indulgence in carnival food and recreational hard drugs for those so inclined. Jester Morkis concerns itself with the entertainment and enjoyment of its congregation, always coming up with new games, shows and contests to make sure every soul in its dream gets to live their lives to the fullest, indulgence is the name of the game.

Morkis represents exactly that: Indulgence. Living your life like every moment is your last, life is the pregame for the endless extravagance and spoiling of The Dark Carnival! Trolls in its congregation tend towards the energetic and enthusiastic, beacons of energy and advocates for free time and living it up in whatever way you see fit truly YOLO personified. Individuals like to show their membership in its congregation by donning a spectrum of colors, if you see a clown barely wearing any black, that’s likely a member of this congregation. Morkis tends to it’s more down on their luck visitors with a forceful gentle encouraging, very excitable hand towards anything it thinks will help, mostly the individual's vices, be them food, drugs, alcohol, attention or any plethora of other things. Does it indiscriminately indulge even harmful addictions? Yes! Does it make the person feel better temporarily? Double yes!

Morkis, the troll is an enigma and likes it that way. Outwardly excitable, erratic and wildly inconsistent in mood and demeanor, it's near impossible to discover what its true personality is like. Face eternally obscured via mask and doused in a shifting array of patterns and fabrics. In rare moments caught between it and its brother, trolls have said that Morkis is soft spoken, not unlike Jester Morkan, and seems to be anxious or paranoid rather frequently with many mentions of time rushing by or losing track of it and fears of ‘not having long’. No one is sure what this is in reference to, though it is speculated by members of the collective to be some kind of chronic or degenerative disease/disorder, or perhaps a generalized anxiety of death.

Morkis’ abilities are arguably the most impressive of the Jesters’ chucklevoodoos, able to pull innumerable amounts of trolls into a collective dream in a vicinity around its own sleeping form. It has complete control over the senses and acts as a sort of trickster deity, able to appear anywhere and summon anything anyone could ever want, though of course it being in a dream all food alcohol and drugs have no actual effect on your body and rather it’s Morkis’ abilities stimulating the brain in a way that feels similar! (You can and will get addicted though)

Carnevale Obscurae

Governed by Jester Morkan Melpom

Far from the sparkles, glitz and glam of the other three quadrants, Carnevale Obscurae sits in relative silence, darkened tents and still carousels sit under the vast expanse of stars, completely visible due to the darkness. The air is melancholic and a chill always seems in the air as the clowns here go about esoteric meditation and prayer in blissful quiet as compared to the loudness and aggression of the rest of Karnival. Some might compare the vibe to a clownish monastery, where its inhabitants spend more time actively worshiping rather than on things considered ‘frivolous’. Some might consider this form of worship strange and out of character for purples, but silence has long been a tool of the messiahs.

Jester Morkan is an almost omnipresent… presence throughout the entire area, never in one place for long moving like a spirit, keeping watch over his flock closely, like his sibling. Trolls within the congregation often choose this over the others because of their own struggles with sensory overload, many of his followers are selectively mute and he strives to provide a calm, soothing environment for them to reach out to the messiahs in their own way. Jester Morkan believes even those who cannot participate in the color and noise and contact of traditional worship should not be excluded so callously, they are all children of the messiahs, after all. A lot of the clowns in their flock tend to be those that fade into the background, silent but faithful observers cloaked in black and other dark colors. Morkan’s calming embrace of silence and shadow also attracts those with sensitive abilities, leading to an abundance of oracles* in their midst, much like Morkan himself. Also, you know mimes, but that’s self explanatory.

Morkan the individual is quiet and reflective, much like most of their congregation, speaking in hushed tones and more often than not staying completely silent. They are respectful and polite but also can be particularly blunt when dealing with people and their problems. They care deeply for their sibling and for the individuals who choose to follow them, providing a listening ear and his divination capabilities to any who request such, his connection to the messiahs and ability to accurately predict the future and discover the past leads him to being deeply respected by other jesters and most of the purple populations. He is also the only jester in a long term relationship with a troll that isn’t a purpleblood, his matesprit, whose name he has kept private is an indigo cavalreaper who he cares very deeply for.

Morkan’s abilities are slightly more varied than the other jesters, able to draw from powers outside of his innate chucklevoodoos. The powers he was born with allow him to traverse shadows as if they were doorways, any spot of pitch blackness within a certain radius he can step between and appear out of another patch of darkness. It’s very convenient for keeping an eye on everything in Karnival as he tends to do, being a good neutral peacekeeper as compared to the other three jester’s more opinionated personalities. Jester Morkan’s more impressive skill however, was developed through sweeps of intensive meditation and spiritual guidance, the ability to see the past, present, and future. Using the holy act of puppetry, Jester Morkan receives visions from the beyond and crafts puppets to act out said predictions, it’s said he’s made hundreds of them, though most go unused, until the right troll comes along, asking for advice.

*Oracles will be discussed further in the ‘Ringmaster’ section

The Jesters have never needed successors however, there are rules in place if one of them was to tragically die.

If a Jester is to die without naming a successor previously or on their deathbed, The Grand Highblood is tasked with providing a suitable replacement.

If the current Grand Highblood has no one in mind, they may request some form of tourney to choose who is worthy of such a prestigious position.

The form this tourney takes is dependent on which Jester has passed being the following;

- Belial is to be honored with a show of combat prowess, traditional clownish brawls to the death

- Namaah is to be honored with words, heartfelt poetry and song

- Morkis is to be honored with “It’s a surprise :o)”

- Morkan is to be honored by choosing an oracle whose predictions can be tracked as near-completely accurate

[ya-zz]

Could you write a piece between Ramattra and another omnic who wants to join Null Sector and believes in what Ramattra is doing and like. First this omnic (who I would imagine as using it/its pronouns) is in Null Sector purely as a sympathizer and a member to help out but then Ramattra starts taking care of it and it gets flustered by him doting on it? Real soft fluff stuff while they work on human extinction

Apologies it took awhile but hopefully this works well for your request!

Ramattra x Omnic

[not necessarily a reader insert or OC insert]

Word count: 1149

Ramattra would rarely step foot on the asphalt below him, wanting to stay within the safe confines of his vessel to avoid detection but also to keep the dirt and grime out of his joints. He knew what he was doing when he finally chose to walk the streets, keeping to the walls and back alleys. Ash and debris littered the streets, smoke rose from the buildings that barely stood tall.

Within the rubble, there were muffled cries, static mixed with pain. Ramattra sought them out, optics scanning over the area, searching for a heat source, something to locate the cries. After pulling away several bricks and concrete, he finds a lone omnic, optics flitting erratically as they call out to him. 

At first, this omnic is confused. Why was someone out here? Everyone else had left them behind, both his own kind and the humans he thought were friends. Ramattra took pity on them, something tugging at his own heart when he realised that this omnic was injured because of him. 

He shook the feeling off as he pulled the omnic up, cradling them in his arms before returning back to a nearby vessel. Ramattra chose to take care of this omnic personally, especially after listening to their words.

“Everyone left me. You saved me.” The static was almost drowning out their words. “Null Sector is good, I wish to help. I see them, their beliefs. I want to help.” 

Ramattra holds them just that little bit closer to his chest. They were fading, lights flickering haphazardly and the hissing of their inner workings slowly got quieter. The leader had to be quick, get them up to the vessel and repair them before he truly loses the one omnic that wants to help. 

There was no need to indoctrinate them, they believe his cause despite being under the rubble that he had inflicted upon them. 

For a human, the time that had passed would have been unknown, but for this omnic; four days, seven hours and twenty-six minutes had passed since their system was last online. 

Ramattra had done what he could with their repairs. While some damage was severe, the larger omnic had the parts to replace the broken limbs. Wires were replaced, optics recalibrated and voicebox repaired all within those four days. Ramattra wasn’t there when the other omnic awoke, he was too busy looking over his plans and blueprints, too busy focussing on his liberation. 

When the omnic finally rose from the bed they were placed upon, their joints grind, wires were stretched and their optics adjusted to the change in atmosphere. At first, their systems run the usual diagnostics and everything came back in working order. Their head tilts at their new parts, from the silver and gold joints to white and purple, the comparison was almost startling. 

“Peculiar…” They spoke and then adjust their vocal frequency. They stood with a slight wobble before finding their feet, walking out of the room and following the sounds down the hallway. The omnic is clearly lost, but that doesn’t stop them from being curious. Room upon room was entered, their amazement for the technology on the vessel was astounding to them. Clearly the work of a genius.

There was one final room that the omnic hadn’t been in, and when the door finally opens, they’re met with Ramattra’s back turned to them as he watches the wall of monitors. 

“I apologise that the accommodations are not the best suited for visitors.” Ramattra speaks, turning to face the smaller omnic. “I also apologise for the change in your body.” His head cocks to the side as he speaks. 

The omnic shakes their head and raises a hand. “No apologies necessary. I quite like them.” 

Ramattra could feel the air shift around him, something calm and friendly. It was a nice change from the usual tenseness that surrounded him on a daily basis. His optics look down at the smaller omnic, analysing his movements, not there was much to analyse to begin with as they stand there. 

“Do you have a name?” Ramattra finally breaks that small silence. 

The omnic shakes their head. “If I did, I do not remember.”

“I see.” The taller omnic looks off to the side, something of guilt settling inside of him when he remembers the damage caused to their body and systems was his fault. “Perhaps in time you will find a name for yourself. One that suits your… uniqueness.” Ramattra wasn’t one to hand out flattery. 

The omnic before him shuffles in their spot, their wires burning up as an attempt in blushing. 

“Come, let me show you what is happening.” Ramattra gensures for the omnic to stand next to him before he motions towards the monitors. 

From there, The leader proceeds to explain in detail the who purpose surrounding Null Sector and his beliefs, watching the smaller omnic nod and look on. Ramattra can feel a sense of pride within himself; finally, someone agrees with him. 

—-

Months had gone by and Null Sector was still advancing. Their movements caused conflict among many nations and while Ramattra had seen some brother omnics stand with him below, humans still oppressed him and the ideals he wanted to share with the world. 

The fighting continued and Ramattra’s friend stayed by his side throughout everything. The successes were celebrated and the failures were spoken about in a civil manner… after some shouting and throwing of holopads. 

Ramattra had grown close to the omnic he had saved, taking care of them when they needed it the most. Sleepless charging times mixed with nightmares made Ramattra feel pity towards them. They had lost their home, their friends. They had nobody and Ramattra was the only one there for them. 

As the pair worked together their relationship was blossoming, one that even Ramattra had to admit he wasn’t expecting. The omnic beside him grew on his systems. 

While still nameless, the omnic enjoyed being a part of Null Sector. They enjoyed helping Ramattra and the praise they received after they did something good only made them feel closer to the leader. Everything was done in the best interest of the causes and Ramattra appreciated that. 

The smaller omnic would get all bashful, wires burning whenever Ramattra’s hand met their shoulder. Whenever Ramattra sought to repairs and gave the omnic his utmost trust to keep everything in working order, they would do their best to make sure that nothing went wong. 

A few hiccups occurred here and there, but Ramattra was never mad with them. How could he be? This omnic was someone he needed. 

It wasn’t before long that Ramattra realised that this omnic meant more to him than just liberation. He had someone close to him to protect.

Ramattra finally had someone to call a friend, perhaps more.

The omnic finally had a family. A home.

[killedbylaw]

RAMATTRA X READER [part 1]

(first time writing on Tumblr. Be gentle please 🙏)

| Reader's gender is non specific, reader is abducted by Null Sector and manages to catch the eye of one specific omnic |

What felt like years went by as you were restrained with your hands behind your back held down by some sort of wire. It appears some omnics lacked the understanding of the human anatomy, as your eyes were blindfolded shut way too tightly as you felt like as if your face could bleed out any minute. The cold surface beneath you started to sting your muscles as you could hear nothing but the occasional clunk of metal or robotic humming. It was agony. You heard as many robotic footsteps passed by your door each minute, but none to check in on you. Your neck was strained from letting your head hang low in dissapointment in how you got yourself in this situation. Being a new recruit for Overwatch seemed like a miracle to you- you were just a lowly assistant working under Dr.Siebren de Kuiper. You barely left the lab, helping the fellow members of the astrophysics department. You never would've thought that you would be gagged and tied in the clutches of the most notorious omnic terrorist organization. Why you though? You were nothing but a lowly assistant, after the raid on the base you thought you were safe as they didn't capture anyone of importance - instead they took you. Were you mistaken for someone else? You had no clue. Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of metal gears moving as you assumed the door to your room was opened. Multiple pairs of robotic footsteps approached you, few lowly ones but the one that were directly in front of you felt like thunder approaching you. After sitting in the same position for hours , you could barely gather the strength to raise your head in a weak attempt to acknowledge the new presence in the room.

"Which one is this supposed to be?" It felt like the entire room shook from the sound of such a powerful, robotic voice. You heard every single turn of their robotic body parts, you could only assume the tension was thick in the room- and that this was some sort of omnic in high command. You could hear what sounded like a shrug from two different parts of the room. "What do you mean you don't know?!" Your felt your entire body tense up at the sudden raise in the smooth robotic voice. All of a sudden you felt a pull at the blindfold covering your eyes, the sharp claws of the omnic managed to rip the fabric, not even attempting to be gentle with it. The room was dark, with only the light from outside of the room managing to escape from the door. As your eyes adjusted to your surroundings, you raised your view to be met with something that would make your blood run cold. It was him. The one you were taught to fear and despise your entire adult life. Ramattra. The leader of the terrorist group that slaughtered countless of humans, the one that destroyed your base. Your eyes went wide as you froze. You didn't dare to breathe. He was tall. Freakishly tall. Purple and silver plates covering his entire body, hints of black pierced his outer omnic body. You only dared to raise your view to look him in the face. The silver plate covering his face, the terrifying voice and appearance were nothing compared to those deep red eyes of his. You felt your heart skip a beat in pure terror. "I told you to bring someone of importance! What am I to do with.. this?!" He pointed at your figure tied up to some sort of pole behind you. "Bringing any sort of filth into here is despicable enough, and to think some low scum lab assistant is good enough to get them to surrender?" If you weren't in the hands of an actual monster you would've taken a minute to admire the sudden composure in his British accent. But as he turned to face one of the two Omnics accompanying him, you just realized how much of a scary situation you were in. You were in the grasps of the most human hating organization on the planet. They wouldn't waste a breath on someone like you. They'd kill you on the spot If they had no use of you, which appears to be in this case. A million thoughts rushed through your mind, there was no way you would escape here to live another day. The wires around your hands and legs started to affect your circulation in your hands and feet, it stung like hell and there was nothing you could do about it. "What are we to do with it?" One of the Omnics spoke. Ramattra released what sounded like a sigh. "It will do for now. Feed it every once in awhile. We'll find it a use." The large omnic tilted his head to look at you, "get any information you can out of it, anything could be useful." The omnic turned and left, giving you one last glance before exiting the room completely.

Days and weeks passed. You were left there untouched, a few Omnics stopped by just to point and laugh at your miserable state. You barely had the energy to fight back in those moments. You were left tied, only being fed some strange mixture of chemicals they called food. Your stomach felt constantly sick, their lukewarm water they forced you to drink, the cold food served in a way you'd serve a dog. The degrading comments, the kicks to the skull were more than enough to drive anyone mad. Your cries for help fell on deaf ears, as if nobody in overwatch noticed that you were missing. The blindfold hadn't been placed back on since the omnic tore it off you. The voices behind the doors grew louder each day, it seems there were more raids and conflicts going on causing the entirety of the organization to go into a constant state of panic. It seemed like all hope was lost. Everyone had forgotten about you. Untill one night the door to your room opened.

(Sorry if it's bad so far but had this idea since Ramattra was announced, wanted to write on Tumblr for awhile and this is what it came to. Feel free to criticize/post suggestions I'd highly appreciate it :>)

[ketchup-monthly]

prompt S for the fandom ask because you have so many correct hcs and more people need to see them

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

The prompts for this one were pertaining to Lanterns (specifically Green Lanterns bc im obsessed and need help) and Kryptonians (specifically pertaining to physiology bc i have problems)

Kryptonians- -lets get into the weird kryptonian physiology. most of the time, people don't really notice the little things unless they look too closely, but kryptonians are just off enough that it freaks people out and they're a little wary of them. -kryptonians have an extra set of canines and their teeth are a bit longer and sharper than humans teeth. kryptonians have learned to talk and smile in ways that do not highlight those because its more than a little threatening when the 6'5" guy who is built like a brick house smiles widely and your prey senses activate. -their hair has a bluish tint, even kara's, which is blonde instead of black, so they frequently get asked (kon and kara at least) if their hair is dyed. -kryptonian eyes are weird as shit. those with blue eyes (really just clark and kara, who are pure kryptonians) are unnaturally blue and kinda creepy (kon has lex's green eyes and jon has lois's purple eyes). kryptonian eyes have a second eyelid that protects their eyes as well as opens when they use their various special visions. kryptonians cant see when theyre using their laser vision, but their eyes have the ability naturally to see ultraviolet and infrared light, so when they have their second eyelids open and are not using laser vision, they can see humans stripes! their second eyelids lubricate their eyes as well as protect them, so full kryptonians dont need to blink to lubricate their eyes. half kryptonians have to blink more than full kryptonians, but its still far less then humans do, about 3-4 times a minute instead of 15-20 times a minute on average. full kryptonians only blink about 1-2 times a minute, and mostly out of habit. they also have glowy eyes like cats when light hits them right -kryptonians dont need to breathe much, and sleep far less than humans because they derive energy from the sun. full kryptonians also dont really need to eat food, but they do so they can fit in, and half kryptonians need to eat almost more than humans do so they can fuel their kryptonian ability to absorb sunlight. -kryptonians dont have fingerprints like humans do. the tips of their fingers are completely smooth. their "fingerprints" are markings on their skin that are outside the spectrum of visible light that humans can see. -kryptonians have blood that is a darker purplish red, so they blush darker than humans do. they are also very warm to the touch like speedsters are since their blood absorbs and holds sunlight stores

Lanterns- -when lanterns power up, their eyes glow the color of their rings. you cant really tell with hal and kyle, who wear masks with white out lenses, bur john, guy, simon, jess, etc all have glowing green eyes. the lantern rings, when used for extended periods of time, and when worn over a long period of time, will gradually change the users body. before becoming lanterns, the characters have natural eye colors that they were born with, but after having worn their rings for a while, their normal eye color will shift to one closer to their lantern color. guys eyes change to a very pale green, hals to a green with gold sectoral heterochromia in his left eye, johns eyes become a hazel green, kyles were actually green to begin with, etc. carols eyes become a beautiful violet color. -use of the lantern rings will also dramatically alter the ageing of the user, and lanterns will begin having a hard time with their natural body rhythms since they move around through space so much with different time systems than their home planets. -The constructs that lanterns make have specific smells/tastes that they subconsciously choose. Hal’s constructs smell like pine sol, John’s smell like fresh cut grass, Guy’s green constructs smell and taste like rosemary and his red constructs smell and taste like hot sauce, Kyle’s constructs taste like green apple jolly ranchers, Alan’s taste like cucumber mint, Simon’s taste like lime, Jess’s smell and taste like cilantro, Keli’s taste like gamer fuel (mountain dew), Jo’s smell like new car -i think all green lanterns deserve to have a speedster friend but there arent enough speedsters who interact with GLs to go around :( anyway this is my petition for guy and bart to interact bc i think it'd be funny -hal and alan have the most tempestuous relationship (after guy and alan, i think, bc god the two of them are so different) but alan LOVES kyle and vice versa. kyle is like alans kid/grandkid depending on how old kyle is in relation to alan. -they basically all hate the guardians (except ganthet and sayd. kyle is ganthets little guy) -also literally none of them are straight. how can you be when not all aliens have male/female/boy/girl divides? aliens hot, man! -and most importantly, THEY ARE A FAMILY

[chayscribbles]

space heist intro but it's a comic sans powerpoint i put together in like 15 minutes five months ago

get the pretty, more coherent intro here

text transcript below

slide 1:

THE GEMINI HEIST

a wip by chay luna

working titles include “space heist” and “be gay do crime… in space”

slide 2:

A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY FAR FAR A— *micky mouse sniper gunshots*

we find ourselves in the Wild West of space, where outlaws and criminals can do whatever the hell they want while those supposedly in charge look the other way to protect their own interests

Captain Leonore “Leo” Callisto of the Siren leads a small crew doing various gigs and odd jobs for people all around the sector. yknow, smuggling shit, stealing shit, selling stolen or rare shit, etc

but after the team’s spy, Zeya (who Leo was showing favoritism to for No Particular Reason) takes off with a shitton of money after a spat with Leo, the rest of the crew, no longer trusting Leo’s judgement, decides to ditch her as well, save 2 loyal but very inexperienced members: engineer Gabriola “Gabi” Franco and the crew’s muscle Euna Li

slide 3:

okay so that’s the context, now let’s get to the plot

while searching for work on Space Kijiji, Leo comes upon an offer from a rich, eccentric art collector calling themself the Curator, offering a large money reward to steal a statuette from the House of Dyonas, a powerful and wealthy family on the planet Vihelda that passes along wispy purple telekinesis powers from generation to generation

the statuette is one of the two Gemini Statuettes, which are believed to depict a pair of twins in the Dyonas family from a few generations ago, but the House Head, Andlyn Dyonas, refuses to sell, so the most logical thing to do is to pay someone to steal it, as one does

strapped for cash, Leo accepts, even tho the House of Dyonas is notoriously hard to get into (she has a few tricks up her sleeve ofc, including getting one of the Dyonas House Heirs, the runaway Illiana, to help her)

BUT as she and her tiny ragtag crew embark on this quest, they quickly learn that they’re not the only ones with their eyes on this prize, and ~someone~ on a quest to sabotage them always seems to be a step ahead 👀

slide 4:

okay CHARACTER TIMEEE

[ID: a tall, dark-skinned woman with brown eyes. she has a long, dark braid with ends gradually lightened to blonde. she wears a long, deep red coat with gold accents, a white shirt, tight black pants, black fingerless gloves, and high black boots. there is a weapon with a golden hilt strapped to her leg. her expression is serious. she holds up a black blaster pistol with glowing red accents. end ID.]

CAPTAIN LEONORE “LEO” CALLISTO, the Mastermind

28 years old, she/her, from Tharrekan

is actually a Capricorn, not a Leo

picked up business and finance skills from her relatively successful business people parents

but then one day disaster struck, and Leo had to turn to a life of thieving and smuggling to get by, eventually saving up to get her own ship and crew

she’s really good at making connections and manipulating negotiating with people with her jacked up charisma stat. not so great at forming genuine relationships tho

claims to be an “honest criminal” but yeah that’s a lie, along with pretty much everything else that comes out of her mouth

gaslight gatekeep girlboss <3

is completely normal about Zeya Kade

yeah i really made a wip called “Gemini Heist” and then named my main character LEO kjdfkjs

slide 5:

[ID: a short, chubby light-skinned young woman. she has short brown curls, hazel eyes, and a nervous expression. she wears a white shirt, a green bomber jacket with orange accents, brown arm guards on her forearms, black fingerless gloves, baggy dark blue pants, silver knee pads, brown boots, and a brown tool pouch around her waist. silver tools are tucked into the front pockets of her jacket. a pair of orange-tinted goggles rests on her head. end ID.]

GABRIOLA “GABI” FRANCO, the Engineer

21 years old (the baby of the crew), she/her, from Plana D’Ezza

was studying mechanomedicine (which is, as the name suggests, a mix of mechanics and medicine, specifically to work w cyborgs) in university

secretly did unauthorized repairs on cyborg parts for people who couldn’t afford it, but got caught and got in Big Trouble

anyways now she has a criminal record hanging over her head and massive student debt lmao

idealistic, arguably naive, trying to toughen up (but isn’t very good at it)

has a MASSIVE gay crush on Euna. she thinks she’s being subtle about it but like EVERYONE has noticed. (except for Euna herself, of course.)

slide 6:

[ID: a tall, light-skinned, muscular, east asian-coded woman. she grins as she runs towards the viewer. her peach-coloured hair with dark roots is straight and is half loose just below her shoulders, with two buns at the top of her head. she wears a white tank top with pink straps, an orange jumpsuit tied at the waist, and black boots. a simple silver blaster is tucked into a black holster at her hip. her right arm is a cybernetic prosthesis, attached right above the elbow, and is white with pink accents. end ID.]

EUNA LI, the Brawns

24 years old, she/her, from Siung-Katsa

used to be a moderately successful competitive athlete but preferred performing to competing and impulsively joined a space circus only to find herself trapped in a shitty contract with bad working conditions

and then the Accident™ happened in which she lost her arm, and she was swindled into buying a super expensive cybernetic prosthesis bc she thought it would enhance her performance with the circus

but since it took ��too long” for her to recover, the circus managers replaced her without even telling her :( so she pretty much joined the Sirens to pay off her medical bills rip

big arms to give big hugs

doesn’t have the highest intelligence stat tho but she’s trying her best!!!!!

completely oblivious to the fact that Gabi is in love with her lmao (she’s convinced Gabi is only interested in her fancy prosthesis)

slide 7:

[ID: a light-skinned woman with purple curly hair. her eyes glow purple, and she is floating with her arms outstretched, holding two glowing purple wisps in her hands. her expression is serious. she wears a long, white coat, a black sparkly top with purple edging, a purple crystal pendant, black leggings, silver wristbands, and tall white boots. end ID.]

ILLIANA VIVIENNE, SECOND HEIR TO THE HOUSE OF DYONAS, the Informant

23 years old, she/her

daughter of Lord Andlyn of the House of Dyonas, House Head

has an identical twin sister, Kalenora Ismerie, First Heir to the House of Dyonas (yes all their names are like this), who is a few minutes older

Illiana has always been better than Kalen at mastering their inherited powers, which has caused ~tension~ between the sisters over who gets to be the next House Head when their father dies

so Kalen did *stuff* to secure her position and forced Illiana to go on the run and hide out in what is essentially Space Las Vegas under an alias

she gets roped into the heist to help them get into the House of Dyonas, although she is very reluctant to go back there (but is very tired of washing dishes in some dingy Space Vegas bar)

she will get her loyalties tested in more ways than one <3

slide 8:

[ID: a short woman with medium-brown skin. she has straight black hair that reaches just above her shoulders, the left side shaved in an undercut. she is smirking and has a piercing over her left eyebrow, two piercings on her right ear helix, and a navel piercing. she is wearing a black crop top, a blue bomber jacket with purple and pink accents, black leggings, black boots, black fingerless gloves, and two black belts with silver buckles. she is holding two glowing plasma wands (like lightsaber daggers), one pink and one blue. end ID.]

ZEYA KADE, the Rogue

27 years old, she/her

5’1” (this is important i swear)

known as Shadowblade for being sneaky and elusive (and stabby)

so sneaky and elusive, in fact, that even i don’t know much about her

???????????????????????

that’s a lie i know a lot about her i’m just being sneaky and elusive <3

slide 9:

IN CONCLUSION:

[ID: two memes. the first is a picture of Leo with the phrase "I am so normal about Zeya Kade", with the words "I am obsessed with" hidden by the first part of the sentence. the second is a picutre of Zeya with the same text, but the name has been changed to "Leo Callisto".]

that's it that's the wip

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Smiler’s Otherland -- Domains!

Hi everyone, I’m back on my Smiler’s Otherland bullshit! :D After making my initial “here’s my first ideas on the concept” post back in May 2023, I’ve been trying to get my thoughts organized regarding what Smiler’s Otherland should look like, more details about their weapons, how many outfits they need, etc. And now I’m going to share some of those thoughts with all of you! Because it’s my tumblr and you’re my captive audience. :p

So -- let’s start with the domains! Because you can’t have an Otherland without actual, you know, lands in it. So far, I’ve come up with four domains for Smiler:

Smile Street: The “hub” domain, or at least the domain any visitors would be likely to land in first, much like Alice’s Vale of Tears or Victor’s Living Dead Forest. This domain is arguably the "coziest," and allows Smiler to put their best smiling face forward. :D

-->As indicated by the name, it’s a long winding street lined with brightly-painted houses in all colors of the rainbow -- in fact, here, the shot of Towers Street from this The Smiler ad gives you a good idea of what I’m picturing:

Only, instead of just those spiraling yellow clouds in the sky, there's also a big yellow sun featuring a Smiler-logo face on it, as per this screenshot from this video on The Smiler mobile game: (WARNING -- the linked video does have flashing lights/strobe-like images starting about midway through!)

...maybe a little less overtly creepy, as this is supposed to be the friendliest domain, but you get what I mean.

-->And who lives in those cheery little houses? Why, the Advocates, of course! Who are based on these guys from The Smiler mobile game (screenshot from the same video linked above):

You know, just a little higher resolution. XD They're naturally very friendly, greeting visitors enthusiastically, and spend most of their time wandering around, trimming trees and hedges into spirals, having little get-togethers in each other's yards where they tell jokes and laugh a lot, playing various games with each other, painting big grinning faces on portable easels -- that sort of thing.

-->At the end of the street is -- well, the town SPIRAL rather than square, as the road just spirals in on itself until it stops at a big fountain full of glowy yellow liquid at the center. Around the outer curve of the spiral is a little cafe (which serves a variety of drinks and treats, though many of the drinks glow at least slightly, and the treats tend to have spiral decorations), a playground (with all the equipment painted with yellow and black stripes with occasional touches of purple and white), a general shop selling a variety of goods (which, yes, would basically be the shop from the Smiler Shop TV video, manned by Matt and Carol -- Smiler can put their parents into their Otherland, as a treat), and a train station consisting of a bright yellow covered platform with spiraling columns holding the roof up, a Smiler coaster car (like that seen above) for the "train," and tracks that start out flat but quickly spiral off into wild loops and twists (because, of course, the coaster itself has to serve as transport to the other two "nice" domains). Just a nice place to hang out, chat, and watch the spiral clouds swirl overhead. XD

X-Sector: Named after the section of Alton Towers that The Smiler coaster is actually in, this is the domain dedicated to Smiler’s interest in technology and chemistry (with the actual look of the tech ranging from more steampunky to more cyberpunky depending on the time period of the AU it features in).

-->The domain consists mostly of a big old lab, surrounded by a yard featuring grass made out of green wire, flowers made out of twisty bits of metal with stained glass leaves and petals, and simple conical trees (like the kind you might see in an old Playstation or XBox game before graphics really started taking off -- that Smiler Game screenshot above is roughly the right aesthetic). The sky here would be filled with swirling, spiraling yellow and black clouds, lit with the occasional flash of lightning. It's all very dramatic.

-->The lab itself is divided into two wings, separated by a main hall with lots of optical illusions a la the actual The Smiler station (with various changing patterns on the walls -- be warned, that linked video has a fair amount of flashing lights in it!). The left wing would be devoted to engineering and be filled with things like whirring little hypno-wheel gadgets, boxes with flashing lights, various skittering tiny robots, and other things of that nature. The right wing would be devoted to chemistry and have various workstations covered with bubbling flasks of liquid and hissing tanks filled with volatile gases -- though I'm really tempted to throw in a little bit of Willy Wonka flavor and have a big old waterfall of Joy Serum somewhere in here too. XD I mean, it feels like something Smiler would have -- maybe it flows into a giant pipe to provide the liquid for the fountain in Smile Street? Or perhaps it just serves as the "drinking water" for everyone there...

-->As for residents -- well, I suppose in addition to Advocates in lab coats tending all the various experiments, it would make sense to have Dr. Gladwell from the Smiler Takeover "Fear Test" show at the very least. After all, he is the Ministry's Chief Neurological Cortex Reprogrammer! :p The only thing complicating that is that I wanted to name Smiler's outfit for this area after him...but I suppose I could name it after his role in the Ministry instead... Anyway, the most notable resident here would naturally be the Marmaliser itself -- a big robot wandering around on its five limbs, looking for unhappy people to make happy and coming by the lab to have its Inoculator syringes and Giggler gas tanks refilled and its Tickler brushes, Flasher bulbs, and Hypnotiser wheels looked at and realigned as necessary.

Musical Mayhem: Hey, Victor wasn’t using the name :p This domain is all about Smiler's love of music and festivals and things of that nature, and -- as you might expect -- is strongly based around that whole The Smiler Takeover that Alton Towers did for the ride's 10th anniversary.

-->The domain itself is a giant fairground set in a field of glittery green grass under more of those yellow spiraling clouds, with a couple of black-and-white-cobbled looping paths winding through it. There are various carnival games scattered about (like the "Beat the Buzzer" game where you have to get a wire loop around a metal simplified Smiler logo without touching it, otherwise it'll buzz and you'll have to start again; hook-a-smiling-duck; bag tosses with grinning Smiler-logoed bags; one of those water gun games where you shoot Joy Serum at a target to make something rise up; etc), along with food stalls, comfy sitting areas, and carts where people can get balloons and little sparklers and trumpets to blow. As you might imagine, it's chaotic, but in a good way!

-->The dominant feature of the fairground, though, is a huge stage at the far end -- a bigger version of the Takeover's Celebration Stage, with all the smiley-face decorations but yellow curtains instead of red. There's a few rows of seats in front of the stage for people who want to sit down and watch, and designated "dancing spots" for those who want to dance and sing along. The dancing spots are generally more populated than the seats, as you might expect. XD

-->Again, the domain is mostly populated by Advocates from Smile Street, just enjoying the carnival -- but you can't have a Celebration Stage without Felix E. Lated as the star performer! :D (Again, Smiler can have their uncle in their Otherland, as a treat.) When he's not up on stage singing, he's wandering the fairground, encouraging everyone to let loose and have fun. Possibly Grin-Grin the clown (from the above-linked "Fear Test") also makes an appearance from time to time, creating balloon animals and telling ridiculous stories -- oh, and we probably should also have the contortionist and the magician from the "Meet The Ministry" stage show up too! All the performers for the Advocates to enjoy!

Sanctuary: Unfortunately for Smiler, as stated in the original post, we can’t neglect the spookier, scarier parts of the coaster’s theming -- and that means having a domain where everything is creepy and horrible, to represent their fears about going too far and actually harming people. And thus we have Sanctuary, inspired by all the Kelman-related materials, such as the Smile Always series and the Sanctuary scare mazes (a few clips of which can be seen in this informative video -- again, watch out for some flashing lights)! Hooray! :D

-->The area is a large, underground asylum, accessed by a pair of rusty metal swinging doors spray-painted with "THE TRUTH" in bright yellow (taken from one of the AR spots you could access with The Smiler Mobile Game back in the day -- there's a set hidden away in each of the other three domains) -- once inside, you're confronted with an absolute maze of concrete corridors, all painted a faded white. The place is not in good repair, with plenty of patches of exposed rebar and wiring on the walls and cracks in both the ceiling and the floor. The whole place is poorly lit, with buzzing yellow lights dangling from the ceiling and occasionally sparking or going out entirely. The only concession to color is in the various posters that have been hung up -- images of spirals with DO NOT RESIST written under them, photos of decaying animal corpses captioned with LIFE IS BAD, and various images of people with their mouths distorted into extremely creepy smiles. It's just a very unpleasant place to be!

-->There are two groups of people that live in this horrible location -- the first being the Corrected. These are the asylum's patients, dressed in tattered and dirty white t-shirts, pants, and dresses, who roam the halls and live in the various cells dotting the hallways. Most of them either have Glasgow smiles or various bits of machinery forcing their mouths into grins, and many also have at least a partially-shaved head and nasty scars on their scalps indicating brain surgery. However, the Corrected are all completely non-violent, either just wandering around doing their thing (vaguely giggling to themselves, drawing on the walls with whatever they can find, standing in small groups and laughing together) or hiding away from anyone they think is a threat.

-->No, the actual enemies of this area are the Staff -- the nurses and orderlies who run the place. The nurses are dressed in stained white uniform dresses, sporting dark circles around their eyes, vicious grins accented by dark lipstick, and long claw-like nails ready to take a swipe out of misbehaving patients; and the orderlies are dressed in similarly-stained yellowed scrubs, with the same dark circles around their eyes and vicious grins. The nurses carry syringes to stab unsuspecting victims, subjecting them to a variety of bizarre hallucinations; the orderlies carry shock batons guaranteed to bring patients to their knees. Their favorite activities are to stalk unwitting Corrected, then take them down while laughing hysterically. Not nice people at all!

-->And the person in charge of the whole shebang? Why, that would be Dr. Minister, a Kelman-like old man with a neat white suit sporting the Sanctuary logo, glinting glasses, and a smile that -- well, it's obvious the man's HEARD of smiling, but you're not sure he's ever seen it in action. He's insistent that everything he does for the Corrected is for their own good, and his ultimate goal is to turn Smiler into his apprentice/successor -- and Victor and Alice into Corrected. Smiler, as you might imagine, loathes this guy, and is absolutely terrified of ending up like him. :(

And that's everything I've got for now! It does make me slightly annoyed that I only have four domains for Smiler when Victor has five and Alice -- well, as per A:MR, the minimum is eight (presuming you don't count the Vale of Doom as separate from the Vale of Tears). But I do think that these four cover pretty much everything important when it comes to the coaster, it's themes, and all the events and attractions related to it. Next up, we have the weapons -- which, believe me, was a much easier post to make...

[numberth1rte3n]

The Atlas Project

BY NUMBER TH1RTE3N

“It’s dead.”

Dreg looked at the mound of circuits and metal plates in front of him with a mournful expression. He sighed, exasperated. Tonight’s run hadn’t been great to start with, just a couple dozen pounds of loose chromium scraps and barely salvageable wires. He and Juke had snuck into the slums of the Commerce Sector as a last-ditch effort. Scrappers were barred from stepping foot in the Commerce Sector without authorization from a Class B or above citizen, but Dreg and Juke were desperate. The things that the upper citizenry threw away haphazardly were too big a haul to pass up. Potentially. If they didn’t bring in enough scrap tonight, they would starve to death without their meal vouchers.

Dreg thought he had found a fully functional ServBot in the slums, near the canals that separated the dilapidated town from the neat, well-manicured lawns and spires of those that were fortunate enough to live and work in the Commerce Sector. The ServBot was half-submerged in brownish water and would have been unrecognizable from any other third-rate android were it not for the emblem on its chest plate that distinguished it as a now-outdated model in the Service lineup of Atlas Co.’s arm. f robotic assistants: a silhouette of a person holding a globe on their shoulders, with a golden “S” laser-cut on the globe. The waters of the canals smelled of freshly flushed feces and death. Dreg looked past the ServBot, into a sewer grate on the wall in front of him. He saw several human appendages poking out from the bars, blinking in and out of existence with the flickering neon purple lights coming from the street signs lining the street above him. Dreg held back a gag and focused his attention back onto the robot. He and Juke couldn’t afford to go any hungrier, and a dead Bot was leagues better than no Bot.

“Let’s pull it out.” Dreg said to Juke, crouching down to get a good hold on the machine.

“What?” Replied Juke, grabbing onto Dreg’s arm. “Are you insane? do you know what the Specs would do to us if they found us down here?”

Dreg paused, suddenly unsure.

Juke pointed at the grate in front of him, his expression morphing into one of fear and nervous anxiety.

Dreg knew that if the Sector Peace Corps caught him and Juke, there would be little else they could do except run, and they would likely not get very far. The specs had their hover cruisers and all Dreg and Juke had were emaciated legs and some cheap cybernetic augmentations that barely did anything anyway. He thought about it briefly, almost considering taking what little loot they had gathered up until that point back to the Yard. Then Dreg’s stomach growled and twisted, and that steeled him.

“We don’t really have a choice,” Dreg said, “if the Specs finds us, they blast us to Hell. If we go back to the Yard without more scrap, we don’t eat and then we die anyway. Now, help me pull this damn thing out.”

Juke looked at him, and Dreg wondered if he would leave him there in favor of returning to the Yard with his share of the haul. But Juke clicked his tongue in annoyance and bent down to assist Dreg in hauling up the Bot.

It was heavy, and very much stuck. Dreg and Juke had to shift positions, find new handholds, and pause for breath several times in the twenty or so minutes that it took to pull the Robot out. Dreg cut his thumb on a sharp piece of rusted metal that was poking out from the robot’s armpit. He thought about the possibility of infection, but his stomach growled again, and he pushed the thought away. Dreg wiped the blood from his thumb on his shit-water-soaked shirt. After a final tug that sent both men sprawling onto the pavement, the ServBot was lying in front of the two Scrappers, and Dreg was able to see the entire machine.

It was a standard model. Humanoid, about six feet tall. The synthetic muscle fibers that normally would have been covered by protective titanium plating were exposed. Some of the fibers were torn or eaten away at from being submerged in the water. What little plating was left had oxidized and rusted over, but Dreg could tell that the ServBot had originally been a grayish white. It was also missing a foot and a few fingers. The head was the least ravaged component, and Dreg thought it would probably fetch the highest price back at the Yard. After a thorough examination, he was about to try to rip the head off when he noticed something.

A couple of years ago, before Dreg lost his citizenship, he did maintenance on Atlas Co. tech for the upper-class citizenry. He was good at it too, so he knew when a Bot was truly dead or when there was severe user error. Very rarely was it the former. Dreg couldn’t see it when the bot was in the water, but now that it was in front of him, it was unmistakable.

“Juke, look at this.” Ignoring the pain in his thumb and the moans coming from his bowels, Dreg hurriedly pulled off the chest plate of the ServBot, his heart smashing against his ribcage. When the plating was finally off, he pointed at a device at the center of the newly exposed wiring. It was small, about the size of an old-world baseball, and icosahedral. It was sitting awkwardly inside a compartment at the very center of the robot’s chest. Dreg could tell by the look of confusion on Juke’s face that he didn’t know how much their lives had just changed.

“I swear, Dreg,” Juke looked upset. “I’m going to call the Specs myself if you don’t hurry up.”

Suddenly smiling, Dreg didn’t feel as hungry as he did a moment ago while he was covered in wet shit and bleeding from the thumb. Carefully, Dreg picked up the polygonal object from the open chest cavity of the robot. He turned it around in his hands, examining it more closely. The faces of the fusion core were surprisingly clean; It had somehow been spared the unholy wrath of the Commerce Sector’s sewage system. It shimmered in the low light, and it was slightly warm to the touch. One of the faces of the core had a small opening, and when Dreg looked inside, he almost yelped with excitement as he saw the faintest of glows.

“It’s still active!”

At that moment, Dreg heard the shrill sirens of Sector Peace Corps in the distance. He turned to look at Juke, but he was already hiding behind some wreckage in the shadows of the sewers. Juke stuffed the fusion core into his pants pocket. It barely fit and looked distended, making it difficult to sprint to where juke was hiding. He took cover next to his friend and waited as the sound grew louder. The sound of the sirens continued to intensify, until it was almost too loud to hear his own blood pumping in his ears.

In an instant, the canals exploded with flashing neon lights as a veritable army of Specs blasted over the canal, heading south, toward the other end of the Commerce Sector. The neon lights glistened off the polished windows of the skyscrapers and the waxed chassis of the many HyperDrivers parked in the streets. After what seemed like an eternity and a half, the lights and the sounds finally faded from and the Scrappers were again left alone with a broken robot and shit-water. Juke pushed Dreg out from behind the wreckage they were hiding behind.

“What the hell, Dreg?! If we had waited an extra second messing around with your damn Bot, we would have been a pile of ash right now!”

Dreg was barely listening. He was already on his feet, the ringing of the sirens already gone from his ear. The fusion core was already out of his pocket as Dreg sprinted back to the ServBot. He felt almost childlike in his excitement, like he was opening a gift or turning on a new piece of tech for the first time. Which, technically, was what he was about to do.

Dreg placed the open face of the fusion core back down into the now empty compartment. It didn’t fit quite well, but after some slight adjustments, the core snapped into place.

Dreg waited. Juke looked expectantly at both his fellow Scrapper and the still-very-much-dead ServBot, his eyes flitting back and forth between them. There was a palpable nervous energy in the air. The only sound came from the water rushing past the sewer grate into the puddle behind them.

Dreg’s heart was thumping incredibly quickly, his entire body pulsing with a hopeful pang. He began to worry that he was mistaken, that the Bot was unserviceable, and that he had just wasted valuable time and could be halfway out of the commerce sector by now. His hands shook with anticipation and his eyes lips were chapped.

Then the ArcLED faceplate on the ServBot’s head lit up. Dreg let out a barely suppressed whoop, triggering a panicked shush from Juke.

The faceplate of the robot began humming a low frequency, barely audible, as diagnostic code began to appear on where the robot’s fake face would be. Dreg recognized this very well, he had run several of these codes for regular maintenance protocols when he was a citizen. The lights continued to dance as more and more boxes checked green, though there some that checked red. Among the red boxes were functions such as “Locomotion: Right Foot” and “Dexterity: Full Phalangeal Function”. The missing foot and fingers, of course. “Speech” and “AI Processing” were tinted yellow, signaling that some maintenance was required, but they were functional.

The faceplate went dark again. Dreg and Juke were crouched shoulder to shoulder, a foot away from the robot’s head, waiting for anything else to happen.

The ServBot suddenly jolted into a seated position, smacking into the two Scrapper’s foreheads, and sending them reeling onto their backs, clutching their heads in pain.

“D-d-d-di4g-diagN0stics C0mPle-Complete.” Said the ServBot, in a masculine-sounding voice. Dreg was still rubbing his forehead and blinking away the tears in his eyes, but he could understand why the “Speech” function was yellowed out. The Bot’s head moved around slowly, searching for a human to interface with. When the head had turned almost all the way around, it spotted Juke first, who was still groaning from the blunt force trauma the android had inflicted on him.

“Greetings, mister B-ba-ba-ba-“ this went on for about twelve seconds. “ba- baz-Bazrian!”

Juke moaned in pain and pointed at Dreg.

“Talk … to him…” he said in between moans of pain.

The robot swirled around, torso and all, and repeated the greeting, this time much more succinctly.

“Greetings, mister Bazrian.”

The voice was friendly and warm, much as they were designed to be. The ArcLED faceplate now displayed a very old-world pixelated smiley face, the default setting. Dreg had always liked the retro feel of the default setting, even though ArcLED technology was so advanced that it could perfectly mimic a human face in three dimensions.

As for the greeting, Dreg didn’t know what to say. Partly because of his new concussion, and partly because the ServBot had just said the name of the most powerful man on the planet.

“Mister…Bazrian…?” Said Dreg, tentatively, and with palpable fear in his voice.

“Yes! That is, you, mister Bazrian. How ma-ma-may I be of ServBot to y-y-y-y-you?”

Dreg began to understand the severity of his actions. He had just revived an old ServBot of the head of Atlas Co., Jayce Bazrian. The world’s single wealthiest, most influential person to ever exist, and Dreg had just been mistaken for that person. An ex-citizen Scrapper, starving, bleeding, and covered in shit, was just called the name of the person that owns the world.

Dread began to fill his heart and spread throughout his body. Stealing property from a S-class citizen, the highest level of citizenship, was already an extra capital offense. Not only would dreg be executed, but all people that were connected to dreg through his Cybernetic Communication Profile would be as well, for fear that he may have spread classified information to non-citizens. That means Dreg, Juke, and basically everyone at the Yard would be summarily put to death.

Juke had started to recover from the ServBot’s assault and realized what had happened.

“Did that thing just say ‘Bazrian’? As in, ‘Jayce Bazrian’?”

The android whipped its head around again, facing Juke.

“Yes! You are Jayce Bazrian!” The robot then began to stand up, and promptly fell over into a pile of metal, causing an awful clanging sound to echo off the walls and down the alleyways of the Commerce Sector.

“Ouch!” said the ServBot, even though it was incapable of feeling pain.

Juke looked at Dreg, with a frantic expression.

“Man, I really don’t care how you do it, but every Spec in this whole sector heard that noise. Get this thing moving, now!”

Dreg stood and walked to the bot, who was already halfway up again. He helped it stand upright and supported some of its weight on his shoulders.

“Um, ServBot?”

Its head whipped around. “Yes, mister Bazrian?”

“We, um, have to get moving. If you’ll please plot a course for the Yard?”

At the mention of the Yard, the ArcLED faceplate changed shape into a glowing red “X”.

“Mister Bazrian, the Yard (formerly known as Fort Vegas during the Third World War) is an authorized ex-citizen ha-bi-b-b-b-bitation. Population: three thousand, four hundred and sixty-six-”

Juke perked up slightly. “Sixty-six?”

“Anthea must’ve had her baby.” replied Dreg.

“Oh, cool.”

“-according to latest opinion polls, your favorability amongst ex-ci-t-t-t-t-izens is zero-point-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-eight-three percent.”

“Wow,” said Dreg, already walking with the robot down the edge of the canal, “that’s low.”

“By some metrics! Your favorability amongst citizens still remains at eighty-nine-point-three-six p-p-p-p-percent.”

“Of course it does.”

“I would also like to remind you that you have-“ There was a moment of silence as the ServBot opened its logs, “four thousand three hundred and seventy-two missed meetings.”

Juke chimed in, looking over his shoulder worriedly, “Please, shut up.”

“At once!” And the ServBot shut up.

Juke looked at his friend and shook his head. Dreg could see the panic in his eyes, and he knew that Juke was aware of the consequences of being caught with this ServBot as well.

“This stunt better be worth it” he said. Dreg let the words bounce around his head.

Naturally, Dreg had his reservations. He and his Scrapper friend had just committed one of the most heinous crimes a person could commit, and to a passing observer they would have looked no different than any other disheveled, forgotten, or otherwise downtrodden individual in the entire world.

He was also confused. Jayce Bazrian was the head of Atlas Co., the world’s leading cybernetic and robotics manufacturer. His visage was plastered on almost every branded product, so much so that his fake smile was looming over the citizens of the several Sectors pretty much everywhere they went. Every elected official had received some method of payment from him, either directly or through some manner of corruption. Someone that influential couldn’t have simply lost their own personal ServBot?

Dreg let his mind wander for some time as he, Juke, and the Bot limply made their way to the end of the canal, where the water drained into a pipe that led to more pipes that eventually drained into the Gulf of Mexico. There was a makeshift bridge here, hidden from view by the shadows of the surrounding buildings. It was created by teams of Scrappers over several years under cover of darkness, just in case some unfortunate, desperate, or downright foolish Scrappers wanted to try their luck at whatever the elite may have been throwing out of their windows.

Dreg and Juke crossed the bridge, the Bot still very quiet and hanging onto Dreg’s shoulder for support. The Bot was rickety and in desperate need of repairs, but after some careful maneuvering, the Scrappers and their new companion had crossed to the other side, into the much more homely and very much run-down Labor Sector. Only a few steps up in terms of comfort from the Yard, the Labor Sector is where those still fortunate enough to still have a job not yet taken from a Bot lived their daily lives. Dreg used to live here too. He paused for a moment to look at the peeling paint on some of the residential buildings, and almost felt nostalgic. Even though he and Juke had a long way to walk from here, Dreg breathed a sigh of relief. Specs didn’t patrol too far from the Commerce Sector, and Scrappers were allowed in the Labor Sector with no issue. He looked at the Bot on his shoulder, the pixelated smiley face still bright and cheerful.

“ServBot?” Dreg asked, hoping to learn some more about why exactly they had found such a delicate piece of tech in sewage.

“Y-y-y-y-y-es, Mister Bazrian?” The Bot replied, whipping its head around to look at Dreg.

“What exactly is the last thing that you can recall before your reboot?”

The Bot’s faceplate switched to another display, one of a confused face, frowning. A digital tear rolled down the Bot’s nonexistent cheek.

“I’m sorry, Mister Bazrian. Many of my memory files appear to have been corrupted. It a-a-a-ppears that it had been some time since my l-l-l-l-ast maintenance. Would you like me to schedule an ap-p-p-ointment with a licensed Atlas Co. ServBot Technician?” The Bot’s faceplate projected a holo-screen in front of Dreg and Juke, which made them jump slightly. The screen displayed some highly rated Japanese restaurants within a ten-mile radius. Even though this was clearly not what the Bot wanted to display, Dreg and Juke stopped to admire some of their menus for a moment, almost drooling over the sight of food that wasn’t purchased through meal vouchers or comprised in some form of dead rat meat.

When they had finally managed to wave the screen away, the Scrappers found that they were now surrounded by a group of people. Distracted by the holo-screen, they weren’t able to see them crawl out of the alleyways of the Labor Sector and slowly skulk around their little group. Only slightly obscured by shadows, their glowing neon tattoos in the shapes of various beasts and monsters from old-world mythology unmistakably marked them as members of the Fantasy Boys gang. Dreg and Juke had run into them before on their runs. They usually didn’t do much except throw insults, but any Scrapper worth their salt knows that a Bot was worth killing for. Dreg lifted his hands into the air, followed by Juke. The Bot’s arms were still hanging loosely around Dreg’s shoulders.

“Easy now, boys,” said Dreg, “we’re just trying to get back to the Yard.” A figure at the front of the group stepped closer to Dreg, into the light of an overhead streetlamp. He was tall and had arms like tree trunks. He wore a ripped leather jacket and some faded black jeans with black work boots. Bald and bearded, he approached Dreg with all the confidence of someone that knew they had just struck gold. Much like how Dreg felt when he had fixed the ServBot.

The man lifted one of his arms, which Dreg now noticed was completely replaced from the elbow down with a gnarly blasting rifle implant. He pointed to barrel at Dreg’s chest and let out a hearty chuckle.

“I don’t think the Yard is where ya’ll are headed.” He looked at the Bot, whose face again displayed the default pixelated smiley face. He pointed the blaster-arm at the Bot. “What’s so funny, eh? Got something to smile about don’t you?”

The man with the gun for a hand suddenly pointed it to the sky and fired a round, which pierced through both the sky and Dreg’s eardrums. The sound bounced down the dark alleys and the flash of light that came from the gun’s muzzle illuminated the street so briefly it seemed as if the Fantasy Boy’s tattoos had blinked in and out of existence.

Dreg was still reeling from the shock when two of the gang members swept up from behind Juke and pushed him to the ground, holding him there, squirming, while they checked him for any good loot. Finding nothing, they keep him pinned down as he struggles. Dreg was picked up from the shirt collar by the gun-arm-man and brought to eye-level with him. With no one to support its weight, the Bot fell backward into the street, smiley face still on.

“I want you to ask your circuit-freak here what he thinks is so funny.” He pointed with his gun hand to the ServBot. “If you don’t give me an answer,” he switched targets to Juke, “then I’m gonna paint the street pink with your friend’s brains. Then, I’m gonna – “

The man with the gun for a hand had his sentence cut short, because there was now a gaping hole in his head.

Dreg watched as he was let go, almost falling to the ground were it not for the ServBot there to catch him. Dreg noticed that the Bot’s right hand smoked and sizzled with residual energy. A faint green glow faded from a now visible hole in the palm of the Bot. It had blasted the Fantasy Boy to Hell.

“Do not worry, Mister Bazrian,” it said, cheerful as ever, “threat n-n-n-n-neutralized. The Sector Peace Corps are on their way!”

“The fucking who now?”

Just as the now-dead gun-arm man hit the street with a reverberating thud, A small patrol of Specs veered the corner at the far end of the street on hover cruisers, their sirens and lights on full alert. Near the canal, another group of specs was closing in, sandwiching the Scrappers and the Fantasy Boys together with no hope of escape.

“LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS OR WE WILL SHOOT TO KILL!”

This voice came from the Spec in the lead of the first group. Right after he had finished the order, he began shooting at the Fantasy Boys.

The two men holding Juke down adjusted their positions to take cover and shoot back at the Specs, as did the rest of the Fantasy Boys. In the span of three seconds the street had become a warzone, with Dreg, Juke, and the Bot caught in the middle.

“Bot, what the hell? Why did you call the Specs?” asked Dreg, taking cover from the hail of plasma-fire raining down on them. Juke replied before the Bot could.

“Stupid thing probably knew what we were the whole time and just wanted to get back to his oligarch master!” he spit at the Bot’s faceplate, which now showed an array of combat diagrams and targeting reticles. Dreg had seen this kind of software on a bot before, but only when they were military issue. The kind of Bots that were sent out to fight proxy wars in New Africa, never a personal assistance Bot like the one he and Juke had found.

“Mister Bazrian,” The Bot placed a hand on Juke’s shoulder, “it is my duty to protect you from any and all manner of danger that may come your way. When I sensed your heightened anxiety levels and increased adrenaline count, I assumed you were in danger and summoned the Sector Peace Corps to assist in eliminating the threat.” The Bot did not slur its speech.

It all made sense then, at least to Dreg. Of course, any personal assistance robot to the supreme oligarch of Earth would be packing many manners of heat.

“Well, it almost got us fucking killed!” Juke shouted.

Above them, a Spec was shot off his hover cruiser and landed near the edge of the canal. The cruiser continued to float for a moment before its auto-parking protocol slowly lowered it to the street, some distance away from the fighting. Dreg had an idea.

“ServBot!”

“Yes, Mister Bazrian?”

“I need you to defend this position for a moment. Can you do that?

A Fantasy Boy came tumbling next to them, riddled with plasma-holes.

“Of course, sir!”

Dreg looked at Juke. “Stay down, buddy.”

He sprinted from their position to the hover cruiser. Plasmafire chased him as he was caught in the sights of a passing Fantasy Boy perched on a rooftop, but he was quickly dispatched by the Bot, who flashed Dreg a thumb’s-up.

Finally, Dreg reached the cruiser and hopped on. The keycard was still in the ID slot, so Dreg started the vehicle with little trouble. He drove the distance back to his companions.

“Get on, both of you!”

There was little argument from Juke and even less from the Bot as they climbed onto the cruiser. “ServBot, don’t let anyone follow us, Spec or not!”

The Bot replied by enthusiastically shooting at any potential target, with extreme prejudice. Specs began falling out of the sky like flies and the Fantasy Boys were no different. Dreg raised the cruiser as high as it would go, higher than some of the residential buildings of the Labor Sector, and punched it North, towards the Yard.

[writingalterras]

Alterra Update!

This week! HELL,

A few weeks ago, I posted a world map of Alterra. If you looked closely, you may have noticed some orange dots in various places. Those “dots” are actually giant pits that lead directly into Hell, specifically the wrath ring. You can Imagine the world of Alterra being similar to Terraria, where Hell is directly under the normal world.

My version of Hell is kind of a mix between the Hell from Hazbin Hotel / Helluva Boss, the Hell from Terraria, the Hell from Doom, and my own interpretations of the Greek Underworld.

The wrath ring is the unyielding armies of Hell that slowly conquer and consume worlds and realities, much like in Doom. Many other worlds have been taken over by these demonic hordes, but Alterra is in a somewhat equilibrium. Most demons under the surface still do not dare head to the surface due to an ancient race of powerful monsters called the Firath. Even though the Firath went extinct from an unknown cause over a thousand years ago, most demons still believe it to be far too great of a risk to invade the surface. This is mainly due to a great warrior dawning a massive suit of armor of Firath design that occasionally appears in Hell to slaughter untold amounts of their numbers. Whether or not this entity is a Firath is unconfirmed, though it’s use of their tech is. Any attempts of invading the surface while the warrior is in Hell results in immediate death by ancient Firath war machines.

Some of the demons have begun to worship this creature, calling it the Second Slayer. The lord of the ring of wrath is very much against this practice and comparison.

Whenever a mortal being dies, the god of death has no choice but to send it to the rings of Hell, as the afterlife was destroyed along with the gods. What the rings of hell decide to do with the souls is practically random, either becoming a mindless demon the demonic hordes, or turning into a natural-born person of Hell named an unholy. Unholy species have no memory of the life their soul used to belong to, and are entirely their own person.

This is where the Hazbin Hotel inspiration comes into play. There are several different types of unholy depending on which ring the manifest in.

Unholy born in the Lust ring are either a succubus(female) or an incubus(male), and are freely able to leave Hell. Since Lust it the highest Ring apart from Wrath, it’s where most of the souls end up, and is home to large cities to accommodate almost every denizen of Hell. Despite popular belief, they are not just purely embodiments of lust, and are almost entirely like mortal people. They tend to have light skin tones of pink, red, or very rarely a shade of purple, smooth black / red horns that arch backwards, and thin tails of the same color that end in a heart shape. Both succubi and incubi possess the natural magic ability to charm or seduce people, though this only works on certain people. If a person is resistant to psychic attacks in any capacity, seduction will not work. Meanwhile, if a succubus / incubus attempts to seduce someone who is not one to engage in such activities, such as aromatics or asexuals, it will achieve the opposite effect, and put the victim in a bezerker-type rage.

Lust unholy rarely use seductive magic without consent, but that doesn’t stop the heavy discrimination against them. Very few Lust unholy actually ever leave Hell, due to the fact that they are often captured as slaves. There is a massive underground slave market across the whole universe for succubi and incubi due to the fact that each of their “fluids” function as very potent anti-depressants. Their horns can also be ground up and mixed with mineral water to make “love potions”. Due to this, most of them hide their true species or choose to stay in the Lust ring, though hunting parties that delve into Lust still ensure that being a succubus or incubus a very dangerous thing.

The ring of gluttony is actually the agricultural sector of Hell. Home to a species called “The Kappa,” which are based on creatures called Kappas from Japanese folklore. In the original folklore, they are water demons with incredibly elastic arms that attract people to their pools to drown them. In my interpretation, they instead use their water magic and incredibly strong and stretchy arms to farm crops. Gluttony provides the food for every Ring of Hell except for Wrath. Despite the general suspicion of anything that comes from Hell, there are still plenty of commonly used commodities that originate from Gluttony, such as wheat, pigs, and of course pomegranates.

The Ring of Pride is the entertainment industry of Hell. It is law to visit the Pride for at least 6 hours per week to incentivize creativity and decrease the suicide rates. Writings from Pride occasionally find their way outside of Hell, and are often the basis for entire religions in the mortal world. The Unholy have been taught to write in a text that automatically translates into whatever the reader understands, but this only applies while in Hell. If a piece of Hellish writing leaves the underworld, the time it is read will cause it to magically translate one final time before losing it’s properties.

The Ring of Envy is kind of like the jungle of the underworld. If a soul gets sent to this Ring, it becomes either part of the vast plant-life, or a non-sentient creature of Hell. The creatures of Envy are almost entirely docile, only attacking if harmed or heavily provoked. This Ring was created by the Goddess of Unholy to produce “pets” for the inhabitants of Hell in response to the vast amount of denizens with severe depression.

The Ring of Greed is very interesting due to the fact that it isn’t actually a Ring at all. It’s actually a central station where Unholy can travel between the different Rings or leave Hell entirely. This is also the only direct way into any of the Rings of Hell apart from Wrath. Unholy cannot enter the Ring of Wrath, nor can Demons from Wrath enter the Ring of Greed. This was a direct decision from the God of Death and his wife, the Goddess of Unholy, both of whom live in a separate Ring called Limbo or the underworld.

Limbo is a very strange part of Hell, inaccessible to all but the gods. The strangest part is its similarity to the Greek’s interpretation of the underworld. It’s an endless garden surrounding a single castle with 5 rivers flowing away from it. These rivers are liquefied embodiments of sentience and consist of almost pure energy. The first river is Memory, it’s waters glow pure white and it is said that every soul must first pass through these waters to be cleansed of their former lives. The second is Perspective, a golden stream that provide souls with the ability to discern and judge your surroundings, and is often confused for anger. The third is Identity, a blood red river that grants the souls with their base personalities. The forth is Feeling, a river of flame which allows the soul to feel the world around them. And the last is Emotion, a clear blue river that completes the identity of the soul, making it ready to be recycled into a new creature.

If an Unholy dies, it’s soul immediately joins the demonic hordes of Wrath as an unthinking soldier. While having, on average, a higher lifespan than mortals, they still die of old age eventually, unless the Goddess of Unholy decides their life is essentially to the happiness of Hell. No known religion has an accurate depiction of the Goddess of Unholy, but the closest interpretation is Persephone, Greek Goddess of the underworld. She liked the name so much, she took it for herself, having no true name previously. Persephone is in charge of managing all of the Unholy in Hell, due to her husband being to busy harvesting souls.

This is my interpretation of Hell for my novel, I’d be happy to hear you thoughts on it!

[peydawgz]

Withered Away || Overwatch OC x Reader

this is in like an au or something where Null Sector was defeated, and Zippy got separated from Ramattra in a terrible accident. It’s years later, and you are the one that has discovered her. Lmk if you want a part 2??

You found yourself walking through a forest, perhaps even looking for the ruins of a decaying Null Sector ship that crashed from the sky long ago. You came across the giant moss blanketed ship, nature taking its course already on it. You fear if you step inside the old metal might break, but you took that chance anyways.

Vines hung from the ceiling, and you could hear birds chirping echoing all around you. The floor creaked as you walked around, and you were taking pictures as you walked along. You snapped some of the head of the ship behind the wheel, inside the meeting areas and found a facility built to create mindless omnics to control. As you’re wandering around, you hear noises from above but you pay it no mind, probably just more woodland creatures.

You snap more pictures, then trace your fingers along the omnicode messages left behind, trying to decipher what your human mind cannot comprehend. Interesting, you never seen engraved omnicode like this before, like braille.

You walk through a hallway, finding many maintenance rooms. It’s very dark inside, and the light on your phone and the flash is all you have to go by. You start to get the creeps, with the noises above you seemingly following you throughout the place this whole time. There is silence, and you’re just looking over your pictures for a moment before your heart drops. Huge eyes staring right at you in the last one, otherwise just a green and purple blur. You are not alone.

You run like hell to get out, your heart pacing as you retrace your steps. You heard stories of some kind of monster in the area, but thought it to be a myth.

The light you were desperately trying to escape to suddenly disappeared as metal doors shut, leaving you in darkness and you are starting to really freak out. You can’t see anything, you can hear movement but no breathing. Just a low scratching noise, like something being dragged on the floor.

You fumble around, turning the light on your phone as quickly as possible, and as you pointed straight ahead you see the figure again.

Those piercing eyes are completely black, and the cyborg woman stares right at you, half of her face covered in black overgrown hair, some kind of branch growing out of her robotic head. Her grey metal and silicon body is covered in moss and weeds, and her body is draped in ripped up clothing, some kind of uniform. As you move your light, you see she has a large shell attached to her back, sprouting a sapling of a tree. She is some kind of human mixed with old junk parts, resembling a snail with her shell and little antenna. 5CARG0 is labeled on the shell, through its very scratched out.

The creepiest part of this sight is her face is contorted into a smile, as if the wires inside had gone bad. You hear that dragging noise, it’s the branches sprouting out of her body against the walls. Your light has no affect on her, and she can’t seem to see anything.

“Have you come to rescue me?” Her voice breaks through so many glitches, so bad her body is physically glitching as well. “How long have I been here?” She asks, more quietly though still glitching.

“Six years…” you say, and you feel very bad for her, even though it’s unknown what happened. “Can you let us out? Open the door again?” She does as you asked, remarking “Only way you wouldn’t run.”

When you bring her outside, you try to brush off the years of vegetation growing on her, picking out the leaves from her hair as you tried to ask what happened. “Lost.” She shook her head, as if in denial. “Abandoned.” Her voice wavers, if she were able to cry she would.

You pity the sight of the poor girl and can’t help but pull her stinky mossy self in for a hug. She is complacent with this, enjoying your human touch. “What’s your name? Do you have anybody to go home to?” You ask her, and she responds no, she doesn’t have a place to go. Perhaps nobody even knew she was missing in the first place.

“Zippy is my name.” She tells you, and you take her hand, leading her towards the forest’s exit. “I’ll take care of you, Zippy, you won’t have to worry anymore.” You reassured her. You already had a place in mind to get her cybernetics checked out, and perhaps she could allow herself to rest after, and she might be able to tell you more…

[11-of-quills]

Anette had just finished cleaning up the deep purple stains on her face and hands when she heard a raspy, harsh voice from behind her.

"Well, sorry your little 'project' didn't pan out the way you wanted." Cypres had somehow made their way into the captains quarters without Anette noticing, but that was nothing new. If anything, it was a comfort for at least that familiarity to remain.

"Well, what is done's done." Anette inspected her fins closely, looking for any remaining stains against her deep grey scales, shimmering under the fluorescent light. "Besides, the Condence's weapon spinestabbing those revolutionaries is so satisfying that nothing could cull my mood. It's about time Serdia learned his fucking place. He always thought he was so smart...." She picked at a stain, scratching gently with one chitonous claw to wear it away.

"Oh, sure, sure, but i doubt the sopor tasted any good. It seemed like he was made more of the stuff than anything else." Cypres shifted, dangling their head off of the chair and kicking their legs in the air as they watched Anette with disinterest.

"I have consumed enough secondhand sopor slime for even the Condense's lifetime, that is for sure. But I-"

"Hate to waste good meat" Cypres said in unison with Anette. Seadwellers are nothing if not predictable. Maybe it was the longer lifespan- to do the same thing for sweeps and sweeps on end, twice or three times as long as Cypres could even dream of living, even if they survived conscription. Maybe it's the stuffy nature of being that high up in the hemospectrum. Really, who's to say? Either way this officially should net Cypres as Anette's number one companion- maybe they'll even fill a quadrant. Terrors know she's too ambitious to stay that close to another highblood for long before trying to do something. Better to stay nice and safe as a midblood. Nobody pokes too much because you're just high enough to not be an easy target, but anyone truly dangerous is already above your pay grade already.

"So, now what? Your nemesis is gone and left a power vacuum, you've lost your project.... it's not like you're short on options." Cypres inspected their claws as if that was the most important thing in the world, attempting to hide their interest in her next move.

"Who is to say?" She fixes Cypres with an intense gaze that made them shift with discomfort, as if she was trying to pry out why a midblood who is so otherwise unconcerned with what her ship does would care. "I've enough options, but I've time to decide, too. I am in no rush, after all." That wasn't entirely true, but Anette didn't think that a fucking midblood deserved to know the finer details anyways. That's how your information gets 'found' by every other captain in the sector and with the Condense's mood in the wake of everything, well.... no need to stir the pot with infighting if it could be helped.