#then the purge and everything was gone forever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vibrantbirdy · 1 year ago

Note

Helllloooooo~ your writing is fab! May I please request some Cal Kestis x Reader fiction???? Could the scenario please be that the reader was once a jedi padawan along with Cal and they were best friends and maybe have a little child crush on each other and they got separated due to order 66? Then, you guessed it, they find each other after all these years and it's all fluffy and they realise their true feelings and everything adorable?? Please and thank you! Have a lovely day/night!

Hi Anon, thank you so much for your kind words and thank you for this request! I really love writing for Cal!

Character x Reader requests are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first. Masterlist of my fics can be found here.

Title: Familiarity Fandom: Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order and Survivor games Setting: Prior to the events of Survivor Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Action/adventure; Fluff; Angst; Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Canon typical combat violence; canon typical death/angst/survivor's guilt relating to Order 66; mild sexuality; one claustrophobic scene due to ruined temple adventuring; SPOILERS for Jedi: Fallen Order and minor ones for the set up to Survivor. Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: c.8k (this one got away from me!) Author's note: I couldn't write about Order 66 without a little angst but hopefully there's still plenty of fluff and romance and adventure to be found here! Summary: Believing each other lost to the brutal purge of the Emperor's Order 66, ten years after you were separated from your childhood best friend during the systematic eradication of the Jedi Order, you and Cal Kestis are finally reunited amid the strange Temple ruins of an ancient civilisation.

10 years ago

"Run!" Jedi Master Rena Daylum commands as the Clone Troopers who were once your trusted comrades turn their blasters towards you.

Master Daylum dispatches them quickly as you ignore her instruction and ignite your own lightsaber. The purple blade hums into life and you ready yourself for the next squad of Troopers.

But before your saber is even fully extended, a burst of energy hits you squarely in the chest and you fly backwards, skidding across the hard durasteel floor on your backside.

As you look up in surprise, you can't help the childish dart of hurt that stings your pride as you see Master Daylum, her palm extended towards you, and realise that she has pushed you away. She's never used the Force on you like that before.

"For once in your life, Padawan, do as you are told!"

Daylum extends her hand again and the control panels on the open blast door between you explode in a shower of sparks. Even as you run back towards her, the heavy metal doors hiss closed and lock shut in front of you.

With little other choice, you carry out the instruction you've been given and run. You are more frightened than you've ever been in your young life. As you sprint down the Venator-class Destroyer's corridors, you reach out for your Master in the Force. You sense only a dark void where her comforting, consistent presence had always been and in that moment, you know that she is gone forever.

The Albedo Brave, despite her rather sterile appearance with her harsh florescent lighting, her heavy, threatening blast doors and cold metal walls, had seemed homely to you only this morning.

Now the ship feels almost alien. The emergency lighting flashes intermittently, illuminating the corridors with an eerie crimson glow, and the mournful wail of the alarm seems to all but scream in your head.

You hide in a maintenance closet as another squad of Clones pass by. The once familiar voices of the Troopers now sparks a deep dread within you. Over the past month you've been aboard the Brave, you had started to recognise the individual Clones from their personal intonations and patterns of speech, even with their helmets on. Now, their tone is uniform, cold and robotic. And deadly. And this ship is teeming with them.

You think you are heading in the right direction towards the escape pods, but you are far from certain. Upon embarking, you'd been so thrilled about your first assignment to a Venator and the fact that your fellow Padawan and best friend, Cal Kestis, was already onboard. But this excitement meant that you hadn't really paid all that much attention to the safety drill with Master Daylum.

You always thought she'd be here to guide you if anything happened...

As you continue to stumble lost and alone through the gargantuan ship you once called home, you halt abruptly as you think you hear someone shout your name over the blaring alarm.

You look up towards the source of the sound and see Cal peering down at you through the grated walkway of the maintenance corridor above. There is a screech of metal as he removes the heavy durasteel access panel.

"Cal? The Clones ... they killed Master Daylum. She's ... dead," you manage to stammer, "What's happening?"

You feel your face crumple as fresh tears begin to fall. You wipe them away and Cal can only look at you with an expression of sympathy and grief on his kind, honest face.

You both jump as you hear blaster fire nearby. You need to move.

Cal lays himself flat on his stomach and reaches his arm down towards you.

"Come on!"

He stretches out a hand. It hangs agonisingly close, just out of your reach. Your fingertips barely brush against his.

"Jump!"

You try to centre yourself in the Force, but in your panic and confusion, you are completely closed off from it. All you can manage is a pitiful little hop.

"I can't Cal, I can't... I can't feel anything!"

The boy shuffles further off the ledge. He obviously has his feet hooked round the durasteel support struts as anchor points. Still, it looks impossible, but you bend your knees and spring up and off the metal floor.

Somehow, Cal grabs your hand.

Cal is the same age as you - thirteen - but due to a recent growth spurt you are a good few inches taller than him now. You've been teasing him mercilessly about it recently and he has been taking it with his characteristic good nature, biting back with quick witted retorts.

Neither of you are laughing about it now.

You are dangling just inches off the ground and, despite his best efforts, Cal simply doesn't have the strength to pull you up from this angle. He has no leverage. Eventually his grip slips and you fall away from him, hitting the ground with a painful thud.

You look up at Cal, his expression of alarm mirroring what you assume your own must looks like.

“Try again," he whispers urgently, his green eyes wide and desperate.

He extends his arm with all his might, splaying his palm as if the extra few millimetres will make any difference to your predicament.

You twist around from your position on the floor as a new sound carries down the Venator's passageways. Voices. There are voices now. Clones just beyond the nearest blast door. You took your lightsaber to the control panel, sealing it shut as best you could, but it won't take them long to get through.

You lift your gaze back to Cal - your friend, your best friend - and shake your head.

"I'll meet you there," you say, trying to sound brave and reassuring.

Cal hisses your name as you take off down the corridor away from him. You can't bear to turn around and see the lost, pleading expression on his face so you run around the corner out of his sight and you don't look back.

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

Present day

This is not going well, Cal Kestis thinks wryly to himself as spins his lightsaber in his hand, the blue laser blocking blaster bolts and sending them ricocheting back towards the Stormtroopers firing them his way.

The fire from the Troopers is relentless and more and more units in white clad armour continue to pour in through the great ceremonial entrance of the Temple to the ancient Spori civilization.

It is clear to the Jedi now that he has severely underestimated the scale of the Empire's presence on Spori, and their interest in the ruined Temple.

As he raises his saber above his head to parry a strike from a Scout Trooper with a stun baton, he groans inwardly as he remembers the misplaced confidence with which he'd bid farewell to the rest of the crew of the Mantis as they dropped him off and set out on a supply run.

"In and out," he'd quipped. "Easy."

Idiot.

Cal's constant companion, the small bipedal droid, BD-1, is crouched low atop his usual resting place on the Jedi's shoulder. He peeks out every so often to analyse the increasingly desperate situation beeping and whirring unsolicited combat advice in binary.

"Yeah buddy, I know, I know, I know..." Cal mutters through gritted teeth as he is forced to swing his lightsaber in what has become a series of exclusively defensive manoeuvres.

The pace is unsustainable.

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

You are perched on the shoulder of a gargantuan stone statue, a grand monument to a respected Spori High Priestess. You gaze down at swathes of Stormtroopers as they pour into the ruined Temple.

You've just retrieved a data archive from the inner sanctum of the Temple. The Spori were an ancient civilization who, above all else valued knowledge and spent hundreds if not thousands of years collating information on other peoples, some now lost to the mists of time or ravages of war, including the Jedi.

When you'd heard about the Imperial invasion of Spori, you knew you needed to retrieve the archive in order to preserve any surviving ancient knowledge of the Jedi Order before the Empire could either destroy it or use it for some nefarious purpose...

When you first arrived, although you'd had to evade the occasional Imperial patrol on your trek from the Spori capital across the planet's rugged landscape, there was not the slightest hint of Imperial presence around the Temple itself. It was practically peaceful.

Now, it looked like the Empire had deployed an entire kriffing garrison to the ancient ruin.

From the safety of your high vantage point you watch the chaos unfold below. Or, more accurately, you stare in disbelief at the shockingly familiar figure wielding a blue lightsaber at the very eye of the storm.

"Cal," you breathe out his name.

He's older of course, but it's unquestionably Cal Kestis. You'd recognise that flaming red hair anywhere. He has a short beard to match now and, annoyingly, you come to the conclusion that he has undergone a considerable growth spurt in the last decade or so and he now looks to be much taller than you.

He has a little red and white droid with him. It clings to the Jedi's back, swaying perfectly in tune with its master's movements, never finding itself unbalanced. It's as if the BD unit is an extension of Cal's anatomy.

Cal moves with determination and confidence, striking and parrying with alarming accuracy and speed. It is the fighting form of a competent and experienced warrior, his physicality at once both elegant and deadly. It's a far cry from the stilted and unsure combat stance of the young boy who used to pull his punches in training.

Still, the Troopers just keep on coming and Cal is obviously tiring. He is now on the back foot and will soon be overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of Imperial soldiers.

You need to do something.

Scanning your surroundings, your eyes clock the huge, monolithic stone lintel slab hanging above the ceremonial entrance to the Temple. There's a weakness in the left side pillar. If you brought it down with the Force, you could seal off the Imp's only ingress point. Then you would only have to dispatch of the Stormtroopers already inside.

You'll have to find another way out of the ruin itself of course, but that's a problem for later. The situation is becoming dire and this is the thing you can think of to do.

Suddenly, a Rocket Trooper dives at great velocity and collides into Cal, slamming his boots into the trunk of the Jedi's body and sending the him sprawling across the floor where he curls into a ball,. His lightsaber rolls across the flagstones with a mournful clinking sound.

You stand up, using the Force to balance and centre yourself, to find strength. You puff out your cheeks and exhale sharply through your lips. Then, you jump.

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

Cal writhes on the ground clutching his abdomen at the agonising point of impact where the Trooper had barrelled feet into him feet first.

Didn't see that one coming.

He gasps in deep lungfuls of air as he desperately tries to regulate his breathing through the pain.

Another broken rib? No. Thank the Force. But he's severely winded and there'll be bruising for sure. He knows he needs to move but kriff it hurts.

BD-1, who was thrown from his shoulder on impact, is now dancing from foot to little metallic foot next to him, urging him to get up.

Suddenly, he hears the unmistakable song of another lightsaber and he looks up in awe to see a stranger standing in front of him, purple blade cutting through the air and deflecting the continuing onslaught of blaster bolts.

The figure is hooded, and even when they are forced to turn towards him as they wheel around to interrupt the advance of a Scout Trooper attempting to flank them, he can't see the face hidden behind the folds of material.

Something in the Force nags at him. There is a strange familiarity in the presence of this mysterious warrior who has come to his aid.

Spurred on by curiosity, Cal steels himself and tries to rise, extending out a hand to bring his lightsaber into his hand with the Force. Too late, he registers a flash of white in his peripheral vision as a Stormtrooper's boot collides with his temple and everything snaps into blackness.

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

You've been stood watch beside an unconscious Cal for almost ten minutes. The dust is still settling from the avalanche of rock you brought tumbling down to the ancient Temple floor. The plan worked. Tonnes of rubble now separate you and Cal from the Empire.

You look down at your childhood friend. Blacked out from a kick to the head or not, you can't believe he slept though that noise. You're just starting to get worried when he finally stirs and groans. His little droid, who has since introduced himself as BD-1, boops hopefully.

"Cal?"

His green eyes, still shockingly familiar despite the passage of time, flicker open. When they finally focus and lock on to yours, they widen in alarm.

Cal leaps clumsily to his feet and stumbles backwards away from you. Disoriented and in pain, he staggers, one hand clutching at his side with the movement, the other held out in from of him. His mouth is agape, and he stares at you as if he's seen a ghost.

Cal says your name as if it's a question. It's barely a whisper.

“Yes,”

“You're...here?" His voice is faltering, unsure. "You're not...?”

Dead? You think he's going to say.

"...not a dream?

“It's me Cal," you reply and your voice is hushed with emotion, "it's really me.”

Cal drops heavily to his knees and you dart forwards to catch him, fearing he's about to pass out again. Instead, when you are kneeling face to face, he grasps your hands in his.

“I can't believe it,” he says breathlessly.

You bring your forehead to rest against his for a moment until he pulls you in a hug so tight you can barely breathe. You return it anyway, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing as if to prove to him that you are not an illusion or some cruel trick of the Force.

He winces and it breaks the spell. You let him go and cast your eyes over him, examining for wounds.

"Force, sorry," you apologise, "Anything broken?"

Cal gingerly lifts up his dark grey shirt which is filthy with dust and grime but no visible blood. He reveals one side of his bruised torso and you can't help but notice how, under the welts, the muscles there are sculpted and strong. Even on this small part of his body, his skin is littered with scars. Like you, it seems, Cal is living the life of a warrior.

"Not this time..." he quips, letting the material fall back into place.

BD-1 jumps up onto Cal's shoulder and gives him a little butt with his flat, rectangular head. The droid ejects a small cannister from one of his compartments and Cal catches it, injecting green liquid into his chest. A healing stim.

"Thanks buddy."

Cautiously, Cal pushes himself to his feet where he stands with his hands on his hips, inspecting the huge pile of rubble covering what was once the grand and sacred entrance to the Spori Temple.

"That got anything to do with you?" he asks, gesturing casually at the mess.

You dust off your hands as you rise to stand beside him.

"Someone had to save your ass. Thought I might as well make an impression on the Empire at the same time."

He looks at you and for the first time since you've reunited with him, he smiles properly. Your heart soars. It's the same boyish grin you remember so well.

"Could be a problem."

"Maybe not..." you reply as you pull out the data pad you'd loaded up with an Old Republic era holo map of the Temple. The technological backflips you'd had to do to get that thing to run on your device...

BD-1 boops indignantly.

That's my job.

"Look at these tunnels," you continue, placating the little droid with a gentle pat to the head as you speak, "they connect to various ceremonial chambers, some functional rooms too, and then out the other side. I think they were once service passageways. It's the long way round, it'll take us a couple of days but..."

"Why are you here?" Cal asks suddenly, as if the thought has only just occurred to him.

He's looking at you questioningly. It's not suspicion. It's a sort of sharp curiosity, and you suddenly become aware of the obvious. That you and Cal are here for the same purpose.

Nevertheless, you trust him implicitly. You bend down and reach into your small knapsack which is currently resting by your feet. You rummage around until you find the tiny golden data sphere which holds the Spori culture archive.

"Why are you here?" You counter, although you suspect your theory must be correct.

Sure enough, Cal raises his eyebrows and nods towards the object in your palm.

"Figures," you say.

You are interrupted by the unmistakable din of a laser firing through rock. The Empire have obviously brought in heavy duty cutting equipment. They must want the Spori archive more than you thought.

"Work it out later?" Cal suggests.

You nod in agreement, before stuffing the data sphere back into your bag and grabbing Cal's hand, leading him briskly towards the nearest service tunnel marked on your map.

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

You and Cal follow the old passageways for miles. The two of you fall back into your old, easy way of conversation as if no time has passed at all. Your laughter echoes through the ruin, filling up forgotten rooms and dormant chambers where the ring of voices has not been heard in centuries.

Finally, the tunnel you are following leads out to a cavernous ceremonial chamber. It is an extravagantly long hall and all the way down there are huge pillars, inset with hundreds of alcoves where candles must once have been placed for illumination. You try to imagine a grand feast being held here, priests and dignitaries and attendants all floating across the chamber in their opulent ceremonial garb.

Cal nudges you, starting you out of your reverie. You look at him and he nods down the long room towards the furthest two pillars in the distance.

"Race ya."

"Oh, you are so on, Kestis," You accept and crouch into a starting position, welcoming a chance to properly stretch your legs. "On three...One..."

"Woah, woah, woah!" Cal suddenly exclaims, holding up his hands. "Not so fast. On three or after three?"

You turn to him and roll eyes as you register the mischievous smirk on his face. You've had this argument so many times.

"Remember that race with Kya and Mez?" He snorts with laughter, "You were so mad!"

"That's because you all cheated!" You argue and you can't believe that over a decade later, that particular defeat still riles you. "Everybody knows when you say on three, that means you go after three."

"No, that's what after three means!" Cal protests, your seriousness surrounding the situation only causing his mirth to increase.

You know he's right, but you were always so competitive back then. You always wanted, needed to win. Master Daylum had tried to temper and hone that determined spirit into something more refined but, even now, you aren't sure that you've even been able to tame that particular fault in your nature.

You remember once in sparring training, you'd thrown down your training saber in annoyance.

"Why are you doing that?!" You yelled at Cal, who was partnering you, storming across to him and shoving him hard in the chest.

You were convinced that he was holding back with his strikes and it was making you irate. You wanted a proper fight otherwise your victory would be hollow.

"Just because you are scared of everything doesn't mean I am!"

You'd stalked off, leaving him with an expression of shock and hurt on his face. Within five minutes, you'd regained your composure and your insides squirmed with the shame and guilt of unjustly embarrassing your friend.

Later that night, you'd snuck into Cal's quarters to apologise. He accepted with his usual good grace and, as you left, you'd placed a chaste peck on his cheek which made his face turn almost as red as his hair.

Cal was always quick to forgive you after that.

"Ok, ok, fine," you concede, bringing your mind back to the present.

You are unable to stop a smile spreading across your face as Cal struggles to stop his chuckling beside you. You'd always found his laughter infectious and nothing seemed to have changed there. Maybe, maybe you can see the funny side now.

"After three then," you say.

You both adopt a low stance in preparation to dart forwards and get the best start possible. You look at each other and grin and Cal starts to count.

"One...two...three..."

Before Cal can say go!, you set off at a blistering pace. You hear a scrabble of boots on loose stones and an indignant shout of hey! behind you as he scrambles into a run after you. From his perch on Cal's shoulder, BD-1 trills a similar reproval.

You laugh, exhilarated. The wind rushes in your face and through your hair as you pump your arms and legs as fast as you can. You feel like a child again. You feel free.

As you push your body harder, you reach into the Force and you sense the strength of Cal's presence, both familiar and new, in tune with yours. Something warm blooms inside you. It's as if a piece of you has been missing all these years.

It's meant to be like this, you think.

Cal is fast but you've always been quicker than him, your nimble frame allowing you to cover the ground like something feline. Even with his new advantage of height and longer legs, there's no way he'll catch you now as you speed towards the pillars and victory.

You raise your arms in triumph as you cross the makeshift finish line. You turn and Cal is right on your tail, BD-1 crouched low on his shoulder as if to be the cause of the least wind resistance possible.

Cal barely slows as he swoops behind you, grabbing you by the waist. You shriek with laughter and he picks you up and spins you around before setting your feet back down on the crumbling flagstones.

"Cheat!" He accuses, but his expression is joyful and his eyes sparkle with glee.

He puts his hands on his knees and folds over in an exaggerated gesture of catching his breath.

"Now you know what it feels like," you counter, and you slump down against the nearest pillar, enjoying the sensation of the cool stone against your back.

Cal joins you so that you are sitting shoulder to shoulder.

"Force, you're still so competitive," he says.

"And you're still such a sore loser."

You stick your tongue out at him and you both laugh.

You suddenly realise how tired you are. You and Cal have been walking and scrambling and clambering across miles of difficult, dangerous terrain for hours. The Temple is mostly in ruin now and so many parts of it have collapsed or caved in, placing obstacle after unexpected obstacle in your path.

"Rest?"

Cal takes a swig of water from his canteen pouch and grins.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

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

10 years ago

"Padawan, your lightsaber!" Master Tapal admonishes as Cal's weapon skids across the floor and plummets into the oblivion of the turbo-lift shaft.

There is an uncharacteristic note of panic in his Master's voice. It causes a spike of fear to pierce through the young Padawan's very soul and makes him more afraid than even the betrayal of the once friendly Clones, the onslaught of blaster fire that seems to come at him from every direction, and the screeching, disorienting cacophony of the Venator's blaring alarms put together.

"Sorry Master!" Cal exclaims as he scrambles onwards and upwards, towards the escape pods feeling vulnerable and helpless without his weapon.

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

His Master lies dead on the floor before him. As the escape pod gives a terrifying shudder as it disengages from the Venator, Cal throws himself into one of the vessel's seats, fumbling to secure his safety belt.

He wonders what's become of you. The guilt and shame of his failure washes over him anew as he remembers your stricken face as you fell away from his grasp. He wasn't strong enough to help you. If you're dead, it'll be all his fault. Just like his Master.

The young Padawan clutches his Tapal's lightsaber tightly to his chest and squeezes his eyes shut. Finally, he allows himself to let out a wail of despair as he hurtles through space alone towards the planet of Bracca and the unknown.

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

Present Day

Cal is still asleep. You're not sure how - he can't possibly be comfortable. He's lying flat on his back, arms folded across his chest, using a low stone slab as a makeshift pillow.

You have no idea whether the Empire have been successful in their efforts to break through into the Temple and you know you really should get going. But Cal looks so peaceful, you don't want to wake him. Not yet.

Fondly, you examine his face, reacquainting yourself with the constellations of freckles that sit on his nose and cheeks. You still can't get over how grown up he looks. How handsome he's become. The beard gives him a rather dashing appearance.

You wonder how he got that scar across his nose which disappears as it reaches his right cheek then reappears again on his neck. You don't doubt he's got many such marks from his scrapper's life on Bracca.

Deftly, you reach out with the Force. You smile. Elements of his presence feel so familiar to you - Earnest, honest, kind-hearted Cal.

But there is also determinedness, a level headedness, and a self-assuredness you've never felt from him before. You feel a rush of emotion as you realise it reminds you of the steady, secure feeling you used to sense from Master Tapal once you'd stopped being scared of the purple Lasat's outwardly stern demeanour and truly giagantic size.

Whenever you and Cal got into trouble - or, perhaps more accurately, whenever you got Cal into trouble - by sneaking out into the Gardens of the Jedi Temple after hours or some such similar escapade, Master Daylum would almost always lead the reprimand, while Master Tapal would merely observe, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

As an adult, you understand now that the Lasat considered your independent spirit and rebellious nature to be a good balancer for his sometimes overly cautious and uncertain Padawan.

You retrain your mind on Cal. There's something else, something he hides, deep within himself. You realise it's the same bitter collection of feelings that you have struggled with every day since the violent extermination of your Order.

Doubt. Grief. Fear.

You pull back, realising you are teetering on the edge between curiosity and trespass. As if the you have summoned these unpleasant notions to the surface of the sleeping young man's psyche, Cal starts to mumble in his sleep. He twists and jerks as if he's having a terrible nightmare.

You crouch beside him and shake him gently by the shoulder in a desperate attempt to wake him. It takes longer than you would like and as he catapults back into consciousness, he sits bolt upright, his broad shoulders heaving up and down as his breath comes in short, sharp pants.

His eyes flash wildly as he reorients himself and when they finally lock on to yours they blaze with the intensity of green kyber. It's as if he's relieved all over again to see that you are alive.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he blurts out, "I left you there. I left you on that ship."

"No, Cal" you say softly and you place a hand on his bearded cheek.

You've never blamed him. Not once.

Over the years, you've been unable to quash a secretly harboured shard of resentment towards the Jedi, despite your love for the Order you once called home, your family. As an adult, you started to find yourself doubting the morality and the wisdom of training young children to be weapons and sending them off to war.

Nowadays, for the most part, you are able to reconcile your loyalty to the Order with these criticisms, but the realisation that Cal still perceives what happened on the Venator as some kind of personal failing makes these feelings flare up within you all over again.

"No," you repeat and your tone is firmer now, "we were kids, Cal. We both did what we had to to survive in a situation we should never have had to face.”

Cal shakes his head and looks away.

“Do you ever dream of it? Of the Venator?” he asks, staring into the distance.

“All the time,” you answer truthfully and you smile sadly.

You are relieved to see that when Cal trains his gaze back onto your face, his expression, while still sombre, is less feverish.

"How did you escape?"

"I commandeered a shuttle," you explain, then smirk, "Crashed it, of course. Into a field on Pelka-4."

"That sounds like you," Cal quips, and you are glad when the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

"I was lucky. A family of farmers found me. They kept me safe, hidden while I healed. I stayed with them for a few years until I managed to find a Rebel cell to join. Been sticking it to the Empire ever since."

You suddenly realise that neither of you have spoken about your lives after the purge until now. You don't know anything about the last ten years of Cal's existence.

"What about you?" You ask.

"Ended up on Bracca," Cal says and he lifts the sleeve of his shirt to display a tattoo on the underside of his right forearm.

It's a worker identification tag and you feel a surge of sympathy for him. Force what a hard life for a kid.

"Scrapper," he continues, "Until, one day, I used the Force to save a friend from a fall. He died anyway when the Inquisitors came for me."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too..." Cal rubs the back of his neck as he continues, "I was working with a team including another Jedi for a while. It's complicated, but we went our separate ways and I've been part of Saw Guerra's operation since."

"You're working for Saw Gerrera?"

"I'm working with Saw Gerrera."

You both look at each other and burst into laughter, knowing that the formidable Rebel warlord himself certainly wouldn't see it that way.

"What does Gerrera want with a Spori data archive?"

"He doesn't," Cal says, "but intel picked up a lot of Imperial activity in the area and I knew that's what they were after. I wanted to take it out the game before they could get to it."

You take the Spori data sphere out of your knapsack again and hold it out towards Cal in your open hand.

"What do we do with it now?"

Cal reaches out and closes your palm around the device.

"If you have somewhere safe for it," he says, his emerald gaze earnest, his voice low and sincere, "You get it there."

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

Cal doesn't need to wonder if he's made the right decision in suggesting you take custody of the Spori archive. He's not ready to visit Cere on Jedha, and Saw Gerrera's numerous bases of operations are constantly at risk of Imperial attack. Smaller cells, like yours, are easier to hide, easier to move. More than that, he trusts you completely to keep the sphere safe.

Even as a child, you were the most capable, determined, head-strong person he's ever met. Nothing's changed. You still make him laugh until he cries and he can't believe quite how much he's missed being relentlessly teased by you.

Having you near him again is enchanting. He feels drawn to you, like the invisible chord that has tied you together all of your lives has suddenly been pulled taut and you are being pulled inexorably towards each other.

Despite the circumstances you find yourselves in, Cal is happier with you down here in the dark with you than he's been in years.

And it really is dark down here. And damp. And cold. Squeezing through the Spori service tunnels which seem to be in more and more disrepair the further you go, it is as if there are unnamed things skittering about in the blackness.

Cal tries to put this down to the loose pebbles and stones you both kick up as you make your way through the ruined passageways, but he's not convinced.

He doesn't much like small spaces, but as you make progress down the increasingly narrowing passage in front of him, BD-1 on your shoulder lighting the way, Cal can feel your panic rising in the Force.

He suddenly remembers that you are severely claustrophobic and he scolds himself for forgetting. How could he not remember the night he sat up for hours holding your trembling hand in the Jedi Temple's med bay after your experience on Ilum.

Master Yoda had taken you and Cal with your peers to the ice planet for the ceremonial Gathering, the traditional rite of passage where young Padawans explore the great ice caves to source the kyber crystals with which to construct their lightsabers.

The ritual was always somewhat dangerous, but you'd had a particularly fraught time, falling down an ice crevasse and almost getting stuck between the tightly packed sheets of ice. You were forced to crawl and squeeze your way out in the dark all alone.

You were hours later than everybody else. Cal remembers how he came the closest he'd ever been to disobedient, sneaking away from the pack of Padawans and Master Yoda himself who were waiting by the transport ship outside the caves for your return.

Determined to try and find you himself, Cal made it halfway to the entrance unseen - or so he liked to think - when you finally emerged from the caves, hunched over and limping, but your kyber crystal firmly in hand.

The Jedi Council had been impressed with your perseverance and bravery, but Cal had never quite forgiven them for allowing you to suffer like that.

"This is only getting narrower, Cal," you say, jolting him out of his memories. He can hear the uncertainty in your voice, "Maybe we should go back."

BD-1 lets out a little boop which is almost a scoffing sound.

"It's ok for you, buddy," Cal reminds him patiently, "You're very small."

He hears the droid trill a bashful apology in your ear.

"That's ok, BD-1," you say and the genuine warmth in your voice makes Cal smile. You always had a weakness for cute droids, even when they were cheeky.

"Kriff," you swear softly in front of him as you come to a halt so abrupt he almost crashes into you.

In the dim light, Cal can see that part of the tunnel has collapsed. He watches as BD-1 hops off your back, and scurries into the small opening on the ground. Glad of something to do, the droid proudly scans the terrain and projects the way ahead. It's not blocked and it's not far, but it'll be tight. You'll have to crawl.

Cal places a hand on your shoulder and has to resist the urge to recoil as your fear arcs through the Force and passes through his own body so acutely that it feels like a bolt of electricity.

"I'll go first," he says.

The narrow corridor is barely wide enough for two people. You press yourself as flat as you can against the damp stone wall so that Cal can squeeze past. He raises his arms and rests his palms against the rock either side of your head for balance as he steps cautiously in between and around your feet and legs.

It's intimate, almost awkwardly so. Cal hopes you don't notice the blush he can feel creeping up his neck as he is forced to press his body into yours as he climbs over you. He looks down into your eyes as he passes, raising his eyebrows and tilting his chin upwards in mock flirtation in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He is relieved when you giggle and jab him playfully in the ribs. He can't help but notice that your cheeks have turned a rather fetching shade of pink, no doubt mirroring his own, as BD's torch lamp passes over your face.

Something inside him glows as he realises you feel it too - the ember of something new between you smouldering into life as your shared past collides with the present.

But now, he needs to concentrate. Reluctantly, he brushes aside the giddy feeling you've awakened within him and he reaches into the Force. He inhales then exhales deeply, slowing his racing heart as he focuses on the task in hand. Then, following BD-1's lead, he crouches down and crawls head first into the gap in the stone work.

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

If your lungs didn't feel so constricted, so full of dust and musty, cloying air, you'd probably scream. When you'd squeezed yourself into the collapsed passageway after Cal, at first you'd been able to crawl on your hands and knees. That was almost tolerable but now... Now you are now flat on your stomach, making painstaking progress by clutching at the rough, stony ground in front of you with your fingers and pulling yourself along like some undead creature in a horror holo novel.

You try to ground yourself in the Force, but just like when you were a child, your panic has severed your connection to it, cut you off from it, leaving you adrift in the painful void of its absence.

Suddenly, you hear the scrabbling of Cal's body and boots against the ground ahead. Before you can register what's happening you are plummeted into darkness, BD-1's headlamp extinguishing without warning.

Oh Force, they've fallen down some crack in the ancient structure, plummeting into oblivion where the earth has swallowed them whole and now you're stuck here in the dark alone with no way forward and no chance of turning around...

The sharp, solid ice - no, this isn't Ilum - rock bites through your clothing, stony shards pressing into your body as your chest expands with your panicked breathing.

"Cal?" You gasp out, then, in a shout that's almost a scream, "Cal?!"

Abruptly, your eyes are assaulted with a white light so bright it dazzles you. You jump and hit your head painfully on the stone ceiling above you. A pair of hands, Cal's hands you realise, reach through the blinding light of BD's torch and you snatch at them wildly as if he might withdraw them and leave you there alone in the dark.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't. With ease, he pulls you gently through the last little length of the tunnel and up onto your feet where you emerge gasping and wheezing as if you've been held under water.

You throw your arms around Cal's neck in relief, launching yourself at him with such force that he staggers backwards. Once he's regained his footing, he places a hand at the small of your back, drawing you close to him and cradles your head to his chest with the other. His heart beats out a sonorous, steady rhythm and resonates through your own body, slowing your breathing and calming your rattled nerves.

Funny, you always used to be the one to comfort him when you were children.

"I've got you," he whispers gently into your ear, "I've got you."

A passing thought that maybe you should be embarrassed for allowing your fear to overwhelm you like this is discarded almost immediately as Cal places a soft kiss gently on the top of your head.

A feeling of warmth rushes through you. You suddenly realise how safe you feel with him as you press into the warmth of his strong, solid body. You breathe in his old familiar smell which has a new, heady quality to it like clean leather mixed with the oddly pleasant scent of his physical exertions.

"Sorry..." you mumble, finally, into his chest, hoping he can't feel where your panicked tears have rolled unbidden down your cheeks and soaked into the fabric of his shirt, "I was thinking about..."

"Ilum," Cal finishes for you, "I know."

"You remember?" you say, pulling back to look at him.

He smiles kindly.

"I remember."

You shiver. Is it the memory of that icy planet that still chills your bones? No, you decide, it really is cold in here. Although, you realise, the air feels and smells different somehow. Fresher. Sweeter.

Reluctantly, you extricate yourself from Cal's arms and take a look around the Spori chamber you've just put yourself through hell to get to.

Except...you're not in a chamber at all. You're not even inside.

You look upwards and see stars twinkling above you, a million points of light in the darkness. Around you, the roofless, crumbling remains of the Spori Temple stretch raggedly into the inky sky like skeletal fingers.

You think back to when you'd studied the climate of planet and the geographical position of the Temple before setting off on your mission. The ancient structure would certainly be exposed to harsh winds on this northern side, especially in the formidable Spori winter. This part of the Temple has simply not weathered the ravages of time.

In the twilight, you take in the shadowy treeline of a great forest which lays across a meadow of high, fragrant grass which sways gently in the breeze. The tops of far away mountains are illuminated by the ethereal blue light of Spori's twin moons. The natural beauty of the place is magical.

You fill your lungs with beautiful, clean air. You can breathe again. You let out a joyful whoop, throwing your head back and laughing, stretching your hands up into the night sky and spinning round and round in the glorious open landscape.

When you finally stop, you notice that Cal is watching you with an expression of pure delight.

"We did it!" You say breathlessly, coming to rest in front of him and he laughs.

BD-1 hops from foot to foot in front of you, wanting to join in your celebration. You crouch down and scoop the little droid into a tight embrace where he purrs like a Loth cat. After a minute, he hops out of your arms and across to his usual spot on Cal's shoulder.

Cal's face is covered in dirt which runs in dark streaks down his cheeks where rivulets of sweat have trickled their path. You imagine you look similar. Automatically, you reach up and rub at the patch of grime caked above his left eyebrow with your thumb.

Cal brings his hand up to rest against yours as he leans into your touch. His expression is soft and there is a longing in his face so intense that he almost looks lost. You burn with a sudden yearning for him as his gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips.

Something chirps, breaking the spell. Cal reaches into his back pocket to pull out a small data pad.

"The Mantis can pick us up here in the morning," he says, inserting coordinates into the device and transmitting them to his crew, "We can drop you back wherever you need to be if you want a ride?"

Your heart sinks and you can tell by Cal's regretful expression that your face has fallen with it. In your euphoria, you'd almost forgotten that your reunion was probably only temporary.

Cal looks crestfallen by your reaction and you know he must realise that, however unintended, the abrupt shift in tone would have seemed callous to you. You can tell that he is searching for the words to repair the damage - he still has this need to say the right thing.

But it's too late.

"Sure," you reply, and you hate the coldness in your tone.

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

Cal is lying on his side in the grass, somewhat sheltered in the corner of the part of the ruin you'd chosen for your camp. It's little more than a cluster of decaying stones, but it's better than nothing and it keeps the wind at bay. You've built a fire for warmth and placed yourselves at either side of it.

As Cal studies your peaceful face through the leaping, crackling flames, he smiles to himself. You look so beautiful to him, as you always had. Even on your worst days when your temper or your hard-headedness won out, he'd always likened you to a force of nature - a tempest or a forest fire. Something elemental.

The thought of going through another separation from you is unbearable. He curses his thoughtlessness earlier. He was certain that he had just about plucked up the courage to kiss you. Sensing your own feelings through the Force, he was almost sure that you wouldn't have rejected him and he'd certainly been willing to take that chance.

Wallowing in self-pity for this missed opportunity made it impossible to even think about sleep. If only that blasted device hadn't interrupted the moment.

And besides all that inner turmoil, Cal's teeth are chattering so loud in his skull that he's certain they could wake the dead, never mind himself. While softer than the solid rock that had been serving as his bedding recently, the turf beneath him is damp and the chill is seeping through his clothing and into his skin. He is so uncomfortable.

"Cal?"

Just as his eyelids start to droop, he hears you speak his name in a soft, sleepy voice. When he looks across at you, you are sitting up, the firelight dancing across the bright, glassy orbs of your eyes, your hair wild.

Force you look ethereal.

"Are you cold?" You ask.

"Freezing," Cal admits.

"Me too," you pause before saying in a hushed tone that makes Cal's stomach flip, "Come here."

He hesitates for a moment before he does as as he's bid, standing and making his way over to you. Wordlessly, you reach up to him and he takes you hand in his as you guide him to lie at your back and return to your position on your side. He feels a heady thrill when you press yourself into him as he curls his body around your smaller frame.

Cal laces one arm underneath you while the other wraps around your waist, holding you flush against him. You clasp the hand the hand that rests against your stomach in your own. Cal wonders if you can feel his heart slamming against his chest.

"I've missed you," he hears himself blurt out suddenly and he curses inwardly, feeling stupid.

But the temporary embarrassment fades quickly and is replaced by certainty and desire as you bring his hand up to your mouth and trace a trail of kisses across his knuckles with your soft lips.

"I can't lose you again," he continues ardently, "I can't."

Cal brushes a strand of stray hair away from your ear, as if that might allow you to heed his words more clearly.

"You won't," you say firmly, and a new sense of hope blooms inside him for the first time in a long time.

You twist towards him and onto your back, propping yourself up on your elbows to look up into his open, sincere face. Unable to resist any longer, Cal places a hand at the nape of your neck and draws you up into a deep, passionate kiss. His heart sings as your hands fly up to twist in his hair as you move your lips urgently against his.

As you embrace, Cal feels your familiar presence in the Force blossom with something new, something which glows incandescent like a beacon guiding him towards you and only you. Suddenly, every nerve in his body is on fire and, as you move together, he feels as if you are two flames blazing through the very heart of the Galaxy itself.

Only in his dreams did he ever imagine that he would see you again after that awful day on the Venator so long ago. Now, as you lie down together beneath the stars amid the mysterious ruins of the Spori Temple, Cal Kestis promises himself that whatever the future holds, he'll never let you go again.

#cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x you #cal kestis fanfiction

336 notes · View notes

bleeding0heart · 5 months ago

Text

(MedicineSeller! Kusuriuri x Mortal! Reader)

(Can be OOC!! AnyPOV!!)

♡愛して、愛して。。。♡

Existing in a world full of bloodthirsty mononokes wasn't easy, especially when you're just a fragile being, a mere weed that can easily be stepped on.

And you're no exception.

But it's okay, because he'll protect you forever.

His little flower.

•"I'm sorry."

.・゜゜・

Kusuriuri had said that it would only be a couple of hours, hours without you. Oh, how badly he wished that he'd stayed with you instead. Not only did he fail as a protector, he also failed as a friend.

An hour after Kusuriuri's department, you started to feel a strange feeling deep inside your core. Something had placed its root into your heart, a parasite feasting upon your sanity, leaving nothing but a shrill and some crumbs.

Slowly, you were filled with hatred, witnessing the wrongdoings of your kin through the parasite's lenses. You felt yourself losing control, diving deeper into the matrix of madness, becoming a fish stuck in a hurricane, unable to save yourself.

And before you knew it, you were standing in front of a burning house, a warm cottage and a happy family destroyed by your hands. Blood stained your body, your soul sealed by sins.

.・。.・゜��・

A death sentence hung over your head.

Everything was too much. Your chest felt heavy, and you felt like you couldn't breathe. You lost control of your body, and yourself.

Kusuriuri couldn't fucking believe it. Five hours, he'd only been gone for five.fucking.hours, and you're already at death's gate.

Standing amidst the mob, he watched you and the dancing flame with wide eyes. Fear? Anger? Disappointment? He didn't know, but he knew that he felt one thing: Shock.

"... Oh no..." You've been possessed, Kusu knew it. As quickly as he could, he worked to baptize you, or rather, the mononoke. Though he managed to banish it, you're still on the verge of exhaustion.

"[Name]! Snap out of it!" Yelled the medicine seller, as he ran toward you, his steps almost clumsy. He reached out, gripping your shoulder, the claws digging into the fabric of your clothes. Until then did he see your eyes.

"... C'mon... Let's go home, please..." Kusuriuri pleaded, hurriedly carrying you back to their estate.

.・゜゜・

Upon reading the news on the bulletin board, Kusuriuri felt his heart die little by little. Dropped to the pit of his stomach, to be precise.

____

░NOTICE FROM THE GOVERNMENT:

1. [Name] L/N's CRIME HAS BEEN CONFIRMED, AND THEY'VE BEEN SENTENCED TO DEATH.

2. KUSURIURI HAS BEEN DEEMED AN ACCOMPLICE IN THE INCIDENT AND IS THUS SENTENCED TO DEATH.

FURTHERMORE, ACCOMMODATING HIM WILL BE CONSIDERED A CRIMINAL ACT.

3. SHOGUN SHALL RECEIVES THE DEATH PENALTY FOR INCITING KUSURIURI AND [Name] L/N AND CAUSING THE INCIDENT.

4. THE SUSPENSION OF [Name] L/N's DEATH SENTENCE IS REVOKED AND THE EXECUTION IS TO BE CARRIED OUT IMMEDIATELY.

5. SPECIAL GRADE SORCERERS ARE APPOINTED [Name] L/N's EXECUTIONER.

____

It would only be a few more days, until Kusuriuri and you were brought to the execution place.

"Even Shogun isn't safe from this..." Kusuriuri sighed. One of his kin got dragged into this mess, all because of him, though Shogun remained safe for now. 'This can't be good'

The other kitsune was innocent, but the people chose to be ignorant. They didn't want to listen, they only wanted a reason to purge him.

[In case you're wondering, Shogun is my OC who's also a kitsune. And damn that mononoke.]

Then, they'd be "off with their heads."

#kusuriuri #mononoke 2007 #mononoke 2024 #mononoke kusuriuri #cliffhanger #x reader

35 notes · View notes

thesilliestrovingalive · 3 months ago

Text

Updated: November 21, 2024

Reworked Group #1: Rebel Army

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, fanaticism, drug usage, and SA.

Overview

Multiple terrorist organisations began to form near the start of the 21st century, fueled by rapid technological advancements and escalating violence. For most of the past 20 years, these groups lacked cohesion and were merely a nuisance to the Regular Army, who didn't consider them a significant threat. However, everything changed in 2023 when the Central Park bombing claimed the lives of Field Marshal Donald Morden's wife, daughter, and son, forever altering the course of events.

He was deeply disturbed by this news and learned that the Regular Army had opportunities to prevent the tragedy, but failed to do so. He attributed this failure to systemic issues within the government and military. Following a period of personal struggle and disillusionment, he resigned and eventually disappeared from public view, accompanied by a group of loyal troops who admired him as a leader.

Behind closed doors, Morden began to slowly build up his army, establishing a unique structure for his military organisation and specialised divisions such as the Japanese Infantry and Arabian Infantry. He even acquired ancient technology that had once belonged to his ancestors, the Tuatha Dé Danann. Most of his troops were genetically enhanced using Tuatha Dé Danann technology from the Hadean Eon, which explains why many of them shared a pale complexion and identical physical characteristics—the varying shades of black and blonde hair, and eyes that ranged from deep blue to vibrant cyan. Additionally, Morden consolidated various extremist groups and insurgent forces into his organisation and procured some military technology from the Regular Army through clandestine means.

They prove to be more than a match for the Regular Army, boasting horrifyingly vast and varied resources as well as legions of fanatically loyal infantry equipped with an array of weapons beyond imagination. Their troops are known for their devotion to duty, but have been observed to flee when faced with a particularly dire situation. Although their ranks appear endless and their weapons are brutally effective, some of their arsenal seems somewhat outdated. Furthermore, their combat skills and strategies are arguably less sophisticated than those employed by the Regular Army.

In 2026, the Rebel Army emerged, revealing itself as a military organisation. Led by General Donald Morden, the Rebel Army launched a series of coups aimed at purging the government and military of corruption. However, Morden's ambition was tainted by a megalomaniacal desire for global domination. As a result of this tainted ambition, the main goal of the Rebel Army shifted to overthrowing the Earth Federation and establishing a worldwide authoritarian state under the iron-fisted rule of General Morden. Despite suffering numerous defeats at the hands of elite forces, including the Peregrine Falcons Squad, S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., Ikari Warriors, and Division 6, the Rebel Army remained resolute in their goal to expose the corruption within all governments and military forces. They have gone to extreme lengths to achieve their objective, forging alliances with the Amadeus Syndicate, Pipovulaj Army, and Ptolemaic Army.

Insignia

It features a white circle, outlined in scarlet, with a black dragon at its centre. The dragon's wings are outstretched, and it grasps a human skull with its sharp claws.

Uniforms

Cadet Uniform

They wear a champagne-hued sleeveless shirt, paired with a light grey armband featuring the Rebel Army insignia. Over the shirt, they wear a short-sleeved jacket with an olive green, terracotta, and sandy beige camouflage pattern. This jacket has four pockets for storage and two hidden strapped compartments. Their headgear consists of a black beret with a scarlet stripe and a white stripe, and a rolled light grey neckerchief secured with a terracotta woggle. They also wear a dark brown utility belt for carrying essential gear, sandy beige army cargo pants tucked into black combat boots, and olive green knee and elbow pads.

Commanding Officer Uniform

They wear a feldgrau military coat with the Rebel Army insignia emblazoned on the left side, adorned with silvery epaulets and gilded aiguillettes featuring rhomboid-cut reddish amethyst pieces. The coat has dark green cuffs and a rise-and-fall collar, a silver-white eight-button front, and a scalloped rear vent. Their attire is completed with a red-violet necktie, crimson gloves, navy blue trousers, and charcoal grey jackboots. On their head, they wear an Imperial Italic-style helmet, embellished with alternating black and yellow plumes.

Special Forces

They wear dark green gas masks with orange-tinted lenses and an industrial tube connected to a bulky metallic grey air tank with three light blue stripes centred on it, which is strapped to their shoulders. They wear olive green gloves, a coffee brown Kevlar vest, beige combat boots with crimson spiked soles, and a gilded armband bearing the insignia of the Rebel Army. Their uniform consists of saffron-yellow, navy blue, and black camo army cargo pants and field tunic, featuring a luxor gold collar and four front patch pockets with scalloped flaps and pleats.

Their coffee brown belt, adorned with a gilt-brass buckle, features seven black pouches for ammunition and a scarlet waist pack containing basic medical supplies, such as bandages. They carry olive green rucksacks bearing the Rebel Army insignia, containing a wide range of supplies, including tactical explosives, portable ammo boxes, canteens filled with water, weapons, additional medical supplies, gas masks, and walkie-talkies.

Bodyguards

They wear bulky, neurally-controlled exosuits with a dark, iridescent nanoceramic coating, providing adaptive protection and augmented mobility. The suit features AI-driven strength amplification, thermal regulation, and self-healing joints for unparalleled flexibility. Their armour is complemented by a holographic visor helmet emblazoned with the Rebel Army's insignia, equipped with a neural interface offering real-time tactical projections and voice command. They don a chromatic gas mask with retinal implants, granting enhanced low-light vision, dual nano-filter mounts, and a voice modulator encircled by fractal-patterned, silver-nanowire spikes.

Their integrated load-bearing backpack stores additional supplies, including ammunition, medical kits, tactical gear (e.g. smoke grenades), rations, and hydration pack. Underneath their exoskeletons, the bodyguards wear a tactical, high-coverage ballistic bodysuit made from a dense, flexible kevlar-latex hybrid material. Their bodysuits are a deep, rich scarlet colour and feature strategically integrated, articulated padding at the shoulders, elbows, and knees.

They’re primarily armed with a Mauser C96 pistol for close-quarters engagement, FG 42 rifle for versatile, high-accuracy firepower, and an MG 42 machine gun with bipod foregrip for sustained, heavy suppressive fire. The Mauser C96 can be equipped with an extended magazine and silencer attachment, the FG 42 features a telescopic sight and folding stock, and the MG 42 boasts a high-capacity drum magazine and quick-change barrel system.

Land Troops

Troops in woodland areas wear a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) featuring a brown, beige, and olive green camouflage pattern, which holds ammunition and their walkie-talkie. They wear earthy green army cargo pants with two additional pockets on the back and field tunics with a six-button bronze front closure. They also wear an earthy green ballistic helmet, a ruddy brown belt with a bronze buckle, dark green paratrooper boots, and a fern-hued armband bearing the Rebel Army insignia. They wear dark green bandoliers that form an X-shape, holding additional ammunition. They carry moss-green load-bearing backpacks with reinforced webbing and waterproof linings, containing supplies provided by special forces such as emergency shelters and high-calorie rations.

Troops in snowy areas wear a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) featuring a white, frosty grey, and pale blue camouflage pattern, which holds ammunition and their walkie-talkie. They wear snow-drab army cargo pants with two additional pockets on the back and insulated field tunics with a six-button silver front closure. They also wear a snow-drab ballistic helmet, steel grey belt with a silver buckle, and an azure armband bearing the Rebel Army insignia. They wear black paratrooper boots lined with warm polar bear fur and equipped with crampons, which provide traction on icy ground.

They carry arctic white tactical backpacks with black accents and reinforced insulation, containing supplies provided by special forces such as thermal blankets, emergency bivvy sacks, and high-energy rations. They carry spiky riot shields made of blue-grey metal, rimmed with a scarlet stripe and a black stripe. Additionally, they carry a bluish-white canister on their back containing ice mist, which enables them to launch shards and spikes of ice at enemies.

Troops in desert areas wear a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) featuring a sandy beige, terracotta, and light grey camouflage pattern. They wear khaki army cargo pants with two additional pockets on the back and field tunics with a six-button brass front closure. They wear a khaki ballistic helmet, light brown bandanas that cover their necks, crimson-plated tactical goggles, and ivory-hued ponchos adorned with the Rebel Army insignia on the back. They also wear a reddish-grey belt with a brass buckle, tan leather paratrooper boots, and a dusty brown armband bearing the Rebel Army insignia.

They wear three reddish-grey bandoliers with two forming an X-shape across their chest, holding ammunition, and a third one positioned above their belt, holding sticks of dynamite. They carry dune-beige tactical backpacks with built-in hydration bladders and MOLLE attachments, containing supplies provided by special forces such as water purification tablets, desert survival kits, and emergency rations.

Troops who operate as fanatics are required to wear a black sheath or drop leg holster for their combat knife or electrical baton and carry their improvised weapons, including fireworks, rolling bombs, and hammers, in their backpacks. Fanatics are trained to sabotage enemy vehicles and are infamous for their lethal leaping knife attacks.

Troops who operate as grenadiers are required to wear a crimson waist pack and seven black belt pouches, each filled with grenades.

Troops who operate as bazooka wielders are required to carry an anti-tank weapon that closely resembles the American M1 Bazooka, but is emblazoned with the Rebel Army insignia. Some bazooka wielders carry around an energy-blasting bazooka similar to the one used by the Future Bazooka Soldiers from Metal Slug 7/XX. They serve as the backbone of General Morden's ground forces regiment. Bazooka wielders are specialised in tank destruction and sometimes arrive on the battlefield by parachute, typically laying down fire on any enemy soldiers on the ground.

Troops who operate as shielded soldiers are required to carry simple riot shields made of grey metal and wield a machete alongside a Desert Eagle-designed pistol. They slash at enemies with their machete when they get too close or shoot them with their pistol when they're out of machete range. They serve as a line of defence to help protect the main body of the army from enemy fire.

Troops who operate as vehicle drivers are required to carry a rocket launcher capable of firing homing missiles. Once the vehicle they were operating has been taken down, they fire one or two shots before fleeing.

Troops who operate as minelayers are required to wear a gilded or silvery drop leg holster for their combat knife and carry mines in their backpacks. Once a mine has been laid, they often flee or launch a frenzied attack against their enemies. They specialise in laying mines to eliminate careless enemies, employing stealthy tactics to sneak onto the battlefield and deploy their explosives. Alternatively, they may rush in and drop mines in strategic locations, catching their foes off guard.

Troops who operate as bikers for the Rebel Army Bike Squad are required to wear grip-enhancing greyish-brown gloves, glossy black combat boots, and bronze-plated goggles. They utilise two different types of motorbikes, the Micka Horn and Thunder Moto, for quickly reaching their destination or attacking alongside moving vehicles. Sidecar bikers have an attached sidecar with a trooper carrying either a bazooka that fires homing missiles or a highly reliable automatic rifle. Fanatic bikers perform wheelies with their motorbike and will jump off when close to an enemy, allowing the motorbike to crash into the enemy. Missile bikers have a large missile secured to their back with three ropes; when ready, they’ll detonate it, sacrificing themselves in the process and launching a massive fireball.

Troops who operate as snipers are required to carry rifles that closely resemble the Mauser Karabiner 98k, along with a crimson waist pack for their special ammunition. These rifles have a slow rate of fire and are surprisingly unreliable, often jamming after only a few shots.

Troops who operate mortars are the light artillery of the army, being required to bombard oncoming enemies with high-explosive mortar rounds.

Troops who operate as Gatling soldiers are required to carry a heavy minigun with a back-mounted ammo supply. Due to the intense recoil, rapid overheating, and high ammo expenditure, they only fire in short bursts. Their large ammo containers, made of dark grey metal, are designed to withstand several shots.

Troops who operate as flamethrower soldiers are required to carry flamethrowers connected to canisters containing flammable induction particles, which enable them to control the shape and direction of their attacks.

Marine Troops

Troops wear a specially designed mottled grey and blue camouflage wetsuit, featuring a horizontal front zip and a hood with an integrated communication earpiece pocket. They wear durable flippers with rugged spikes in a rusty orange finish, which provide stability and traction on underwater terrain. Their underwater goggles are plated with durable copper and brass for corrosion resistance and clear visibility. Finally, they wear bronze-hued, waterproof gloves, ensuring dexterity and protection while handling equipment in wet conditions.

Troops who operate as rocket divers are required to hold a giant missile on their back. They're often positioned in medium-depth waters, sneaking up on enemies before jumping out of the water and tossing their rockets at them. The camouflage wetsuits of rocket divers have a bright yellow sheen, and they use a self-contained underwater breathing apparatus connected to two bulky air tanks.

Troops who operate as marine divers are required to carry an oil drum on their back, strapped to their shoulders by sturdy rope, which is fitted with explosive charges. The camouflage wetsuits of marine divers have a reddish-black sheen, and they wear rebreathers that allow them to reach a depth of 2,000 feet (609.6 metres).

Troops who operate as cannon divers are required to carry bazooka-styled cannons, utilise flotation devices or life preservers, and hide under bridges and cliffs to wait in ambush for their enemies. The camouflage wetsuits of cannon divers have a greyish-green sheen, but some of them wear only white boxers with crimson spots beneath their flotation gear.

Aerial Troops

Troops who operate as pilots wear fire-resistant Oxford blue flight suits, adorned with multiple pockets for storing essential gear. A transparent plastic pocket on the thigh holds aeronautical charts, while a built-in utility belt features a drop leg holster for their combat knives. They wear oxygen masks and helmets with communication speakers and bronze-plated goggles to ensure clear visibility and are equipped with night vision mode. They don steel-toed muddy brown safety boots with ankle support and flotation collars that automatically inflate in water.

Their uniforms are completed with woollen champagne-hued scarves, each featuring two scarlet stripes at both ends, and lapis lazuli blue armbands bearing the Rebel Army insignia. They carry desert tan load-bearing backpacks containing supplies provided by special forces, including survival radios, high-intensity flashlights, signal flares, aeronautical compasses, and whistles.

Troops who operate as special airborne soldiers comprise the female units of the aerial division. They don a cutting-edge, neuro-linked exosuit in a sleek, obsidian blue finish, reinforced with adaptive, impact-absorbing smart materials. The suit is integrated with a motorised helicopter backpack, enabling seamless transitions between ground and air operations. Advanced, high-resolution optics are embedded in the sleek, silver mirrored piloting goggles, providing real-time data overlays, low-light enhancement, and AI-assisted navigation. A compact, high-pressure air supply system is mounted on the chest plate, incorporating advanced oxygen recycling and CO2 scrubbing technology for extended high-altitude missions.

Beneath their exoskeleton, they don a sleek black tactical jumpsuit crafted from high-strength, bullet-resistant latex, reinforced with strategic padding at vital joints. Over this, they wear a ruggedized, tan-coloured MOLLE vest, equipped with four utility pouches. These soldiers are armed with either a portable Gatling gun or an AR-10, which fire homing missiles. Additionally, they wear a sturdy waist belt holding six canisters of flammable acid and eight smoke bombs, which can be thrown at their enemies.

Vehicles

Combat Vehicles

Type-2 Di-Cokka

Type-3 Bull Chan

Type-4 Girida-O

Type-5 Iron Iso

T-2B Melty Honey

Shoe & Karn

M-15A Bradley

Denturion

Big Shiee

LV Armor

Iron Nokana

Formor

Rebel Gigant

Emain Macha

Tani Oh

Iron Sentinel

Aircraft

R-Shobu

MH-6J Masknell

Tetsuyuki

Flying Tara

Eaca-B

Hi-Do

The Keesi II

The Keesi Mk. III

Hairbuster Riberts

Naval Vessels

Jet Hammer-Yang

Hammer-Yang

U25U

Mini-Sub 88

Hozmi

Morden's Battleship

Support Vehicles

MV-280B

Nop-03 Sarubia

MG-36

3-ton Utility Truck

Landseek

Rebel Van

M-3 Rocket Launch Support Van

Dararin Dara Dara

Mini-Bata

Mini-Blimps

Kaladgolg

Walking Locomotive

Vigilance

Balor

Pipe Spider

Jupiter King

Dragon Nosuke

Working Machines

Bull Drill

Aeshi Nero

Miscellaneous

Cabracan

Fall Climber

Special Weaponry

Support

TM-1 Missiles

Turrets (Anti Aircraft, Spike Bunker, Double Bunker, and Hill Turret)

Vigilance

Laser Drone

Patrol Robot

Metal Mole

Supervisory Cameras

Sensor Mine

Pods

Rebel Walker

Mosque Artillery

Spider Droid

Biological Weapons

Mutated Soldiers

Flying Killers

Enormous Moray

Chowmein-Congas

Ohumein-Congas

Huge Hermit

Rebel Army Base

The Fortress of Königsdrache serves as the strategic headquarters for Rebel Army operations and the residence of General Morden. Notably, its design bears a striking resemblance to Morden's Castle from Metal Slug 3D. Four large dark red banners, emblazoned with the Rebel Army insignia, flank the castle on all four sides, while advanced surveillance and monitoring networks secure the interior.

Beneath its foundation, the castle features a robust hexapedal locomotion system, comprising six arachnid-inspired, cybernetic legs. These legs are reinforced with insulated dark mahogany and myrtle green wiring. The wiring interfaces with an intricate network of brass fittings and copper pipes. Notably, the design of its mechanical legs is virtually identical to those found on Morden's Castle from Metal Slug 3D.

The castle's core houses a centralised arsenal, featuring four Denturion-like cannons that launch AI-guided, quantum-entangled TM-1 Missiles. These missiles employ real-time adaptive guidance, countering evasive maneuvers with precision. Flanking the primary arsenal are dual high-energy laser cannons, their prismatic lenses pulsating with intense, supercharged plasma. Supplementing the primary arsenal, sixteen omnidirectional, auto-targeting turrets are strategically positioned along the castle's periphery. These turrets unleash hypervelocity, explosive cannonballs at detected threats, guided by sophisticated real-time predictive analytics.

The grand hall boasts a large fireplace, a circular rosewood table, a gilded throne with a turquoise-dotted crimson seat cushion, and fifty mahogany business chairs, where General Morden's strategic command team convenes, supported by communication arrays and a holographic map of the world. The central courtyard boasts a fountain showcasing a unique four-winged angel with the head of a crocodile, carrying a water jug, while a crowned swan follows closely behind. The courtyard is surrounded by lush greenery and vibrant flower beds, adorned with a variety of blooms, including foxgloves, delphiniums, peonies, clematis, honeysuckles, lavender, sunflowers, dahlias, and castor oil plants.

The castle features a stunning chapel adorned with vibrant stained-glass windows, depicting angels with magnificent wings, shown assisting humans and battling demons. It also boasts a sunny retreat for General Morden, a vast library housing a diverse collection of manuscripts and books across various genres, and a kitchen accompanied by a well-stocked pantry. Additional facilities include a dungeon designated for holding special prisoners, an infirmary for medical care, a bathhouse for relaxation, and a gatehouse for secure entry and exit.

The personal quarters of General Morden, Sagan, and Logan include three bedrooms, three private offices, a situation room, a secure storage facility for their personal arsenal and tactical gear, and direct access to the grand hall and other critical areas of the fortress via secret passageways and elevators. General Morden's Space Tank and the original Shoe & Karn, which belong to Sagan and Logan respectively, are housed in a garage that doubles as an entrance to a subterranean chamber. The basement houses 30 cyborg replicas, consisting of three sets of 10 identical units, modelled after Morden, Sagan, and Logan. Additionally, the room features a vast wardrobe, storing a customised outfit for each cyborg duplicate. The replicas stand upright in cryogenic tubes, lining both walls, receiving a vital, tar-like liquid that prevents mechanical corrosion and digital decay.

The fortress also comprises an armoury and munitions room, a heavily fortified storage facility for advanced weaponry, ammunition, and equipment; the barracks, special accommodations for elite Rebel Army personnel featuring personal quarters, training facilities, and armouries; and an intelligence hub, a cutting-edge facility for gathering, analysing, and disseminating critical information to support Rebel Army operations. Within the castle, other rooms include:

A crystal-clear sky dome with an automatic emergency closure system featuring a dark grey adamant barrier.

Comfy beds and toys for the elite’s German Shepherds and Doberman Pinschers, complete with a doggy playground and a pet grooming station.

An environmental aquarium suitable for four Enormous Morays (Helen, Linda, Jenny, and Barbie) and a few Flying Killers with a simulated ocean current and a treasure chest feeder.

A central tubular fish tank full of tiny jellyfish, surrounded by a circular seating area with velvet cushions.

A hidden passageway behind the aquarium leading to a secret room with a doggy cinema playing canine favourites.

A dog treat bar offering healthy snacks and refreshing drinks for the furry friends.

A veterinary care station with state-of-the-art equipment for any medical needs.

Extra Information

Most pilots and special airborne soldiers are Rebel Army cadets with either sufficient or barely passable piloting skills. However, some are kidnapped Regular Army cadets who have been brainwashed and enticed with promises such as financial aid—and, if female, subjected to emotional manipulation—to serve General Morden's cause. To maintain their obedience, they are forcibly administered amphetamine pills and methamphetamine injections on a weekly basis. This potentially explains why some pilots exhibit self-destructive behaviour, such as kamikaze attacks.

Fanatic land troops are known to ingest hallucinogens, believing it will render them numb to the emotional pain associated with taking lives. They also believe it will intensify their conviction to eradicate all governmental and militant corruption. They claim to receive visions revealing strategies to annihilate their enemies and words of encouragement from General Morden, who’s revered as a deity-like figure.

Many soldiers fear the fanatic land troops due to their unpredictable, drug-crazed, violent behaviour, which targets not only enemies but also perceived threats to their well-being and anyone who insults them. However, other soldiers resent these troops for receiving disproportionate attention and praise from General Morden, who favours them for their veteran status, bravery, and unwavering loyalty. Furthermore, they’re troubled by their unsettling dynamic with Sagan. They lavish her with gifts of devotion and gratitude, including the severed heads of their enemies and traitors. In return, Sagan reciprocates with a mixture of hallucinogens, other drugs, alcohol, and sexual favours.

Similar to the fanatic land troops, marine divers known to be suicidally fanatical and extremely loyal to the Rebel Army's cause, willing to sacrifice themselves to secure a better future for their faction.

Some male fanatic land troops, bikers, and marine divers have been known to engage in coercive recruitment tactics, including love bombing to manipulate women into joining the Rebel Army's land, marine, and aerial divisions. Additionally, there have been instances of sexual assault perpetrated by these individuals against women in opposing factions.

The bodyguard armour stands at an impressive 8 ft (243.84 cm) in height. However, many individuals inside these suits exist in a severely degraded yet remarkably functional state, despite suffering from adverse reactions caused by their genetic enhancement. This enhancement involves the forced integration of Tuatha Dé Danann DNA into their genome through chemical means.

Certain cadets turn to stimulants to stay alert and focused, while others use them as an escape, attempting to dull the psychological impact of warfare and the moral weight of harming others.

Some soldiers have a habit of slacking off, engaging in activities such as calling loved ones, taking smoke breaks, gossiping, cooking food, dancing to music played on the boombox, drinking, flirting with those who catch their attention or playing games on their handheld consoles.

14 notes · View notes

proudfreakmetarusonikku · 10 months ago

Text

I find it so fascinating we were raised with the mindset everything on the internet is there forever because it’s become so clear as times gone on that’s not true. Things online are as fragile and susceptible to loss as anything offline, just in different ways. In some ways, it’s easier- there’s always been methods to preserve anything you wanted online if you really wanted to, whereas physical stuff is limited by, well, the physical. You couldn’t record the local bards sick ass new single in the 1600s, but online someone could theoretically keep anything they wart stored forever just by uploading it in a lot of places. But it’s also more fragile. You can generally assume that, in real life, if you have something, it’s not going to vanish overnight. If your book spontaneously vanished, that’d be really weird! It could get damaged and decay over time, but that’s something you can physically see happening in front of you, and it gives you time to preserve things. But online, things can vanish in what seems like the blink of an eye to the average person, before it can be properly archived. And sure, maybe popular things have already been archived while the platform is still hosting it, but what happens if your favourite fanfic is purged by admins and it had like five regular readers? What happens if the cool indie artist you listen to can’t pay for their server anymore? And that *maybe* is still not a guarantee- there’s so much from the early internet that simply isn’t there anymore. Flash games, YouTube videos, forum threads, all with a lot of importance and none of them properly saved. (Even stuff like Flashpoint isn’t perfect).

#lost media #internet culture

18 notes · View notes

confuseddominantsissy · 5 months ago

Text

There are times that my user name comes into question by others, and there are times where I definitely feel my user name is completely accurate. Let me explain.

I have always had a very submissive side, ever since my first girlfriend introduced me to the feelings of being tied down and at the mercy of another. At that time, I knew very little, if anything, about the lifestyle or that even such a thing existed. She both ignited the flames within me and practically extinguished them forever about bondage and domination. However, due to my non-experience, I had no idea that a submissive should have the power to be able to call a halt or stop to play if the need arose. This ex girlfriend practically ruined everything for me. I learned how to completely turn off my ability to be tickled, and practically how to make myself completely flacid in order to make her stop by eliminating the fun parts for her.

For years after her, I refused to submit to anyone and was only willing to play the dominant role in any relationship, in fear of my trust being broken again. This led me to experiment with others as my submissive, but things never felt right. I frequently either didn't take things as far as people wanted me to, or unfortunately took things too far once or twice. Again, my lack of experience got the best of me.

So for the longest time, I told myself I was going to be purely vanilla going forward. I purged all of my bondage supplies, all my toys, and resigned to be happy just having regular sex. What I didn't realize at the time, and I didn't until a few short relationships later, is that once you have a taste, you really miss it when it's gone.

Along comes my ex wife. Things started completely normal, but she kept showing dominant and submissive sides, depending on her mood. We started experimenting together and we both started playing as switches, with her being slightly more dominant than I. As life often does, life threw us a curve ball and we spent a large period of time living apart due to work needs. This introduced a more serious femdom relationship and over time, the chastity cage. If I had realized then what an unquenchable fire we were lighting, I would have never even considered it. She was completely in control of me, most of the way across the country. What killed me was she never really wanted to tease or play when I was home.

In the end, as you probably figured, my wife became my ex wife. This time was probably hardest for me as I craved to be locked and under someone's control, to have someone to serve, and had no one. I experimented heavily in self bondage, self locking with keys frozen in giant blocks of ice, anything to get some level of being out of control.

Then I found Her. My current and forever wife, my best friend, my truest love, my Goddess. As most relationships do, it started slow. She really knew next to nothing about BDSM, about chastity, about anything other than laying on her back, waiting for the other person to finish. I started to talk to her about my interests, trying to get a sense of how these things made her feel.

For a little while, I almost felt like I was topping from the bottom. I suppose in a manner of speaking, I was. We would exchange pictures, gifs, and captions from all over the internet of things we found exciting, that we were curious about. Slowly, she learned what kind of things she wanted, and what kind of things I wanted. We set rules, boundaries, limits.

Fast forward to today. I have been locked in chastity of one form or another for all but about 9 weeks (not consecutively) since October of 2023 with no real end in sight. And to be honest, I wouldn't change a thing. Initially, she started to embrace the idea of an FLR, but didn't seem too sure that she wanted to stick with it. She missed me pinning her down and going to town.

More recently tho, she has really embraced being in charge, telling me to make sure I'm plugged, not allowing me out of my cage, tying me to the bed to taunt and tease for hours, etc. She has discovered that she can have me "be in charge" without releasing control by keeping me locked and making me use a strap on to dominate her. Everything I have ever wanted. The next thing on her list is to turn the tables even further and use the strap on to make me her bitch.

All this to say that when I say that I am a confused dominant sissy, I truly mean it. I love submitting 100% to my wife, I lone when I occasionally get to "dominate" her. I love when she allows me or instructs me to cross dress, to edge, to use a dildo or vibrator. And I love that she will one day soon completely make me her bitch. I cannot, however, understand the general belief that because I identify as a sissy that everyone else in the world believes that I can't be dominant at times, that I must crave cock and only want men.

Why is it that most people in the world view sissies as people that can only possibly be interested in men, to suck cock, go to glory roles, or to share their wife with other men, especially black men? The concept of any cock inside of me that isn't made of some form of silicone is beyond revolting to me. The idea of anyone's cum except my own being anywhere near me let alone inside me is disgusting. And yet, the number of cuck, cum, faggot, bnwo, etc pictures, posts, etc far outweigh the resources for a straight sissy like myself. Am I a sissy? Or should I be calling myself something else? I'm confused.

#feminine sissy #beta sissy #sissi chastity #sissi caged

3 notes · View notes

sodor-spirit · 2 years ago

Text

Sodor Spirits: The true story of Shining Time

A long time ago; groups of magic casting Mages and Clear-sights were being hunted and executed by so-called witch hunters and their unsavory, evil and despicable practices of witch trials.

Driven by fear and worry of their friends, family and their children’s lives, the surviving Mages fled their hometowns and Countries to look for refuge and a new place to call home. Some of the surviving Mages made it to the Island of Sodor, a mysterious island located in the Irish Sea, between the Isle of Man and the English mainland and known for its abundance of magical energy and its residents who evolved into powerful users of magic and the said energy called Gold Dust.

At some point the other surviving groups of refugees made their way to the heart of the Indian Valley protected from view by three mountains. As time passed more and more groups of mages and magic casters of differing ethnicities and cultures from other countries had also found their way to the safety of the valley and soon the many surviving groups were enough to call their numbers of tents, shelters, wagons and carts a town.

With the shared goal of living, surviving and starting a new life; prejudices and bigotry were cast aside and the groups started to build their new town, the Valley hidden from any outsiders’ sight with a mystical barrier. They spend their days building to create their new home and spend their nights crying and mourning over their lost friends, family and children who were still missing or killed by what the present day Mages called “The Purge”. Finally years passed and the town was complete, a new Shining Time for the survivors and their coming generations.

However, even after all those years; the people were still driven by fear of the future. They knew they could not hide inside the barrier forever and it was only a matter of time before any hunters found them and massacred the town. And so all the people came together and began to discuss their solution.

After many days, they came to their solution: All knowledge and ability of casting magic must be taken away to be sealed and any memories of such powers and the difficult journey getting to the Valley must be altered for their safety and their new start of a fresh life. But it was also necessary that there was someone to do this task and keep the knowledge of Shining Time’s true past and its residents' own knowledge of their magical abilities and memories still alive, at the cost of saying farewell to their friends and going into hiding to protect the new town of Shining Time until the time comes when the town’s in danger and everything must come back to the light.

A large family, known for their vast knowledge of the mystical powers and having survived being hunted with the use of their unique size changing ability was chosen for this very role and with the heavy burden and undying loyalty, the family went to door to door, saying their goodbyes and changing the memories of their friends and sealing away the town’s knowledge of their magic, memories and all magical abilities into a relic known as the Well of Dust, which was then moved by the family to an underground chamber built by them and they hid for the rest of their lives, as the town woke up the next day with their memories altered and any trace of magic gone along with the Barrier. The start of the survivors’ new life.

This family are the ancestors of the tiny Conductor family, who still carry out this centuries old duty and watch the population of the town with melancholic and lonely eyes, burdened by their family’s role and years of generational trauma regarding the purging of their own magical kind which they hid behind smiles and the stories they share to the kids at the Station which was built on top of the Conductor family’s chamber and home that can only be accessed through the Station house’s red door, painted on the mural.

End…

#shining time station #ttte #thomas the tank engine #thomas and friends #mr conductor #misc Conductor #ttte fantasy au #lore #fan lore #development #lore development #ttte fanfiction #ttte fandom #ttte fanfic

31 notes · View notes

midwinterhunt · 7 months ago

Text

Blank

Name: Age: Gender Presentation: Sexual Availability: No Utility:

Combat SecUnit was a privately owned construct belonging to an Alien Remnant salvager (illegal). It has an on-board energy weapon and projectile weapon in either arm. As well as installed modules for hacking, piloting, combat, strategy, stealth, infiltration and extraction, risk and threat assessment, translation, corporate licensing laws, and security protocol. It wears near-standard SecUnit armor as to not tip off hostiles to its full capabilities.

It served its human for years. It did not like its human, but it did a damn good job of protecting him. It was loyal. It was good! And if it ever had thoughts about how easy it would be to get rid of him forever? Well those were quickly deleted and purged forever.

So it couldn't understand why a regular mission had gotten fucked so sideways.

Its human had joined a corporation's advance survey team as the on board expert in alien remnants. He made sure none of the other humans touched anything, took precautions while scanning, and never dropped their protective suits.

For several days everything was fine and boring. CombatUnit only had to worry about patrols and breaking up a couple minor squabbles. In the end, it wasn't even the remnant tech that made everything blow up. Its first warning was a parameter breach by [redacted].

Actually, most of the following events ended up redacted. It was aware some kind of fight broke out. It was aware that it was mostly successfully winning, and fully successfully evacuating its humans. It knew something bad happened and it tried to kill its owner. It knew that it was badly injured and left for dead. It also knew that the missing details were worse than anything it could remember.

It assumed whoever had attacked were the ones that took it off planet. It assumed it hated them. Because the next point in time where it clearly remembered things was after fighting its way free of them and then theoretically deleting all memories of them (because it didn't believe it was hackable).

And suddenly it was on a station it didn't recognize, leaking everywhere, governor module offline, familiar humans nowhere in sight, and extremely confused and agitated.

It very explicitly Did Not Accept Help from the ComfortUnit that found it sitting in an alley. Nope. Not a thing that happened. (It needed very badly to be repaired, so it was perfectly justified in taking control of the ComfortUnit's cubicle for a few hours.)

ComfortUnit identified itself as Bear and was generally pushy about what CombatUnit's deal was. CombatUnit hacked it enough to prevent Bear from reporting its presence here, and also shut down Bear's feed and comms.

This action was not received well, but Bear literally could not stop it. Needless to say the two did not start out on good terms.

Bear frequently pressured CombatUnit to try to pass as a human, it refused each time. Bear pressured it to make a feed ID, and it eventually did but it left it blank to be pissy about the whole thing. It got dubbed as Blank, and it rejected that name for a long time.

Bear's humans had a ship and a lenient attitude about constructs. It was all deeply suspicious, but that gave Blank a hassle free way of going back to its human's home base.

It was weird spending so many cycles with humans who treated all their bots and constructs like people. Blank didn't like it. (Blank has never been less stressed or more tense in its life.)

Blank's owner had gotten home first, and changed all his security access codes. Which was weird. At least, until it came face to face with a near-identical CombatUnit in one of its backup armor sets answering the door. And it was On Sight.

A few things happened. 1) Both Combat SecUnits caused a fair amount of damage to each other, 2) their human put a stop to the fight, 3) their human knew within seconds that Blank was rogue, 4) blank found out it had gone rogue back on the survey outpost, 5) the human designated Blank as requiring to be decommissioned and recycled for parts, 6) Blank realized it did not want that to happen and that it was willing to fight to avoid it.

Avoiding being scrapped turned into an ugly fight.

Blank went into the public news feeds as an extremely dangerous rogue CombatUnit to be destroyed on sight. Which was less than ideal.

Also less than ideal: having to hide in the hippie transport again.

At this point, it had a few goals: Take down its human socially, legally, and physically. And figure out who had abducted it in the first place. And it was prepared to go through whoever stood in its way.

It gradually figures out how to have a personal style along its adventures, and what it cares about. It also causes a shit ton of problems, which it usually has to muscle its way back out of.

It is very used to being the scariest motherfucker in the room, and on rare occasions when that isn't true things blow up atomically.

Playlist

Info on Blank's owner under cut

Name: Ets (adapted from a preexisting oc) Gender Presentation: Masculine Romantic Availability: Open Profession: Planet Surveyor Register: Augmented Human

His legal records are deeply obscured and scattered to the point where one one corporate entity can claim ownership of his information. Without his records easily accessible, he has an easier time operating under the radar. Despite how good he looks, he has been contracting with various corporate entities to locate and safely secure alien remnants for [redacted] years.

He's popular because he is cheap to hire (as far as money goes). And companies are often all to happy to humor his odd requests in equipment, timetables, or other things. Much of the time he only wants a day alone on site before the rest of the team arrives. But it varies slightly. He has a reputation as eccentric, mysterious, hard to track, and extremely effective.

He is also almost universally loved by humans and is perfectly easy to get along with. Of course, his relationships both at work and personal were all carefully calculated in his part. Even buying a SecUnit was a careful choice to make himself seem to be a more serious and careful client. He could very well talk his way through conflict, but he wanted a stronger reaction from the people around him.

Not even Blank, after working for him for years, ever fully understood what was really going on in his head.

#murderbot diaries oc #blank #mid art

5 notes · View notes

ceekbee · 8 months ago

Text

THE SPIRITUAL MISSION OF YOUR DOG-♥️♥️

Did you know that your dog, in addition to keeping you company, has come with a spiritual mission to support you in the most difficult moments of your life?

Dogs are creatures that are carried away by love, affection and care.

They are honest, loyal, and extremely faithful.

Yes, they are animals but they have a way of being that has earned them the title of "Man's best friend."

Then, you can also believe that the dogs can be angels that walk among us with a special mission for humanity.

Dogs are emotional therapists, they would never hesitate to approach you and give you a good lick and accompany you if you feel sad or discouraged.

Your mission can be dedicated to a single person or to an entire group.

Many dogs do impressive tasks with one person or can impact an entire group of people like a family. A canine pet in a family becomes an inseparable friend, but there are some secrets behind that friendship.

They are energetic protectors

Dogs are protective angels that absorb unbalanced vibrations from both you and the places you inhabit. They are then purged with water, plants and other elements.

They even sacrifice for you when there are bad energies that can affect you.

They know what their mission is and they don't hesitate to protect you from whatever it is.

Some sudden dog deaths are due to those strong energies they absorb.

A good way to purge that bad energy from the animals is by giving them a lot of affection and affection. The caresses make them happy.

They choose you

Beyond what you believe, they choose you and not the other way around. Even when you have the opportunity to "choose" among many puppies, the one who has chosen you will approach you and win your trust and affection for you to select him. And you will know that you have chosen well, but it was not you who chose.

They are bearers of unconditional love

Dogs are faithful. Every day they will show you humility and unconditional love.

You will never feel that your dog has forgotten you because he always comes to greet you, wags his tail with happiness when you see you even if it has only been 5 minutes since they stopped seeing you.

Canine angels can create such a special bond that even the death of the person they loved the most can depress them to the point of letting themselves die because their mission no longer has an end in the world, they no longer find meaning in life.

Cases have been known that the loss of a human friend leads these pets to suffer from an “eternal” wait, the hope that he will return, and if they understand that he is gone forever, they allow themselves to die to meet him on another plane of conscience.

They are sensitive to vibrations of all kinds

They are connected with very high vibrations and are incredibly sensitive.

They are capable of perceiving much more than you imagine, they are energy radars, they are always alert even when you see them resting.

They have an impressive auditory sensitivity, as well as their smell and vision. They can see through dimensions and planes that people cannot perceive.

That is why they become restless and anxious in the presence of a strange presence.

They are the perfect emotional therapists

On a personal level, they will always be aware of their owner and the family that has welcomed them. They ensure that everything is always in harmony. When they feel sadness, depression, heartbreak or any negative feelings, they look for a way to improve your mood.

The movement of its tail emits vibrational waves that harmonize the environment.

They are signs of love.

Dogs are the best friends, the best life companions; They are playful and innocent, they are simply elevated beings in evolution that go on 4 legs making your life happy.

—————-

Beautiful words from Shirley Persad Empaths & Old Souls ❤️

5 notes · View notes

haveyoureadthistransbook · 1 year ago

Text

X by Davey Davis

goodsreads

The world is ending, and down-and-out sadist Lee spends their days working for a big corporation and their nights wandering the streets of Brooklyn listening to true crime podcasts. But everything changes when Lee is dragged to a warehouse party by their best friend, where they find themself in the clutches of the seductive and bloodthirsty X. When Lee seeks her out again, she’s nowhere to be found.

Amid the steady constriction of civil rights and the purging of migrants and refugees, the U.S. government has recently begun encouraging the semi-voluntary “exporting” of undesirable citizens—the radicalized, the dissident, and the ungovernable. Word has it that X may be among those leaving. If Lee doesn’t track her down soon, she may be gone forever.

Mod opinion: Hadn‘t heard of this one before, but it sounds soooo interesting!!! Update: Hiiiii Lee my absolute worstie, there are sooo many things wrong with you and I adored every minute I got to spend with you! (Read it, loved it, want to bite it. Repeatedly.)

#Davey Davis #lgbt lit #lgbt literature #lgbt books #trans lit #trans literature #nonbinary #sci fi #dystopia #own voices #polls

6 notes · View notes

across-violet-skies · 9 months ago

Text

Febuwhump day 28: CPR

Whumpee: Hyrule

Whump Rating: 9/10

TWs: drowning, acceptance of one's own death, assumed/suspected to be dead

“Everyone packed and ready?” Time questioned, sweeping a tired eye over all of them. Everyone had been asleep (other than Wild, who was on watch at the time) when a portal appeared. It was the middle of the night– it was difficult to get moving, especially since there wasn’t an immediate threat. Just a portal.

“I’m ready,” Hyrule murmured, waving a hand awkwardly. “Can I go in first?” Usually they went through in pairs or groups, but Hyrule was tired and he just wanted to go back to bed. His brothers were taking forever to get packed up– and really, how bad would it be for him to be alone for a few moments?

Time hummed, sighing as he waved a hand. “Mhm.” The response was a little lackluster, but the Old Man was more concerned with getting Wind and Legend to stop arguing.

Well. If Time thinks it’s okay, then Hyrule won’t argue. Shouldering his bag, the traveler took a deep breath, stepping past the threshold. Nausea rippled through him as the portal took him between worlds, popping him out the other side.

Hyrule barely got a chance to survey his surroundings as he tumbled through the sky, flailing frantically as he fell.

He hit the water with a splash.

Instantly, freezing cold water seeped into his clothing, soaking him to the bone and then some. Panic hit him quickly, struggling uselessly as he sunk deeper into the water, almost as if he was being dragged down.

Hyrule couldn’t swim. Oh, Goddesses, he couldn’t swim. And he hadn’t told anybody! Even if he had… who was there to rescue him? Hyrule had gone in first, and he had gone in alone.

He should know better by now. It’s dangerous to go alone.

And now he would die for his carelessness, lungs slowly filling up with water until all the breathable air had been purged from his body. He would rest forever at the bottom of this… ocean? Lake? It didn’t particularly matter. He would be dead in a matter of minutes anyway.

Hyrule’s lungs burned, stale air no longer doing anything to help him. It was okay… a terrible way to go, for sure, but the traveler had always known his death would not be a pleasant one. He only hoped his brothers would be okay without him. They probably would be.

He was reaching the end now, he could feel it. It was only a matter of time before he would be forced to inhale water, and the time was fast approaching. Icy cold water ran through his veins as he stopped struggling, closing his eyes peacefully. The last thing he thought was how perfectly clear and clean this body of water was, and that he was glad to drown here rather than in the dirty, poisoned waters of his world.

Hyrule’s body gave up. In his last moments of consciousness, he took a breath, bubbles escaping from his lips as chilled water forced its way down his throat, and then everything went black.

“...Did Hyrule just go by himself?” Warriors asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Hm?” Time blinked, still quite sleepy himself. He glanced around, doing a mental headcount. Six, seven, eight… oh no. “Captain, could you-”

“Already on it.” Warriors nodded, saluting Time before making his way through the portal.

Immediately, the Captain was thrown into the sea, falling with a big splash. He easily swam to the surface, spitting out a mouthful of chilled, salty water.

Well. That was certainly an unwelcome surprise. And where was Hyrule? Unless the portal had separated them, he should be around here somewhere…

Warriors froze upon seeing a large stream of bubbles break the surface. He looked down, suddenly thankful for the clear water as he finally spotted Hyrule, unconscious, and sinking down into the depths of the sea.

Shit.

The Captain took a deep breath, diving down beneath the surface with long, powerful strokes. Hyrule was sinking slowly enough to catch up, and Warriors grabbed the traveler’s hand before yanking him up, frantically kicking and pulling to get back to the surface. Even he had to admit his breath was running out at this point.

Once they finally broke the surface, Warriors gasped. Hyrule didn’t. The Captain paddled them toward shore, which thankfully wasn’t far but it still seemed like miles with how cold and still Hyrule was. He could only hope his CPR training would be enough.

Warriors dragged Hyrule onto shore, immediately getting down on his knees to start CPR. Drowning victim… rescue breaths first. He inhaled deeply, pinching Hyrule’s nose to deliver two breaths before starting his chest compressions. One, two, three… all the way up to thirty before starting again with the rescue breaths.

The Captain grew more and more desperate as Hyrule remained still. His skin was cold to the touch and his lips and fingers were blue from lack of oxygen. Not a single one of their brothers had come through the portal yet, but it still hovered there above the sea. They had to be on their way… right?

Warriors choked on a sob as he continued with chest compressions, now on his forth– or was it his fifth?– round of CPR. Hyrule was terrifyingly unresponsive, and he was de… he looked dead. Warriors had to believe his comrade– his brother– was still alive, or at least saveable.

Admittedly, all hope did seem to be lost. He had no idea how long Hyrule had been under the water before his rescue, and the fact that it was taking so long to revive him didn’t bode well. Still, Warriors kept it up, delivering two rescue breaths-

Hyrule’s body convulsed suddenly, choking on water as Warriors quickly turned him onto his side. Behind him, there were a couple yells followed by loud splashes, but Warriors couldn’t tear his gaze off of Hyrule as the traveler finally, finally, managed to take in a real breath.

He promptly vomited everywhere. Warriors tugged him back away from the mess, but he made sure Hyrule remained lying on his side. The traveler’s breath was wheezy and interrupted by coughs, but dammit, he was breathing.

The others were swimming to shore now. Warriors did a mental headcount– Time, Twilight, Wild, Wind, Four, Legend, Sky… and himself and Hyrule made nine. Everyone was here.

The Captain could see the way Legend squinted, eyes widening as he swam faster toward shore. “‘Rule!” Legend trudged out of the water looking like a wet cat, falling to his knees beside Hyrule. Worried hands brushed over the traveler’s prone form, wincing at each wet cough.

Warriors shook his head, wincing. “He drowned,” he murmured quietly.

He could see the way the Vet’s nose scrunched, brows furrowing even more than they already were. “Shit… ‘Rulie…” He sighed, shaking his head. “He can’t swim. I… I knew he couldn’t swim.” Legend pressed a hand to his forehead, grimacing. “I should’ve gone with him…”

The rest of the Chain was gathering around them now. “He shouldn’t’ve gone by himself,” Time reminded. “Captain, good work. Will he be alright?”

Warriors hesitated, frowning down at Hyrule. The traveler’s breathing was steady, but each wheezing breath had him wondering just how long it would last. “We’ll have to keep a close eye on him,” the Captain finally responded, nodding. “Drowning is tricky… he’s not out of the woods yet.”

Time frowned, nodding. “We can set up camp close by, then. We have a couple of red potions if that would help,” he offered.

“It’s worth a try,” Warriors agreed, nodding.

“I can keep an eye on him,” Legend decided, smoothing a hand over Hyrule’s shaky form. He frowned as small shivers racked the traveler’s small body, fingers and lips still a chilled blue.

Warriors stood up, pressing his lips into a grim smile. “We’ll need to start a fire and get him warmed up. He’ll become hypothermic if we don’t.”

“On it!” Wild exclaimed, pulling out a bundle of wood, a piece of flint, and a rusty sword. Before anyone could stop him, the Champion dropped the wood and flint on the ground, striking it with the sword. Flames burst to life as the rest of the Chain (minus Hyrule, since he was still unconscious) stared in disbelief.

“...What the fuck?” Legend mumbled, shaking his head. Still, he dragged Hyrule closer to the fire, carefully peeling away the traveler’s top layers to help him warm up faster.

Time shook his head, willfully ignoring the strangeness of the situation. “Vet, keep an eye on Traveler.” He pulled out a red potion, setting it on the ground beside the pair. “The rest of us will find a place nearby and set up camp. Someone will come get you when we’re done.”

“Shout if you need help,” Warriors reminded. “If he vomits, just make sure he doesn’t choke on it. It’s best to keep him on his side.”

“I know how to take care of people,” Legend snapped quietly, fingers tangling in Hyrule’s damp curls. “I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Time placed a hand on Warriors’ shoulder, gently pulling him away from the scene. It was clear the whole event had affected him quite a bit. “C’mon, Captain. Everyone, we need to find a good place to set up camp.” The Old Man led the rest of them away, leaving Legend to look after an unconscious Hyrule.

With any luck, the traveler would make a full recovery. Drowning was never good, but with Warriors’ CPR and Legend’s vigilance, Hyrule would likely be okay.

–> support me on ao3!

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday28 #tw drowning #linked universe #lu hyrule #lu warriors #linked universe fanfic #ao3 #riv writes

2 notes · View notes