#an armor that serves to protect ( body claim )

[blueisquitetired]

Employees of the Celestic Railway Network

(A faeU piece!)

Wondering why there hasn’t been much art on my account lately? It’s because of this! I was working on it for five months straight!!!!!

But it’s done now! Woo!

If you like this picture please please reblog it. I don’t normally ask, but this took me hundreds of hours so I would appreciate the support.

Anyway, character info and world building under the cut-

Warden Gaeric, Warden of the Icicle Line

Species: Human 

Of all of the creatures in the grand realm of Hisui, humans are debatably the strangest of all. Beings that are not pokémon nor fae, but something else entirely. Humans have almost no natural magic, yet are able to live and thrive anyway thanks to their natural adaptability. Their bodies naturally absorb and convert the energies of local pokémon, fae, and environments in order to better match them, and they learn things at a rate not seen in any other creature. Despite their lack of magic, they are able to grow and thrive in almost any environment, and many have made Hisui their home.

While Warden Gaeric might boast larger than life strength and power, he’s still as human as they come, not even bothering to practice simple spell casting. He doesn’t need magic to do what he does, and he takes a certain amount of pride in that fact. Hard work has gotten him this far, and he doesn’t see it letting him down anytime soon. 

(Although there is a running theory that he is blessed with the human oddity dubbed “Main Character Syndrome” or “Plot Armor”. Such claims cannot be proven though, as it isn’t a widely understood phenomenon, so it remains as just a theory)

Warden Melli, Warden of the Zap Line

Species: Human

Warden Melli immigrated to Hisui as a young adult, and has since never gone back, seeing no reason to return to the mortal coil. His skill with a needle and thread impressed Subway Boss Adaman so much that he was originally hired to mend and charm uniforms- but was quickly promoted to warden when Lord Electrode was taken by his dramatics. Nowadays, his embroidery skill is mostly used for protection spells and charm making, something he is extremely proficient at. Unfortunately, despite being a master spell caster in his own right, the temperamental nature of the medium causes him to disvalue his own skill, viewing it as “not real magic.”

Despite that though, he still is responsible for most of the charms sewn into the uniforms of his fellow human wardens.

Warden Palina, Warden of the Flame Line

Species: Selkie

Selkies are a subspecies of the poké pelt line of fae, a fae type that is mostly known for its ability to switch between the form of a humanoid and a pokémon- but only if they have access to their magic hide. A poké pelt whose skin has been stolen will find themselves unable to transform and unable to do most magic. This has caused most of their myths and legends to revolve around a malicious third party stealing their pelt and hiding it away somewhere.

The Selkie sub species in particular are known to transform into certain water types- specifically pokémon such as dewgong and spheal.

Palina is one of the more senior wardens, despite being a relatively short lived race. (Only living for around 100-200 years- similar to a human) Her long wardenship is due to the fact that she has served two separate lords. A rare thing indeed, as most new nobles will choose a new warden upon their ascension.

Of course, she isn’t one to brag about such a thing, and is much more likely to sing praises for her lover and husband- Warden Iscan. Famously, the two met when she got caught in Warden’s Iscan’s net- back when he was living in Galar and had never had any real encounter with the fae. Still, despite that, the two hit it off, falling in love and marrying. The couple are known for being annoyingly lovey dovey, Palina going so far as to let Iscan carry her pelt for her while at work as a sign of trust and love.

Warden Iscan, Warden of the Splash Line

Species: Human

Warden Iscan may have spent his entire life in Galar if not for his meeting with his future wife- an event that changed his life forever. Formally a fisherman from Hulbury, Iscan’s secret love for trains and general disinterest in fishing in general made moving to Hisui with his new love an easy choice to make. A choice made even easier when Lord Bascilegion chose him as his warden.

He builds and collects model trains in his free time, storing most of them in the unused Splash Apartment.

Warden Sabi, Warden of the Sky Line

Species: Delphi*

The Delphi are an extremely long-lived race (living for several millennia, and likely unable to die of old age) with the ability to see into the future. Not much is known about the delphi as they tend to keep to themselves- but considering their strong magic and fantastic abilities, that’s probably for the best.

For all intents and purposes, Warden Sabi is basically a baby. Barely 100 years old, with an expectant life span in the thousands, it’s a miracle her family let her leave their house- much less hold a job. Yet hold a job she does, even if her actual job description is nebulous at best. She enjoys getting up to mischief and practicing her fledgling future sight powers- mostly in the form of little “prophecy of the week” cards that she hands out. 

Still, she shouldn’t be underestimated, and her advice should be heeded. The future might not be set in stone, but she can see the changes in the tide of time far clearer than anyone else.

*(While most of the species of fae seen in FaeU are modified versions of actual myths and legends, Delphi are an original creation. Many fae have the nebulous ability of “seeing the future” but I couldn’t find any specific species that fit what I was looking for. Thus, the Delphi were created.)

(The name is in reference to the Oracle of Delphi from Greek mythology)

Warden Mai, Warden of the Mind Line

Species: Satyr

Satyr are a species of humanoid fae adorned with horns and hooves- known for their culture of singing, drinking, mischief, and general merriment. This has given them a reputation of being cheats, thieves, and layabouts, something that causes many to inherently distrust them.

They are also closely linked with nature and song, and can be powerful spell casters with enough practice- but their inherent abilities leave much to be desired.

Warden Mai used to be quite the rebel when she was younger. Sick of the expectations and pressures of her peers and parents, Mai ran away from home as a teenager. Unfortunately, her rash temperament and attitude made it hard for her to hold a job for longer than a year at a time. Thankfully, with the support and guidance of the former Lord Wyrdeer she ended up finding herself and mellowing out quite a bit, now being a well adjusted adult.

She plays guitar in a band and does some spell casting recreationally- but refuses to play the flute or seriously learn magic. Apparently, her mother’s intense pan flute lessons were one of the factors that originally drove her to running away. Because of this, she plays her Celestic flute like a train whistle and gleefully cackles any time she startles someone with it.

Warden Arezu, Warden of the Meadow Line

Species: Pixie

When most humans think of fae, their minds usually fall to pixies- a common race of small winged faerie. Their curiosity and mischief often leads them to wander into the mortal coil for brief periods of time, leading to millions of sightings and thousands of myths and legends. 

Coming in at on average six inches tall, pixies aren’t a very powerful race naturally, and tend to stay in groups. If you see a pixie on their own, there's a good chance a group of them is hiding nearby, often egging the singular pixie on.

Some powerful, practiced pixies may leave their communities to live among other fae- but these pixies tend to learn growth magic early on in order to increase their size. Increasing in size is often uncomfortable and makes it harder to fly, but being taken more seriously by others, and more easily interacting with the world around them is a trade off many pixies find favorable.

While the Celestic railways can be ridden by fae and humans of any sort, its passengers by in large consist mostly of city fae- a type of fae that has grown accustomed to iron and smog, making their homes in large communities and towns in a similar vein as humans. Which is what makes it all the more impressive that Warden Arezu is not a city fae.

Most of Warden Arezu’s life was spent in a small pixie community deep in a hidden woodland. She was curious and social, and eventually her limited social circle and never changing circumstances drove her to explore the world as a whole, eventually leading her to the Celestic Rail Network. While she isn’t a train fan by any stretch of the imagination, she still thoroughly enjoys how the rails bring in fae from all corners of Hisui, each with stories to tell and fashion to share.

Eventually, she dreams of opening a hair salon, but for now, wardenship suits her just fine.

Warden Calaba, Warden of the Earth Line

Species: Human

Warden Calaba is old- older than any human has any right to be. How old remains a mystery, one that most doubt she will ever indulge. But with that age comes knowledge, years of healing and potion brewing knowledge that far outstrips what anyone would expect of a human like her. 

Still, she is long overdue to retire, and Subway Boss Irida and Adaman have been gently trying to encourage her too for years now. She refuses though, stating that she will man her post until she is able to impart her knowledge onto another being, or when Sinnoh tears her soul from her body. Considering she has scared off every apprentice she has ever taken, most are betting that it will be the latter.

Warden Lian, Warden of the Insect Line

Species: Human

Lian has lived on the Celestic Rails most of his life. No one was surprised when the current Lord Klevor chose him as his warden, as he has been the station darling since he was a toddler. Still, he takes his work seriously, doing his best to fulfill his duties and be the best warden anyone could ask for.

In his free time, Warden Lian enjoys collecting and perusing rocks- especially ones of the magical variety. He dreams of one day using them to become a spell caster, but his young age and lack of mentor has made the adults around him implore him to wait a few years. For now, he researches, collects, and dreams.

Subway Boss Adaman, Conductor of Time

Species: High Fae (Formally a dryad)

High Fae are less so fae and more so demigods, fae who’s power far surpasses any natural being. There are very few high fae in existence, and each one is fundamentally unique. Some high fae are born that way, but many are elevated from their lowly status by major legendaries or other such beings.

Dryads are a common nature fae, most well known for their unique connection to foliage. Each dryad is born from a certain plant, (usually trees) and will live for as long as that plant does. If the plant withers and dies, so will they, leaving them as extremely fragile beings. Dryads will often conceal the location of their linked plant for safety reasons.

Subway Boss Adaman was born as an unremarkable fir dryad a very, very, long time ago- when Hisui was untamed and dangerous, without a respite to be seen. He spent most of his early years living a fairly uneventful life, (as uneventful as life could be back then) save for his regular interactions with a local frost sprite, one which quickly grew into a fierce rivalry. Said rivalry slowly transformed from begrudging respect to close friends- overtime becoming an extraordinarily deep bond.

Of course, the two's lives changed forever when, on a stint to the mortal realm, they came across a train station. Adaman was blown away by its consistent and accurate timing and wished to bring that stability to Hisui. He eventually ended up pitching the idea to Dialga- who absolutely adored the plan and granted Adaman the powers of a high fae. (Specifically, power over time)

Nowadays, Adaman runs half of the Celestic Rail Network with his partner Irida, keeping the time in the railway stable and making sure the trains run according to schedule. (There are many rumors of what became of his original fir tree, as his relationship on it is no doubt different than it was from before he became high fae. Subway Boss Adaman has never commented on it though, so rumors will continue to speculate) 

Subway Boss Irida, Conductor of Space

Species: High Fae (Formally a frost sprite)

Nature sprites, not to be confused with pixies, are common fae found often in strong natural settings. It’s said when an aspect of nature’s magic coalesces en mass, it forms a sprite of that aspect. These are, in some ways, the most common type of fae, as the sprite genus covers millions of subspecies. They come in all forms and fashions, but by and large are relatively weak, only having mild magic relating to the aspect of nature that they are composed of.

Frost sprites are, unsurprisingly, sprites born from the essence of frost.

Subway Boss Irida was never long for the world- but she kept going anyway. Despite her relatively low life expectancy and naturally weak magic, she managed to live long past her years by moving with the seasons and living in a perpetual winter. Inevitably, she settled in a mountainous fir tree forest where it was snowy year round- and inevitably met a local dryad. 

Of course, her life changed forever when she and the dryad visited the mortal plane and beheld a train line for the first time. Irida was blown away by its ability to cross vast spaces safely and efficiently and wished to bring that stability to Hisui. She eventually brought the idea to Palkia- who eagerly signed off on the plan and gave her the power of a high fae. (Specifically, power over space)

Nowadays, Irida runs half of the Celestic Rail Network with her partner Adaman, keeping the space the railways run through stable and making sure the trains are able to reach where they are headed. (There are many rumors of the exact nature of her and Adaman’s relationship, as the two are close enough to be lovers if they so desired.  Unfortunately, neither party are willing to comment on the matter, so rumors will continue to speculate) 

#blue’s art #submas fae au #blue’s writing #warden gaeric #warden melli #warden palina #warden iscan #warden sabi #warden mai #warden arezu #warden calaba #warden lian #pokemon irida #adaman pokemon #submas au #It's a submas AU it counts!!!!!!! #this took forever #and is the best thing I've ever drawn so far

[shesjustanothergeek]

A little sneaky peaky of a little Aemond fic in the works once I finish His Love.

Pairing: Aemond x Strong!FemReader

Author's Note: Here's a Tumblr exclusive sneak peek at an Aemond Targaryen fic I have been writing little by little. This fic will be published once I finish my Aegon Targaryen II fanfic, His Love. I hope this shall quench your House of The Dragon thirst for the time being until I can finish the newest chapter of His Love. Thank you for your continued support and patience!

Warnings: Violence, derogatory terms towards women

You slid down the wing of your dragon, vengeful tears clouding your eyes as your feet hit the impacted sand. A small legion of guards came rushing out of the courtyard, the clanging of their metal armor and sounds clashing once they saw the winged serpent sitting above, his nostrils flaring with a puff of smoke.

"Where is he?" You shouted, a deep sorrowful sound coming from your chest. "Where is the Kinslayer?"

You held your sword close, ready to fight, as you paced in front of the Kingsguard, a predator stalking its prey.

"Where is the Kinslayer?" You yelled again and saw but the slightest flinch from the well-trained men. "Come out and fight me, Aemond, you coward!" Your breath was ragged, your chest heaving as you continued walking back and forth, waiting for an excuse to command your dragon.

Finally, one of the guards spoke up, standing proudly before your heaving body as if there wasn't a dragon perched above him, ready to protect its rider at any moment. You did not recognize him, most likely one of the newly promoted men loyal to the Greens. You admired him for his ignorant bravery and hoped he would get a true soldier's burial or what would be left of him.

"Princess," he spoke, his voice booming without the slightest bit of waiver, "go back home to Dragonstone now, and this transgression will be forgotten, by word of the new King Aegon Targaryen."

"No," you shouted back. "I shall not leave this place until I take what I came for!" Your body burned with emotions—anger, pain, loss... betrayal. "I desire Aemond Targaryen's life in repentance for my young brother." You paused, swallowing a thick lump in your throat. "A son for a son."

He sighed, lowering his head with a disappointed look. "Then, you have forced my hand, Your Grace." He turned, becoming the commander of the King's army. "Men, swords at the ready!"

"Kinslaying is a crime in the eyes of the Seven and the law, is it not, Ser?" "It is punishable by death." his eyes drifted away from your disheveled figure, glancing at the dragon on the ground.

They must have known they were about to enter an unwinnable fight, laying down their lives for a usurper king, a boy who did not deserve the title—one who was kin with your brother's murderer.

"You are the sworn protectors of the crown, and Aegon, is not the crown; my mother is." You stopped pacing, your shoulders slightly hunched as you faced the guards. "Lay down your weapons, and you may keep your cloaks when Rhaenyra Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne, sits upon it."

Your words pierced like an arrow through the men's white armor, the hesitant glint of lowering steel catching your eye, but the majority felt nothing. They were blinded by the shiny lies of Hightowers, their ears filled with Green.

"King Viserys had from the moment Prince Aegon was bore to undo Rhaenyra's claims, but he did not. And now, suddenly, the night when the Stranger takes him, he recants," you ranted like a mad woman, continuing your pacing as you caught your breath. "And the only person who heard those words is the boy's mother."

The air was thick, the silence loud as every man thought over your words. They were sworn under your grandfather, not your Uncle. They would protect the crown they laid their life for, not some boy who was dragged by the ear to take the title.

"Did all those years serving my late Grandsire mean nothing? Have you no loyalty to the former King?"

The clattering of swords and armor rang throughout the courtyard, three men kneeling before you and bowing their heads while the others did not. You smiled, a warm feeling of victory melting your angry heart. You walked over to them calmly as the rest stared, stunned into momentary submission.

"Rise, honorable men, stand beside me and the true heir of the crown."

They obeyed, rising and taking steps beside you as nearly every man at arms in the castle came running into the courtyard. The four of you were severely outnumbered, but that did not matter, for they did not have the power of a dragon.

You raised your sword, angling it towards the small army of men as they readied for battle, their leader yelling for them to charge.

"Dracarys!"

The men continued their pursuit even as Aergon burned each to nothing but a molten pile of pointless honor. Their swords and armor melted on their bones as they dropped to the ground, and soon no one was left to fight the Black Princess.

You sheathed your sword, glancing at the wing of your waiting dragon.

"Where is the Kinslayer," you questioned plainly, sounding as if you weren't going to commit the same crime your Uncle had.

"He was last seen with the Queen in her chambers. He looked rather shaken," one of them answered. Your mouth formed into a disgusted snarl, knowing what he must have said to her.

You glanced back to the three men before you, face softening momentarily as you placed each hand on the outer one's shoulders in a makeshift embrace.

"Your honor and loyalty will not go unnoticed, Sers. You will be greatly rewarded once we return back to Dragonstone. On that I promise you." None of them smiled. Their years of training hardened their souls, but each of their eyes squinted, revealing they wanted to.

"Thank you, Princess," one after the other said, bowing their heads.

"We need only a glorious death on the battlefield in honor of our Queen as reward. That is enough," the man to the far left said. You gave a slight nod in thanks, grateful to have such unwavering devotion to your Mother.

You looked up at your dragon, his yellow eyes blinking, waiting for your command. "Hide, Aergon, somewhere close but where they cannot reach you." He breathed through his large nostrils, each one bigger than your trembling fist, communicating in his way to make sure this was what you wanted. "Yes, please, boy," you smiled weakly, walking closer to where he was perched on the high stone wall as he lowered his head.

You reached up, stroking his snout as his throat rumbled with a pur. You could feel his worry. He did not want to abandon you, his rider, his partner, the other piece to his soul, but respected your wishes as you rested your head where your hand was.

Aergon loved you, and you felt it, even though everyone told you dragons were too powerful and cruel to have such things. But you knew. You just... knew. There was no loyal of a dragon that had ever flown the skies. You knew he would protect you until your last breath, and after then, you were sure he would not take another rider.

You released Aergon from your embrace, reassuring him it was alright to leave you alone with these three men and that you would return soon. He pushed off the wall, small pieces of stone crumbling as he took off. You were still determining where he was headed but knew he would come to you if you called as you turned to the guards.

"Take me to him," you ordered. The soft voice you used with Aergon had left and was replaced with genuine malice as you followed.

***

Servants and maids ran as soon as they saw your disheveled form. You were sure you looked as mad as you felt. The coal you used for eyeliner smudged and smeared down your cheeks, and your heavy dress was covered with mud and sweat as you stormed down the hall.

You were suspicious about the lack of guards in the halls. Typically everywhere you went, at least four or five of them were stationed, but you were too angry to care. Your grief blinded you of any logic.

Oh, Lucerys, you thought, your eyes becoming hot and nose stinging as a fresh wave of tears formed. How could they have done this to you, my sweet baby brother?

You hiccuped, and the three true Kingsguardmen turned to face you, worried. They had told you their names when you entered the castle, in case anything happened to them, so you knew what to call them to your Mother to make sure their families knew of their bravery.

"I am fine, Ser Heinrich," you said, though you did not feel it. He was the tallest of the three, with curly blonde hair and pale blue eyes that had a softness you did not find with knights.

"Hmm," he hummed, his deep voice vibrating in his throat as it bobbed, turning to the two others. Ser Williams and Ser Jon, you had come to find out. They did not say anything, just staring at each other and then at you before they continued walking, leading you to the staircase that led to the start of the royal wing.

You were young, maybe seven or eight, when you resided here. It had been many years since you had lived here, and you could not, for your life, navigate the labyrinth of hallways, doors, and wings. You weren't sure you ever could.

The walls echoed with insults back then, whispers of your true parentage for you and your three brothers. You knew. You always knew but refused to speak it aloud unless angered to do so. You felt the same as you did back then. A little girl, escorted by guards as everyone looked away, felt ostracized and alone in a castle full of people.

The four of you rounded the corner, stopping once you saw what awaited in the Queen's hall.

A small legion of men, all clad in white cloaks, point their swords at you, shields at the ready. And at the head of it all, the only one without their weapon drawn was Ser Criston Cole.

"Princess," he greeted though he did not bow, "it is an... unexpected surprise to see you here at the Red Keep. Have you come to pledge yourself in service to the crown?"

You laughed, hand going to the pommel of your sword. You knew he was taunting you, playing ignorant to the reason for your arrival. Perhaps even stalling for time so the royal family could be taken to a safer place.

"You know well why I am here Ser Criston. Now call off your dogs so I can take what has been taken from me." Your voice did not waver, but your tears flowed freely down your slightly blackened cheeks.

"No, Princess, it is you who must turn back." He stepped closer, and although he was regal in his movements, he was angry his armor clanking. "Have you bewitched these men with your body like your whore of a mother?"

You howled, charging forward and unsheathing your sword as you swung at Ser Criston, barely making contact as Ser Heinrich grabbed your arm. Your fury was directed at him now, yanking your arm out of his grip as you steel yourself.

"You will not speak of your Queen that way," you shouted as you stepped closer to him, sizing him up. "Give me Prince Aemond, so I can have what is mine. Give me my revenge Ser Criston!" Your resolve finally crumbled, your voice no longer sounding like a man ready for battle but a grieving sister. "Let me avenge my brothers death!"

"You will not kill a true born son of the crown for your bastard brother," he spoke calmly, unphased by the shaking woman before him.

You swung your sword again, hitting his with a loud 'clang' as he stumbled back slightly, not expecting you to make a move. He recovered quickly, blocking your attack with ease as you swung again, met with the vibration of metal on metal.

Ser Heinrich, Williams, and Jon looked at each other, panic rising in their chests. They knew you were no actual opponent to a master of the sword like Ser Criston, the one who help trained the princes himself, but they did not know what to do. Williams wanted to join you in fighting but was unsure if you would allow him. Heinrich tried to stop you, pull you back, and make you call your dragon so you could return home. He knew Rhaenyra could not handle another child's death but also knew you needed this. Jon stood at the ready, intently watching everyone and everything unfold, ensuring they would not be surprised if one of the men behind Cole decided to attack.

You had only been trained sparingly by your stepfather Daemon, only letting you start fully with him and the boys as of the dinner while Viserys was still alive—the one where Aemond the One-Eyed stood tall and said a toast to these, Strong children. You knew nothing compared to any of these men in this hallway, but you fought with their ferocity combined. Ser Criston continued to block and dodge every one of your attacks, not seeming even to break a sweat as you moved wildly.

No one noticed, except for Ser Jon, the opening of the door they were supposed to be guarding, seeing a head of long, white hair sauntering to where you and Ser Criston fought. His slim fingers clasped behind his back as he watched the hardly fair fight unfold.

Ser Criston dodged another one of your attacks, slicing your bicep, the first blood of battle spilling on the dark forest green rug. You paused, looking at where he cut your sleeve as the crimson liquid seeped out, your fingers scooping it up. You examined it in shock, but your mind suddenly went somewhere else.

Did Lucerys bleed when Aemond's dragon struck him down? Did his bones shatter and splinter under the pressure of Vahgars teeth? Was it merciful as his skull was crushed in one bite so he did not have to live in pain inside the belly of that beast? Or did he and Ayrax plummet into the sea, not swallowed by a dragon but by the waves?

No. Aemond would not let the boy who took out his eye experience a painless death. It was certainly not that merciful.

You squeezed your hand shut, hiding the blood in your palm as you attacked Ser Criston again, but another blocked your sword. Your head whipped to the side, seeing the Kinslayer standing beside you, his face emotionless.

With his stance as wide as it was, leaning slightly to block both of your incoming attacks, his midsection was unguarded, and you charged forward, tackling him as both swords clattered to the floor. You straddled his waist, punching him profusely, hitting his nose, temple, cheek, and jaw everywhere on his face. You were blinded with rage and grief, uncaring for how offensive this foul play was. This was war, and there were no rules. The Prince below you made sure of that.

Blood began to pour out of Aemond's nose as you continued to pummel him. His porcelain skin was now littered with red markings and swelling. You ripped his leather eye patch off, exposing his sapphire eye to everyone around him as you began to dig your thumb into it, shoving his desperate hands away as you plucked it out forcefully. He grunted in pain at your roughness, but you did not care. It was nothing compared to the pain Lucerys felt as the sea swallowed him.

Aemond's hands desperately scratched at your face, smearing the already messed-up coal down your cheeks and even onto your forehead. You held the purple-blue sapphire tightly in your fist, throwing it down on the ground, lifting your leg, and smashing it. Aemond took that lapse in your judgment to his advantage, rolling over on top of you as his hands wrapped around your throat.

Ser Heinrich lunged, ready to pull Aemond off and plunge his sword through his back, but Ser Criston stopped him, starting another fight. Ser Jon and Ser Williams rushed to his aid, and Cristons men halted them.

The sound of metal on metal and blocking blows echoed on the stone walls. But the screams of men being sliced down could not overpower the sound of your blood pumping in your ears as Aemond tightened his grip on your neck, gritting his teeth. Your hands were now the ones to scratch desperately, clawing at his good eye as he leaned his weight into you.

"Not so Strong, are you Princess," Aemond taunted, but you ignored it, still trying to free yourself.

Your face was a disgusting shade of red, and your eyes felt like they might pop out of your skull as he cut off all circulation and air.

"Your bastard brother might have been an accident, but I do not regret it, for I will now take the life of another Strong bastard undeserving of their titles and the Targaryen name." You slapped him weakly, the oxygen to your limbs being cut off as they momentarily dropped to the side, and your eyes shut. He shook your head slightly, barely loosening his grip, waking you as he grinned wickedly.

With your last bit of strength, you lifted your arms, wrapping your fingers around his head's sides as you dug both thumbs into his eye sockets. Aemond shouted in pain, jumping off you as he clutched his face.

You gasped for air, not seeming to get enough as your chest heaved rapidly, coughs making your throat raw as you rubbed your neck. You didn't have enough strength to get up and run, only weakly, holding yourself up on your elbow.

To his credit, Aemond recovered quickly, storming back to you as you turned, seeing the bottom of his boot collide with your face, your skull smacking the floor, and your vision blurry. He got on his knees, not restraining your limbs, as he knew there was no fight inside you. You blinked rapidly as he grabbed your dark hair, the striking resemblance to that of your father's... your birth father's, as he slammed it back into the stone floor.

Ser Jon, Ser Heinrich, and Ser Williams dashed to you but were pulled back by more fighting. Ser Jon shouted as his opponent fell to the ground with a sword in his gut. The other two looked at him, seeing their princess on the floor, near seconds away from death. They could not have Rhaenyra lose another one of her children for fear that the grief might kill her. You groaned, feeling pain reverberating through your bones as you gazed at Aemond, blood leaking from your nose. He stopped for a moment, looking at the something, or someone, then over your spent body before he smashed it again and again and again until you could feel liquid dripping down your neck as your eyes finally shut for good.

#aemond fic #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #oneshot #sneak peak #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x reader #prince aemond #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x y/n #uncle aemond #strong!reader #aemond fanfiction #game of thrones #a song of ice and feels #a song of ice and fire #the dance of the dragons #aemond targaryen x niece!reader #targcest #dark aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen

[hydropyro]

“Webs of Fate” Chapter 7

CW: Abdirak. Everyone has behaved this time.

AO3

After eating the breakfast that the wizard provided, which was not half bad, truth be told, Abdirak had gone by himself for a time in the small, derelict building where he’d set up his things. He had enjoyed the early morning prayer and appreciated Alakvyr’s participation. Loviatar had been pleased with the ache in his older joints and the bite of ice around his extremities, heightening the sensation of the rocks beneath his freezing feet. But -- she had also been pleased -- with him -- for Alakvyr’s participation.

Loviatar did not feel humor. She was an emotionless god. Many called her evil -- Abdirak did not quite agree. Would not the rabbit call the wolf evil for doing what it must? She was selfish and self-serving, but he did not see those as being bad qualities. She had not been amused by Alakvyr’s floundering. But she had accepted his pain and the suffering of his embarrassment, and had shown her pleasure in it to the Paingiver.

She would like everyone to be converted into her embrace. And he had traveled far and wide to preach about her love and teach her will and ways. His interviews had delved into the painful depths of the minds and hearts of many, and his instruments had graced the flesh of many more. Some pledged their lives and pain to the great goddess -- some swearing their fealty to him -- and he had not quite felt the same about their participation as he did with Alakvyr.

The drow was important, somehow. She made it well known. The longer Abdirak spent with him, the more convinced he was that he would not eventually be asked to turn on him.

He continued his prayer in solace. He had spent time around the goblins and knew how hardy and driven they were as creatures -- but with this new ‘god’ they claimed to follow they would be a challenging force to face.

Abdirak pulled out chunks of his hair and used a sharp blade to pierce the more sensitive parts of his body, careful to avoid any area that may compromise his safety during the day, or prevent his abilities during the fight. He thanked Loviatar for delivering him to the adventurers. Whatever his work was to be, it was important and she had entrusted him with it. Beyond that, a grand adventure lay ahead. He’d adventured much in his time and had a great many stories to tell, but he could feel all the way in the depths of his body and soul that this would be more -- and he was grateful to be a participant.

The sun had fully risen by the time Abdirak finished his worship. He pulled on a pair of gauntlets. The interior was adorned with metal studs that pressed to his skin and would pierce him when he defended himself. The fingertips were lengthened, sharpened metal, to be used both against his foe, and on his own flesh throughout the battle. Major arteries in the neck, underarms, and thighs were protected. Pressure points around the shoulders.

His magic was more than enough to down most who might make themselves his foe, but if he had anticipated needing to fight he would have brought and worn more armor. He also had not packed the mace used for battle, but would have his scourge should any goblin or other servant of this false god get too close.

When he emerged from his small structure he saw the others moving around camp, dressing themselves in appropriate armor for the coming battle.

“Do you need any armor? We might have picked up something that will fit,” the Sharran was standing closeby, tightening the laces of her metal gauntlets.

She had taken interest in him, but only from a distance. Abdirak searched her face, offering her a kind smile. In the goblin camp he had assumed her to be an elf, but he could see now that she was half-elf.

“I am prepared,” Abdirak assured her. “I don’t intend on fighting.”

She made a light scoffing sound, but he understood it to be good natured. “That won’t stop those goblins from trying to fight you.”

He smiled more broadly at the young cleric. “Let them try.”

•••

When they rounded the hill and faced the mossy rock wall that Alakvyr had explained that it was the gate into the hidden druid grove Abdirak had to stop a moment. Tieflings stood sentinel along the top of the wall. It was still too distant to make them out clearly, but they all looked armed and ready.

“Zevlor!” The drow called up. “Open the gate!”

The gate opened, but the old tiefling man looked wary when their party of ten came through the gate and, in turn, climbed the rickety ladder.

“Lae’zel, Karlach, Wyll, and Lockpick--” Alakvyr began, “You’ll probably be best concealing yourselves outside the gate.”

“I can cast featherfall on them once we know what we are dealing with,” the wizard, Gale, said. The drow only pointed at him in some confirmation of that plan, before striding quickly forward to talk to the tiefling. Abdirak held back with the rest of the group, though he watched the drow with interest. If Alakavyr was to be believed, he had done all -- or some -- of this before.

The camp beyond the wall was spacious, and there were several more armed tieflings within, though he saw no children. They were probably hidden away. Alakvyr had said that he had come into the camp and into some sort of cave where the civilians had been gathered. From where he stood, the Pain could not see where this cave entrance may have been.

When the drow returned he spoke to the warlock, Wyll, briefly. Abdirak had laughed heartily at learning that Wyll, the one who had been so opposed to his joining their merry band, had been a warlock. But, he seemed a decent man, and the Loviatan was not unfamiliar with tales of the Blade of Frontiers -- though heroes did not much interest him.

Everyone stood tense, and the forest was quiet. There were no druids to be seen. That surprised him since they seemed to think this Grove belonged to them -- yet they were not at the gates prepared to defend it. Maybe they did not know that an attack was incoming. Surely not. The tieflings knew. Would the druids, who thought themselves friends of nature and life, use the tieflings as cannon fodder?

Abdirak had been given express instructions to protect the tiefling, Zevlor, and so spoke quietly and cast a sanctuary spell on him, placing a hand on his armored shoulder briefly while he clenched his opposite fist, drawing blood from his palm. The tiefling eyed him suspiciously, but the weary old warrior was wise enough to know when he needed help.

“I’m told that you are an ally,” the old man said, checking over himself. “Based on what the adventurer told me when he escaped the goblin camp camp, I’m not so sure, but I trust Alakvyr and he trusts you.” Across the bridge from himself the Loviatan could see the man whom he’d assisted in the torture of. The human looked nauseated to see him, but remained in place.

“I am here in aid,” Abdirak said, not confirming or denying alliance.

“When I blow this horn, it will signal Minthara to come,” Alakvyr explained to his party and the tieflings atop the wall. “Is everyone ready?”

No one spoke. A few gave hesitant nods.

The horn was deafening. But the thunder of feet from the distance rivaled its might as an army of goblins, worgs, ogres, and spiders set upon the Grove.

#baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #fan fiction #fan fic #alakvyr #abdirak #we love abdirak #Webs of Fate #chapter 7

[halos-top-alien-model]

Sangheili Bracket Round 1 Match 5

More info below:

Nizat 'Kvarosee:

Debuted in Halo: Silent Storm

Born August 23, 2470 on Suban - one of Sanghelios' moons - Nizat would join the Covenant military prior to the Human-Covenant war, claiming he had served around one hundred years before the war began in 2525 (sources seem contradictory on his age / service time). At the onset of the war, he was in command of the Pious Rampage and the Fleet of Inexorable Obedience, with the Minor Minister of Artifact Survey attached as a ceremonial magistrate. Tasked with the destruction of humanity, he would target numerous planets before March 2526, when he was contacted by the United Rebel Front for an alliance. While it was a divine order that humanity be wiped out, he nonetheless saw this as an opportunity to gain intel on more human worlds - especially as the human rebels informed him of and offered to help eliminate the Spartan-IIs. It had been Spartan-IIs that had destroyed two of his ships and they were now hoping to destroy the entirety of his fleet at Biko. Nizat would attack Biko with this in mind, but just as he was glassing the planet, Spartans that slipped away would destroy most of his fleet's supply convoy, stopping his fleet's advance in human space. Upon learning that the Spartans had obtained a Covenant star map, he correctly deduced that they would next target the Covenant supply world of Zhoist rather than the capital ship of High Charity. He would meet them there to hunt them down and stop their raid, with 'Szatulai being slain in the process. The Battle of Zhoist would end with the destruction of Zhoist's Ten Cities, the planet's Ring of Mighty Abundance, and the under-construction Hammer of Faith - all with the Spartans evading capture or demise, valuable intel on their abilities and armor becoming lost with further destruction across Nizat's fleet. The Minor Minister threatened Nizat over this defeat, resulting in his steward - Tam 'Lakosee - to kill him and Nizat to incinerate the body and lie to the Hierarchs about the cause of death to protect Tam.

Called back to High Charity, Nizat makes an attempt to explain where he went wrong and what other shipmasters could learn from these encounters - most notably identifying ONI as the most dangerous asset of humanity and proposing a plan to trick and destroy them. However, his plan is rejected, so he steals the bait he needs for his plan and flees in his ship. Reaching the planet Netherop / N'ba, he soon learns that the Fleet of Swift Justice is after him and intends to pin him between themselves and a hostile human fleet nearby, but he out-maneuvers them and lands on the planet's surface. He engages the forces on the planet, facing difficulty in getting the humans to "steal" his tracking bait, all while Silent Shadow assassins and the same Spartans that bested him before are at his back. Unfortunately, the Silent Shadow would catch up with him, but they would end up only stripping him of his armor and leaving him and those loyal to him marooned on the planet. Sometime after this, Nizat would christen himself as "Worldmaster", stalking the similarly stranded Lieutenant Commander Amalea Petrov and claiming to his men that she was a gift from the gods. Meanwhile, off-world, the Prophet of Truth would cover up the true events that occurred on Netherop and declared the area cursed so that none would attempt to rescue Nizat. Additionally, orbital mines would be deployed around the planet.

For the next 33 years, Nizat would wage war against Petrov's forces (for some reason in contradiction to his previous views on her), discovering Precursor technology and using it to create Sanctum Hide and the Divine Hand, as well as other supplies to keep his followers alive. Among these followers were now also the Silent Shadow Meduz 'Ra'ashai, sent behind to enforce Nizat's exile. Over time, Nizat would grow more and more fanatical, while everyone else save for Tam grew more disillusioned with him and the harsh Netherop life. During these three decades, Nizat would prevent to separate UNSC rescue missions and lose a number of his followers until they were down to six by 2559. Then, things would change as the Arbiter Thel 'Vadam arrived in search of a weapon to end Cortana's new tyranny - Spartan Vale following behind him. Nizat would spare Thel's landing team but not Vale's, before he realized the lack of fighting between them. He would create a tunnel to capture the two human civilians Vale brought with her, but only succeeded in taking one. On the journey back, Thel and his remaining stranded allies would catch up and attempt to negotiate. Nizat would first hear him out, only to react in denial that the Covenant was a lie and the galaxy had changed, launching into hostiles. However, a sudden explosion would make him realize that Vale had used the Arbiter as a diversion to sneak past him and reach the Divine Hand. After he believed he had dealt with the Arbiter, he would retreat to go deal with the invading humans, only to have his numbers reduced to just himself and Tam - 'Ra'ashai defecting to the Arbiter's side - and a mandible torn off. Tam would negotiate with Thel and Vale, helping them with the Divine Hand in exchange for mercy for Nizat, but this would quickly go sideways as the Banished and Forerunner ships arrived. As the Arbiter attempted to deal with his enemies, Tam would take hold of the weapon and cause all of the ships in orbit be destroyed, with some Banished surviving to pose a threat to everyone stranded. Nizat and Tam would be abandoned in their temple as the Divine Hand was taken from them, with it the "blessings" turning to ruin. However, Nizat would not come to find this out, as Tam decided to put his dear leader and friend out of his misery.

Rtas 'Vadum:

Debuted in Halo 2

Born on Sept. 21, 2487, Rtas would explore his keep's shoreline as a child - nearly dying at ten years old in one exploration gone wrong - and graduated with honors from a top war college. By Sept. 2554, he would serve as a commander to all the SpecOps units in the Fleet of Particular Justice. During the Battle of Installation 04, he and a team that included his second in command - Bero 'Kusovai - would be sent to investigate a possible human boarding on the agricultural support ship Infinite Succor. However, they would not find humans there, but the Flood parasite. While the outbreak would be contained, Rtas would be the sole survivor - and lost left mandibles in the process. Following this, he would be reassigned to to command all SpecOps from High Charity.

A little time would pass before Rtas would be assigned to lead a mission against a heretic faction, his former Supreme Commander Thel 'Vadamee joining them as the newly appointed Arbiter. An attack against the base of operations would ensue, only for Rtas to once again detect the stench of the Flood. Complicating things further was that the Heretic Leader locked himself behind an unbreakable barrier while a harsh storm was on the horizon. The Arbiter would volunteer to conduct a risky plan to draw out the Heretic Leader solo, with Rtas deciding to leave with him his blade as help. The two would not see each other again until later at High Charity, where Rtas argued with the Prophet of Truth over the changing of the Honor Guard and the Prophet undermining Rtas' attempt to save the Prophet of Regret. Another reunion would take place on Installation 05 - specifically the Quarantine Zone - where Rtas and his SpecOps forces would aid the Arbiter in reaching the Sacred Icon necessary to activate the Halo. However, following this mission, the Hierarchs would order the execution of all Sangheili, beginning the Great Schism. As civil war erupted, Rtas would reunite with Thel once again and assist him in reaching a Scarab to break into the ring's control room, although Rtas would then split to achieve another goal - taking control of the Shadow of Intent. Now leading the fledgling Fleet of Retribution, Rtas would conduct a campaign to quarantine and sterilize the Flood-infected High Charity and Halo, only for a single cruiser to escape and head to Earth.

Rtas and parts of his fleet would follow it, joining the Battle of Voi in the process. Knowing more than anyone else the threat of the Flood spreading, he was prepared to glass all of Earth, but was talked into only glassing the portion of the continent the Flood had landed on. On his ship, he and other notable figures of the war would receive a message from Cortana warning that a Gravemind had taken over High Charity and was heading to Earth, with the Ark at the other side of Voi's portal being the only way to stop it. Rtas was eager to take his forces - alongside the UNSC Forward Unto Dawn - to go on the offensive against the Covenant and Flood at the Ark. His fleet would engage the Covenant in the skies, being confident despite being outnumbered three to one, declaring the iconic line: "Then it is an even fight." Unfortunately, while the battle was going well and Rtas prepared to destroy the Citadel, the Flood-infested High Charity appeared to knock his ship off course, temporarily taking it out of action. Once the threat of the Covenant activating the entire Halo Array was finished, Rtas would gather all the human and Sangheili forces and take them back to Earth, while the Arbiter, Master Chief, Sergeant Johnson, and 343 Guilty Spark stayed behind with the UNSC Forward Unto Dawn to finish off the Flood for good. Once the war was finally over, Rtas would return to Earth again to attend a memorial ceremony, although he would stay on his ship in orbit while the Arbiter attended in person. 

At some point later in the year 2553, Shadow of Intent would respond to a distress signal at Rahnelo. By this point, Rtas had recruited Bladmaster Vul 'Soran and Unggoy Ranger Stolt as his advisors, the former serving as his second in command. At Rahnelo, Rtas would learn of the existence of a Prelate intent on taking out the Sangheili and allow the female warrior Tul 'Juran to join in the hunt for him in defiance of tradition against female military service. They would pursue the Prelate to Duraan, only to fall into a trap and be boarded. After fending off the attack and capturing the Prelate, where he learned of greater plans forged by the Minister of Preparation as well as the Prelate's hatred of Rtas personally for supposedly causing the deaths of his family on High Charity. Rtas would still speak amicably with the Prelate, singing for him and theorizing that the Minister deceived the Prelate on when his family had died, sowing the seeds for the Prelate's later turn. Yet before that, when Rtas took a small team to confront the Minister and destroy his prototype Halo weapon, the Prelate would briefly betray them. This betrayal would be short-lived, as the Prelate would then sacrifice himself to take out both the Minister and the weapon while Rtas escaped alive. Once the mission was over, Rtas would speak with the Arbiter regarding changing the Swords of Sanghelios' restrictions on female enlistment due to Tul. Afterward, Rtas resolved to locate the survivors of the San'Shyuum species, in order to ensure the ones good-hearted like the Prelate would be treated fairly.

Shadow of Intent would be involved in a few events between the years of 2553 and 2558, including an operation against pirates in a Joint Occupation Zone and being stalked by three ONI prowlers that would then be destroyed under unclear circumstances. By Nov. 2559, Rtas would still be pursuing the San'Shyuum and therefore unable to assist the Arbiter in a trip to Netherop, but it is unclear if he was caught up in the Created conflict earlier and if his mission was known and allowed by Cortana.

#halo #sangheili #halo sangheili #halo aliens #halo elite #halo elites #halo fandom #halo tumblr #tumblr bracket #tumblr tournament #rtas vadum #rtas 'vadum #shipmaster rtas vadum #nizat kvarosee #nizat 'kvarosee

[boilingheart]

(originally written nov 28, 2020, so this is set more in BFA time)

              MORNINGS.

they either begin with a start, far too early for comfort, drenched in sweat, echoes of past missions, kills, horrors, detheroc in his mind —

or they begin slow, quietly, eyes opening at that trained 5am, fully alert, fully awake no matter how much his body cries out for more rest, no matter what time he’d lay down prior, he wakes at the same time.

( this, of course, is not counting the noises that wakes him in the middle of the night. rustle of the leaves, branches brushing against the side of the door, thunder, rain, bumps, thuds, anything that’s just too loud, he wakes to it, alert, ready, daggers already in his hands — truly, there is no real rest as the spymaster. not when the world has proven to be cruel and unpredictable. )

every new day is a trial, a testament to his strength, his patience, his endurance. he’s carved a routine though, you must understand — stretch, exercise, shower, walk, eat — he is well cared for, his needs met. he lives well, a home five minutes away from the si:7, tucked away in old town and hidden from public view. room, office, running water, heat, plentiful food, clothes and blankets, he is not suffering as many others in stormwind are. he serves royalty, he is well, there is no need to loathe these mornings. he is cared for. he is well.

work begins the moment he’s conscious ( though work doesn’t really end when he goes to sleep, ) - the moment an agent spots him, reports are head, tally of the day, new intel to be discovered. unrest among the civilians, spymaster, one tells him on his morning walk around the city, discreet, agent convincingly posed as a mere traveling merchant. the war has taken much from them, as has the draft. the armistice brings them no peace, and they voice their concerns over the throne. quiet, and calm things are for now, but we are watching it closely.

he thinks then, of the stonemasons, and as if fated to, casts his gaze towards the white cobblestone walls, the signature brick of the stonemasons, and remembers their work, their rage, their injustice. i’ll report it to the king, shaw would reply, knowing that wrynn can do nothing on this, that history is always bound to repeat. he is well, he is cared for. stormwind, westfall, the alliance, they are not.

you’re distant today, renzik tells him as he enters the headquarters, bearing the missive and knowledge that he is to send agents to die today. organizations in the shadows, intel to be gathered and dark forces play out of the public’s view, and it was up to them to deal with it. his agents can handle it. they are cared for. they are trained. they are prepared. but it’s blood to be spilled, and though shaw himself has become desensitized, he knows that every pulse ended kills a small part of him as well, no matter how much time passes.

the sun is fully out now, chill of early morning air dissipating as the city swells to life, noise and activity, the busy-ness reminding him of what he stands to protect ( what he stands to lose ) and what stood to give his bloodline a chance ( what also claimed his mother in violence ). stormwind is his armor, his blood, his purpose. the throne ensures he is cared for, that he is well. he is to do the same, until death.

busy day, is all shaw can say. things are well, things are fine. cruel of him, to find discontent in this life, when he is still breathing, still walking, still fortunate enough to see through another day ( another war ). can he say the same for the others? for edwin, for tiffin, for varian, kearnen, charlene, pathonia? he endures. they do not. for every day he survives a mission, huddled in his hiding spot as bombs drop by, or patching a wound that could have struck a vein, or successfully evading sight and dispatching foes twice their size, or enduring the harsh climates of the environments he’s forced into, he is grateful to leave in one piece.

dear pathonia taught him how to, of course. where would he be without her? ( where would she be, without stormwind? )

but renzik knows him well. their bond was forged through blood and war, they’ve witnessed many of the same atrocities. they are well, they are intact, yes, physically, they are well, they are fine. renzik says nothing, simply hands him the latest scroll. reports from kalimdor. they’re to mobilize immediately.

the sun is at its highest point now, as shaw gathers his agents, armored and ready, standing at the harbor, awaiting their sloop o’ war. he’d rather stay in stormwind, watch the king closely, but wrynn’s orders are not to be disobeyed. his loyalty would never let him stray.

but still, he watches a kul tiran ship arrive and dock, and he wonders idly, if he’d ever succumb to such weakness to simply run away from it all, and never look back.

armored and armed, poisons ready, gadgets stocked, tools counted for — a spymaster’s work never ends. he does what he does well, and in turn, he is cared for. he is well.

these good mornings, spymaster, they’re for the alliance.

#bheart writes #Mathias Shaw #Renzik the Shiv #Warcraft #wow fanfic

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The foreseeable result of hate speech. :: November 21, 2022

Robert B. Hubbell

         The inevitable consequence of the GOP’s culture war on LGBTQ people took another tragic turn on Saturday as a mass murderer killed five and injured dozens of patrons at an LGBTQ nightclub in Colorado Springs, Colorado. The gunman entered Club Q wearing body armor and carrying an assault rifle. The name and other details of the murderer match that of a grandson of a MAGA politician in California, but no major media outlet has yet confirmed that connection. No matter the details. The GOP has ratcheted up anti-gay hate speech in Colorado over the last few years—and violence is the foreseeable result. See NBCNews, Anti-LGBTQ sentiment in Colorado Springs had some in the community anticipating tragedy. See also WaPo, Club Q shooting follows year of bomb threats, drag protests, anti-trans bills.

         Some of the very politicians who serve as cheerleaders for the anti-LGBTQ hate speech in Colorado—e.g., Lauren Boebert—claim to be shocked by the violence. But they are fooling no one. Boebert has promoted an anti-LGBTQ user account on Twitter that specializes in identifying LGBTQ allies for harassment by hate groups. See The Independent, Lauren Boebert condemned for response to Colorado Springs shooting. Per The Independent,

Twitter users quickly noted that Boebert was deeply entrenched in the resurgence of right-wing hate against the LGBT community. The freshman congresswoman . . . has more than once tweeted approvingly about the right-wing hate account LibsOfTikTok, which shines a spotlight on private citizens and businesses that are seen as members of or allied with the gay community.

         The above-mentioned “right-wing hate account” promoted by Boebert is still active on Twitter—as is Boebert, who recently tweeted, “Sending a message to all drag queens out there: stay away from the children in Colorado’s third district,” and “Take your children to church, not to drag shows.” But as other commentators have noted, guns kill 3,500 children and teens per year, but books and drag shows kill none. Republicans want to ban books and drag shows while ensuring the rights of domestic abusers and violent felons to purchase assault weapons.

         The attacks on LGBTQ are sickening and will continue until everyone (including Twitter) condemns such attacks. Every. Single. Time. It. Happens. Republicans have calculated that anti-LGBTQ hate speech wins them more support than it costs them. When Democrats rise to the defense of LGBTQ—also known as “people”—Republicans accuse us of engaging in “identity politics” or of “being woke.”

         Do not let those childish counterattacks dissuade you. Five people are dead and dozens more are injured in Colorado Springs because a MAGA-drunk angry young man with an assault rifle believed what Lauren Boebert told him—that LGBTQ people are “other than” and “not really people.”

         Such hate speech is disgusting and must stop. It is up to us to ensure that no one can win office or participate in leadership positions anywhere in society if they promote anti-LGBTQ hate speech—even if they do so under the guise of “protecting our children.” I am looking at you, Ron DeSantis—and at all of his Christian nationalist enablers.

#Hate speech #hate crimes #Robert B. Hubbel Newsletter #Robert B. Hubbel #LGBTQ #humanity #drag queens

[thepilgrimbetweenworlds]

Antiverse Revised Character Profile: Crystal Fist

Crystal Fist

Donor “Name”: 0651-05 (Shortened to 0-5)

Age: Created 15 years ago.

Species: Petrosapian

Birthplace: Petros Asteroid Belt (Antiverse)

Hair: None

Eyes: Light Blue

Height: 6ft 2in

Weight: 305 lbs.

Powers/Abilities:

-Crystal Generation: Supply and demand make Antiverse Petrosapians a rarity, and their construction materials are one of a kind. Composed of an obsidian/diamond nanotech compound, Crystal Fist can create and manipulate crystal growths anywhere on his body. These crystals are extremely sharp and can cut through a variety of materials, but they are not especially durable.

-Diamond Armor: A good product is built to last, and 0-5 is no exception. Crystal Fists outer shell is comprised of a more durable diamond like material, and can regenerate, albeit slowly, thanks to built in nanotech.

-Tactical Genius: A Petrosapian bodyguard must be aware of surroundings if he is to protect his owner. Crystal Fist is equipped with a built-in experimental learning computer, which reads and breaks down an opponent’s fighting style, as well as tactical advantages in his environment.

Physical Description: Crystal Fists appearance is best described as more tactical in comparison to Diamondhead. His main body is small and protected by highly durable armor: this armor encompasses his head, shoulders, upper torso, forearms and legs. Crystal Fists head is protected by a helmet equipped with a retractable face mask. His upper torso is very blocky and tapers sharply into a thin waist, which appears even smaller because of the armor. The coloring of his armor is a deep shade of purple, while his main body is a lighter, bluish-purple color. His brand number is carved into his neck. The Antitrix symbol is located on his chest.

Backstory: 0651-05, named 0-5 out of convenience by his creators, was once one of the most feared Petrosapian bodyguards every created. He was part of a new line of prototype guards, ones designed to adapt to open combat. 0-5 was one of five prototype models, bought by a warlord with a particular bloodlust. After experiencing countless dangerous scenarios, 0-5’s learning computer developed an unexpected sub-routine, one not even his designers anticipated: self-preservation. 0-5 learned the best way to fulfill his main objective was to save himself and left his original owner to die. His creators took advantage of this semi-autonomous state and sold 0-5 as their ultimate product, eventually gaining the attention of a certain Chimeran warlord…

Personality: 0-5 is clinical, straightforward, and blunt. Having no concept of social boundaries or tact, he’ll speak the truth regardless of the situation, always quick to point out the flaws in people’s personalities. In a more complicated sense, 0-5 does this as an expression of his individuality. If he won’t serve you, he’s going to tell you exactly why he won’t serve you.

Influence on Kevin: As Crystal Fist, Kevin adopts the colder and more calculating aspects of 0-5’s personality.

Trivia:

-Claims to have a name but won't say what it is.

#ask blog #roleplay #Crystal Fist #antiverse au #character profile

[emperordeathsatan]

From the depths of The Underdark to the center of githyanki civilization, Abigail travelled the lands in search of evil to punish. She wore the armor or her paladin circle like it was flesh and bone, clinging to it as it protected her from the forces of evil. She disliked and distrusted the githyanki, but she understood that they were the lesser evil compared to the mind flayers they opposed, and was thus willing to work with them until she was granted an audience with their queen.

Said audience didn't take as long as she would have assumed. The githyanki trusted her even less than she did they, but her heroic exploits had made her into something of a legend amongst a handful of perceptive individuals, and Vlaakith was nothing if not well informed. She was summoned to the chambers of the lich queen, alone, none of her party were worthy to lay eyes on the preserver of the gith race.

Abigail stepped foot into the queen's chamber, the Kith'Rak of the creche led her to where Vlaakith dwelled. The Lich Queen in all her glory was a sight to behold, only an individual like Abigail could find such beauty in the preserved body of an immortal lich like Vlaakith, death having long given up on her. The mere sight of her made Abigail's codpiece feel tighter.

Vlaakith beckoned the oathbreaker forward with her finger, and she followed. She knelt down, laying down her warhammer and shield while Vlaakith smiled on her. Vlaakith commanded her to rise, Abigail looked her in the eyes.

"You've done well, istik, very few can claim the accomplishments you have, none of them istik." Vlaakith was charmed by the outlander, though she had never truly understood why an Underdark dwarf would decide to serve the Githyanki, but she had long accepted her loyalty by now. She pet Abigail on the head.

"Thank you, my queen." Abigail felt alive when she felt Vlaakith's cold touch. "Serving you is the greatest honor any mortal could have."

Vlaakith enjoyed hearing those words. "You speak only truth, you have wisdom to match your strength." Vlaakith snapped her fingers. "Kith'Rak, leave us." Her servant obeyed her orders, departing without a word.

"Istik, disrobe." Words that felt magnificent to Abigail, she had waited what felt like centuries for this, and Vlaakith simply acknowledged it with a single word. Her armor made loud clanging noises as she ripped it off, from her grieves to helmet, she was now fully nude. It felt wonderful to have finally freed her cock from her bloodstained armor.

[olboypacman]

Dragon Falls to Spider’s Venom, Chapter 2: Trapped in a Web/1st Date!? Pt 2.

A/N: A little less Ryu/Juri in this chapter. This will serve as to how Juri got to where she is now. This will jump around a little bit. Also, if anyone has seen the Street Fighter 4 OVA where Juri was 1st introduced, there’s apart in this chapter that slightly reimagines some of those events.

I also claim no ownership of Street Fighter or associated trademarks.

***

8 Months Ago, Unspecified Rainforest of Southern Thailand

***

She’d done it.

S.I.N was hers.

Juri finally decided to make her move on Seth.

Seth was tough, no doubt about that. The arrogant android managed to make her break a sweat, but he was just a warmup (though it took more out of her than she’d ever state out loud, even having to use the Feng-Shui engine to rebuff Seth’s attacks).

Now it was time to plan her move on Shadaloo and nab the prize.

Bison’s head.

Juri gave the fallen android very little regard as she lifted her foot to shatter Seth’s core, ensuring he wouldn’t be coming back.

Not unlike the roach who’s fond of red military garb, thought Juri.

The moment she crushed the Tanden Engine under her own foot, that was when Bison decided to reveal himself.

The metal automatic door hissed open, Bison stepping into Seth’s office, as if he owned the place.

She could hear bangs, shouting, explosions and gunshots beyond the office, making it clear Bison didn’t come alone.

It was no secret that Bison had moles in S.I.N, but Seth, being the unimaginative automaton he was, did nothing to eliminate them; furthermore even having S.I.N’s base in the same rainforests as the main Shadaloo base.

She remembered the humanoid once stating the mountains and forests of southern Thailand were naturally impenetrable.

Naturally impenetrable my ass, thought Juri.

The devil among men barely made any preamble.

He goes on the attack after giving a haughty “humph.”

Bison left his feet, charging her, the paramilitary leader going into a spin as the ki of his psycho power enveloped him.

She just managed to dodge him, jumping out of the as he blasted past her, shouting, “Psycho Crusher!”

Looking to take advantage of the opening she charged him as he recovered.

Bison came out of the spin of the psycho crusher, landing on both feet just as Juri came up on him.

Juri threw a flurry of punches and kicks to his body and head, hoping to catch him cold.

But Bison was no push over, he dodged, blocked or parried everything she threw.

After one parry, he held on to her wrist squeezing it tight as he shrouded it the burning ki of his psycho power.

In response, Juri then refocused her attack. She threw a kick low, thrusting her foot heel first with crippling intention towards Bison’s knee.

He grunted in pain, but his grip remained tight.

She did again.

Once more.

He released his grip, then produced a burst of sudden ki creating almost shield around him forcing Juri back.

She regained her footing, then began circling Bison as she shook her wrist.

The defensive aura ki around Bison disbursed, as he kicked the kinks out of his knee.

He smiles, “You intend to cripple me, girl?” He asked mockingly as he took his stance, widening his feet, placing his hands in place to protect his face and body.

Juri smiles at him, but with no mirth in her features. “I reckon a one-legged man is easier to kill than one with two,” she said shrugging off his question.

Bison charged her once more, taking a large step throwing himself into a low kick of his own aiming for her standing leg.

Juri, no stranger to such a tactic, leaps above the strike, flipping into the air with the intention of landing on her much-hated foe.

She makes contact with Bison, touching down both feet on his armored shoulders. She recognized he’s still off balance having thrown his body into that low kick, so she pushes off him performing another flip.

Bison collied with the ground, landing on his hands his back away from Juri; while Juri landed gracefully in a 3-point stance.

He regains his footing, just as Juri is on him once more.

He goes for a double collar tie, grabbing at the collar bones on Juri on both sides.

Juri sees this another opening, throwing a barrage of punches toward his now unprotected body.

“A…small…price…to pay,” Bison managed to spit out between landed blows.

It was then that he landed a thunderous knee to her midsection, using the collar tie to tilt her body to expose the vulnerable areas and pull her into the blows.

He tilts her to his left, kneeing her on her right side and vice-versa.

She desperately tries to fight her way out this clinch, punching, clawing, even swimming her hands using circular motion to break the dangerous embrace, but Bison has too much size on her, too much strength.

She wills the Feng Shui Engine to life in a last-ditch effort.

The boost the device gives her increases her strength enough for her power out of Bison’s hold, peeling his hands from her collar bones with her bare hands through sheer brute force and creates distance with a push kick to his body.

She needed to get back on the offensive as this boost he’s been granted won’t last long.

Plus, there’s a few things working toward her disadvantage.

Bison’s most recent attack took more out her than she realized, she was more fatigued from her clash with Seth than she’d care to admit, and of course have used the Feng-Shui Engine against Seth; it yields diminishing returns if utilized too soon in successive fashion.

“Did you use your little trinket against my spare?” he asked with a mocking smile.

“What does it matter,” she responded through gritted teeth, fists clinching tight, “you’ll fall just the same.”

They clashed again, this time Juri getting the better of the exchanges, the speed and power boost granted by the Feng-Shui Engine guiding her through.

But for each punch landed, she slowed slightly.

Each kick connected had a little less might behind it than the last.

She was reaching her limit and she knew it.

And would appear Bison picked up on it too.

He timed a punch batting it down and through that opening he threw an elbow to her face, it landing square on her nose.

Juri yelled, “Bastard!” as she retreated, holding her face.

Bison then approached her, imbuing his fists with Psycho energy.

He then begun to rain down punches on her, the Psycho Power-enhanced blows not only impacting her head and body, but also burning with each one landing.

She desperately covers up, trying her best to block the incoming attacks but it’s of little use, the Feng-Shui Engine whirring down as the boost it provided has completely elapsed.

The way he rained down blows on her made it clear he wasn’t there to beat her into submission or subservience.

He wasn’t there to make an example of her.

He was there to take her out and take S.I.N.

No!

Not when she’d just taken it for herself.

She tries to activate the Feng-Shui Engine once more.

Just as it starts to hum to life once more, Bison utters, “No more of that.”

He grabs her by the neck, lifting her into the air squeezing the life out her. He slams her back into the nearby steel wall, while still holding her by the throat.

She struggles with her feet kicking in the air as she gasps for breath, pounding desperately on the arm holding her up.

Bison reaches for her left eye, his intention to rip the Feng-Shui engine right out her head clear.

“Kkekk,” she spits out as her struggle gets more erratic, batting his hand away with each attempt only being more futile than the last while Bison squeezes her neck tighter.

As her consciousness fades, she enacts one more act of desperation.

She grasps the sides of his head, pushing her thumbs into his sockets.

He lets out a wail, “Rahh! You wretch! I’ll make you suffer for this!”

Take mine, I’ll take your you son of a bitch, she thought.

He grabs her by the wrists, tearing her hands from his face.

Still holding her by the arms, he throws Juri across the room.

She crashed into Seth’s desk, the piece of furniture exploding into splinters upon impact.

Juri hacks and coughs, trying to regain her breath after being strangled. Her hand massaged her neck as body throbbed in agony after being thrown.

She observed Bison, staggering about the room, hands at his eyes, trying to rub the vision back into them.

“Tell me where you are, and your suffering will be brief!” He screamed, as he dropped his hand from his eyes, the skin around them red and swollen from being thumbed.

“Ah, a good attempt,” he said facing Juri, the south Korean presumably coming into focus, “but it will take more than that to take down the mighty Bison.”

Juri tried to push herself up but found her body too fatigued to do so, collapsing immediately.

She managed to get herself on her knee, bracing herself with a hand on the ground. She looked up and saw Bison powering his way toward her.

Is this it?

This can’t be it.

Not when I have the bastard right here!

She clenches her grounded hand in frustration but finds it closing around a piece of wood from the destroyed desk.

One surely wouldn’t be performing surgery with it but it’s ends look sharp enough that with enough force it could do some damage.

She looks around, seeing she’s not too far from a wall.

She pushed herself up, makeshift shank in hand, letting her momentum guide her to the wall to minimize any effort it would take to stand and move otherwise.

She would need the energy.

Bison continued his stride toward her, just passing where she kneeled previously.

“Run, run, little spider,” mocked Bison.

He must still be blurry-eyed, thought Juri, as he’s made no mention of the piece of wood nor made no move to disarm her.

He reaches out with both hands, clasping around her neck to finish what he started.

“Take heed and be happy that the last thing you’ll see is my…”

Bison is cut off, as the pointed piece of wood is plunged into abdomen just below the chest, Juri aiming for the heart or liver.

She stabs again, he responds by grabbing at his wounds with one hand choking her with the other, but the clasp isn’t as tight as it was before.

Must’ve hit pay-dirt.

She takes the improvised weapon by both hands, this time plunging it into Bison neck with all the strength she had left.

She pulls out the piece of wood, the crude weapon coming out with a wet splunk.

Bison releases her, as he stumbles back, blood spraying out his neck.

His now free hand goes to his neck wound trying to stop the bleeding.

He drops to his knees, now holding both lacerations.

He then holds out both hands, looking down at them with a sneering smile.

He looks up to Juri, as his face relaxes and then his body crumbles into a heap unceremoniously.

Juri throws down the piece of wood at the unmoving Bison.

“Dae-Jung and Areum Han say hello from heaven, you fuck,” Juri muttered weakly before she herself collapsed.

***

Ryu stared at Juri as finished this piece of her story, her own stare was downcast.

“That story in the newspapers was that Bison…”

“I know Juri,” interrupted, “my guess is that leaders of the world figured is better the everyday citizen thought Bison went down like some grand finale befitting an action movie villain, and not stabbed to death by a desperate girl on her last legs.”

Ryu noticed a slight tremble of her hand, the memory of her final battle with Bison obviously a very sore spot.

Juri must’ve observed him seeing her display of anguish, as she brought her hand to her mouth, biting her index finger between her lips.

“Juri, you could’ve told the story that circulated in the papers and wherever and I wouldn’t have been the wiser,” said Ryu, as he took the hand she had up to her mouth into his hand. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked earnestly.

She looked down at their entwined hands, and then looked back to Ryu.

Smiling sadly, her nodding down as she looked at him through her eyelashes, “Maybe I’m a nicer person than I’ve led on all these years. Maybe since you trusted me with your problems, I feel like I can trust you with this.” She finished as began to caress Ryu’s hand.

She took a noticeable breath, preparing to speak.

But before she could, John walked up to their table from behind Ryu, asking, “Can I get you both anything else?”

Juri pushed Ryu’s hand away, as if it was scalding hers, looking in a direction away from both John and Ryu.

She cutely pouted, as crossed her arms across her chest.

Ryu smiled at her as she angrily told John, off, “We’re fine!” She huffed out.

He can see Rachel motioning behind Juri, signaling for John to leave the couple be.

“Uh, yeah. ” said John, as he walked away.

She unfolded her arms, taking deep swig of her wine, “I’d like to continue if you don’t mind?” she asked lightly.

“Go right ahead,” responded Ryu, motioning her to go on, “I’m eager to hear what happened next,” he said as he placed his hand on the table.

“I woke up a few hours later, the first thing on my mind was…”

***

She did it.

She’d finally did it.

After almost a decade of toil her one goal since her parents’ death has come to fruition.

Bison’s dead.

And by her hand.

She ought to feel happy, celebratory even.

She opened her eyes, the lights of the florescent blubs above her burning them.

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself, covering her eyes with her arm while attempting to sit up.

But her whole body is incredibly sore, likely from the battle with Bison.

Had it not been for this pain she would’ve been left with a hollow feeling.

The empty, hollow she feared would surface once her revenge was consummated.

Just as Chun-Li warned…

“I see you’re awake,” called a voice from the side of the bed Juri occupied.

Juri looked at the figure from underneath her arm, laying her eyes on Crimson Viper.

The S.I.N agent is seated in a plastic seat, metal legged chair with her legs and arms crossed. Her red hair is in a messy ponytail. Viper has a few cuts here and there marring the otherwise mesmerizing beauty, the most obvious of which is one on her pouty lips. Viper’s looking at her with a neutral look on her face as if she’s trying to get a read on her. Absent is her usual business suit that hides her battle equipment, in its place is a skintight red catsuit with a solid black line running down the arms, sides, continuing down legs plunging into solid black combat boots and she has matching tactical gloves on her hands. She has a holster around her shoulders with a handgun the model of Juri is having trouble identifying.

“Nice to see you’re still among the living,” said Viper, as her expression softened slightly.

“I feel like death,” responded Juri through gritted teeth, as tried to stand up again this time succeeding despite the pain.

“Maybe halfway alive at least,” joked Viper.

“I take it I’m in the infirmary,” asked Juri.

“You got it.”

Juri looks around, noticing not too many of the other beds of the infirmary occupied.

“How many of ours did we lose. I mean, when I was fighting Bison things seemed to be going to hell outside of Seth’s office. I take it we didn’t lose too many?”

“Not a whole lot, though obviously we did suffer some casualties. Despite the idiocy of keeping the mobile base of S.I.N in the same forests as Shadaloo base, Seth did have an efficient plan for the inevitable Shadaloo attack. A shame he didn’t live to see it through.” Finished Viper as she gave a pointed look to Juri.

“Oh,” Juri laughed,” you’re sorry he’s gone?”

“You insult me by asking. Only thing I’m sorry about is that you got to him first,” said Viper, as her eyes narrowed at Juri, in which the Taekwondo fight reads as look of resentment, “both of them.”

Whatever plans Crimson Viper had regarding Seth and Bison are now irrelevant, and really don’t concern Juri.

With Bison dead, her next move should be moving on Shadaloo as soon as possible. Juri doesn’t doubt Bison has a spare body or two lying around the main base.

But also, she needs to do something, anything before the hollowness consumed her.

“Early bird gets the worm,” Juri responded, throwing on a façade of confidence, “and since I took out Seth that means I call the shots here now!”

Crimson Viper looks at Juri, looking at her almost as she sees through her.

If she did, Viper didn’t make any mention of it.

“I guess it does,” Viper replied simply.

“How soon do you think we’ll be able to move on Shadaloo,” asked Juri.

“In your condition?” Said Viper with a surprised inflection, leaning forward, “You can barely stand upright in that bed without wincing in pain!”

“Huh, didn’t know you cared so much Viper, but that’s not what I asked.”

“Fine, you’re the boss I guess,” said Viper, “we can probably be ready in under 12 hours. Bison brought with him about 500 soldiers, and by our latest estimation he had a total of 700 at his disposal at the main Shadaloo base. Most of those 500 he brought with are either dead or captured right now. At our last head count of our manpower, we had 400 men at our disposal, and we barley lost 100 in this battle. Plus, we can probably bolster our numbers with those we’ve captured or at least those whose loyalty can be bought. Also, those among detained we’ve got F.A.N.G, their second in command. We can probably use F.A.N.G to take ‘em without any further conflict.”

“But where’s the fun in that,” responded Juri.

***

Ryu looked on as Juri spoke further, leaning forward in anticipation of the next part of this story.

She paused as John came back, taking their plates.

“Can I get some more water,” asked Juri.

John simply nodded, stepping away from the table, having taken his que from Rachel to avoid interrupting the couple too much.

Maybe, I shouldn’t think of us as couple, though Ryu, maybe just acquaintances having dinner.

Juri, as if reading Ryu’s mind continued, “And there’s not really much to say about taking on Shadaloo. We mobilized all able-bodied members S.I.N plus those members of Shadaloo that stormed the base that we’re willing to change alliances and stormed their base. We even used the air carriers they used to come to us to travel there. They were out manned, out gunned so surrender was the only logical thing Shadaloo could’ve done.”

Ryu looked on at Juri, slightly disappointed, “I kind of expected more but considering the circumstances, surrender was probably the most likely outcome.”

“Yeah, I mean we brought F.E.N.G with us to prove we weren’t playing around let alone the troops we brought with us. The most exciting thing after that was my 1st official act as head of Shadaloo. It was well known that Bison has ‘spare’ bodies laying around,” Juri said using quotation marks. “I demanded to know where were in the base. I was taken to a subterranean room where there were 4 glass tanks, each containing a fully realized clone of Bison floating in some liquid. I ordered them all off whatever life support system they were connected to. And just to make sure there was no coming back for him, I took a side arm from one of my escorts and put two in the head chest of each copy.” Juri stopped, looking at Ryu as if she was ready for him to pass judgement on her for what she did.

“Lay it on me tough guy. I know you have something to say about this. Whatever it is, I can take it.” Said Juri impatiently.

Ryu’s brows shot up in surprise.

He could imagine being in her shoes if something happened to someone he cared for.

Hell, he almost crossed that line when Crimson Viper decided it was a good idea to torture Cammy in order to goad out the Satsui no Hado.

“Juri,” he started seriously, “While I have been a witness to the cruelty of M. Bison, it has always been in the context of a fight. I cannot begin to fathom the things he’s done to others in the name of his criminal empire, least of all what he put you through. If you thought it was necessary to complete your revenge, I will not judge you for it. The least I can say is that he will not be missed,” Ryu finished, as he returned Juri’s stare.

She laughed sadly.

“You’re being nicer to me than I was to myself was to all those months ago.”

“How do you mean?” asked Ryu.

“Well remember earlier when I described my feelings after I woke up in the infirmary. Hollow, empty. I hoped that what was left of Shadaloo had put up a fight. That way I can occupy myself with something other than this emptiness. Fucking bastards, rolling over as quickly as they did,” Juri spoke with bitterness in her tone. “And after that? After that I thought about what my parents would want. Would they have wanted me to avenge them like this? No. My dad probably would’ve wanted me to be like Chun-Li, go into law enforcement. Or be like him, become a prosecutor. Take the bad guys down, all fair and just like,” she said as waived her hand. “And that hollowness showed too. Everything I was to be briefed on, I showed no interest in. Crimson Viper knew that too. That might be why she approached me afternoon of the following day…”

***

Juri Han sat at a large desk (likely made from some rare or expensive species of wood she surmised), her elbow on its surface as she held her head in her palms as she stared down its fine finish.

Buttons and retractable screens were built into opulent the piece of furniture, likely for delegating decisions for running this to go smoother. But for the life of her, Juri didn’t know how (or even care to) work them.

Nothing in particular was on her mind, she simply sat there.

Existing.

She found herself surrounded by luxurious and posh things, but Juri just couldn't find it in her to care.

Despite that, there was no fanfare to her becoming the new head-honcho of Shadaloo and reconsolidating S.I.N back into its fold. It was just simply understood among those in the base.

It’s not that she’d expected anything either, the only thing she was given was a brief of ongoing operations.

Said briefing probably included how to work the do-dads on this desk, not that she paid any attention to it.

Almost in a haze she followed around some scientist or engineer she didn’t bother to get the name as the big brain droned on about one thing or another.

She’d ended up just leaving Crimson Viper with the scientist, leaving it up to her to brief her later.

Viper took it upon herself to be acting number two, following Juri around like she did. Juri simply made it official.

Her 2nd act as the new head of Shadaloo.

Guess I should make the 3rd act a crash course in how to work this desk, thought Juri.

But before she could put a fingertip to a button, the doors to the office hissed open.

The doors completed their cycle revealing Crimson Viper (dressed in her normal battle suit) and two Shadaloo/S.I.N troops.

“Hear for that briefing, Viper?” Juri asked.

“A briefing, I guess you can say,” Viper answered.

As the doors hissed back closed, Viper approached the control panel next to the opening typing something into it.

As she did that, the two troops came into the room with her pulled silencers from their person, fixing them into place on the muzzles of their sub-machine guns.

“I see,” said Juri, as the troops trained their weapons on to her, “making your move. Make it quick at least.” She finished, ready to accept her fate.

“That depends on you,” said Crimson Viper as she approached the desk.

“I’m sorry,” said Juri incredulously, “are you not taking Shadaloo for your own purposes? Cause that’s what it looks like to me!”

“I am, just not in the way you think.”

“Well,” replied Juri, waving impatiently at Viper to clear the air, “stop fucking double talking with me!”

“I’ve been working deep cover as an agent through the C.I.A, with the goal of taking down Shadaloo and S.I.N and considering those have just become one, though I guess it’s just Shadaloo now.”

“I just made your job easier it looks like, you’re welcome.”

Viper simply scoffs at her, staring down, almost through Juri as the C.I.A operative continued. “We were planning a joint raid of both facilities within the next few weeks as we had good information that Bison was going to attack S.I.N soon. It never could’ve been anticipated that he would strike at the same time you took out Seth. The plan was to raid whatever was left over as it’d be in a weakened state, but it could be said that’s still the plan now. Observing you after Shadaloo’s attack, I recommended we move up the timeline for the raid. It was clear to me that whatever motivation you had died with M. Bison. And with you as the head of Shadaloo the body would fall easily.”

“Ok,” said Juri, still unsatisfied with the answer, “I get arrested with everyone else here assuming you three are the only undercovers. That still doesn’t explain why you came to me now. Why not just take me down during the raid? Shit, why not just take me out of the equation right now? Something tells me you’re looking to make some kind of deal and let me walk away from this little meeting, provided I say the right things,” Juri said as she leaned back into her chair. “What makes you think I won’t just say what you want hear and I won’t just run for it afterwards?”

“Well,” said Viper, lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “the assumption that we’re the only three undercovers would be wrong. We’ve got people all over this place, including the exits. Should this meet go sour or you try to run, you will be killed. Cover stories already prepared, ‘Juri Han was shot dead after making an undercover operative and compromising the upcoming raid.’ And why bring you into the loop? You can leverage your current position as leader Shadaloo. Make yourself nice a soft-landing after the fall.”

“But why come to me start with? If Shadaloo goes down and me with it, I’m fine with that at this point. There’s nothing in this world left for me,” responded Juri.

“Exactly,” said Viper.

Juri’s brow creases, her lips splitting into a sneer. She brings her fist into the table, making a sizeable dent as she screamed, “You’re doing this because you feel sorry for me!”

“Maya, clear out for a shot,” said one of the agents obviously prepared to fire on Juri.

“No,” said Viper, motioning at them to hold their fire. “Call it a good deed, but despite everything I know you don’t want die to here. Shadaloo is going to fall and you along with it. The difference being is your cooperation. You want to be difficult, fine. We have enough to bury you in the deepest, darkest international hell hole we can find. You go along with it, you’re probably looking at a life sentence, with the possibly parole in a decade or two. Maybe even you get to walk, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

Fair enough, thought Juri, but it’s the pity that I cannot stand. It reminds of when my parents were killed. Everyone saying that they were sorry, it made me feel so fucking powerless! Like how I’m powerless now…

“So, what now. We just wait for the raid,” asked Juri as she unfurled her fist.

“Raid takes place tomorrow morning, 0500 hours. 0500 is an hour before the night guards switch shifts with the morning guards. That’s the best window we surmised to minimize any casualties. Night guards would be too tired and not as vigilant at the end of their shift. Moring guard wouldn’t even be in position to repel any attack. I recommend you read up on how this place runs and on current running operations as you can. The more you know, the more leverage you’ll have. This control panel should have everything you need to familiarize yourself with everything, knowing that mind of yours has perfect recall.” Viper pulls a device from a pocket on her battle suit, “One the things I was briefed on yesterday was how operate this thing, the recorded instructions are on this.”

Crimson Viper placed the recorder contraption the desk as she turns to walk away, motioning at the two guards.

The two troops lower their weapons and remove the silencers from the muzzles.

“See tomorrow morning Juri.”

Juri doesn’t hesitate to dive into Shadaloo’s files as the three C.I.A operatives take their leave, activating the recording device. The big brain from yesterday afternoon begins to drone directions for operating the desk/control console, his recorded voice bouncing off the walls the office.

Juri loses track of time, seeing things she knew, seeing things she didn’t know, but also seeing things she wishes she didn’t.

A few things she makes note of, as they may serve as leverage come tomorrow.

Before she realizes it, it’s 3 am local time. 2 hours before the raid.

She can’t sleep, she’s much too anxious.

She should probably shower as facing the day ahead with funk of the previous day not seeming like a good idea.

Luckily this office has an in-suite bedroom that included a bathroom.

After a 20-minute shower, she fixes her in her signature spider fang style, that killing another 45 minutes.

4:05am.

Still another 55 minutes to the raid.

Juri decided to eat something, as she doesn’t remember the last time she ate something and would definitely need the energy to face the day.

Luckily this office had a mini fridge stocked with fresh fruit and water bottles.

She helps herself to a few handfuls of grapes, a banana and a water bottle.

After finishing she looks at the clock again.

4:40am.

Shit.

This waiting is killing her.

So, she decided to do one more thing.

She discovered Shadaloo had money and a lot of it.

If several million went missing who’s know the difference.

And being the head of Shadaloo (though only for a few minutes more) she had access and control.

Viper even said there’s a chance she can walk!

No way she starts over without a, what did Viper call it?

‘A soft landing spot.’

A few key stokes here and a whole shit ton of money moved to an off sore account under an assumed name Shadaloo already had under its use, said account removed from the database.

There!

Soft landing secured.

Even if she doesn’t walk, she at least has something she come back to when she meets parole.

And not a moment too soon as the clock now read 4:59am local time.

5:00am

Juri waits with bated breath for all hell to break loose.

And just as clock hits 5:01am, she hears simultaneous booms indicating breach explosives have been used at all points of entry.

Then the loud klaxon of an alarm starts to blare.

She hears commotion and orders being barked but no sounds of fight being put up.

Viper was on the money after all.

It’s not until another hour after the initial raids that the doors to the office open again.

Once more it’s Crimson Viper or Maya as one the troops from yesterday afternoon called her and several more people dressed head to toe in tactical gear (she presumes they’re C.I.A).

“Had a good night I hope,” said Viper.

“Better than you might expect,” replied Juri.

Viper looks back at one of soldiers, motioning them toward Juri.

The tactically dressed soldier then steps forward, removing their helmet revealing the twin ox tail hair adorned with white broaches and ribbons, brown hair and angular face of Chun-li.

The INTERPOL officer looks to Viper, “It won’t make up for Bison,” said Chun-Li, pulling out a pair of handcuffs, “but it’s a start.”

Juri goes to stand.

“You didn’t have to do all this just to get me in cuffs, all you had to do is just ask officer,” Juri spoke lightly as she lifted her hands above her head, “though I’d prefer to be cuffed to the head of a bed than this.”

Chun-Li shook her head at Juri, her face a stone mask and simply replied, “Please fuck this up. Besides, that won’t be needed anyways. Hands in front of you and sit back down, slowly.”

Juri looked to Viper as she obeyed the command, “Is Bazooka Joe and the kitten joining us?” She asked.

“As a matter of fact, they will be, but in the meantime, I think you and the agent here,” said Chun-li as the jutted her head in Maya’s direction, “have somethings to discuss.”

Another one of the tactically dressed troops steps forward, this one with a curved grab bar (like one a person would see in a shower or bathroom, but this looked more heavy-duty) and a nail gun.

He places them on the floor as he feels around the desk, likely for a spot where no wires or electricity runs through, their intention to handcuff Juri to the desk becoming clear to her.

“This thing’s bolted to the floor, correct?” asked the faceless soldier, referring to the desk.

Viper nods.

The soldier, having found a spot he liked, places the bar on the desk quickly nails in place as Chun-Li cuffs Juri’s wrist and cuffs the other end to the bar.

Juri tugs her cuffed hand, the metal of the cuffs and bar making a loud clanking noise, “I figured I’d test…”

She’s interrupted by a high-pitched whine and a pain emanating from the left side of her head.

“FUCK,” Juri said loudly.

“That was a test of this little number,” said Viper waiving a small remote in her hand, “to ensure your compliance. It interferes with Feng Shui Engine. So don’t get cute.”

Juri, holding her head as she’s reeling from the effects of this mysterious remote says, “Bitch, I’m fucking beautiful.”

Viper smiles cruelly as goes to press it again.

“Viper, come on!” Intoned Chun-Li, as she grabs the C.I.A agent’s hand, stopping the button press. “This isn’t necessary. We’ve got her, she’s completely beleaguered, and her life is practically on the line!”

“Fine, I suppose we better get this started,” said Maya, pocketing the remote, but Chun-Li snatches the remote into her own hands.

The soldiers present then train their weapons to Chun-Li.

“I’ll hold on to this,” she said not even blinking at the fact that she has several dozen guns pointed at her. She then levels her unwavering stare at Viper, resolved steeled in her brown eyes, “While I don’t trust Juri, I trust you even less.”

Viper returns a glare at Chun-Li, “This is why your types don’t make it in espionage. Always thinking with your heart,” said Viper. She motioned the other troops present to lower their weapons. She then pulls out a thumb drive as walked towards Juri, “If you’ll be a dear get this built-in panel activated. This thumb drive contains spyware that will stream all data to a team of a few dozen analysts to disseminate everything contained in this system. All I need for you is to turn it on and insert the thumb drive. The program will do the rest. You learn anything going over this database last night?”

“I learned this organization is way more fucked up than I thought,” replied Juri.

Juri takes the thumb drive from Maya, pushing a button that pulls up a keyboard and panel, that panel acting as a screen.

“You know another thing I learned is there is cute little button,” intoned Juri.

“Juri…” warned Viper.

Juri stuffed the drive into the crotch of her tights, “It acts as mass a delete of all Shadaloo databases of not just here, but all 25 bases worldwide.”

Juri feels a slight thrill of payback as Viper’s features melt into a frown.

“Oh, looks like you didn’t know that did you? I committed the locations to memory and intentionally locked the data pertaining to those locations behind a password protected file. Windows 10 is amazing isn’t?” Said Juri as she smiled arrogantly at Viper.

Viper then looks to Chun-li, expectantly.

“Don’t look at super cop here, if you didn’t notice torture’s not something she’d stoop to. Sometimes it pays to be the bigger person,” Said Juri.

A few of soldiers then level their guns at Juri, her hand hovering over the mass delete button. “Who knows whatever else precious information I’ve committed to memory?”

“No,” said Viper commanding soldiers present to stand down. “No, you’re right. What do you want?”

“Whoever’s running this operation, tell them I want to talk about what I get for my cooperation. Tell them I want to walk! Tell them wow!” Commanded Juri, the hollowness of yesterday forgotten now that a chance to live, even the smallest chance, is in her grasp.

“Juri, I told you. I can’t guarantee…” said Viper.

But then Chun-li interrupted.

“This is a coalition run by the C.I.A, INTERPOL, International Court of Justice, Delta Red and about a dozen other international law enforcement and military agencies. We can get word to someone Viper.” Stated Chun-li.

“Fine,” said Viper, pulling out a cell phone. “But I need something from you. Anything!”

“Okay,” said Juri, “Shadaloo was aware of your status as C.I.A asset, but being seeing as you were only with S.I.N they’d decided to sit on the information until you really became a problem. They also know that Maya isn’t your real name. Also, when you’re on assignment, your daughter stays…”

Viper’s eyes go wide. “Fine, Fine. I get it,” she interrupted as punched the pad on the cell phone.

Juri can hear the dial tone ring a few times, before someone on the other line picks up.

“Its Maya,” said Viper.

Juri rolls her eyes at the assumed name.

“If we want this to go ideally, we’re going to need to wheel and deal.”

The voice on the other side of the line rambles loudly, not sounding happy at all.

“We have no leverage!”

The rambles once more.

“Chun-li took the device and refuses to use it! I told you to leave her out of the raid!” Said Viper as gestured angrily. “Yeah, guess it was stupid of me to leave Juri Han to her own fucking devices!”

The voice speaks once more, this time more calmly.

“Fine. I’ll tell her.”

Maya drops her hand holding the phone as she audibly sighs.

She turns back Juri and says, “Life, parole eligible in 15 years, a federal prison somewhere in America. It’s the best we can do right now. Those above me will discuss everything with World Court for anything better, but that depends on what we can glean from here.”

“That works, for now,” said Juri, pulling the thumb drive from her tights, inserting it in the port.

Viper puts the cell phone back to her ear, “we’re good at the moment,” she said.

At that moment the doors open once more, this time Cammy and Guile crossing the threshold.

Guile’s dressed in a navy blue pilot’s uniform, the zipper down to about the middle of his chest, revealing a plain white T-shirt underneath. A pair of aviator sun glasses also hang in space created by the unzipped one piece uniform and his look is completed by black boots.

Cammy is dressed in an oversized green camo bomber jacket, and oversized camo pants stuffed into brown boots. The jacket is covering what could be presumed to be her unitard, as despite the pants being held up by a belt, they still sag a bit revealing a sliver of her hips. Her feet pound the metal flooring covered by brown combat boots as she and Guile fall in line by Viper and Chun-Li in front of the desk Juri is cuffed too.

“Looks like we missed the good part,” said Guile as looked around the room taking in the of heart of Shadaloo. “On the way in were they still escorting people out of here. Couldn’t tell if they were newly freed prisoners of Shadaloo or soon to be prisoners that worked for them.” His eyes then fell onto Juri, “I don’t need to guess which one you fall into.”

“Please, solder boy,” said Juri mockingly, with a matching grin, “I’m in a class of my own. That’s why I’m in the big seat, surrounded by admirers, and this extra special jewelry on my wrist.”

“Hmph,” simply responded Guile.

Juri then looked over to Cammy, “Hello there, kitten,” she greeted the Delta red operative, smile never leaving her face.

Cammy’s face remains neutral, trying not to rise to the bait, “Juri. Why are you here? Why aren’t you being escorted out like the others? And what happened to M. Bison?”

“They don’t know?” Juri asked Viper and Chun-li.

Both shook their heads.

“I wasn’t told much,” started Cammy, “I was told Shadaloo was being raided while I was doing in-service training. My superiors told me Delta Red was being brought in the fold, but I wouldn’t make it here in time to participate in the op. A platoon was already near here on other business. As you can see,” Cammy then gestures to her state of dress, ”this was pretty last minute for me. I was then hurried onto a jet, that was early last night.”

“Pretty much the same,” Guile added, “except the same transport that picked up Cammy would be my ride as well. I was ushered on to that same jet as they were refueling at my base near San Francisco. We still don’t know the whole story, but seeing as you,” Guile said as looked to Viper, “aren’t in cuffs, you must be some kind of spook. And you are in cuffs,” he continued looking to Juri, “my best guess is this is the end game. Shadaloo’s done for, am I right?” Guile asked, his question directed to both Chun-li and Crimson Viper.

“You’re on target Colonel,” responded Viper.

“But what about Bison? Juri? Why is she here and not being dragged away with the rest of the trash?” Interjected Cammy, “Hell what happened to S.I.N for that matter? Last I checked both of you was still working for them and neither them nor Shadaloo were best of friends.”

“I closed the book on Bison myself after taking out Seth. I then consolidated both groups together, but as you can see that’s not going too well…” trailed off Juri. “But to some folks out there that interested in more than Shadaloo’s downfall.”

“Speaking of which,” interjected Viper, pulling palm pilot-like device from her person, “looks like were starting to glean some very interesting information from this data base.”

Juri observed Cammy and Gulie look on in shock, maybe even surprise.

“So, he’s gone?” Cammy muttered.

“Charlie can rest easy,” Guile stated lowly.

They both then snap back to reality, looking at each other, then to Viper.

“What do you mean information,” asked Guile.

“And if I can follow the logic here, that would mean you plan on bringing in Juri as cooperator?” Said Cammy, as her neutral expression began grow into a frown.

“Cooperation’s already been done, sweetie,” said Juri, “I’m just holding a few more cards close to my chest for some more leverage.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Guile, as he tossed his aviators in anger.

“Bullshit,” said Cammy, her hands clenching into fists.

“This is what it has to be,” interjected Chun-li as she approached her friends, placing a hand on their shoulders in hopes to calm them, “I know it’s not ideal, but…”

“Look,” Viper sighed, running a hand through her hair, “Bison was the catch everyone was after. There’s was no question about that. But if he were to be brought in, I highly doubt he would provide any cooperation and probably would take as many of us down with him. I sure there’s a self-destruct switch somewhere here. With Juri that presents us with a unique opportunity than to just collar a few bad guys. Shadaloo has, or had, more than a few scientists, doctors and engineers at their disposal. Some of which had joined to ply their trades away from any ethics or laws, while some were forced join. Not mention those that kidnapped to be a part of those experiments.”

“My sisters,” Cammy added.

Viper nods, she continued, “Not just the dolls. There’s also other prisoners to consider not to mention the countless killers, rapists and other criminals among the rank and file that acted as troops for Shadaloo.”

“What is Juri getting in return,” asked Guile.

“Right now, 15 to life,” Juri said.

“Jesus Christ,” exclaimed Guile, as walked in a circle, angrily kicking the air.

“And you said you were keeping things close for further leverage?” Said Cammy, her features having melted into a full-on scowl. “What else could possibly be more valuable? Juri should be put away, a killer is a killer.”

Juri just nodded to the blonde. “Can’t just give the other party everything they want in a negotiation.”

“Negotiation,” Cammy questioned, incredulously, “this is miscarriage of justice!”

“Justice? Please,” Juri stated contemptuously, “What about you, ‘Killer Bee’. I know for a fact there’s more blood on your hands than just that of a Prime Minister. And don’t feed me that crap about mind control. Killer is a killer, right? And what about the tall thai boxer, Sagat? You all are on more friendly terms with him these days, right? He was Bison’s number 2 for years! Can you imagine what he did to obtain that position? Imagine what he had to do to maintain it? Maybe throw him in cell, tell him how fair it is…” Juri trailed off.

Viper’s cell phone rang.

“You say that as if you only killed those who had it coming!” yelled Cammy.

“Oh, I have plenty of blood on my hands, but none of it was innocent.” Juri argued back.

“What of that woman at that amusement park, when you killed those S.I.N agents? Was she just collateral damage?” Shot Cammy.

“She in fact survived that incident,” Chun-li said, “it was believed she was killed but a paramedic found her to have a faint pulse and rushed her to the hospital. The local police had later received a tip someone fitting Juri’s description left a backpack with a load of cash at the hospital for that woman’s family. By the time it crossed my desk, wasn’t much we could do with that tip, considering if that was Juri she would’ve been long gone by then. It’s like I said Cammy…” Finished Chun-li as she rubbed soothing circles at Cammy’s back.

Juri would have to remember Chun-li speaking up for her like this, maybe send her a bottle of wine if I walk, thought Juri.

“As entertaining as all this is,” Viper cut in, “there’s one more piece of business we need to discuss, Juri.”

“Your boys found something they couldn’t crack into?” Said Juri.

“Yeah, there’s a file called, ‘super-secret stuff’, my guess it’s the file you’ve put an encrypted passcode too. We suspect this file contains the other Shadaloo base locations. We also suspect that the file contains the names and positions of everyone in Shadaloo’s pocket. Despite everything our analysts have found, that’s the one thing we haven’t discovered yet.” Said Viper.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if they were involved in corruption,” said Chun-li.

“A good source said they have people high up in several governments, multinational corporations, military and law enforcement agencies including all 3 organizations you all work for,” Viper than looks to Juri, “we just need the magic word from our girl here to bring it all home.”

“What’s it worth to ya? I’m sure whoever’s on the other end of that phone gave you a little more leeway. I’m sure this is what you were after all along,” answered Juri.

Viper purses her lips.

“ICOJ is willing to let you walk, with some conditions,” intoned Viper.

Juri couldn’t help but smile at the news. She let out an involuntary lough, “Well,” she said between chuckles, “what are the conditions?”

“Your case will be placed on,” she pauses, “I guess the closest equivalent would be a Maryland rule called a stet docket for a max of 10 years, you will also serve probation for a maximum of 10 ten years,” responded Viper.

“Pretend I don’t have a law degree,” said Juri through a smile, “what the hell is a stet docket?”

“It is a legal proceeding that essentially puts a case on the shelf. Obviously were not in the state of Maryland, but in exchange for this level of cooperation we were willing to apply this to your case. But know this, that case can come off the shelf and if there’s even a chance of you being involved with anything illegal. We have your file, and you will be buried with it.”

Juri is shaking her head in disbelief, her smile having left her face but still filled with jubilation.

“Society says you get a 2nd chance, look alive Han.” Said Guile sarcastically.

Her face then melts into a frown.

“Society built a man so obsessed with power he would do literally anything to obtain or maintain it, including killing and torture of the family of a man who simply sought to stop him in order to protect the innocent. I’ll give you a second to guess who I’m talking about.”

After a pause, Juri continued, “Society can lick my twat.”

***

Juri waived John over asking for the check.

“Entered the password, freeing up in the information Crimson Viper wanted so badly,” continued Juri, “after that I hand cuffed, this time for real, and escorted to a plane. It was to take me to ICJ headquarters in the Netherlands. This was to finalize my agreement. Chun-li was my only escort. She must’ve gotten the news about being what equates to my parole officer early, she was in no good humor the whole plane ride. She was empathetic enough to ask me how I was feeling,” Juri cracked a smile as she continued, “I told her, ‘I was ready to be a good girl,’” Juri shook her head as the laughed at the memory.

Ryu shared a smile with her as well, he said, “If know Chun-li like I think I do, I can probably guess how she responded.”

They both met eyes, and stated simultaneously, ”She facepalmed!”

They both laughed, coming down as John returned with the check.

Juri pulled out a few bills sending John on his way.

“Thank you Juri,” Ryu said earnestly, “Thank you for the meal, thank you for sharing with me and thank you for getting my mind off things. I feel a lot better now.”

As Ryu got up to take his leave, Juri grabbed his hand once more, “Night ain’t over yet tough guy,” this nick name she’s given him filling him with a pleasant feeling he can’t yet describe, “Think I’m just gonna feed ya and kick you to the curb? Stay with me. Who knows what havoc we can get into tonight?”

“I’d like that,” responded Ryu, not at all disliking the idea of continuing the night with Juri.

#AO3 fanfic #fanfiction #street fighter #jurixryu #ryuxjuri #Juri Han #cammy white #chun li #guile #crimson viper #posted on ff.net

[uponrightful]

Coriolis Effect- pt. 13 "All in a Day's Work"

this is long overdue, nevertheless.. happy reading and please accept my apology for not being more regular. - Rightful 🤍

warnings: (16+ ONLY) violence, a bit of torture (Kinda graphic, but nothing sickening), knife violence, threats?, canon-style death (nothing specific mentioned), NO ONE GOOD DIES.

god I fucking love cross' face... don't you @kybacrystal ?

There were three rules Hunter set before entering the cantina.

Number One: Use the same cover as before by screening as bounty hunters.

Number Two: Under no circumstance, do not cause a scene.

Number Three: Do not get hurt. Med supplies are too low.

None of this was new to the Batch and for Crosshair, it sounded like the perfect opportunity for everyone to act like he did on a regular basis. Wrecker would have to keep his mouth shut, Tech couldn’t spew data with no filter, and Duchess would have all five of them within an arm’s reach for protection. Cross didn’t plan on letting anyone have a chance to test that protective boundary around her anyways, but it was reassurance nonetheless; Cantinas weren’t exactly the most predictable place, however the mere sight of them accompanying her would prove to be a good deterrent. Between the seedy place as a whole, and the way everyone sent questioning looks their way, Hunter’s plan of ‘just walking in’ looked karking pathetic right about now. They’d no more than walked in and caused the biggest scene this shithole had experienced.

Three levels beneath the ground, it had taken a ride in a rickety lift to get down there in the first place. Tech had mentioned this place had most likely had been a mining operation before it was reformatted into… well whatever it was currently. Crosshair had been far more interested in whether the lift would hold their weight effectively; Those creaking floors and rudimentary mechanics looked fifty years overdue for replacement. And he didn’t particularly like lifts to begin with when stairs were often an option.

As for the bar itself, there was nothing remarkable about it save for the fact that it was large enough to hold somewhere close to fifty people. Stone floor was covered in a fine layer of sand and dirt, nowhere near flat, with deep ruts that looked like old tool marks; Further supporting Tech’s claim that this had once been a mine… Not intended to be a karking cantina. It might’ve been a Geonosian hive-cave at one point, but since then it had served a few different purposes. The least impressive being the makeshift bar that took up the space currently.

Two bars lined the left and right, served by the rustiest pair of droids Geonosis has ever seen. Reddish flakes of metal were guaranteed in the bottom of whatever drink anyone currently sipped on. Low playing speakers hastily wired up on the walls pushed out some low thumping sound of a bass, setting a slow tempo for a room that didn’t care the least bit for dancing; No words, but Cross had a feeling he’d heard the song before, somewhere. A string of booths lined the back wall -looking more like private dance partitions- but a good vantage point nonetheless. The main collection of patrons were human, dressed in partial armor, or some variant of metal crudely strapped to the more vital parts of their bodies. That particular detail was most likely the Batch’s only saving grace. They’d been lucky to spot a group of these men crowding into the lift on their first inspection of the place. Although they didn’t have an overall differing appearance, the Batch looked better… A little too put-together.

We look too professional… But that might be just enough to gain us some repute.

Incurring no exemplary greeting, Crosshair did the only thing that felt right at the moment; Holding a tight posture and walking right in step with Dutch to keep her close… But not too close. Just ahead of her, Echo had taken up a similar posture without prompting. Walking just a little taller than normal, and giving off that same obdurate attitude to ward off any inkling of interest in her should someone think it smart. Cross nodded subconsciously, highly appreciative of the action but too deep into his own head to actually think about giving his brother the verbal credit he rightfully deserved. Naturally, they split into two groups to cover the bar from a better angle.

Wrecker, Tech and Hunter split off to a booth right in the middle, while Echo found a table just off to the side; Sitting down without much more than a quiet huff, stretching out his back over the chair and removing his helmet with little fanfare. Dutch followed along without any prompting, lowering herself into the seat and taking off her helmet with a convincingly antisocial look of impatient haughtiness across her face. Crosshair couldn’t help but smile from under the safety of his own bucket for a moment, thinking just how fucking pretty she was attempting to look foreboding. A waiter-droid scurried to both their tables, and asked for orders that Hunter would be picking up the tab for. It came to Cross last, and he resigned himself to removing his helmet when the malfunctioning can of wires couldn’t hear him over the crowd.

“Rancor’s Toothpick,” He snapped harshly, “Kriffing rust-box.”

Both Echo and Dutch chuckled softly at his singular misfortune, adding to the slight uneasiness he felt revealing his drink of choice. It wasn’t like Crosshair cared for any judgement that could come from it, he just preferred avoiding the ribbing by ordering at the bar. Alone. But before either of his stakeout partners could make a witty comment, the earpieces all of them had were interrupted with the sound of Hunter making a soft comm check for the third time since entering.

“Anything suspicious goes through me first. Tech’s got a list of known Trade Federation associates, no movements without a confirmed identity.” He added tersely.

“I understand completely Hunter,” Duchess was the one to accommodate the Sergeant, playing off her clear tone by looking to Echo like he’d been the one who garnered the answer. It was a smooth cover, and she played it off so naturally Echo had been fooled for a moment. Crosshair noticed how well she performed for any watching eyes, the second-nature movements and how genuinely she played off her initial observance as the innocent curiosity of a person in a new place.

Their drinks quickly arrived, and nothing was mentioned about his own drink, thanks to the tens of conversations that needed attention from all of them. Most of the people close to his own table were of no consequence; Based almost singularly on the bad music choice of the bar or the miserable heat that could only be combatted effectively by retreating underground. No one was talking about work, or the underground base they’d come across earlier that day. For the most part -thanks to his positioning- he had a full view of everyone, and of Duchess as well, considering someone had to play off their position as normal customers. That being said, it gave the sniper the invaluable opportunity to watch her in this state without the barrier of her helmet for the first time.

As any mission that required her full participation, Duchess was in her element as a soldier. The drink she’d been sipping on -clear and otherwise unknown- was her best tool in scanning the bar behind Crosshair’s back without drawing too much attention. Holding it up to full lips and taking soft sips that made her throat bob far more seductively than she must’ve meant for it to be. She leaned back in her chair, posturing her shoulders back and holding a detailed watch on everyone mulling about. Whether she’d planned it this way or not, it drew attention to her. Effectively separating the crowd into two groups that saved Cross the time of watching people who were just there to drink. Of those who didn’t take an interest in Duchess, that’s where Crosshair surveilled the most. To his side, Echo took it upon himself to better sell the image by making some small-talk with her.

“You’ve done this before haven’t you? This kind of post doesn’t really come… natural.” Echo danced around his words well, leaving his true meaning up for debate for anyone listening in.

“Observant as always…” She smiled warmly, taking another sip of her drink. “I’ve spent a lot of time pretending to be someone I’m not for the benefit of others.” That knowing smirk on her lips made Crosshair’s throat tighten up. Covert missions were undoubtedly mainstream with her old squad. It only made sense his doll would be well-adjusted to doing this kind of thing. Maybe with a little more finesse back then… but undercover work nonetheless.

“How did you learn so quickly?”

Duchess actually laughed softly, drawing quite a few looks in her direction at the soft sound; Had it been any quieter in the bar, Crosshair would’ve been concerned that her apparent humor in that question would’ve been a lot more troublesome. But she easily reigned herself in, avoiding any real complication; “My life often depended on how convincing I was. Men don’t always attract attention the same way women do… It can be highly effective, when done the right way,” Her softness trailed off into a low conspirator-tone.

“See them? Playing Sabacc in the corner… No one’s made a bet in half an hour, and although I don’t pretend to be the hottest woman on Geonosis I happen to be the only woman here. Considering Geonosians would kill these guys on first opportunity, my presence has to count for something… Unless you’re not worried about dying before you get the next piece of ass.” She tipped back her drink, and finished off the display by innocently wiping away a stray drop lingering on her bottom lip. Dutch made kriffing good show of it; And Crosshair was finally catching on to what she’d been doing all this time.

You are doing it on purpose… devious little thing. I should be all over you for pulling a stunt like this and getting away with it for so long. Too bad I’m the only one falling for your tricks pretty girl.

“You haven’t turned around once.” Crosshair masked his surprise with the best dismissal he could manage given his current situation. “You’re not that perceptive…” With a graceful smile, Duchess looked down at her glass and slid it across the table in his direction and Crosshair snatched it up.

“Finish it off for me, but be careful it’s strong,” She smirked, watching intently as he raised the glass up and tipped it back to finish off the remaining liquid. “I’m more perceptive than you think… Duke.”

Crosshair nearly choked. Not on the drink -which was actually water, not liquor- but on the easy way that namehad rolled off her tongue. He’d almost forgotten about it… almost. Dutch knew exactly what she was doing, and Cross realized just a little too late how unprepared he was to be caught in her trap. The med bay, the weapons testing, the caf… all of it had been planned perfectly -or so he thought- to where she wouldn’t figure out that he’d been behind it. Yet all this time she’d just been holding back for the perfect opportunity to use it against him. That little swallow of water burnt more than any Corellian whiskey ever would, and from over the rim of the glass Crosshair could see her watching with a look of pure victory dancing in her eyes.

What made her little joke feel like salt in a wound, was the slightly reflective quality to the bottom of her glass. Crosshair could easily see a hazy outline of Hunter and the others sitting in their booth behind him, completely unaware of the clear line of sight he held on the three of them. Duchess had been watching the whole time… she just did it better… And kriff if Cross wasn’t split between utter speechlessness and pride for the simple fact that she had outsmarted him to a painfully obvious degree that was growing to a whole new level. One that Echo was happily chuckling softly at from behind his own glass.

“Hunter. Hoods. Front of the room,” Crosshair didn’t feel like wasting another second sitting in his own ineptitude, and instead growled a quiet callout to the Sergeant who’s gaze immediately shifted towards the men, after hearing his aggressive tone.

“Wait for recognition,” There was a long pause. “Don’t move until we get something solid to work with.”

Everyone did as they were told, awaiting Tech’s programs and data to speak possible truth into Duchess’ intuition for the five men sitting noticeably stilly over an unproductive game of cards and the front righthand corner of the bar. Crosshair did what he could to memorize their faces, and try to work out how exactly they were going to get any information out of men who looked particularly sober and unapproachable. Of course he thought of just stunning them and getting this over with quickly, but Hunter didn’t like doing things the easy way when he could make everyone’s life harder by being unnecessarily strategic.

“Three are known associates to the Trade Federation, the remaining two are well-known extremists that work for the Confederacy of Independent Systems.” Tech’s answer was the confirmation they all needed, and suddenly there was a flurry of conversation between Hunter and Tech that was imperceptible due to the karking pathetic quality of the earpieces they all had.

But all of a sudden Duchess gave him and Echo a little smile and stood up from her chair like she planned on doing something. Crosshair immediately realized that it was his comm alone that hadn’t been working, and whatever was about to happen was as unexpected for him as it was the five men they identified. His heartrate picked up, and he forced himself not to jump up from his chair and stalk over to Hunter and demand they do something that didn’t involve Duchess making this mission a success. Times like this were when Crosshair really hated his oldest brother, and questioned whether or not he actually cared if Dutch was being sent into a far more dangerous situation than she could handle. It’s not like the targets weren’t armed -he could see the blasters from here- but then again, that meant Duchess was probably just as aware. By an act of the Gods he somehow managed to keep himself in his seat and simply watch her work.

She sauntered over to the bar with a confidence that normally made Crosshair feel a little weak in the knees. But now it was a whole lot more of a problem, seeing the endless looks and stares that her figure garnered. Apparently armor wasn’t enough to hide just how pretty of a figure she had, and Crosshair was fuming with the admittance. Dutch worked herself well, not playing up her appeal to a noticeable degree, but making damn sure to lean into the bar and exaggerate that little sway in her back. The man standing next to her couldn’t keep his eyes off her ass. It took a few minutes, but she was given another drink and from there she effortlessly worked her way towards the front of the bar where their targets sat. Crosshair noticed her wandering eyes, and how every conversation and group of men surrounding the targets lingered for a few moments before she would pause and softly ‘excuse’ herself around someone to disguise her movements. It was a coy act, but a kriffing smart one.

To his side, Echo nudged his side softly. “She’s good… really good.”

He just scowled, downing the remaining half of his own drink bitterly. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy pissing me off.”

“You’re always pissed Cross, but I do like seeing her impress you. It makes for good entertainment,” Echo’s soft chuckle didn’t make Crosshair feel any better about what was going on. “Besides, she’s already working her magic.”

To Crosshairs downright agitation, Duchess had already made her way to the front of the room and was engaged in a conversation with a man leaning up against the wall just within a few feet of the closes target. To which none of them paid her any mind, talking quietly over their cards. The man seemed nothing short of wasted -bloodshot- eyes and a wavering posture that was only aided by the help of the wall at his back. Dutch just smiled happily at him, even chuckling softly when he made some type of unpracticed gesture in her direction. Crosshair’s only saving grace was the occasional glance she’d send his way; Never letting than smile for this guy reach her eyes. Dutch was being graceful in her manners towards him, and Cross was trying his best not to dent the table his fingers were choke-holding.

“What the kriff is she doing?” His scowl deepen when she handed him the drink she’d been making a show of sipping on; Feeling like he was about to come unglued when the drunken man immediately reached for it and took a thirsty drink of it.

Crosshair didn’t have to wait for an answer from anyone who might’ve heard his comm, or for Echo who’d taken quite the relaxed posture at his side. Duchess’ target gave a courteous smile and pushed himself off the wall with a little wave before trying to stagger his way apart from her. And if Crosshair hadn’t been watching them as closely as he had, her boot catching in the middle of the man’s stride would’ve went unnoticed. Her disguised motion worked perfectly, careening the drunk right into the table of men trying to burn holes into their game of cards and effectively made a mess of liquor and scattered cards and credits.

There was an instant ruckus from the men at the table; Loud shouts and the sound of glasses breaking on the floor from where Dutch’s victim had landed with his upper-half splayed across the table. All five targets were on their feet in a moment’s notice, and the one closest to Dutch -unaware of her lingering presence- knocked into her harshly. Crosshair’s eyes went wide in surprise when she feigned the actual impact and fell to the ground convincingly, just out of sight behind the bar-top marring his sight of the interaction. The sniper’s heart was beating out of his chest when he lost sight of her; Instantly collecting his attention on the man she’d meant to draw attention from.

It worked perfectly.

The target might not have noticed her on entry, but he was certainly aware of Duchess now. What had been a furious expression quickly turned into one of slight concern and an overwhelming manifestation of plain and simple lust. It sent Crosshair into a tailspin; Motivating him to stand up, only to feel Echo hand grip his shoulder and shove him back down into his seat with a hissed warning. The man offered a hand down towards the ground and Crosshair flinched when her hand slipped into his so he could pull her up from whatever helplessly sprawled out position she’d come up with for this man to look at her like he was.

There was a moment of pause where Dutch got her feet under herself, and there was the slightest slip of her hand over the man’s chest. If there was ever a time Crosshair was happy to have his eyes, that little motion was the one he’d been ecstatic to see. Those pretty fingers brushed over the breast pocket, and from what Cross could assume, she’d slipped something into it. Deep down, the sniper knew it was beautifully executed and that Dutch deserved every last bit of congratulation deserving of it; However the man still hadn’t let go of her yet, and he didn’t look particularly happy to do so.

“Dutch, are you clear?” Hunter’s voice broke out over comms and within just a few seconds she gave a very sly ‘thumbs-up’ with her free hand behind her back.

“What’s the move Sergeant?” For the first time since Echo had sat down, he rearranged himself into what Crosshair thought to be a far more suitable position. One that made him at least look ready to provide some support should the need arise.

“Sit tight, we’re waiting for a hot wire.” Hunter’s countered briskly.

Duchess had somehow wriggled herself out of the target’s grasp with a brutally sweet smile and a wavering posture that almost made the sight of her in armor look painfully demure. Somehow she was tricking this sorry bastard into forgetting that she was openly armed to the teeth, and had every talent in taking him down. But Crosshair didn’t like to admit her words were doing just as an exemplary job of unarming her enemy at a time like this. To an extent, he was proud. But his body wasn’t happy about it. Every inch of him wanted this to be over with, and although it’d only been a few seconds since she’d given her security check, the sniper was itching to feel his pistol in his hand.

“NAV Tracker is live.” Tech broke though Cross’ concentrated stare on the two across the room.

Just as easily as she’d come, Dutch dismissed herself in a fluid motion that had the target staring at her figure as she made her way towards the front doors. There were a few amused huffs in comms, and everyone except Crosshair thought it was amusing that Dutch hadn’t given Hunter the chance to come up with an exit strategy. The decision was all hers, and she expected all of them to walk out just as easily as she’d done.

“To answer your question… I believe she just showed us how it’s done.” Echo chuckled as he slipped his bucket over his head and stood from his seat with an irritating pep in his step.

To make matters worse, Hunter came up behind him and clapped a hard hand over his shoulder. A low laugh reverberating through his modulator, unusual and just the slightest bit maddening.

“I gotta admit it Cross, she’s smooth with it.”

Duchess… You’re killing me slowly.

***

It had been hours since they returned to the Marauder and Duchess still hadn’t gotten a single glimpse of her sniper anywhere since they entered. Of course he’d not made an attempt to be in any close proximity since they left the cantina, but it was beginning to bother her. She knew he was working through his reactions of her taking Hunter’s orders during the mission; But had it not been for her, getting the tracking device on their target might’ve been a lot trickier, and possibly a lot more dangerous for everyone involved. That didn’t mean Dutch was dismissive of Crosshair’s fear and overprotective nature, but she’d tried her best to reassure him the entire time that everything was perfectly okay and she felt safe in doing so. After all, he was in the room with her. There couldn’t possibly have been a more reassuring feeling than having the best marksman in the Republic and his brothers watching her back. Nevertheless, Dutch had not seen or heard from Crosshair and although Dutch wanted to search him out there was still a lot of work to be done that limited her chances to sneak away and find him.

The target -and possibly the other four- had since moved from the underground cantina and had settled down in a small make-shift outpost just a klick or so away from their current position. Tech and Echo had invited her into the cockpit so she could watch the scanners alongside them, and she’d done so with a great curiosity and a lot of questions that both men were more than happy to answer considering the work was a little more mind-numbing than anyone would care to admit.

Dutch sat on the floor between the two of them, listening intently to the data read-outs and watching every line of code and information that Tech was constantly checking and re-reading. Everything considered, it was more information than she could keep up with, but Dutch did her best to try and keep everything in the back of her mind for safe keeping. They had more than enough reason to believe everyone would be back out in the desert to track them all back down, but until Hunter worked through whatever he was doing presently at the back of the ship, they had to play the waiting game.

“Dutch, you said you’ve done undercover work before… But I don’t believe you give yourself -or us- the kind of warning and credit that any of us deserve.” Echo was the first to bring up her escapades with a somewhat crooked smile. He looked happy to say the least, but there was a hint of a deeper question lingering just below the surface. One that he didn’t seem keen on making any clearer than he just did.

“I second that.” Tech interjected, “The depth of your abilities are startlingly unspecified.”

Duchess shrunk down a little at the sound of Tech’s slight irritation, already fully aware of just how serious of a problem it was for the Batch to not have a good idea of what she could do, or just how those skills could be predicted for their own personal benefit. The Batch worked like a well-oiled machine most of the time, and Duchess was just a new part being added into the mix that came with no instructions or knowledge on how she fit in most effectively. Not to mention just how furious Crosshair had to be with her if Tech sounded audibly annoyed. But her own bearing seemed to alert both of them; and they were instinctively drawing their attention away from the scanners and down to where she sat trying to avoid their gazes by staring at the pairs of scuffed boots in front of her.

“I suppose I haven’t told you guys much...” She shared a short look between them. “I’m sorry, I just- I’m used to someone knowing because I’ve only ever worked with one squad. ”

Echo -being sweet like always- was the first to deny her apology. “You’re great Dutch, we don’t doubt it. Just don’t be afraid to keep too many surprises from us.”

Dutch simply nodded in response, feeling a little less torn up about now that she knew none of the Batch were as upset with her for being private, as they were worried about projecting what she might do first in a fight. There was a long list of skillsets from Phantom Squad that had all come together to form her own. Everything from: Omens personal combat, to Rev’s weapon knowledge, and Wraith’s inability to let a challenge go ignored. She held a little of all of them, and there was no doubt in her mind that the Batch had their fair share of struggle trying to learn five different styles combined into one person. They were all skilled, but Dutch was presenting a kriffing puzzle with no boarder edges to get them started.

“Got comms from the Capital. Our targets are all confirmed, and we have full go-ahead,” Out of nowhere, Hunter popped up over Tech’s shoulder, glancing down at the NAV screens that hadn’t shown any movement in a long time.

There was a small pause in his voice, and Duchess immediately recognized that tone. It was one that spoke to their orders from Coruscant. It was already very clear that the Batch didn’t get the same kind of missions that Phantom Squad did. For 99, most of their missions were recon and they faced little human life that would stand in the way. As for her boys, they’d spent most of their time dealing with people, and a full go-ahead always meant that lethal force was permissible… if not encouraged depending on the target. The look on the Sergeant’s face said that he wasn’t the least bit happy about the idea, but Dutch had a feeling that the Batch would do everything they could to end this as cleanly as possible.

“What do you want us to do?” She asked helpfully, trying to lighten the tone just as little as she would’ve done for the Phantoms on a similar mission. Hunter instantly snapped his attention to her, like he’d been caught in his own mind for too long and was afraid that he’d missed something highly important.

“Two squads. One stays to monitor NAV, and make sure we don’t spook our targets. If they get into the air, they’re as good as gone… And without any back-up, if something goes wrong, we’re on our own.” Hunter was almost ranting his thoughts, but it was at least good to hear that he was wary of just how their isolated position looked to Duchess.

“Tech, Dutch, you two and Wrecker will stay behind to keep an eye on the ship and NAV link. We aren’t going in blind, and someone needs to tell us what in the kriff is going on.” Finally his authoritarian tone began to make an appearance from behind all that stony rumination, and Duchess wasn’t very happy with the orders.

Instantly she regained herself, and go up to her feet. Allowing her patience to sway for just a little longer so Hunter could finish before she tried to barging with him. In the back of her mind, she knew nothing about her appearance spoke to a desire to follow orders, and it was really the first time that Dutch had ever even thought about challenging the Sergeant. But this was one mission she didn’t want to hang back on; They could use another set of eyes, and with Tech at the ship, there was hardly a need for her input on anything.

“Cross, Echo and I will head back. Once we make contact, it shouldn’t be long before we have the information we need and that should be enough to keep the Jedi’s off our backs for a little while.” Hunter sounded kriffing pleased with the idea, and everyone else’s murmured agreement made a perfectly clear consensus.

Either way, she’d be dead before she stopped trying to be helpful. The moment Hunter stepped away from the cockpit, Dutch was hot on his heels and already trying to form her proposal when he reached his bunk; Turning with narrowed eyes and a flickering expression that made it clear he knew exactly what she wanted to ask. A wiser person might’ve taken that as a polite dismissal from Hunter, but Duchess never did pride herself on being the easiest person to get along with.

Especially now that Crosshair is involved.

“Duchess. Do you remember what I told you before we left Kamino?” If she didn’t know better, Dutch would’ve thought he was talking to her like a child by the way he softened his tone and a low sigh hissed against the edges of his teeth.

“You told me to hang back on our first mission.” She gave the best worded reiteration of the Sergeant’s actual words, hoping that he didn’t have as good of memory as he did smell. But that hope was quickly dashed when Hunter shook his head, a soft but disappointed smile on his face.

“Correct me if I’m wrong… but I believe my exact words were ‘I don’t want to take the risk of getting you hurt because things don’t go as planned’… Does that sound familiar?” Once again, there was no use in trying to outright outclass anyone on the Marauder, and Duchess felt like she was playing a consistently loosing game.

“Another set of eyes and a pair of blasters can’t be unhelpful,” She did her best to avoid making mention of her worry for Crosshair; But it was obvious that between her desperation and Hunter’s softening expression that nothing was slipping under his expansive biological radar. “I just want to help as best I can. And Tech completely outshines me when it comes to anything statistical or remotely informative.”

Hunter chuckled lowly, glancing towards the cockpit where the brother in-question sat talking non-stop to Echo and working at his datapad at the same time. For there to ever be a time that Duchess’ point was proven instantly, now was the time. Between the glazed over expression on Echo’s face and the technical language pouring out of Tech’s mouth, by the time she turned to look at Hunter she was almost positive the scientist had proven her point without even trying to do so.

“Tech’s… something alright,” Hunter rubbed at the back of his neck, shifting his weight back and forth. “But, I want you on the ship for this. What you did back at the cantina was great work, but you’ve done enough this time. No use in risking you when there isn’t a kriffing good reason for it.”

The Sergeant was resolute this time; Leaving not the slightest hint of wiggle room for her to try and worm her way out. Dutch had to give it to him, Hunter was the best negotiator she’d ever come across, and it wasn’t for a lack of willpower on her part. There was a certain air about him that made orders a lot easier to follow that it would coming from someone else, and add in that almost ‘fatherly’ tone of rebuke… It made Hunter the perfect match for Duchess’ desire to tell him to kark off and let her go with them.

“The only reason I’m not arguing with you is because I get first dibs on the refresher and the partially lukewarm water.” She gave him a soft punch to the shoulder as she walked past, hearing something unintelligible from him on the way towards her pack.

Digging to the bottom, Duchess tried not to groan too loudly when there was nothing left clean but a couple pairs of underwear and a pair of canvas pants that certainly wouldn’t work well to sleep in. The realization that her blacks were the best option -although they’d went unwashed for close to a week- hit her full force, and the desire to get clean was suddenly not as enticing as it had just a few moments ago. But, she reminded herself that the Batch didn’t seem too bothered; Normally just preferring to sleep in a full kit instead of falling into the desire to not feel armor on them constantly. Especially Crosshair, who almost always had every last bit of his kit on, including his gloves and boots.

Just make due, you’ll have a chance to wash some things soon… Hopefully.

It was a terrible motivation, but it got her to the refresher with just a clean pair of underwear fisted in her hand tightly enough to not flash the -admittedly- sexy pair of panties to any of the Batch. The last thing she needed was Tech seeing that she carried a scrap of lace around, or Wrecker making a shameless comment about how that could hardly do the job required of them efficiently. Even that tinge of fear that Hunter could smell her sweat slowly started creeping into her subconscious, questioning if the stale smell of sweaty men didn’t cover up her own desert-imposed clammy smell.

Hustling into the cramped refresher, Duchess didn’t bother to lock the door and instead rushed to clamber out of her armor and the sandy material clinging uncomfortably to her body. To a short celebratory mood, the scalding sun had heated the supply tank to where Duchess actually needed to adjust the temp dial. Within just a few minutes the entire room had a thick fog of steam. The water felt almost too good after spending so much time away from temperature controlled water, and despite the soap reminding her of a med bay it was a welcoming sensation to finally get clean of the sand and recent mission orders.

***

Crosshair listened to the pattering of the water on the floor, noticing the texture changes of when Duchess stepped in and out of the spray. Trying to figure out a way to approach her without coming off too strong. Wondering if joining her for just a minute would be worth the awkwardness of his silence. She’d worked those targets fucking perfectly, and currently he didn’t have the slightest upset over it, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Duchess had a prowess that many women might think of as a discredit. After all there were just as many good men as there were bad in the galaxy. But her ability to turn blind predatory behavior into a benefit was enough for Crosshair to feel a sharp sense of pride in her. Being sexy came naturally to her, and he loved being the only one who really saw it in a unfiltered view.

Duchess did her job as close to perfect as any of his brothers, and possibly better than he did his own job in its own respect.

“You owe me one for that, vod.” Hunter’s voice right behind him didn’t do more than give him an imperceptible start.

“I don’t owe you karking shit.” He sneered back coldly, not bothering to pull his gaze away from the refresher door. Playing guard over the unlocked room, making certain that no one would walk in on her and ruin whatever peaceful moment she was having in there.

Hunter gave that brotherly sigh of disappointment, spewing out hot air that faintly made it against Cross’ neck in a way that made the hair raise at the nape. He hated these moments. Ones where his own character were brought into question by someone who really didn’t have any reason to act in his favor. Not that Hunter really meant anything but good, however that didn’t make his overprotectiveness any less difficult to balance in a halfway tolerable way. To make matters worse, Hunter was the wholly to blame for his bad mood in the first place. Had he asked anyone else to spot that NAV tracker, things would be right as rain. Or at least, good enough for Cross to not fall into this sulking mood that he currently felt obliged to feed off of.

“When are you going to learn that she can do it on her own?” The question sliced through Crosshair’s patience, and in less than a second he’d turned on his brother and had a white knuckled grip clamped on Hunter’s arm.

“When you stop giving her unnecessary orders, Sergeant.” Cross could feel himself getting further and further away from control the longer he stared at Hunter’s well executed composition of attention. His ori’vod had always been the best at it as cadets, and only in times of tension like this did Crosshair wish he could break that impassive placidity just long enough to feel some sort of satisfaction.

“You’re being unfair, Crosshair.” Level toned as always, Cross hated how easy this was for everyone but him. Unseeing of how dangerous it was to send Duchess into unknown waters, just because they have confidence in her. Unknowing of just how fearful he felt about her getting injured due to their own possible failures. Gods knew they had enough over their short lives that could’ve resulted in her being killed had she been accompanying them at the time.

“Don’t act ignorant,” He felt his voice crack in impatience, trying to find the right words and say them low enough to not involve Dutch or anyone else not currently aware of what was being discussed. “She’s not a soldier. Nothing like us. There’s no reason for her to ever pull a stunt like that again.” Crosshair tightened his grip on his brother’s arm a little for emphasis.

Finally, Hunter broke just enough to see the first clip of his anger. Not enough to return the heavily accusatory tone Crosshair couldn’t help but employ, but it was still better than the karking emptiness he normally showed. He looked hurt, and Cross didn’t really like making his ori’vod feel like that, but Dutch’s safety was worlds more important than the Sergeant’s bruised ego. Hunter faltered a little bit, taking a step back and lightly shrugging off the softened grip Cross had eased up on. Going far enough to rest again the wall to his side, there was a tinge of forced casualness about his posture than Crosshair was well-attuned to seeing.

“When she stops volunteering i’ll think about believing that Cross…” The Sergeant shoved himself away from the wall, leaving Cross to deal with the information alone, tossing one last comment over his shoulder before leading himself up to the cockpit. “Do whatever you need to, but we leave in five.”

With that, Crosshair was left to himself again and this time there was a time crunch he didn’t nearly have time to work with. Not only did he have no way of formulating any type of conversation with Dutch, but there wasn’t anything he could say to ease her upset over being sat out for this half of the mission. Part of him thought that maybe being softer, and making some sort of apology would better suit the situation, but he didn’t know how. And wrongly executing it would be just as egregious of a mistake as anything else Crosshair thought worthy of mulling about. Anything: a kiss, an apology, something to let her know he wasn’t really mad at her. Something to make his absence hurt a little less, or seem less like a personal attack on her ability and how well she’d actually done today.

Despite the copious ideas, and five minutes of time to decide and execute the only thing Crosshair felt comfortable in doing was silently depositing one of his spare tops on the sink inside the refresher so she could have something clean to wear for the night. It wasn’t much in the way of bedside manner, but five minutes weren’t nearly long enough to do any really important mending done properly. And by the time he joined Echo outside the Marauder the sun had fallen below the skyline and what felt like a sandstorm was beginning to kick up.

Geonosis never was claimed to be very hospitable, and after the day they’d had it was no surprise the landscape thought it fitting to prove it’s worst right when they decided to head out after their target. Add in that the weather was making comm-checks more challenging than usual, and Crosshair’s irritation was gaining even more steam. Hunter was as obnoxious as always giving his last-minute checks aloud for everyone to hear, and had it not been for Echo’s silent, yet steadfast position next to him things would’ve felt that much more irritating. The wind kicked up again right as they got comms stable, and Crosshair didn’t pretend to think they would stay this clear for much longer. They had two klicks to the target’s location, and from the sounds of sand gritting across his armor they would have to resort to visuals or close-prox comms before they every made contact with the target.

“Can’t hear a kriffing thing!” Echo had to raise his voice over the whipping wind, cupping his hand around the speaker in his bucket to try and concentrate the sound.

“Follow the NAV, it’s all we’ve got for now!” Hunter butted in dryly, sounding just as disgruntled as everyone else and frequently checking signals on his vambrace in lieu of Tech’s absent direction.

Crosshair could see expertly through the slow-growing haze of flying sand, and although Hunter was the one who normally headed this kind of operation he found himself leading the group fairly quickly. He avoided the loose-packed sand and tried to steer clear of the cliffs that he could see marked by deep black shadows and a particularly jagged edge. The travel wasn’t easy, but compared to most of the missions they’d found themselves on this was fairly simple. The target wasn’t moving either -probably holed up for the night- so it wouldn’t be long before someone gave an order for him to split off from everyone else and find a place to settle in and keep watch.

“Hunter, any tracks?” It came in brokenly over comms from Echo.

Crosshair couldn’t help but roll his eyes. As smart as Echo was, there were occasions that his lack of experience with their difference enhancements showed a little more than others. In a sandstorm like this Hunter was probably on the verge of oversensitivity. With this much silence, and the Sergeant’s change of leadership Cross was fairly certain Hunter was toeing a fine line. To further his assumption it took a long time for Hunter to respond, and when he did the heavy panting breaths and clipped words made it all the more obvious how harshly the environment was taking its toll.

“Nothing- sands moving too much. Can’t hear over the wind.”

After that admission Crosshair began watching even more closely than before. Taking it upon himself to scan for any movement that looked the least bit questionable. That kind of attention slowed their pace, but the shifting sands and raging winds provided good concealment from both sight and sound, and the sandstorm meant that there would be no tracks for any potential pursuer to follow them with any form of certainty.

Following the signal from the tracker for what felt like hours, Crosshair began to question the reliability of the NAV display on the visor of his helmet, after all anything could have gone wrong- from the sandstorm playing tricks on his telemetrics to the tracker being dislodged or discarded. He was contemplating calling a halt to the formation when the ground under his left foot gave way mid-stride, leaving him balancing over what he now recognized as the edge of a cliff. He was lost in contemplation about the tracker and a lingering muse of what he was going to say to Duchess we he returned, so he failed to notice that he had led them to the edge of a large crater that stretched as far as he could see in either direction- which wasn’t far considering the red-brown sand had refused to relent and was still swirling violently, distorting and obscuring the light from the lone star that warmed the planet.

Crosshair swiftly turned to face his brothers, making sure that they were aware enough to not walk off the cliff’s edge. Once they all stopped, he turned back to try to make out what lie at the bottom of the crater through the churning sands, and noticed that if he lay flat then he was able to see under the sand with ease, as the wind was not blowing within the crater leaving the air open and the crater roofed by clouds of sand. He saw a cluster of small buildings that were little more than hovels, along with several suspicious looking boxes stacked outside the largest one. He checked his NAV display one last time and was able to confirm that the signal was coming from the center of the crater, precisely where the buildings stood. Because of the storm, he was unable to pinpoint exactly which building the signal was coming from, but he knew with certainty that it was coming from one of those houses. He was about to mention it to his brothers when his comm link came to life in a flurry of static, and a voice that sounded vaguely like Hunter’s came through in an inaudible tone.

Putting his hand over the comm on the side of helmet Crosshair keyed up his mic, “Repeat, you were broken. We should have fucking learned how to make these work after the first invasion of Geonosis.”

Again the static came through, however this time he was able to make out Hunter’s strained reply. “I said, why did we stop? I can’t see a reason for us to take a break.”

Cross sighed, his aggravation with Hunter building with each second, “Well if you would like to keep walking then be my fucking guest, but that armor doesn’t have a karking parachute built in by any chance does it?” Before his brother could formulate a reply, Cross quickly shut off his comms, preferring silence to ignorance. Hunter’s condition didn’t make up for his lack of respect for Cross’ skills as a point man.

Making a quick hand signal to tell the others to lay down, Cross quickly diverted his attention back to the task at hand, shouldering his rifle and sighting down range to get a better look at the layout of the village.

It lay in the exact center of the crater, roughly a quarter klick from the edges with open ground on all sides. There were seven small buildings that looked on the verge of disrepair that branched out in a grid like pattern from a much larger, but equally decrepit structure. There were no travel lines that marked any sort of streets or walkways and there appeared to be no way in or out of the crater itself, unless one entered and exited through the air. There were scattered rocks across the flat ground, but none that were sufficient for any form of cover or concealment. Along the top of the rim there were several rocks that were stacked up, providing plenty of places for a sniper’s nest. Cross reached up and flipped the switch on the side of his scope, switching his view to the muted multi-colors of thermal imaging, however all he saw was a mass of reds and whites that came from the superheated sand of the desert planet. This was concerning, but better judegment told Crosshair that if he couldn’t see them then they couldn’t see him either.

Groaning as he rose to a standing position, Cross walked over and knelt down in front of the other two and quickly explained the situation, noting that Echo’s shoulders fell slightly when he mentioned that there was no access point to the bottom of the crater.

“Looks like we are doing this the old fashioned way,” he replied gruffly, reaching behind him to extract his climbing gear that was stowed in the bottom of his pack. There were no further comments from anyone else as they prepared for the decent, and Crosshair found a convenient set of boulders to wedge himself between, and soon Hunter and Echo were hanging halfway down the cliff face.

Cross was scanning both the horizon and the village in a methodical order, ready to warn his brothers, or send a blast downrange if the need arose. There was no movement from the inside of the village, and the crater’s edge showed no signs of disturbance. After several more minutes, Crosshair began to grow uneasy, attributing it to the numbing effects of the adrenaline that was coursing through his system and a desire to get this over as quick and painlessly as possible.

After several more tense moments, Echo and Crosshair were both unhooked from their climbing connects and were making their way across the open ground as stealthily as they could, their black armor standing out against the red background. If they lay still there was a small chance they could be mistaken as rocks.

If Hunter is smart enough to turn the backlight of his life support off when he does it…

Crosshair watched as the two soldiers made their way to the first house, stacking up outside the door with one on each side. Hunter reached over and flung the door back on its hinges and Echo shoved the barrel of his blaster into the entryway to pie the door -methodically dividing the door into sections from right to left- making sure that every section was devoid of an enemy before proceeding into the house itself. For a few tense seconds both of his brothers were out of Crosshair’s sight and the tightness in his chest didn’t go away until they were both back outside moving to repeat the process at the next building.

This went on at every structure in the village until finally they both emerged from the last house. Crosshair saw Hunter reach to activate his comm, but there was no sound coming through. Crosshair remembered that in his agitation with Hunter he switched his comms off and went to reactivate them, wondering how many broken updates or questions he had missed throughout the clearing process. Before he could flip the switch on the side of his helmet, there was the sound of a rock falling behind him and he felt both of his ankles being grabbed and pulled by an unknown assailant. His armor scraped against the rock and sand, gritting harshly as he instantly let the fight response send his body into a habitual overdrive of preservation.

After being pulled away from the rocks Crosshair managed to buck his feet free and twist himself into a supine position, leveling his rifle at the man that was behind him and moving his finger to the secondary trigger that would activate the flamethrower that was built into the ‘Puncher. Right as he heard the familiar ‘whoosh’ sound from the end of his weapon it was suddenly forced upwards as another man emerged on his left side and forced the gun skyward with an iron grip and unfortunately well-timed assault of his own. There was a moment of clarity when Cross caught sight of a third and fourth man coming into his right-hand peripheral. Reflexively he drew his side arm, and attempted to readjust his interrupted grip on his rifle but the barrel was once again retched out of proper correction and this time it was pulled from his grasp.

There were too many of them, and without any better option he forwent any worry over his rifle for the time being and used his secondary to shove himself to a knee and send a few shots in the closest man’s direction. Through the howling wind he heard a groan of pain, but it wasn’t an assurance that he was wounded well enough to be considered a non-threat. He didn’t get the chance to think more on it, feeling the first blow in the form of a body slamming into the side of his body and slamming them both towards the ground, his blaster falling somewhere uselessly into the unknown. There were loud shouts and barking laughter that split through the howling wind, but none of the words made any sense when crushing fists kept finding soft spots in his plastoid. Crosshair did everything he could to fight off the heavy weight of the imposing man, blocking what blows he could and paying them back when the constantly changing position changed in his favor.

Heavy blows were exchanged back and forth, suddenly turning into two or three punches at once in miserably quick succession. It had to be more than one man, it was too much weight pinning him down, and far too short of pauses between strikes. All the while Cross struggled to roll himself to a less-vulnerable position. He didn’t know how long -it could’ve been seconds or minutes- but he felt the unmistakable force of a boot slamming into his side. The remaining oxygen in his lungs were ripped away, and suddenly his HUD glowed red with a bio-warning that was utterly useless to anyone but his brothers who would be subsequently sent the same information. Cross didn’t remember his helmet coming off, but he did come to the realization that at some point he’d taken far too many punches to the face; Feeling wetness slicking his cheek and a coppery taste overwhelming his mouth.

All of the sudden one voice finally caught above the blistering wind and the gasping sound of Cross’ own heaving attempts at breath deafening everything around him. “Spying’s a bad habit you waste of fucking cells!” Another vicious kick against his chest, and Crosshair heard himself yelp above the inward crack he heard inside himself.

“Thas’ all y’got?” He forced himself to spit the blood and words out of his mouth, willing himself to ignore the blistering pain radiating through his entire torso.

Loud cries of laughter sounded again, muffling the sound of someone speaking far too lowly for Crosshair to make out anything meaningful. The weight above him shifted, and out of instinct he tensed for another blow but felt the man lift off just long enough to drag Cross to his feet in a dazed staggering of unsteady feet trying to get away from the possessive hold on his body. He felt the two different men holding him up, and wanted so desperately to fight back harder against his sandstorm-cloaked assailants. Cross just couldn’t see well enough to pick a direction to start heading in. Weaponless and bucket-less, the storm was doing just as much damage as the men were; Cutting his face and making his skin feel blistered.

Consciousness was shaky at best, and throughout his attempts to stay awake, he remembered registering the sound of cuffs but couldn’t quite tell if they’d been applied to his wrists. After an experimental tug, it was obvious he was bound behind his back and that sent Crosshair spiraling. He could hear talking, but it wasn’t Basic. There were pieces of his armor missing, but he didn’t remember when they came off, and if it wasn’t for the utter agony radiating from his chest Cross might’ve thought to break the cuffs like he knew how, and try to comm Hunter and Echo. Only he had no idea where his helmet was anymore. His captors slammed Cross to his knees harshly, one man grabbing at his clipped hair and yanking his head back with a painful rip. Crosshair bit back the urge to cry out, biting his tongue to keep them from getting any more satisfaction out of this than they already were.

Echo… Hunter… going to get me… They’re going to get me… Almost there… The repetition didn’t help his pain or the infuriating helplessness that made five men all the more difficult to fight without a weapon. Only after someone knelt before him did Crosshair realize that their target was the one looking him dead in the eyes.

“Where’s the pretty one?” He asked venomously, yellowed teeth baring in a sickening smirk that Crosshair wanted to utterly destroy. “I’d love to get another look at her instead of you.”

A last ditch attempt to lunge at the man earned him another blow. This one to the face, compacted by metal barbs wrapped around the man’s knuckles. Another loud crack sounded and Crosshair was too weak to fight the groan that ripped from his throat.

“Won’t tell you shit.” Cross spat again, hoping his bloody saliva made its way far enough to land on the man.

The target laughed lowly, leaning back for just a moment and suddenly returning with the yellow glowing edge of a vibroblade tremoring mere inches away from Cross’ face. The glow was just enough to make out the target’s face, but red blurred his vision and Crosshair knew it was his own blood masking the whole scene from him. He swallowed whatever bile rose in his throat, and the target took it as some sense of complacency instead of the attempt to keep his sarcastic comments to himself.

“A sniper… What a shame you’re trained not to squeal.” The man overlooked Cross’ beaten appearance with mischievous eyes that told far more of his malicious intent to cause more harm than conversate. “You might not talk now, but I wonder you will after cut out your eyes.” That dead smile gleamed in the light of the knife, and Crosshair couldn’t help but open his mouth.

“Suck my cock.”

Quicker than Cross could even force a laugh at this disgruntled expression he elicited from the man, the blade dropped away from his face ad down towards his and exposed part of his torso and ripped a heavy slash over the dip in his waist. The cut burned from the serration of the jittering blade and the preexisting sensation of bruised skin facing more torture. Crosshair fought in-vain to stay quiet, finally letting out that full cry of pain and admitting that no matter how much of this he’d experienced before it never got easier to endure. If anything Crosshair was doing everything he could to try and ignore the deva-vu of this moment in comparison to his cadet training.

“Want to tell us who sent you?” The man broke out in maniac laughter, already aware of the threat he was going to tell and found quite the humor in it. “If you do, I’ll make sure that pretty girl doesn’t die… too soon.”

At that Crosshair’s own rage betrayed him and once again he tried to lunge forward, meeting the razor sharp edge of the knife just tempting to cut the thin skin covering his throat and the strong grasp of the two men holding his weight upward. He still felt the pain all over, and in the back of his mind there was question of how long it would take before Echo and Hunter finally made it to him.

Maybe they wouldn’t…

But the second Duchess’ position was brought into the least bit of questioning, nothing else -not even his own life- mattered. Whether or not Cross wanted to admit it, they’d snuck up on him easily and made quick work of shedding that NAV tracker without Tech noticing in the process. The man had every right to threaten Crosshair as confidently as he did right now. Cross had no idea if Dutch was safe, and even though he knew Wrecker and Tech would protect her, it wasn’t a guarantee right now. His heaving silence and murderous expression didn’t sit well with the target.

“What a shame. No loyalty…” With that off-handed comment the blade was brought down over another fabric-bared section of Cross’ torso. This time cutting a little deeper. Crosshair knew the target was hoping to damage bone, and the miserable part was, he could already feel broken shards poking at bruised lungs. It only proved to grate against him; Ripping through skin and shocking his body into another attempt at silencing his agony.

Crosshair irreversibly let go of his pride and duty, screaming loud enough that his throat constricted in a harsh clench, resulting in a tortured sound unlike anything he’d ever been forced to utter in his life. It hurt too badly, even if they kept this up he wouldn’t talk… But he couldn’t keep quiet anymore. Everything was starting to get a fuzzy shade of black around the edges of his vision, and even the pain on his sliced body was starting to become more bearable.

“Duchess… fuck-” He mumbled in his last moments of consciousness… drunk on adrenaline and the slowly appearing image of her smiling “Gotta get back… tell her-”

***

Duchess couldn’t sit still.

It’d been hours since Crosshair and the others had left.

Far too long.

Wrecker hadn’t heard anything on his patrols around the ship, but that was useless information to begin with. The sandstorm had only gotten worse over time and if long-range comms were useless then there was hardly a chance to hear something as quite as a blaster register almost two klicks away. And despite Wrecker acting as light-hearted as ever, his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes like they normally did. Tech had been adamant that information extraction was a simple task for all those absent, but Duchess wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the way Tech was going out of his way to try and get the communications systems operational. So none of her pacing was helping the situation, but it wasn’t an unfounded feeling that there was something wrong about all of this.

“Tech. Where are they?” It had to have been the eight time she’d asked in the last half-hour, but he never gave the right answer and to be honest, she didn’t plan on quitting until there was something actually worth hearing.

“I’ve told you exactly fifteen times that the atmospheric conditions won’t allow for my equipment to function properly. Until they get within closer range or the storm system decreases in severity, I cannot give you an accurate location.” Duchess sighed in utter frustration, shrugging her shoulders and lacing her hands above her head.

Cordial as ever, Tech’s voice didn’t anger nor did if soften. Not attempting to give her any real solace, but highly motivated to keep her from facing any -to his idea- unnecessary panic. Of course she understood his lack of emotional distress, but that didn’t mean she could do the same thing herself. Being scientifically minded meant that Tech could prioritize his worries by fixing what he could and using his knowledge to ease the strain of being unprepared by accounting for all of the possible outcomes. Unfortunately, Duchess knew she couldn’t do that and certain didn’t think that any preparation she could formulate would be worth the time spent doing so.

Even worse, Crosshair had left without saying a word. Not that she needed him to do so, but it made things worse considering that he hadn’t come back when they’d expected to be. The one thing that made her feel that much more awful about it was the feeling of her loose-fitting top making nervous paws out of her partially covered hands. She could smell that comforting scent of blaster oil and that smoky scent of carbon residue that was oh-so-Crosshair, but it wasn’t the real thing; She needed Crosshair. Not his shirt. And not a NAV signal.

“Oh Crosshair… where are you?”

Please come back soon.

Another miserably grueling hour of pacing passed before Tech sprung up from his slouched seat on in the cockpit. He was furiously working away at his datapad and referencing newly enlivened NAV pings working sluggishly towards the ship. All three of them kept the slow pace, and it looked like they were simply walking back leisurely. For a moment Duchess’ breaths evened out, but after a moment Tech’s posture stiffened slightly. At that she found herself holding that inhale in anticipation, only to change her mind and pose a question she felt nervous to answer at a time like this.

“What are you seeing that I don’t?”

Tech hesitated for a long while, almost like he was having trouble picking his words carefully enough. It wasn’t a normal reaction, but Dutch tried to calm this unhappy intuition of the situation by waiting as patiently as possible for him to reply in his own time.

“At this range, their short range comms are contractual. Strangely, there is a bio-metric alert tripped…” For a long moment, there Tech trails off uncharacteristically. This time Duchess bit down on her cheek, feeling the skin pinch under her harshly clenched jaw. “Citing interna-”

Before either of them could find a good opportunity to figure out what was going on, or how the kriff a bio-alert hadn’t taken enough precedence to find an emergency frequency and relay it to everyone a mass of black and red plastoid burst through the doors. Duchess’ first instinct -and apparently Tech’s as well- was to draw and aim. That brush of instinct quickly disappeared into a frenzied clamor of loud orders and breathless men stumbling through and not taking precaution by coming though single file. Between Wrecker’s loud questioning, Tech’s own inquiries about the bio-alert and the other incomprehensible noises, Duchess struggled to get a good line of sight on anything other than Wrecker’s broad back hiding anything else on the ship.

“What the kriff is going on!” The shout went in vain, and all of a sudden Dutch found herself being pushed away from the mass by Echo. Who’d randomly came out of nowhere and was adamant she move away. Pressing a flat palm to her belly and putting his scomp up in protest when she started sputtering out questions and protests.

“Dutch please,” He looked awful, tired and bruised miserably. It was clear things had gone wrong but… why was Echo so-

Oh no no no no… You can’t be…

“Damn it Echo! Tell me what’s going on and why you won’t let me see him!” Dutch couldn’t have been more pathetically demanding in her life.

Fighting against the ARC-trooper even step of the way and getting weaker with each minute that his expression got weaker and weaker. By the time she was backed up into the cargo bay, the shouts had only gotten louder but Duchess wasn’t fighting anymore. She held tight to his forearms, finding just enough support there to make the slow-dissolving frustration more bearable. Helping clear her mind just enough to help listen to what Echo had to say. He was more calm than she had the right to accept after acting out so badly against him. Almost instantly Echo grabbed hold of her face, gently holding her gaze steady on him with sorrowful eyes and the ghost of a smile that was most likely supposed to help her calm down. It was a soft moment, and although Duchess noted it then, it wouldn’t hold for any longer.

“Hey, listen to me vod’ika… Can you do that?” His eyebrow raised softly, and the hand holding her face softened just enough to give him the space to rub a thumb over her cheek.

Dutch nodded dumbly, hanging off the words. If it meant he’d tell her where and what happened to Crosshair she’d do just about anything Echo could ask of her.

“They knew we were coming from the start. You had a clean plant, but they caught it after leaving on a body sweep.” His reassurance didn’t make her feel the slightest bit less responsible. “We got to the location and Crosshair kept watch while we cleared buildings. Comms were bad, and it wasn’t until too late that we realized they were waiting for us to show up…”

“A set-up?” She breathed weakly, feeling heat prick in the back of her eyes.

“I’m sorry vod’ika,” Echo leaned the rest of the way forward, resting his forehead against hers softly. “Crosshair was exposed, and we couldn’t get to him any faster than we did… By the time we got there he’d was- well, in bad shape.” The words hurt as badly as they were uneasily uttered, tensing and adding to the guilt that surrounded them both like a suffocating fog.

“He’s..? Cross is he- he’s going to make it-”

Echo was quick to end that awful question short. Nowhere near ready to think about Crosshair being too far gone. “He’s hurt. Bad. But nothing’s going to keep him from you, Dutch. It’s all we could get out of him on the way back.” He added sadly, leaning back to once again rub a soft thumb over her cheek.

“He mentioned me?” Another stupid question, but there was no use in hiding the desire to know that Crosshair had said something. About her or otherwise, rambled mumblings were better than silence.

“Yeah. You’re all he ever thinks about…” Echo sighed though, looking down guiltily at the ground. “But I need you to answer a question.”

Instantly Dutch perked up at the prospect. “Anything.”

“How much medical experience do you have?”

Without missing a beat she listed off the most typical -yet emergency oriented- experiences she’d had and gave a firm response in saying that all of it was well instructed enough that she could perform it again should there be a need. Echo listened with a mission oriented focus, never leaving his hand unoccupied by her shoulder, or her hand. Offering a silent support however he could while simultaneously finding his own support in Dutch. No more than a few minutes passed before the familiar sensation of the ship rattling into the air shook both of them off steady feet. Signaling to Echo that Tech was no longer seeing to Crosshair, and telling Duchess exactly why Echo had asked his question in the first place.

“We need you. Crosshair needs you.” Echo squeezed her hand, and pushed her ahead of him back towards the main hull. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time vod’ika. Anything you need, I’ll get it, or have someone else leave to do so.”

With that firm reassurance, Duchess steadied herself enough to walk the ship far enough to see Wrecker and Hunter knelt down toiling over Crosshair, who could only be identified by his bootless feet sticking over the edge of his bunk. All of his armor lay in a scattered mess around them, and if it wasn’t for the smell of bacta and blood in the air Dutch might’ve felt a little less nauseous about the whole ordeal. But pushing the metallic smell to the back of her mind, she found a little gap between Wrecker and Hunter just big enough to worm herself into and split them apart far enough that she could see the extent of his injuries, or at least make sure that it wasn’t worse than Echo had made it out to be.

“What did they do to you…?” Her broken whisper instantly caught Hunter’s attention, and right away he moved to block her from view but this time she was too determined to assert herself where she knew she rightfully belonged. It took one deadly look at the Sergeant for him to bow out as gracefully as possible and let her have enough space to kneel down beside the bunk, but also give himself access to continue his work.

Duchess had no words for his appearance other than broken. Cut out of his blacks, and saved the modesty of his bottom greys, there wasn’t an inch of skin above his waistline not covered in blood, bruises or slashes. Every mark looked more painful than the last, and had it not been for prior knowledge of his expansive tattoos, Duchess would’ve been convinced that all of the blackened coloring was all due to his assailant. He of course had an athletic figure, but his ribs were severely damaged and one look was all it took to see that there were multiple breaks all along his chest and sides. He was totally unconscious, thank the gods, but a pained expression still marred his handsome features. A deep gash split over his left eye, and the imprint of a clenched fist had been somewhat permanently tinted into his skin. Even his hands were covered in blood, and his knuckles were split from combat.

Hunter and Wrecker were doing what they could to clear up the surface dirt and bodily fluids to get a better look and what really needed fixing, but it was clear that it would be hours before Crosshair could actually be left to rest unbothered. But that didn’t matter. Instead of asking to assist, or waiting patiently for someone to ask for her help Duchess felt a swift coldness enter her body and spill out just as quickly in the form of a growled command to Hunter and Wrecker.

“No one touches him but me.” She set her jaw to keep from crying, battling back the urge to feel guilty for acting like this, but in her own mind there was a damn good reason to shoulder this alone.

“You can’t do this alone Dutch.” Hunter placated softly, turning to give her a saddened expression.

“Like hells I can’t.” Her snarling reply sounded almost demonic, rumbling low enough that even Wrecker flinched a little. “I offered to be back-up. And you denied me. Look what that got you Sergeant.”

Duchess didn’t wait for a reply, nor did she care for the look of guilt swimming in Hunter’s eyes. No, she couldn’t care less for any of it; Instead pushing up the sleeves of her shirt and quickly diving into a long-gone practice of field medicine that came back far more quickly than she expected it to. Cleaning came first, then after than was accomplished it would come to wound maintenance. Hopefully by the time Dutch would finish that, there would be some reassurance that Cross would be able to get some actual rest. Either way, it was going to be a long night, and the only thing that mattered was making sure Crosshair was going to be okay.

Softly as possible, she reached out to run her fingers through his hair gently. Brushing some of the longer curls away from his face and unsticking the strands from the blood that was beginning to stick. Her heart lurched into her throat, and the first tear finally spilled over onto her cheek. For a sickening moment Dutch felt helpless. Rising up just far enough to press a little kiss to the broken bridge of his nose, hoping that the action didn’t cause any pain. This was what hell felt like; seeing the only person in the world she cared for so deeply abused so viciously. Feeling her own ineptitude for protecting him in opposition of how effortlessly he could do so in return. Duchess knew it wasn’t just any feeling, and although it had never been in her character to say that she fell in love, there was no denying that she felt it now. It was too raw to be mistaken for guilt. Far too emotional to be shock, and there was not enough words to describe it in a proper way.

“You can’t leave me, Cross.” She whispered softy against his temple, letting her tears roll down her cheeks were they would drip from her chin and fall on the collar of her shirt.

“I love you too much.”

***

“She won’t let me near him,” Hunter grumbled lowly from his seat behind Echo, rubbing a palm over his face and pressing in on his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I just wanted to give her break, but she won’t listen to a thing I say…”

The rest of the Batch had all gathered in the cockpit, taking seats or standing somewhere all with worried expressions and a silence that was wholly uncommon for them. Tech hadn’t said a word, and looked so pale that everyone was watching to make sure he didn’t get sick or pass out from the unspoken feelings he struggled to hold back. Wrecker had been a shell of himself since Dutch commanded they leave, worried sick that Duchess was pushing herself too hard and wasn’t letting him help her. Hunter was beside himself, taking her accusation to heart in a way that no one expected him too. After all, Crosshair himself had been the one to sit Dutch out; all Hunter did was relay the order to keep tensions lower. But that didn’t really work out the way any of them planned for it to. Echo was the only one allowed back into the hull where Duchess sat hawking over Crosshair’s sleeping form. He could ask questions, and act within himself far unlike the rest of the crew. In fact, Tech had been able to send more stim-shots by means of Echo, and although she didn’t like getting the help from Tech, Echo’s presence -and Crosshair’s need- was all she needed to willingly accept them instead of getting up and doing it herself.

Hours had passed since then, and no one was stupid enough to try and relieve her of watch…

All accept Hunter.

It hadn’t gone over well at all.

She’d been borderline vicious. Deadly calm and giving him the most hateful glare when he stepped too close to the safety zone Echo already knew too well. Dutch wasn’t being spiteful anymore, but it was clear that no one was getting close enough to lay a hand on Crosshair. Both Hunter and Echo had bristled at the interaction, seeing for the first time just how short her fuse could be. It was wholly protective, and she focused that energy mainly on Hunter. Echo knew that temperament better than anyone, and it was because of his time with Crosshair. In the time he’d spent watching the two of them, he knew that there was something identical in them that made the opposing characteristics fit so well together. In the moment Duchess stared down Hunter, silently challenging his dominance on his own ship, Echo realized just what it was the Cross and her shared.

Pure, unadulterated, loyalty.

Echo could see it her eyes that she was utterly destroyed to see Crosshair like that, knowing if she’d have been there things might have turned out differently. And although she didn’t know Cross had been the one to sit her out, that wouldn’t make the least bit of difference. She felt responsible to him, and the only way she could do that was make sure no one had the chance to hurt him more. Duchess held a fearsome dominance when she needed to call upon it, and being on the receiving end of that was hair-raising. It was unreal noticing how her posture stiffened and how cold her eyes could get in a moment’s notice. She never threatened anyone, but it was clear she didn’t care to do so if they didn’t back away.

“She doesn’t trust us?” Wrecker asked sadly, looking towards the cockpit doors they’d shut to help ease the strain on her.

“She trusts us,” Echo sighed, “But right now, she just doesn’t want anyone around Crosshair.”

To his side, Hunter gave something close to a muffled whimper. His hand covering his mouth did enough to hide the broken sound.

“Why?” Wrecker, always asking the hard questions without ever meaning to.

There was a long pause of silence. Hunter and Echo knew the answer but didn’t think they had the strength to say it aloud. It was all too easy to assume why Dutch had become so fearful of anyone getting close enough to even touch Crosshair. Her whole squad had been decommissioned, and although regs were treated differently in most cases, it wasn’t a big enough leap for her to think that Cross could be threatened with the same thing. Even though his injuries weren’t life-ending, there was a damn good reason for her to act so protective over him.

“She is experiencing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder brought on by a fear of losing Crosshair to the same means as her previous squad. In her mind, there is a good chance that should the Republic find Crosshair not suitable for treatment of any injuries that cannot be healed easily, he would be decommissioned.” Tech finally spoke up in the most melancholy tone any of them had ever heard. “It’s obvious there are other factors that make this particular situation more aggressive, but it’s clear she does not believe -or understand- that our enhancements give us more value to the Republic.”

“Other factors?” Wrecker posed it just as unsure as ever.

Echo sucked in a breath, and lowered his gaze towards his boots; feeling pain for his little sister and brother stab at his chest. He didn’t know love like that, but he did know that Duchess would do anything for Crosshair, and right now she was doing everything she could to make certain that he didn’t leave her here alone.

“Dutch loves him.”

READ PART 14

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[trouble-off-grid]

Keep you safe

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CW: Blood, death

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When Techno had awoken he was not surprised to find himself alone in his cave. Tommy has always been prone to adventure, often leaving early to explore their surrounding area. So seeing the little figure no longer on his chest when Techno awoke didn’t shock him. He trusted his pseudo-brother not to get into too much trouble, at least not this early in the morning.

Unfortunately for him Tommy had never been very good at staying out of trouble. He was out in their surrounding territory, making his way over to the fresh river he knew was nearby. He had always loved the river and would often force Techno to take him as nearby animals would find their way there for water and Tommy was able to gaze at them as they did so. It seemed the river was always at peace and Tommy wasted no time in throwing his body onto a large rock and bathed in the sun. Closing his eyes he let himself get lost in the peaceful sounds of the river and nearby animals. 

It was this that presented him with the first sign of something being wrong. It seemed a hush had fallen over the forest as even the birds seemed to silence. Tommy sat up with a frown, stilling as he scanned the forest edge for any potential threats. Not immediately spotting anything he slid off the rock and slowly creeped into the forest careful to keep his footsteps light as he did so. 

The further he went he almost convinced himself nothing was wrong and that he could just return and brag to Techno about how brave he was making sure nothing was wrong within the forest. To his left he heard noise loud enough to snap him out of his thoughts, head snapping towards the area. He debated going close as it seemed the noise was coming from the edge of Technos territory and the elder never liked when Tommy got too close to the edge without him there for protection. 

Steeling his nerves he turned away from the direction he knew would lead to home and made his way towards the noise. A grin stretched over his face as he figured Techno wouldn’t be upset if he never knew what Tommy was about to do. With his mind made up he trekked through the foliage with ease keeping his footfalls silent as he did so as the noise became loud enough to decipher what it was. 

What first appeared as nothing more than indecipherable sound soon turned into words. Tommy felt himself freeze as his brain processed what he was hearing, humans. Now it might seem hypocritical of Tommy to dislike humans when he himself was one but despite being the same race he had never found a comfort in them that he did with Techno. The giant piglin had shown Tommy what family truly was supposed to be and gave him a chance when no one else would even spare a second glance at the boy. 

So hearing humans in front of him only served to sour his mood as he approached them to get a better idea of what exactly he was dealing with. The logical part of his brain that sounded suspiciously like Techno told him to just return home and let Techno deal with these strangers. He snuffed out that thought quickly, Tommy was a big man and he didn’t need to bother Techno when he was already here and was just as capable of getting the humans to leave. 

Finally, he was right in front of the group, being careful to stay out of sight as he glanced at them. The first thing he noticed was that it was a decently sized group, with more people than he would have originally thought. The second was that they had a decent amount of weapons on them. Now he’d like to believe they were just normal hunters who unknowingly entered a piglins territory but the give away was the shiny armor they all had displayed. Each member seemed to be done up in a fancy display of armour only leaving their helmets off. 

There was no denying, these were kings guards, and they weren’t just hunting for animals, they were hunting Techno. The king believed Techno to be no more than a mindless beast when that couldn’t be further from the truth, it was always the knights who attacked first while Techno was just defending what he cared about. It was time Tommy returned the favor.

He glared at the knight who was currently sharpening his blade, he couldn't just sit by and let this happen. Tommy stood from behind his cover and started walking towards them making sure they could hear him approaching. As soon as the group took notice they stood on guard and Tommy had to stop himself from breaking his calm facade as they pointed their weapons at him. “Fellas, fellas, no need for that, we're all friends here,” He put both hands up trying to show he meant no harm. 

“What is a kid like you doing out here?” What looked to be the head knight spoke out. 

 Not going into this with a plan besides trying to get them to leave he felt his palms start to sweat as he spouted out the first thing he could think of, “I want to be like you! A knight, I mean,” he clarified.  

Chuckles broke throughout the group, the same guard as before tried to muffle his laughter yet amusement remained clear on his face, “You? A knight? You’re nothing more than a scrawny little kid”

Blood rushed to Tommy's cheeks at the jeering, even though he was lying it still hurt to be laughed at. The guard didn’t even know how hard Techno and him worked to get some meat on his bones, if he thought he was little now he should have seen Tommy before he met Techno. Faced with humiliation Tommy resorted to what he always did when embarrassed, yelling, “I could be a knight! I’m the biggest man there is and could beat anyone in a fight!”

The man's eyes seemed to glow as he sneered, “Is that so?” He seemed to lean in closer as he said the next words, “Even the blood god?” It seemed all laughter had stopped at just the mention of the infamous name, of course he was referring to Techno but Tommy was one of the few who knew his real name. 

Keeping up the facade a smirk grew on his face as he answered, “Please, even the blood god is scared of me, it's why he doesn’t go in this area”

The tension seemed to leave the air as it was replaced by amusement, “And how would you know that, hmm?” 

Tommy had to restrain from rolling his eyes at the question, reminding himself that the goal was to get the knights to leave, “All of this area is mine and never once have I seen the blood god so clearly you have the wrong place” 

“On what rights do you have to claim this area as yours?” He questioned.

“On the rights of finders keepers, I claimed this area as mine therefore it's mine,” In truth the area was Techno’s but that wasn’t information they needed to know. 

The guard let out a huff at his response, “Well no matter, you’re with us now, might as well make use of you” By this point most guards had gone back to what they were previously doing before the interruption. 

Tommy may not have thought this out, he didn’t want to stay with them he was just trying to get them to leave! “I really think you’ve got the wrong area, big man.”

“Well then, there should be nothing for you to worry about.” Before Tommy could ask him what he was on about he felt someone grab his wrists from behind and they pressed their knee to his back forcing him to fall to the ground, wrists still captured in the unknown person's grasp. 

He stared up into the eyes of the knight in front him and could see a dark gleam in his eyes as he crouched down to be eye level with him, “You said you wanted to be a knight? Well this is how you can help us out, nothing like live bait to encourage the blood god to reveal himself.” He felt his mind buffer at what had just happened before finally his brain processed what was happening, he was going to be used as bait against Techno. 

Oh Techno was going to be so mad when he found out Tommy willingly walked up to his now captors. 

In his defense this wasn’t how he planned this interaction turning out. The knight seemed to take his silence as fear and grabbed him harshly on his shoulder dragging him up with him as he stood. He was then pushed into the person behind him, “Go tie him up, and make sure you draw blood,” there was no sympathy in his voice.

“Wait wait wait, you really don’t have to do this,” It wasn’t that he was scared of Techno, he knew Techno would rather lay his life than hurt him, he was more scared of what would happen if the hunters did manage to get the jump on him. Techno was always protecting Tommy and Tommy just wanted to return the favor and look how that turned out. With his hands currently being tied together behind one of the thinner trees leaving him trapped to it. 

He could deal with this until Techno inevitably showed up; it may have been uncomfortable but it certainly wasn’t the worst. At least until a blindfold was forced over his eyes and a gag shoved into his mouth. “Sorry kid, it’s nothing personal,'' Tommy really began to struggle, now fueled with the panic of losing his sight, he tried his best to let his displeasure be known with how he was trying to curse out the knight despite the gag. 

The knight's cold grip was firm on his wrist before an unbearable pain shot up his arm. He felt his breath stutter at the sensation of a knife swiftly cutting up his arm, even though it only took a second for the skin to cut, the pain remained a pulsing fire. It’s nothing personal, the knight claimed, Tommy was tied up and bleeding out but it wasn’t personal right? Bullshit.

Finally the knight released his wrist and Tommy flinched as the rope touched the open wound, the feeling of it making the wound sting all the more. “It’ll be over quick,” is all he was offered before the sound of the knight's footsteps left his hearing, leaving him all alone in the forest with nothing to do but hope for Techno to come before the blood loss. 

Tehno had just finished tending to the land, making sure the livestock and vegetables were kept up with before he realized something was off. It was too quiet, and with Tommy around things were never quiet. It wasn’t unlike Tommy to go running off but he always came back soon enough, either to bother Techno or just be in his company. He looked around, sniffing as he did so, and confirmed that Tommy wasn’t just hiding nearby trying to surprise Techno. 

Looking to where the sun was he saw it was just barely starting to get dark out and while more likely than not Tommy had just lost track of time it made him antsy that it was going to be dark soon and the boy's location was unknown. He couldn’t help but to be protective over Tommy, he was just a little runt and the piglin would do anything to keep his pack safe. 

The more he thought of reasons Tommy might not be back yet the more he felt his instincts lead him to action. Soon enough he had caught the faint scent of Tommy and though it was old, clearly from this morning, it was still prominent enough for the piglin to track. Techno found himself unsurprised that he was led to the river, he couldn’t help but smile at the fond memories this location brings. But he was on a mission and couldn’t get distracted until he was sure his ward was safe. The smile slipped off his face as he kept going, a soft frown replacing it as he found the scent heading towards the end of his territory.

Techno’s eyes dilated as what once was a comforting scent was tainted by the distinct smell of iron. The piglin tried not to run when near the runt as to avoid any accidents but this would have to be an exception as Tommy was still missing and definitely bleeding. After that it took no time at all for the giant to reach his goal, spotting Tommy, his family, his pack, tied up and bound like that made Techno see red. Even though Tommy couldn’t see due to the blindfold he definitely heard the giant's footfalls as he was trying to move his head to gauge where the noise came from, Techno’s heart only broke more when Tommy attempted to call out to him. 

“I’m here Tommy, I’ve got you, you are going to be okay, I promise.” The giant descended onto his knees, and gently reached out to his brother, tapping his knuckle on his shoulder to let him know Techno was there. Tommy leaned into the contact feeling safe just by the piglins presence and Techno couldn’t find himself to remove his hand using his other to carefully reach around to cut the ropes that bound the boy to the tree. 

Right before he could, he felt a prick in his shoulder and looked to see a minuscule arrow lodged in his shoulder. A growl reverberated through his chest as he looked at the area where the offended arrow had come from, spotting a soldier perched with a bow. It seemed with the first hit the rest of them took that as their sign to attack as well. His eyes glowered dangerously at the attackers, easily able to knock down any who dared to get too close, “Are you the one’s responsible for this?”

Though Techno had asked, it was clearly a rhetorical question as everyone was aware of who was guilty of restraining the teen. “We’ve come to best you, blood god!” 

Technos head snapped in the direction of the voice and based on the appearance spotted what seemed to be the head knight. With a speed no human could ever hope to match, Techno had reached down and snatched the guard right off the ground, holding him in a fist tight enough he dropped his sword as he was raised. He bared his teeth at the tiny enjoying the look of panic on his face, “Best me? You can’t even hurt me.” There was no mercy as Techno slowly squeezed the life out of the guard. As a reaction all the guards started up again with more vivour but Techno felt no pain, even when one succeeds in hitting him, the attacks are nothing more than an inconvenience to the giant.

It was hearing Tommy whimper that brought him out of his rage, looking over to see where Tommy was previously standing; he was now sliding down the base of the tree. Dropping the nuisance from his hand, not caring of how he landed, he paid full attention to Tommy. Once again dropping to his knees in front of the boy, this time using his arm to encircle him as to make sure nothing could get to him. Without any interruptions he finally was able to cut the rope, freeing Tommy. 

Tommy for his part immediately went to take off the blindfold with his now freed hands and it was then that the source of the blood he smelt earlier was shown. On Tommy’s left arm the vein was clearly cut open, blood oozing out as there was nothing to stop it from doing so. Blood was getting all over the young one’s clothes as he moved from untying the blindfold to the gag. Techno couldn’t stop the concerned rumble that produced from him if he tried, seeing his pack hurt like that was making his instincts scream. At the noise Tommy finally looked up at him a lazy smile covering his face, “How’do” he slowly spoke, eyes hazy. 

“Oh God, okay, Tommy I need you to stay awake for me alright?” Panic filled his voice he reached out to his little brother noticing how Tommy seemed to absentmindedly follow his movements. Going limp as Techno gently scooted Tommy until the human was fully sitting in his hand. Using his teeth he ripped a piece from his cape and handed it to the boy, “I need you to wrap that around your arm for me, okay?” 

Tommy mumbled something that was too quiet for Techno to hear and slowly started to wrap his arm, occasionally flinching from the pain. Techno brought him close to his face just barely nuzzling him with his snout, “You did so good, I just need you to do one more thing for me okay?” Going cross eyed as he watched the boy nod his head he continued, “I need you to keep talking okay? Tell me about what animals you saw at the river.”

“I sawa..deer, it looked tobe..female causeof her…horns..I guess just allthe woman…flock to me.” Despite the slurring Techno let out a relieved sigh, even when dealing with blood loss, Tommy still managed to stay, well, Tommy. Slowly bringing his hand down, Techno cupped it against his chest keeping Tommy tucked close, no could hurt him from there. 

Making sure he could still hear mumbling coming from the runt he slowly stood back up, turning around to stare down at the people responsible for Tommy’s current state. All softness left his face as he looked at the knights, replaced with a steely glare that if it could, would already have them six feet in the ground. They were all in one area, surrounding their captain to see if he was alright. Good, this would make Techno’s job easier. 

These humans had come into Techno’s territory planning to kill him and not only that but they had hurt Tommy and as they were about to learn, no one hurts Techno’s family. The giant piglin felt no pity as he finished off the guards, easily wiping them out with just one step. They received a death too quickly for Techno’s likening but the life he was holding in his hands was and always would be more important. 

Bringing Tommy back up to his face he couldn’t help but to sniff Tommy, trying to find any other spots on the smaller that were bleeding. At the insistent air blowing over Tommy he couldn’t help but to let out a little laugh at the feeling, Techno’s face brightening greatly as he heard the noise. “I knewyou’d save me,” with his uninjured  arm he patted Techno on his snout, blue eyes staring into red. 

Techno started to purr as he gently squished Tommy against his cheek, knowing just how much the teen liked the sound and at being able to have his pack so close to him, “I’ve got you Tommy, I’m going to keep you safe” and Tommy full heartedly believed he would. 

#gt mcyt #mcyt gt #giant!techno #tiny!tommy #trouble writes #I really hope ya'll like this #There wasnt enough big brother Techno #bedrock duo #bedrock due my beloved #Part 2 anyone?

[vitaliciouscreations]

At Your Mercy, Princess Justice

This could not be happening.

Expelled. The word rang in her head exactly as Mr. Damocles has said it. Expelled.

Her friends were all glaring at her. Mr. Damocles looked incensed. Behind him, Adrien stood by with a distressed look on his face. Her parents were embracing each other, not even looking at her.

And of course, Lila was right there, doing her absolute best to look like an innocent victim in all of this.

This was absurd. 

Just ten minutes ago Marinette had been sitting in class with everyone else, and now she was expelled? Just like that? Without anybody even bothering to listen to her side of the story? Without anybody checking to see if there was anything to verify Lila’s claims? Without proof?

She’d known for quite a while now that when it came to bullies, she was on her own. It was that way with Chloe, and it was that way with Lila. Nobody, not her parents, not her teachers, not her classmates, had ever stepped up to help her. She’d had to help herself. So why was it that when she was the one accused of bullying, Lila wasn’t also on her own?

It was so unfair. And Marinette knew this school wasn’t fair, had known it since the moment Chloe had first gotten out of punishment by threatening to call her father, but still she felt stunned at this level of blatant injustice.

She locked eyes with Lila, and the girl smirked at her before quickly taking on the innocent act once again. Nobody saw it.

This could not be happening.

“I demand you leave campus at once!” Mr. Damocles shouted, pointing an emphatic finger at the door. “You will not be allowed back on these school grounds!”

This was absurd.

Marinette stared at him for a moment, and then took a breath and walked to where his finger had pointed. The locker room door.

She was stunned. Her mind was reeling. There were so many emotions whirling through her head right now that she couldn’t even discern them all. What she knew for sure is that she was definitely upset.

She reached the locker room door and put a shaking hand on it to push it open. When she did, she really didn’t even have time to react. All she saw was a brief flash of purple, and then—

It was something she’d never experienced before, and that made sense as it was probably an experience unique to these specific circumstances. It was the experience of another mind making contact with hers. Not colliding, not melding, but making contact.

Like she said, it was a completely unique experience to her. Since akuma victims didn’t retain their memories, Marinette had no way of knowing what to expect. She had no idea what it felt like to be akumatized. Not until now. She hadn’t expected it to be like this.

Her mind made contact with another’s. Hawk Moth’s. The surface levels of their minds touched, and they shared. Hawk Moth felt anger. He felt loneliness. He felt desperation. He felt a desire to have enough power to change things.

And so did Marinette. She was furious at the fact that she was just wrongfully expelled. She felt abandoned by everyone she’d thought she could trust. She felt desperate for someone, anyone, to actually care about her and her side of things. She wanted to be able to fight back against this, but knew that nobody had been willing to listen to her before, and they wouldn’t listen to her now. Not unless she could make them.

Their emotions resonated with each other. Connecting with somebody on this level, experiencing a whole new level of empathy, immediately sparked a sense of camaraderie in Marinette. He understood her. He believed her. He empathized with her. He wanted to help her. And his emotions coincided with hers, so Marinette wanted to help him too.

She wanted to help Hawk Moth.

This mental connection shared his awareness with her and her awareness with him. She could tell he knew where she was and what had upset her, and the fact that he just knew, that she didn’t have to try to fumble through an explanation to him, was incredible. She also knew where he was; she could see it through his mind. It was a large, dark room, but for a single window that let sunlight shine in. She didn’t know what had upset him, and she couldn’t find out. There was no digging or pushing with this connection. The surfaces of their minds had made contact, and they shared awareness but not thoughts.

Princess Justice, she was aware of him saying. It seems the innocent aren't to be believed anymore. Deception and lies being spread is reason enough to be upset, but what’s more, nobody is interested in learning the truth. Everyone around you is content to condemn you to a wrongful punishment without a second thought. However, I can give you the power to enact true justice, and in doing so show them how unjust they really are. I only ask for one thing in return.

The desire intensified. The desire for justice to prevail. The desire to have the power to change things. He was right there with her. He believed her. He wanted to help her. He was on her side even though no one else was.

He wanted the power to change things. He wanted the Miraculouses. 

She wanted the power to change things. She wanted justice. Justice for her. Justice for him. Justice for everything.

“Justice will be served, Hawk Moth.”

Power surged through her. The mental connection, the contact of their minds, was vital as they cooperated with each other.

It was the work of both of them. Hawk Moth was the source of power. He directed it to her, and he directed her how to use it. She shaped that power around her in her desired image.

She wanted the power to enact justice. She got it.

She wanted a weapon to fight with. She got it. Her purse, the item the akuma had merged with, morphed into a long, silver sword.

She wanted armor to protect her. She got it. Shining silver armor formed around her body. A breastplate that was shaped to fit her perfectly, and curved around her sides and back to protect her torso entirely. A skirt made of plates of silver armor, with pink fabric connecting the plates to make it flexible enough to comfortably move in. Bright silver boots that came up to her knees and covered her kneecaps, and yet were somehow light enough for her to easily lift her feet. Gleaming silver gauntlets that came up to her mid-biceps, protecting her arms without prohibiting movement.

She wanted a helmet to protect her head and cover her ears. She got it. A shining silver helmet formed around her head, covering her hair and ears, but not her face. A mask joined it, silver and pink, and shaped a little like a butterfly.

He wanted her to no longer be Marinette. He got it. Princess Justice came into existence.

Wanted to write a perspective on being akumatized, because it’s always kind of vague in what Hawk Moth does and doesn’t know, and I came up with my own explanation for it even though I just know its because ML doesn’t care about continuity. To be clear, Marinette got upset over being wrongfully expelled and not anything to do with Ladybug, so Hawk Moth doesn’t know she’s Ladybug.

And while we’re being clear, Hawk Moth didn’t go Scarlet Moth for this like he did in canon, just sent an akuma to Marinette, and it flew through the door as soon as she opened it, so she didn’t get any chance to fight it off like that. As for internally fighting it off like Ms. Bustier or Chloe, well, sorry I didn’t go for that.

(Also to be clear, Marinette’s internal monologue said she’s always had to stand up for herself against bullies, but there’s technically one exception to that and that’s Alya.)

#ml salt #miraculous ladybug #ml fic #at your mercy princess justice #akumanette #long post #fyi i don't put the read more higher up because it'll break the link if i ever change my username #i don't want people to read three paragraphs of the fic and then get disappointed because of a broken link

[mhevarujta]

Zoya and the Darkling [Rule of Wolves Spoilers]

It’s a pity that fandoms mostly focus on romantic/sexual relationships, because The Darkling and Zoya have one of the most epic dynamics in the Grishaverse. The way they affect each other is so complex.

Zoya did not go to the Little Palace after being tested in the usual manner of Grisha travelling across Ravka to recruit children with powers. She was a young girl, a child really, living with a bitter and broken mother, in a home where her Suli inheritance was not appreciated, in a country that would condemn her both because of the power she let her demonstrated AND because of who she would have been without it. She was basically sold as a child-bride and her mother deluded herself into thinking that her daughter would not be raped by the old man she was marrying so that she’d feel better about herself, not to mention that she poisoned Zoya with her fears and made her afraid of her own heart. At the wedding her power broke loose and her aunt took her to a hard journey to the Little Palace so that Zoya would be tested and have a chance at a better life.

Zoya was taken in and she was separated from her family, but her aunt was ALWAYS in her heart. She started training and she was stronger than most, she was also driven and resilient. She arrived at the Little Palace when she was 8-9. When she was 13, she was the youngest one to be chosen as part of a group that would travel with the Darkling to Tsibeya to find the white tigers of Ilmisk because one of them was supposed to be an amplifier. By that age, Zoya was half in love with him already and she lived for his rare appearances at the school. She was the best, she had fought to be so, and he wanted him to see it. The Grisha were focused on hunting the female tiger, but the amplifier was a male one. He tried to kill the female’s cubs and Zoya gave them the protection of her body, she got scars that she never had tailored and she almost died, and killed the tiger to defend the cubs; not for the sake of power.

It wasn’t HER turn to get the amplifier, but since she killed the tiger only she could claim it. And THIS brilliant scene happens:

Some part of me always feared that he would send me away, banish me forever from the Little Palace. I told him I was sorry.

“But the Darkling saw me clearly even then. ‘Is that really what you wish to say?’ he asked.”

Zoya pushed a dark strand of her hair behind her ear. “So I told him the truth. I put my chin up and said, ‘They can all hang. It was my blood in the snow.’”

Nikolai stifled a laugh and a smile played over Zoya’s lips. It dwindled almost instantly, replaced by a troubled frown. “That pleased him. He told me it was a job well done. And then he said … ‘Beware of power, Zoya. There is no amount of it that can make them love you.’”

The weight of the words settled over Nikolai. Is that what we’re all searching for? Was that what he’d hunted in all those library books? In his restless travels? In his endless pursuit to seize and then keep the throne? “Was it love you wanted, Zoya?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. I wanted … strength. Safety. I never wanted to feel helpless again.”

  “Like calls to like” fits the Darkling and Alina, but it also fits Zoya and the Darkling… in fact it fits Zoya and Aleksander even more so. Both were powerful and KNEW it. Both eventually learned to be unapologetic about it and saw it as their safety net. Both were taught that power would give them safety, survival, fulfillment in some ways, but not love. And yet, as much as they denied it and hid their hearts they DID want to be loved more than anything.

Zoya only rises thereafter. She gets her rank, she is one of the most valued Grisha in the Little Palace, she is admired for her strength and beauty, she armors herself with arrogance, and ruthlessness. But she has not friends. Both her and the Darkling are surrounded by people, they are admired, but they don’t have people close to their heart. The Darkling always cared about Baghra as much as he could still manage and Zoya cared only bout Liliyana and Lada (an orphan girl that her aunt had taken in).

The Darkling SAW her. He saw how she tried like no other, he saw her pain, her anger and he considered these to be things that he could use to control her and to push her towards the direction he desired. And despite not being appreciative of her devotion when he had it, he missed it when it was gone.

When Alina got in the picture everything changed for Zoya. Yes, Zoya had feelings for the Darkling and I DO believe that her feelings and vanity would have been hurt to some extent by the intimacy in the way he approached Alina, but the primary problem was Zoya’s sense of injustice. Zoya had tried for YEARS, had trained hard, had sacrificed to be where she is. Alina never asked for any of it, but from Zoya’s perspective Alina would have been an untrained Grisha who got all the status, power and recognition that SHE had fought for without even trying. Until then, Zoya had been praised for wanting power, but when her anger is not convenient anymore, the Darkling punishes her for it and does not have a second thought about her.

And yet she remained loyal as always.

Even more so than rank, the Darkling and Liliyana were Zoya’s safety-net. And in ONE MOMENT, by genociding Novokribirsk, Zoya’s own mentor, the one who gave her safety and who was meant to create a haven for the Grisha, a person who KNEW her and who KNEW that she had family there, showed that he had no care for her, not care for human life and she wiped out the last people that Zoya loved.

He left her broken inside. In Siege and Storm, Zoya was at her lowest. She has to plead to Alina to have a position in the second army and she has to reveal a part of her heart; not just her loss of Liliyana. Her voice BREAKS when she says that the Darkling could have warned her of his plan; her pain at the idea that he did not give a crap about taking EVERYTHING from her is raw and cutting.

But she is not a quitter. She adjusts, she pulls her pieces together fast, she is a warrior and she stays on the right side without a question.

Then the Darkling attacked the very Grisha he was supposedly fighting for and killed half the people that Zoya had EVER KNOWN. And she still keeps fighting.

 Enter Rule of Wolves. There is SUCH DEEP IRONY in this book and the way Zoya and the Darkling’s arcs interconnect is a prime example of Leigh’s amazing writing.

The Darkling had told Zoya that they would change the world and he completely stopped paying attention to her the moment the potential of Alina’s power blinded him to anything else. And yet, when he returns Zoya has gained the kind of power that could eventually rival his own. But he STILL thinks that he should be the one to rule Ravka. He still thinks that he is the best option for the country. And once more, he criminally underestimates Zoya and overestimates himself.

Who else is vengeful and afraid of his own heart, I wonder…

Aleksander considered Zoya weak for the very same things that were his own fatal flaws.

But unlike him, Zoya SAW her flaws. The Darkling shut himself off more and more in order to save himself from pain. Zoya eventually opened up her heart to grief and pain to become the person her country needed and to embrace her power. She opened the door, when the Darkling did not manage to do so. She showed more courage than he did… and he SAW it.

Aleksander hoped to become the savior during the battle, he wished to demonstrate how only HE could save Ravka. But seeing Nikolai and Zoya defending the country is the first time it registers that there are others who are up to the task and who may be better suited than he is.

And he becomes essential in Zoya being accepted as a saint and in her rise to power partly because he wants to gain her favor but also because he finally sees all her potential, all she can achieve, how a Grisha queen of such power might give the Grisha the haven they need, when he clearly can’t.

And what is left for him to do? What does he want? He wants to serve the country he loves in a way that will affirm his sense of self-importance (he wants to offer something that no one else can) and he wants to be loved. So his new objective is to stop the blight.

The blight was created because of his own power. This man who hunted down and ruined the life of a young girl (Alina) in order to force her to be his balance, so that he could freely use his power in a very imbalanced way, finally realizes that HE is responsible for his power and that HE can be the only one to balance it and himself. So there is a new path he sees ahead of him: he can sacrifice himself to stop the blight and in the process Ravka might finally see that he always wanted to protect the country… and it might love him back. He KNOWS that he has committed crimes, he does not seek redemption, but he desired for all he has done to matter. And it can’t matter if he is not at all responsible for its country’s well-being and if everyone hates him. He has lived so many lifetimes without happiness or fulfillment and they would all have been wasted.

But he can’t achieve this by himself. This man who always thought that he could do things alone, and who took away everything Zoya had fought for, NEEDS her allowance for his centuries-long life to gain a scrap of meaning. He needs her allowance to be appreciated and loved.

I can’t be the only one who sees what a beautiful twist of fate this is.

At the same time Zoya herself understands the Darkling. She understands how anger and using power as a coping mechanism can corrupt. Knowing herself and seeing how he turned out are essential in her becoming a good ruler. He is the cautionary tale of what she could but will never allow herself to become.

When he explains his plan, she KNOWS that he’ll be in eternal pain and she has does not mind that his will be his fate. But when she sees the aftermath of his sacrifice and when she feels the kind of pain he’ll be experiencing for eternity, it leaves her shaken. She feels that pain in her own heart and this is not a fate that she wishes even on him. Genya and Alina are very much willing to let him rot but Zoya, who also believed that she could forgive him, feels that she has to.The Darkling has not redeem himself. He is doing penance. But as Genya mentions, there’s a fine line when one has to do the math of how much a person has to pay and of how much pain they have to feel before their punishment stops being just and they become victims instead. Zoya, being afraid of becoming him, knows that learning to show forgiveness is the only way forward, it’s the way for her to keep her heart open and not become the avalanche.

Zoya Nazyalensky has become everything that Aleksander Morozova, the lost boy, wished to be. Poweful, eternal, with friends, with a true partner, holding the best position a Grisha could imagine without forcing her rule and finally giving their people a true chance without comprominsing them. 

The Darkling was hoping that Alina would have been his balance. We are told how she might make him a better man and she might make him a monster.

But at the end of the day it’s Zoya who allows the Darkling to become the closest thing to decent that he can be at this point.

It’s the Darkling’s life that allows Zoya to see the lines that she will not cross and how to not become a monster.

And it’s Zoya’s ability to forgive him and her willingness to save him that becomes the backbone for the next phase of the Grishaverse, whenever Leigh decides to write it.

The way their paths entangle will always be at the core of the story.

_______________________

@myfriendscallmeraba​ I’m tagging you because you asked for it. It’s very encouraging to have someone interested in my ramblings.

#shadow and bone #rule of wolves #row #zoya nazyalensky #the darkling #aleksander morozova #sab meta #row meta

[dancingwiththeplanets]

An Angel Amongst Demons - chapter one

Boba Fett x fem!reader

     chapter 2 / masterlist     

Summary:  Boba tries to shield you from the dark side of his life. In his eyes, you are too innocent and pure for the harsh realities of the work that surrounds him. So when one day you stumble upon a meeting gone wrong when you were supposed to be hidden away, Boba’s afraid you won’t like the pieces of him he’s tried to protect you from, or worse, that now you’ll fear him.

A/N:  My first fic in like 6 years, I'm nervous! haha This is kind of an AU I think?? Takes place after the events of season 2.  I’ve added in two OC Mandos to the entourage because I love me some of that tribal brotherhood devotion. Also.. considering making this a series?

Warnings: soft!Boba (like, REALLY soft!Boba) protectiveness, maybe over-protectiveness? small character death, nobody important, two new sexy mandalorians (we’ll learn about them later), not much to be honest.

Word Count: 5.7k+

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There’s a lot to Jabba’s palace that most people don’t know about.  A lot’s changed since the esteemed Boba Fett took over the throne and claimed ownership over the fortress in Tatooine. Castle might actually be a better word for it. Somewhat modest and ordinary looking on the outside, the true magnitude and vastness of the castle is hidden underground, even past the comfortably sized throne room.

What lingers further down the sandstone hallways are an array of rooms and staircases, mostly leading down in different directions.  There’s a library and a kitchen and even a ballroom, which never has and probably never will be put to use.  There are guest rooms that are more suitably described as luxurious suites, for the grand total of zero guests that Boba will allow to stay in his sanctuary.  

There are permanently standing rooms for only a handful of the staff: the maid, Ada. Fennec, of course. And the two newest members of Boba’s trusted, elite team, Enzo and Raul, who arrived shortly before you did.  The two are a pair of dutiful and truly impressive Mandalorians who serve at his beck and call, courtesy of Boba Fett’s ally and only recognized leader (not that he’s ever told what to do), Mand’alor Din Djarin.

Past the staff rooms and further down an open and beautifully lit hall, is the communal area of the palace, the center, if you will. Fully equipped to socialize and entertain guests with comfortable seating, a fireplace, and charming embellishments around the room. A warm and pleasant area of the palace that likewise, does not get as much use out of it as it should.  

And finally, behind the common area, which in its own way, serves as a magnificent entryway, is Boba Fett’s private chambers.  Home to the respected and feared bounty-hunter turned ruler, and you, his haven.  

You. His cyare. His beloved. The ruthless king had fallen in love with you and your delicate heart, seemingly untampered with and somehow not left scarred by the harsh realities of Tatooine.  He saw in you light and tenderness, and you gave him joy and true unconditional love.  He spent many, far too many, late nights in Mos Eisley, at the cantina you worked in as a waitress. At some point visiting you every night to walk you home at the end of your shift, though you assured him you always made it home perfectly fine on your own.  But Boba secretly lived for those extra few minutes he could spend with you walking you to your residence.  Not to mention, he couldn’t fathom why it didn’t scare the bantha shit out of you to be walking around Mos Eisley alone at night, unarmed. That fact that you did sure as hell scared him.  

On most nights he walked you home, you invited him in, unless you were absolutely too spent to spend another moment standing.  But it was on those long nights that poured into the early hours of the lovely Tatooine sunrise that you and Boba grew close and eventually professed your love for one another.  Soon after, he hopefully, and quite timidly, asked you to live at his palace with him.  Though you’d never been before, you knew exactly where it was, and for that matter, who he was.

The new king of Tatooine had a reputation for being ruthless, unforgiving, and dangerous. And you didn’t miss the way people cowered away from his presence, especially when he wore the armor.  Though, by your own calculations, every other patron who marched their way through these lands was just as feral as the Boba Fett they all believed they knew, and not one had ever been as kind or as gentle, or captivated your thoughts, the way he did.    

He knew these things. More than most in the galaxy, he knew what a cruel fate such a pure being could meet, and if truth be told, he wanted to escape with your kind soul and shield you from this harsh planet before anything could harm you.

When he asked you again to go with him, you met his hopeful and loving gaze, eyes filled with devotion and admiration, and the corner of his lips pulled up just slightly in the most endearing of grins, you couldn't help but to instantly wrap your arms around him, leave a kiss to his neck, and tell him nothing would make you happier.

“Besides,” you teased, nuzzling into his neck, “I always wanted to be a princess.”

Boba chuckled and wrapped a strong arm around your waist, pulling your face back and tracing his thumb under your chin. “Believe me, mesh’la. You already were one.”

The next day, you found yourself and what little you owned in possessions, situating in your new home.  Like everyone else, you had shockingly inaccurate presumptions about the size of the palace, soon learning that what lay hidden behind the throne room and down the sandstone halls was a modest castle to get lost in.  No matter, you adjusted to your new environment and routine, though still unused to the respect and coddling you received on a daily basis, you adored every extra moment spent with your king.

Which is how now, five months later, you lay quiet and still as a mouse in bed, gazing dreamily at a sleeping Boba next to you.  The early morning light casting a light blue hue over the room, as the suns hadn’t quite risen just yet.  You were fortunate enough that your bedroom, the top floor to your two story chambers, was one of the few rooms in the palace with a proper window, the rest of your home and castle being underground.  

A low grumble from the man next to you causes you to hold your breath, eyes not daring to leave his form as he breathes in a deep sigh. “You know,” he begins drowsily, “the moment you wake up and opt to stare at me instead of closing those lovely eyes again and getting some more rest, is the exact moment that I wake up too.”

“You don’t have to wake up,” you smile teasingly.

“I can’t help it.” He grumbles, eyes still shut heavily against the apples of his cheeks. “If you’re up, I’m up.”

“For all you know,” You retort, “I’ve been staring at you, awake for hours.”

At this, Boba’s unimpressed gaze turns to you, eyes now latched onto yours. “You haven’t been.” He says.

“And how would you know?” You giggle back, “I haven’t moved a hair. I woke up facing you, and didn’t move anything but my gaze.  So unless you can detect the vibrations from my blinking, you couldn’t know.”

“I know.”

It’s your turn to look unimpressed, “How?”

“Because,” He leans in close to you, your noses lightly touching and a devilish look in his eyes, “If you’re up, I’m up.”

“Mm.” You hum unconvinced, eyes fluttering closed as he leaves a kiss to your nose then pulls away to sit at the edge of the bed.  You follow his form as he stretches to a stand, joints popping as he twists his back and arms around, the result of a body having gone to war and back countless times. You sit up tiredly and lean against the headboard, watching him pull on his under armor, then latching on the Beskar.  Piece by piece his body is decorated with more intimidating and handsome armor, slowly shielding your eyes from the scarred but lovely body of his that you admire possibly a little too much.

“You stare any harder and I might decide to take it back off,” Boba quips, a smirk rising on his cheeks.

You blush, shaking your head and looking away, gaze now pointedly out the window.

“Mesh’la,” He says, grabbing your attention again, his hands now occupied tugging on his gloves as he takes a few strides towards you. He smiles at the pink tint to your cheeks and your guilty smile, the remains of having been caught admiring him still plastered on your face. “I have important business to attend to today. But I’ve arranged for those workers to come and paint the library in a couple hours, would you mind overseeing it?”

He lifts a hand to lightly brush his thumb along your cheek, looking down upon you quizzically.  

“Of course.” You nod eagerly. You've slowly been tending to every inch of the palace, erasing all remnants of the Hutt’s and adding in touches of comfort and warmth wherever you can.  You wouldn’t say decorating is a passion of yours.  But this is your home now, you might as well fill it with things you admire.  Plus, Boba said if you didn’t take over the project, he’d just paint everything grey and toss out the old furniture without replacements.  

You shiver as you untuck yourself from your velvety comforter.  For a fortress built on possibly one of the hottest planets in the Outer Rim, this place can get cold.  Probably due to the fact that it’s rooted so deeply underground.

Happy to have something to do, you head to the fresher for a quick wash before Boba leaves to his duties.  You exit your chambers together, Enzo and Raul already waiting in the common area for you both.  Upon seeing them, you turn and leave a gentle kiss to the cheek of Boba’s helmet for a final moment of private intimacy before you descend the staircase, hearing him chuckle fondly at your action as he follows.  

“Good morning Fett, my lady.” Enzo bows lowly, turning to you.  You laugh and shove his shoulder upon reaching the pair of them. You can hear the hint of amusement in his voice as Raul shakes his head beside him.

“Good morning gentlemen.” You smile.

Boba huffs coming to stand beside you, “Gentlemen.” He scoffs at your words.

Raul clears his throat, “Crane should be here soon, boss.” He says, visor trained on Boba and arms crossed over his chest, gaze briefly turning towards you before meeting the boss again.  

You look towards your partner, “Your meeting today?” You ask.

“Yes.” He says, giving a quick nod.

“Alright,” You say, glancing at the suspiciously still trio of Beskar-clad men, “I’m going to the kitchens to have some breakfast.  Then I’ll meet up with those workers in the library.”

Boba nods again, confirming your agenda.

You stare up at him, waiting for him to sputter out whatever it is you know he’s wanting to say.  

“...Then,” You go on, “I guess I will, do some reading or...baking or...stare at the wall or something.”

“Sounds like a riveting afternoon,” Raul says after a more than comfortable silence.

“Okay,” you smile, chuckling a little and taking a step back, choosing to dismiss yourself now before the awkwardness has a chance to develop. “Have fun with Mr. Crane.”

Boba clears his throat as you turn towards the kitchens, stopping you with a hand on your arm. “Mesh’la,” He says, glancing pointedly at Raul and Enzo, who move to wait for him a few paces away. “Could you do me a favor?”

You tilt your head suspiciously, urging him to go on. “You’re acting rather strange Boba Fett.” You tease.

He grunts, “I’ve had a lot of trouble with Calendei Crane. He’s not a very loyal man, nor do I consider him a good one.  He’s had a lot of chances to make up for the problems he’s caused me, but recently he went too far, and we’re not going to be having a charming reunion just now.” He sighs, “What I’m trying to say is... he didn’t necessarily come here by his own accord.  And he won’t be very happy that he is.”

“I understand.” You nod.

Boba frowns inside his helm. I don’t think you do cyare.

“Alright then,” he says, “That said, I would really appreciate it if you would stay away from the throne room today.  At least until I send Fennec or Enzo for you or something.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his hand opening and closing nervously by his side. He thinks you don’t know what he means. Oh Boba.

You reach for his hand as you step closer to his form. “Boba,” you whisper, leaning up towards him with a small smile, “You are the most kind and gentle man I’ve ever known. But I know that you are a man of business and principles.  You do whatever you have to do. If an employee of yours is out there making a mess under your name, I would expect nothing less than for you to handle it.” You say, hoping to reassure him.

You raise your free hand to rest against the cheek of his helmet, “But I’ll busy myself back here until you’re done.”

He lets out a sigh in relief, hand reaching up to grab yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.” He says, before tenderly tapping his forehead against yours and turning to get on with his day.

You shake your head at his retreating form.  Despite all of the darkness and dirt and the scum that surround Boba in his everyday life, he really does try everything in his power to not let it touch you.  It’s almost as if despite the late night confessions and raw conversations you two have shared about your lives don’t translate to reality for Boba.  As if he somehow believes you don’t truly know what it is that he does and who he is.

He seems to forget that you yourself have grown up with the same scum that populate this planet.  In the nearest city to here in fact, where all the mudscuppers of the galaxy would stay and wreak havoc when this was once Jabba’s palace. You’ve seen things. You’ve experienced things. Some things that, shamefully, you haven’t yet shared with Boba.  But what you can say with the utmost of certainty is that you know exactly the kind of people that like to deal in underworld business.  And you know that there are many cruel beings out there. But Boba, he certainly isn’t one of them.

You sigh, turning to pass through the empty dining hall to the kitchens. The light tapping of your shoes echoing in the desolate space. A part of you wishes you had said to him, ‘Oh Boba, when will you learn that you don’t need to protect me from yourself?’

A necessary conversation for another time, you decide.

Shaking away your thoughts, you wander into the kitchen, making yourself a quick breakfast and giggling a while with Ada, as she begins preparing a stew for all staff members taking up a residency in the palace.  She often prepares meals in substantial quantities, making enough for herself, you, Boba, Fennec, and the two other Mandalorians to all enjoy in your respective chambers.

“Take some of these to go dear!” She calls out, chasing after your form as you exit the kitchen. “You had better be eating a balanced diet.” She chides, handing you a towel with some berries on it.

“Thank you Ada,” you smile, leaving a peck to her cheek and making your way to the library.

When you arrive, the workers still aren't there, and you hum glancing at the clock.  They should have already been here and working at least for an hour by now.  

Expecting their arrival soon, you busy yourself with cleaning dusty bookshelves and making piles of the previous inhabitants' furnishings and decorations you’d rather not have.

You plop down on the floor after sorting through your ninth bookshelf, sighing after attempting to categorize everything by genre. Even opting to make a pile of books to get rid of, because really, nobody needs handbooks on slave trading and dealing in the dark business of the underworld. They’re just not something you’d like in your home.

You glance at the time again. “What on Tatooine.” You mutter, stretching to a stand.  You’ve officially been bailed on, because you've been sitting in this dingy library for four hours and if nobody’s shown up yet, you doubted they would be.  

Looking around at the mess you’ve made, you decide to finish tackling this task tomorrow, and head back down the hall towards your private chambers.

You pause to lean against the wall with your eyes closed, letting out a great yawn. It’s barely past noon and you’re already beat.

A voice calls your name just in front of you, startling you in the dark, candlelit hall.

“Ada!” You jump, with a hand to your chest.

“Mm, I’m sorry sweet one.” She frowns. “You had better go check on your Mandalorian.” She says sternly, wagging a finger up at you. “He sounds angrier than a farmer whose fresh crops have been raided by Tuskans.”

You furrow your eyebrows at her words, frowning. “Does he sound alright?” You ask, concerned.

“Too riled up.” She chides, shaking her head as she continues to pass you in the hall, grabbing a hold of your arm “Go straighten him out, lecture him on that temper of his.”

“Ada,” You sigh, “He’s dealing with a trying issue right now, and I promised that I’d stay away from this meeting.”

“Peh,” She waves her hand in dismissal, “Fine, your decision. But I did see a couple of those workers you were waiting on looking rather frightened up in the throne room.  Go on and fetch them and get on with your project. You left quite a mess in there for me to deal with.”

“What?” You look disbelievingly at her, “Well why didn't you just send them my way. I waited all morning for them.”

She shakes her head, looping her arm through yours as you continue walking side-by-side. You roll your eyes at the nerve.

The sound of sudden, unmistakable shouting, coming from much further down the hall and up the stairs ascending to the throne room stops you instantly. Your eyes widen a bit as the voice carries on, rather menacingly.  You wouldn’t want to be the one receiving the tail end of that conversation.  Boba truly does sound pissed. You wonder how long he’s been with this Crane fellow.

“Ada,” you whisper, the lower tone seeming appropriate, “Don’t you go trying to get me into trouble.” You say, pulling her back as she tries to urge you forward.

“Young lady,” She scolds, looking up at you in a surprisingly threatening way. “I have much work to do. I need my good broom which I left up those stairs, and you need your painters or carpenters or whatever it is those fellas up there are. So, let us ladies get on with our business and fetch our things.”

“If you’re already heading up,” You say through slightly gritted teeth, “Then why don’t you just go up there, grab your broom, and do me the favor of nudging down my workers while you’re at it.”

“Because I have a bad leg. Now either accompany me up stairs so that I don’t fall or go on and get those things for the two of us at last!”

“Maker, Ada fine!” You say, losing your temper. A part of you knowing she was just stirring up trouble. You start up the first step and turn to her with an obvious empty threat. “And I’ll be sure to note to Boba that our maid has a bad leg leaving her incapable of climbing our palace full of stairs.” You mutter disbelievingly.

“Mm, you do that.” She counters.

You sigh, shaking your head as you quickly make your way up, hearing Ada walk away behind you.  

That woman knows far too well that we would never replace her, you think.

Your focus shifting back to the surprisingly silent throne room just up and down the hall, you walk wearily, suddenly a little nervous.

You notice as you near the room, your steps silent down the hall, that there is a hushed but heated back and forth taking place.  

“-swear Mr. Fett I-I d-didn’t know they were-”

“-What?” You hear Boba’s ominous voice interrupt. “You didn't know what?”

His form comes into view as you peek your head into the room, watching him descend the steps of his throne and approaching the accused slowly.  You take a half step back, hoping to further hide your position, seeing as before, you were concealed behind his back.  But given his new stance, the flicker of his gaze upwards and Boba would be met with your sinful and curious eyes.

Raul, you note, leans comfortably against the wall across the room behind Boba, observing the scene from afar, but seemingly more interested in fixing a mechanism on his Westar-35.

Fennec, who, based on the fearful gaze he glances up at her with, was obviously the one to retrieve Crane, staring down at him with a daring look in her eyes, as if challenging him to try and escape this situation. Enzo stands on Crane's other side, blocking most of your view from the accused and his state. You also note that there is no such broom or fearful workers around. Ada.

“Mr. Fett-” He whimpers.

“Sod it.” Enzo growls, raising his weapon to shove against Crane’s neck, hushing his pleas instantly.

You observe the creature as best you can from your corner. You don’t want to peer out any further for fear of alerting Boba of your presence. He wasn’t human, but not terribly strange looking, a blue being, probably a humanoid, but with claws for nails that were certainly not cute. He’s on his knees, head bowed forward in obvious shame and fear, and hands tied firmly behind his back. This guy looks like he’s had a pretty bad couple of days, but you still can’t tell if you feel sorry for him or not.

Boba reaches Crane in the center of the room, and in a manner so menacing and calculated, that exerts a level of dominance that frightens even you, he crouches down on his heels, meeting Crane eye-level.

Boba slowly pulls his blaster out of its holster and lifts it to Crane’s ducked chin, using the barrel to tilt Crane’s face up to meet his.

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you feel yourself running out of air.

“You didn’t know what Crane?” Boba repeats in a tone so hushed you could barely hear. “That you were selling information to an enemy of mine?  That you were betraying the trust that I had put in you? That you stole my property, weapons, and money to give to people who wish to do me harm?”

You can’t help but to feel anxious and on edge. Knowing very well you are not supposed to be in here observing the scene in front of you. Wondering if at this point, you should even try to make your silent leave.

Crane, seemingly breathless, and having accepted his fate, nods in defeat. “I’m sorry Boba.” He whispers.

“You violated the terms of our agreement Crane.” Boba says, rising up and adjusting his belt.  “I gave you opportunity after opportunity to make it right.  I told you that this was your final chance. I even gave you the kriffing option to leave!” He finally shouts.

You watch his chest heaving in rage as he continues to stare down at a defeated Crane.

Boba scoffs, “What did you expect would happen?”

The crippled man on the floor does what you least expect, his gaze lazily lifting up to meet Boba’s as he chuckles carelessly, his laugh soon transforming into a truly mad howl.

He looks like an absolute maniac.

Your eyes furrow in extreme discomfort as you watch the dramatic change in scene, and despite the obvious upper-hand that Boba has, you feel the urge to stand between him and this disturbed creature.

“I-I guess,” Crane breathes out between spouts of laughter, “I held out hope. Hope that the famous Boba Fett, oh-” he croaks out another laugh, “I’m sorry, that the-the King of Tatooine, would finally meet his demise like he should have all those years ago in the sarlacc. Oh, Boba, we were all so pleased when we thought you’d met the maker that day, but you...you son of a nerf herder, you lived. And WHY should you get to live while the rest of us died off! TELL ME BOBA FETT! Because you know something? You of all beings do NOT get to cheat death. You think you’re better than the rest of us, trying to make amends for your crimes against nature? Against the galaxy?”  

Crane leans his head forward nearly slamming it against the ground as he violently spits out, “-No, no, no, no old friend. You are the worst, most foul kind of scum to EVER have walked these lands. You are no worse than Jabba, don’t you kid yourself. And if I have played any part in your demise, I’ll have avenged my brothers who have died at your hand. Your end is coming Boba Fett! You will fall, and so will anyone who tries to prevent your end!” He carries on, doubling over while spitting out the most ludicrous threats between maniacal laughter.

A wave of pure fear plunges your heart, leaving a sickly feeling in your gut at his words. You don’t even realize that your longing to protect Boba has unconsciously pulled your body a few steps in his direction. Your error not evident to you until Raul moves from across the room, capturing your attention. You glance at him only to see the gaze of his visor already locked onto yours and his body making quick strides towards you.  

“Boss-” Raul says hurriedly, but not before a shot rings out, causing you to jump and gasp, hands flying up in front of you in instinctual defense.

You open your eyes and turn your head to face Boba just as his gaze snaps in your direction. Even with the visor covering his face you can see he’s taken aback by your presence. His arm lowers quickly with his blaster, holstering it.  Everyone’s attention seems to be on you.

Nobody moves for a moment, and still frozen, your gaze flicks down to the dead being, monster, who lays thankfully slain on the floor.

Seeing movement out of the corner of your eye, you avert your gaze back up to Boba, whose arm shifts nervously at his side.

“Ner- ner cyare.” He whispers, his tone strained and unlike you’ve ever heard before.

You take a step towards him, but don’t go much closer when Enzo shifts to exist as a barricade between you and the bloody mess to Boba’s side.

“What are you doing here?” He says, seeming to struggle with every word.

“I-I can’t remember.” You say after a beat, nervous again suddenly that you’ve poked your nose into business you told him you’d stay away from.

He stands frozen, panicked behind the harsh mask of his visor. His absolute worst fear being realised as you stand in the aftermath of an execution he himself carried out, right in front of your eyes.

Cruel. Unforgiving. Dangerous. Vile. Sadistic. Merciless.

All words he imagines were running though your sweet mind behind those wide eyes.

“Boba.” you utter, taking another step towards him, hesitating at first then succumbing to your hearts needs and taking up a speedier pace.

Your hands, which at some point started shaking, matching your more obviously quickened heart rate, raise up slowly to rest on his chest, and you swear he flinches at the contact.

“Cyare-” He mutters again, heart beating undoubtedly twice as fast as your own, fear and desperation clinging to the word, but he stops when your suddenly tear-filled eyes meet his gaze and you cling to the sides of his helm.

“Boba, are you okay?” You whisper frantically.

At that, he lets out a shaky exhale, body loosening and head tilting slightly at your words.

“What?” He asks, stunned.

“Are you alright?” You say, searching desperately through the dark visor of his helm for his warm, brown eyes.

“Am...am I okay?” He repeats.

“Yes I-I heard everything he said.” You stutter, head turning to meet the deranged creature's corpse covered in his own blood before Boba finally and frantically grabs a hold of your cheek to gently avert your gaze away from the scene. “He-he was absolutely maniacal.” You let out a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry I came but I-I heard shouting and A-Ada said something I can’t even remember what but I ended up here somehow and please don’t be mad but maker I just didn’t expect this-” you pause, tempted to glance at the corpse again but your cheek stays steadied in Boba’s hand, “-this monster to be here, threatening you and maker I know you’re alright, you’re always alright, but I desperately wanted to be standing between you and him to do anything to shield you from his threats I-”

“-Mesh’la.” Boba says, more of his confidence appearing in his voice and his movements but still weary nonetheless.

“Are you okay?” You repeat desperately, cradling his helmet firmly in your hands again.

“I’m-yes. Yes mesh’la, I’m alright.” He stutters out, “Are-are you not afraid of me?”

“Afraid of you?” You breathe out, taken aback. “Never, Boba. I-I could never fear you.”

Boba’s completely stilled in your arms. It feels like hours, your wide eyes looking at him with that familiar tenderness and devotion. You almost forget about the other’s, standing completely motionless around you, until Boba suddenly turns you and urges you forward with gentle hands on your waist, his form practically shielding you, quite fruitlessly, from the scene he guides you away from.

When you reach the hallway, he allows you to pull him next to you instead, as he opens the door to the closest chamber in sight and ushers you into it, closing the door behind you both.

The dimly lit room casts a warm glow on you both as you turn to face Boba, whose back is slumped up against the closed door. He heaves in slow, heavy, deep breaths.

You stand, unmoving, only a few inches from him.  Gaze locked on his visor, you wear a concerned expression on your face, your own breaths silent but speedy as you wait for him to explain his behavior.  

He finally says your name, both his palms rising in a pleading request for you to take them.  

You place your hands gently in his, and he cradles them to his chest, looking down at them. So small and clean and innocent in his dark gloves that carry the stains of countless victims.

You hold your breath when you hear a choked sob escape from his modulator. Your mouth falls open a bit, eyes flitting down to where he stares at his hands caressing your own.

“Boba?” You mutter.

As if prompted by your voice, a more obvious sob falls from Boba’s lips, and his hands release your own, finding purchase on your hips as he falls to his knees before you.

You gasp out a breath of disbelief as you watch your partner, your warrior, your Boba, cling to your waist. Silent sobs shake his body as he hesitantly pulls his hand from you and places it under the lip of his helmet, tugging the armor off and letting it topple to the floor beside you.

Tears spill down Boba’s face, following the same trail left behind by the first few that managed to fall. You grasp his face in your hands, thumbs sweeping across his cheeks and erasing the tears that slid down his scarred skin.  

Your vision blurs as your own eyes well with tears. “My love,” You whisper, “What’s wrong?”

His forehead tightens and brows furrow, making him look like he’s in pain. “Mesh’la I-” he stops to compose himself, his eyes looking down though you hold his face in your palms. “You- you do not fear me?”

“I could never Boba.” You assure him, you voice cracking as you say the words. “I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone in my life. You...being with you, makes me feel safer than I ever thought I could feel.”

Your hand leaves his cheek to smooth out the worried lines on his forehead, and you bring your index finger under his chin, urging him to look up at you. “That creature, monster, whatever he was,” You start, “He was disloyal and foul and cruel. He wanted to hurt you. Which means he wanted to hurt me. I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you. You’re my everything Boba.”

He stares up at you, vulnerable, more unsteady than you’ve ever seen him, but you go on, “I know who you are Boba Fett. I know that you were a bounty hunter. I know that now you rule the underworld and that sometimes you do unpleasant things. I know that you have regrets and I know that you have a past. I have one too. But most importantly, I know that you are a good man, worthy of my trust. And I will stand by your side every day for as long as you want me here, because I love you. My mind, my body, my soul,” you whisper, tears flowing down your own cheeks now, “-they’re yours Boba. All of me is yours.”

Tears well in his eyes again as you speak, but he doesn’t hide from you as he frowns against the tears threatening to spill again. “I love you so much.” He confesses almost fearfully.

You reach down to unlatch his hands from your waist, though you’re met with mild resistance, before you kneel to be level with him. You lean forward slowly and kiss him, passionately and desperately and devotedly. He cups your face in his hands, pressing you to him as close as he can before releasing you.

“You,” He whispers, leaning his forehead against yours with closed eyes, “You are too pure for this galaxy. An angel living amongst demons.”

“And I suppose you think you’re a demon?” You shake your head, smiling at the absurdity of it.

“Me?” He grins, “A fallen angel? Most definitely.”

#an angel amongst demons #Boba Fett #boba x reader #boba x you #the mandalorian #book of boba fett #din djarin #mando #jabbas palace #soft!boba #king!boba #boba fett x reader

[aspiring-bl-writer]

This is a short story set in the Warhammer 40,000 universe, detailing a Death Guard attack on an Imperial world. The story is told from the perspective of an Imperial Guard lieutenant as his unit is saved by Adeptus Astartes from the Red Scorpions Chapter, who are obsessed with maintaining the purity of the Imperium and protecting humanity from any possible contamination.

They lurched forward in waves, unnatural and rancid figures, resembling the Adeptus Astartes, but their countenances blighted, sullied with the stench of decay. Swarms of flies clustered around them as the figures shuffled on deformed limbs. Their rusted suits of armor were greasy with a mucus oozing from pocked carapaces diffused with sores. They held oxidized, grime-coated weapons in twisted limbs disfigured by foul disease.

Despite their decomposing appearance, these disgusting parodies of Space Marines were formidable enemies. Wherever their weapons hit, the Imperial Guard fell, strains of crippling sickness spreading through their bodies. Weapons barely even fazed them, blasts and bolts absorbed into gnarled fusions of tissue and ceramite plate. Although the Guardsmen outnumbered them many times over, nothing seemed to interrupt the lethargic, scattered march of the Plague Marines. A discordant symphony of piercing shrieks, guttural death-rattles and the buzzing of warp-spawned pests followed them.

Lieutenant Selwyn Barras cursed the day he had ever set foot on Ephesos. His regiment had come to the feudal world in response to bombastic claims that the dead were rising and slaughtering the human population. Barras’ superiors had put down the preliminary reports to the superstitious hysteria of barely-civilized serfs toiling in dark lowlands, growing meager rice in paddy fields. Following their deployment, however, regimental commanders soon assessed the blunt reality. Epidemics had ravaged Ephesos for months, but rather than alerting Terra to the outbreaks, the planetary governor had remained doggedly focused on ensuring that the world supplied its regular tithe of rice bushels to the Imperium. The governor and his staff had been the only ones off-planet to know about the hastily-dug mass graves containing the hundreds of thousands of peasants claimed by the spreading pestilence. The governor had broken his silence only when reanimated corpses had clambered out of their crude, shared tombs, ravaging all living things discovered in their paths. Fortunately, the mindless undead could not hope to match the exceptional training and veteran leadership of an Imperial Guard regiment. Rot rendered once-human bodies into soft meat easily torn apart by laser fire. Defeating the zombie hordes had proved more time-consuming than challenging, and in a matter of weeks, most of Ephesos’ key cities had been reclaimed by the Astra Militarum.

Nature had not borne the plagues, nor their horrific creations. Unbeknownst to everyone, a Death Guard warband had instigated it all, and they were none too pleased at the disruption of their plans. They had attacked the Imperial forward positions overnight, hobbling across the horizon, a slow but thorough razing of all opposition. Regimental headquarters had instructed Barras to defend a dilapidated fortification along a stone wall running from a great river to a small inlet of a distant sea. The primitive masons who had constructed the barricade, with their limited knowledge of the larger universe in which they lived, would never have fathomed that their bulwark would someday be a citadel for the Imperial Guard against infernal demi-gods.

“Not much we can do without plasma weapons, much less armored support,” Barras murmured to himself, chewing on his lower lip. He let out a troubled sigh.

Commissar Aelia Tremelle, an ever-present face on the frontlines, could read the concern on Barras’ face as they observed the Plague Marines easily routing the forward positions. “The Emperor protects!” she yelled over the din of battle. What Tremelle lacked in persuasion she made up for in force of will. She was an ardent believer in the Imperium, and it was not hard to share her certainty, to emulate her zeal and unquestioning loyalty. Usually when Barras spied Tremelle’s peaked hat and fancily decorated coat, it bolstered his morale, reminded him that the all-powerful God Emperor safeguarded humanity, against enemies both material and immaterial.

This time was different. He reckoned by morning it was more probable he and the rest of the unit would be host to maggots rather than Tremelle’s unflappable passion.

He buried his pessimism, though, knowing he could not risk revealing it. Tremelle would have used it as an excuse for a summary execution, but that was not Barras’ main fear. He was more afraid that his despair would dishearten the rank-and-file, the men and women who depended on him for strength and guidance. Tremelle inspired them with moral purity, but it was from Barras they looked for leadership. If they saw him wavering, giving in to doubt and fear, they would resign themselves to annihilation. It was unlikely they could win against heretic Astartes, of course, but victory was not the goal now. Their objective was to offer the strongest resistance they could muster, to not give a single inch freely to the approaching traitors and their Chaos overlords.

He grabbed the Aquila necklace he wore and pressed it against his lips. Readying his bolt pistol, he turned from Tremelle to face the soldiers who had fixed their wide eyes upon him, their las-rifles primed. His heart thudded in his chest in anticipation as he searched for the words. “Have no fear! We will never surrender! We fight for humanity and the Emperor! All of you: die standing! Be ready to greet the Emperor with pride!” Tremelle cheered first as he finished, a booming hurrah, which the enlisted ranks copied with raucous shouting of their own. The speech, as brief as it was, had done its job.

Barras lifted himself up, aimed toward the Plague Marines, and fired. Lasers flashed past him, hitting their targets with great accuracy, but with minimal effect. The Death Guard traitors kept up their relentless march, cascades of shells spewing from their filth-encrusted weapons. Beside him, the side of Tremelle’s head exploded in a gory mess. Her corpse toppled over seconds later. A determined Guardsman took her place. Tremelle had often spoke of her demise in hallowed, sacred terms, promising it would be a noble sacrifice. In truth, Barras saw nothing poetic or dignified about it. Instead, he just wished that he would meet his death as quickly and unexpectedly as she had.

“Look!” Barras swung his head around and saw a trooper pointing heavenward. Following the upturned finger with his eyes, Barras noticed a trail of fire blazing across the sky. It looked as though a meteor storm had suddenly broken out over Ephesos, another ominous omen to go along with the dead rising and demonic corruption. He could not long take his gaze away from the oncoming scourge; their drumming bolters would not permit them to be ignored. Each concussive shot that landed sent dirt, blood and viscera flying. It took every ounce of willpower to take decent aim and fire, and every fiber of his courage not to lose his nerve when he saw a Plague Marine disregard the shot when it landed. The only weapon he possessed still serving its function was his faith, faith in the Emperor, for it was that alone that kept him rigid to where he stood.

Providence appeared to reward that faith. As the apparent meteoroids drew nearer, gaining ever more spectacular speed, it became clear they were something else entirely. They were drop pods of the Adeptus Astartes, and with ear-popping booms they plunged into the earth to the west of Barras’ position. Rocks and rubble sailed high in the air. Almost immediately pod doors whisked open, releasing their enormous occupants.

The head of every soldier in Barras’ unit, the lieutenant himself included, had turned to gawk at the Space Marines with awe. In their power armor, they stood just over eight feet tall. To call them colossuses would barely do them justice. Despite looking their human appearance, they were nevertheless alien and threatening, exuding auras of overwhelming violence. Their faces were hidden behind their helms, muzzle-mouthed and skull-faced, with piercing red lenses. Their armor was a pale tone of gray with yellow trim, and on their left pauldron a red scorpion raised its stinger menacingly against a white circle. In fluid motions, they smacked their bulky gauntlets on the stone eagle emblazoned over their breastplates before breaking out into sprints toward the Plague Marines. It seemed absurd that giants could move with such amazing celerity.

Barras’ eyes were fixed on the goliath leading the charge. While his brothers mostly fired bolters, he carried a two-handed maul with two heads, each swathed in a powerful disruptor field. Letting out a growl that sounded distorted and wolfish through his helmet speakers, the Marine swung his gigantic hammer and pounded an unsteady Plague Marine square in the chest. The sparking force field around the hammer’s head flashed on impact, amplifying the already inhuman strike to insane levels of strength. The Plague Marine flew backwards, landing and skidding around twenty yards away. Not dwelling on what he had just done, the maul-wielding Marine shouted to his comrades: “Let free the retribution of the Emperor, my brothers! Purge the unclean!”

Unbelievably, the fallen Plague Marine rose again, a crater on his chest, dazed but not nearly incapacitated. It took a few more steps before being engulfed in a searing fireball. Many of the Marines wearing the scorpion heraldry carried flamers, and were using them liberally to submerge their Death Guard foes in infernos. The consuming blazes did little to dismay their shambling targets, and most of the Plague Marines continued firing their bolters and swinging their blades even as the flames scorched their armor and burned away their fetid flesh. Rather than seek their survival, they seemed to welcome death once it was credibly offered to them, as if it were some cherished gift.

One of Barras’ soldiers let out a whoop of deliverance, sparking a chorus of additional supportive yells. With renewed dynamism, the Guardsmen resumed firing volleys, even if it was a weak supplement to the strength and firepower of their godlike saviors.

A small quantity of Plague Marines had died, but more were closing in on the attackers. Methodical salvos of bolter, flamer and plasma fire from the loyalist Marines thrashed the ranks of the Death Guard reinforcements, but few were stopped, and eventually the two forces met. A helmetless heretic, his head resembling a moldering shriveled prune, grappled with the Space Marine commander, a humming chainsword gripped in one tremendous fist. His dark moss-colored armor leaked with an unknown sludge. The Space Marine commander tried to shove him away, but his gauntlet slid clear due to the slimy gunk. The Death Guard warrior lunged, slashing his chainsword across the commander’s shoulder and blood sprayed where the chain found purchase. The commander did not cry out; instead, he slammed his elbow into his opponent’s belly and leapt backward, trouncing his maul onto neck and head. Like the rotted fruit it resembled, the Plague Marine’s head broke open, bone and brain obliterated in an eruption of sopping carnage. The decapitated body fell away as more enemies loomed.

The scene became a festival of massacres, a carnival of blood and brutality. Barras watched as a Space Marine died, an axe plunged into the space beneath his helm, and he fell to the sound of his own gurgling blood. One of his battle-brothers swept up his dead comrade’s bolt pistol and emptied the magazine into the killer. He was instantly set upon by a Traitor Marine carrying a combat knife, which in Barras’ much smaller hands would easily have been a broadsword. The Chaos-corrupted Marine drove the serrated blade into the gap between breastplate and helmet before wrenching it out. He stabbed repeatedly, laughing a sick wet giggle, until the Space Marine collapsed. The heretic was so caught up in his mania he did not even notice the Astartes commander swinging his maul until it landed on the Plague Marine’s back, shattering his spine. The hammer rose and fell over and over, quickly turning the soldier of Chaos into mere pulp and slush.

The battle was even, with the Space Marines winning slightly, but Barras wondered how long that would go on. The Death Guard Marines, though few in number, were only stoppable by extreme use of firepower or overwhelming brute force. In a conflict of pure attrition, the advantage lay with the nigh-invulnerable plague-bearing juggernauts. They were, Barras thought to himself, avatars of the inevitable entropy in the universe, the unpleasant but nevertheless harsh truth that all things, no matter how glorious or precious, would someday collapse and congeal, falling to ruin. Even the Imperium of Man, for all its splendors and righteousness, would at some point vanish from the universe, just as the brightest suns in the galaxy would someday be extinguished….

He was shaken from these heretical thoughts by the rumbling sound of Thunderhawks howling above him, their wing mounted guns blasting away. As the shells landed, the Plague Marines exploded in a series of detonations. With almost stoic passivity, the more distant Death Guard survivors were also torn apart by over-sized battle cannons spewing high-explosive rounds, others shredded by the shrapnel created by the rounds’ shell casings. The aircrafts banked around as they passed overhead, coming in low to the ground. When they landed, they unloaded streams of Space Marines, around twenty in each. From one, an enormous war machine strode clumsily down an exit ramp, roughly thirteen feet tall and just as wide. It moved in thumping, lazy steps, and its arms were weapons: the left was a steel arm capped by a wide chainsaw fist the size of an adult human, and the right was a long cannon with coils along its length that glowed dull blue.

The battle ended soon thereafter. Barras’ men, exhausted and mortified by their brush with certain death, relaxed their discipline and slouched against the walls, some leaning on their firearms. The only thing keeping them warm and energized was the relief of surviving, of having won a gamble with fate and come out the victor. They had earned their rest. Barras felt the urge to join them but stopped when he spotted the Space Marine commander with the maul moving towards him. He snapped to attention, as nervously as he had done in the officers’ academy. He did his best to remain composed, but reflexively blanched at the noisy bluster of servos from the Marine’s armor joints.

The Astartes set aside his maul and with gauntleted hands removed his helm. Beneath it, his head was bald and leathery tan, marred with crisscrossed scars. His eyes were a light and watery blue, blank, unfocused. Barras smiled softly, hoping a relaxed and warm expression would obscure his uneasiness before one of the God-Emperor’s chosen. Of course, he knew the galaxy contained more futile tasks. “I’m Lieutenant Selywn Barras, my lord,” he managed, “and we’re extremely glad to see you…”

“I am Brother-Captain Creon Mindarus,” the Astartes interrupted, “of the Red Scorpions’ Fourth Company. My orders are to purge this quadrant of the planet. Inquisitor Xanthus of the Ordo Malleus informed us that the traitors of the Fourteenth Legion were attempting to summon a powerful daemon, a harbinger of rot and ruin.”

Barras nodded. “Well, it would appear your mission was accomplished.”

“Not yet,” Creon said quickly. “Our orders were to cleanse this planet of Chaos taint, Lieutenant, and for us, that means all who were exposed to the corruption on Ephesos. Your unit has been deployed on the planet for several months, has it not?”

Barras arched an eyebrow. “Y-Yes, my lord, to wipe out the walking dead…”

“A task you did satisfactorily,” Creon replied with a cold monotone. “Yet, it was an error sending your regiment here. Despite its many commendations, you have one inherent flaw: you are mere humans.” He titled his head to one side briefly and clicked his tongue. “Well, most of you, at least. Your regiment has squads of abuhumans, yes?”

“Y-You mean the Ogryns?” Barras stammered. The Imperium of Man believed in the supremacy of humanity over the universe, but it nevertheless utilized near-human creatures in parts of the Imperial Guard. This included the gigantic mutants known as the Ogryns, as loyal as they were big and stupid. They made excellent shock troops, even if their very existence suggested tolerance of genetic mutation, which in turn may have invited spiritual corruption. “My lord, I have nothing to do with…”

The Astartes captain raised a hand to halt the protest. “It is irrelevant. Even without the presence of abhumans among your units, your regiment has been exposed to plagues and poxes your unmodified immune systems could not resist with guaranteed success. Rather than risk allowing you to leave Ephesos and potentially infect others, spreading the Chaos taint, we will have to liquidate your regiment as part of our operations.”

Barras went ashen as the blood drained from his face. His jaw dropped several centimeters and his eyes grew wide. “T-This is wrong! We did our duty!”

“As was appropriate,” Creon responded with indifference. “Nevertheless, you cannot claim direct descent from the Emperor himself, as we can. Even few Astartes chapters truly do.” There was no pride on his lips; he spoke matter-of-factly. “To protect the Emperor’s faithful, we must cull those susceptible to the insidious corruption of Chaos. You have always been told you may give your life for the Emperor; today, you will.”

On instinct, Barras moved to run. Obviously the Astartes was faster. He reached out and clutched Barras’ neck in his gauntleted fingers. The Guardsman struggled in the grip, choking for air. Creon tightened his hold, crunching bone and cartilage with barely a tensing of his muscles. Lifted off the ground, Barras’ feet kicked for solid contact, but soon went limp. The Astartes dropped him to the ground, where he fell with a thud.

By this time, the worn and weakened soldiers of Barras’ unit had noticed the execution of their commander. As they struggled to process what they had witnessed, they failed to notice that the charcoal-clad Space Marines had encircled them–and were now pointing their bolters, flamers, and plasma guns in their direction. Creon made a small motion with his hand. The Marines fired, cutting down the surviving Guardsmen with no mercy.

As las-fire and flame reflected in his blank blue eyes, Creon said: “Purge the unclean.”

#warhammer #warhammer 40k #wh 40k #40k #40k fanfic #40k fiction #red scorpions #adeptus astartes #space marines #death guard #chaos space marines #imperial guard #imperium #black library

[church-history]

St. George, Christian, soldier, dragon slayer, martyr

Feast day(s): April 23rd (Catholic) April 23rd, November 26th, November 3rd (Russian Ortho) November 17th, May 1st (Coptic Ortho)

Patronage: soldiers, archers, cavalry and chivalry, farmers and field workers, riders and saddlers, those suffering from leprosy, plague and syphilis.

It is uncertain when Saint George was born and historians continue to debate to this day. However, his death date is estimated to be April 23 303 A.D.

The first piece of evidence of George's existance appeared within the works of the Bollandists Daniel Papebroch, Jean Bolland, and Godfrey Henschen's Bibliotheca Hagiographica Graeca. George was one of several names listed in the historical text, and Pope Gelasius claimed George was one of the saints "whose names are justly reverenced among men, but whose actions are known only to God."

George was born to a Gerontios and Polychronia, a Roman officer and a Greek native of Lydda. Both were Christians from noble families of the Anici and George, Georgios in the original Greek, was raised to follow their faith.

When George was old enough, he was welcomed into Diocletian's army. by his late 20's, George became a Tribunus and served as an imperial guard for the Emperor at Nicomedia.

On February 24, 303 A.D., Diocletian, who hated Christians, announced that every Christian the army passed would be arrested and every other soldier should offer a sacrifice to the Roman gods.

George refused to abide by the order and told Diocletian, who was angry but greatly valued his friendship with George's father.

When George announced his beliefs before his peers, Diocletian was unable to keep the news to himself.

In an effort to save George, Diocletian attempted to convert him to believe in the Roman gods, offered him land, money and slaves in exchange for offering a sacrifice to the Roman gods, and made several other offers that George refused.

Finally, after exhausting all other options, Diocletian ordered George's execution. In preparation for his death, George gave his money to the poor and was sent for several torture sessions. He was lacerated on a wheel of swords and required resuscitation three times, but still George did not turn from God.

On April 23, 303 A.D., George was decapitated before Nicomedia's outer wall. His body was sent to Lydda for burial, and other Christians went to honor George as a martyr.

Saint George and the Dragon

There are several stories about George fighting dragons, but in the Western version, a dragon or crocodile made its nest at a spring that provided water to Silene, believed to be modern-day Lcyrene in Libya.

The people were unable to collect water and so attempted to remove the dragon from its nest on several ocassions. It would temporarily leave its nest when they offered it a sheep each day, until the sheep disappeared and the people were distraught.

This was when they decided that a maiden would be just as effective as sending a sheep. The townspeople chose the victim by drawing straws. This continued until one day the princess' straw was drawn.

The monarch begged for her to be spared but the people would not have it. She was offered to the dragon, but before she could be devoured, George appeared. He faced the dragon, protected himself with the sign of the Cross, and slayed the dragon.

After saving the town, the citizens abandoned their paganism and were all converted to Christianity.

Interesting Facts

Saint George stands out among other saints and legends because he is known and revered by both Muslims and Christians.

It is said Saint George killed the dragon near the sea in Beirut, thus Saint George bay was named in his honor.

Saint George's feast day is celebrated on April 23, but if it falls before Easter, it is celebrated Easter Monday.

The Russian Orthodox Church celebrates three St. George feast days each year -April 23 as is expected, November 3, to commemorate the consecration of a cathedral dedicated to him in Lydda, and on November 26, for when a church in Kiev was dedicated to him.

In older works, Saint George is depicted wearing armor and holding a lance or fighting a dragon, which represents Christ's enemies.

In Bulgaria, his feast day is celebrated May 6 with the slaughter and roasting of a lamb.

In Egypt, the Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria calls St. George the "Prince of Martyrs" and celebrates on May 1. There is a second celebration November 17, in honor of the first church dedicated to him.

Saint George is the patron saint of England and Catalonia and his cross can be found throughout England.

#catholic #russian orthodox #coptic orthodox #st george #st george and the dragon #christian #catholic history #history #saints