#Stump Removal Machine

[chrisstumps05]

Driveway Prep Grinding Out 3 Big Stumps!

[westozdiggers]

Rubbish removal services in Victoria provide a hassle-free, cost-effective, and environmentally responsible way to manage waste. Whether it's for your home, business, or a construction site, trust the professionals to do the heavy lifting!

[heartfullofleeches]

The Blacksmith

Yan Deity HCs [Request]

Tw: Self Harm

-

- Blacksmith isn't what most would gods would consider being one of their own. For the better part of its existence, The Blacksmith has functioned akin to a machine rather than his own individual self. Acting on orders given by those above him was all he knew until the punishment of gods through extensive torture was shunned upon by many. Blacksmith was free to do as they wished, but they're generally stumped to the workings of society outside of what their created purpose.

- Love as humans and even some gods express it is unfamiliar to the Blacksmith. Their creators greatest mistakes was teaching it the painful side of love without the innocence of something puee. He was instilled with the knowledge that any sign of weakness should not be allowed. That being said, a strange warm fills its chest whenever you treat it kindly. He does not deserve the gesture- Are you toying with it because you truly believe he is beneath you?

"My Lord.... I do not understand the purpose of this so called "hug" you have bestowed upon me.... I did not ask you to stop."

- There is no room for error in Blacksmith's eyes. As he adapts to the mortal understanding of affection, Blacksmith showers you with gifts and gestures to prove they are willing to even the playing field with you. If he brings you something you are allergic to or simply not a fan of its wise to keep sharp objects from him until you can calm him down and assure him it was a common mistake.

"May the spill of my blood grant me your forgiveness.. Had I heard you clearer I would not have made this mistake."

"It's cool, dude- Pizza is pizza."

- The Blacksmith is immortal and heals relatively quickly, which is why if you bother to patch them up when they do get hurt their brain just kinda shortcuts for a while. You are the mortal in the situation. Those supplies would be better saved for you. Is this what it means to care for another out of the generosity of one's heart(s)? Is this love? Logically, when you are injured they must return the sentiment.

"Please hold still, My Lord. The cast is almost complete."

"Isn't this a bit excessive? It was only a splinter."

"... Negative."

- The Blacksmith has a hidden profession of making music boxes. It is a tad embarrassed due to the macabre nature of the other objects it creates, but as they learn more if your world it develops a small obsession with the melodies they produce and their mechanisms. He leaves ones he is most proudest of in your bedroom - expecting you to somehow have no clue how it ended up there.

- Blacksmith can easily remove their helmet - they just don't want to. He has been described as beautiful by gods who have met it after the incident due to their eyes, but as for the appearance of its face as a whole no-one knows. It wears the iron maiden to atone for its sin of nearly condemning an innocent god, but it also believes those gods were liars and that its face will disgust you. If you argue back that are gorgeous regardless of if you've seen it or not, The Blacksmith has no choice but to take your word as truth since they trust you not to lie to them.

- Enjoys classical music. Cannot dance to save it's own skin, but would greatly admire your dancing no matter your skill level.

- One rule you must keep in mind is to not give Blacksmith access to the Internet. He will absorb modern lingo and relationship advice like a sponge. It confuses him greatly, but considering you are from this time it might be the key to winning your heart.

"Have a good day at work...Pookie."

[m1d-45]

dancing soldiers

summary: meka are infallible. meka do not stray from their path.. except when they do.

word count: ~2k

-> warnings: spoilers for fontaine (name and mechanics of open world boss)

-> gn reader (you/yours) and aether as traveller

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd

< masterlist >

fontaine was known for a wide variety of things, from their ornate fountains to the elaborate clothing it seemed nobody was without. any visitors from other nations were greeted by sweeping architecture and the sound of bubbling fonta, and swimming was a must. but even through the shine of the great lake, their fantastical clockwork meka was definitely the star of the show. every traveller was quickly starstruck by the machines roaming the streets, fitted uniforms not masking the clunking of gears within their chests. even underwater, scanning for raiders and filtering the water, keeping the water clear and cool. faceless, cold, employed both privately and for government work, the perfect tool for their job. they had one job, and they did it well.

meka were designed to protect. to guard. to defend their charge, whether that presented as patrolling a barge of merchants or leading the blind through the winding streets of the city. powered by indemnitium and equipped with efficient charging ports, every meka is intended to outlast their creators. few actually do, whether weakened by arkhe or attacked by those opposing their duty, but it remains a fact that they stick to their orders until the last spark fades from their circuits.

they are perfect workers. they do not disobey, they do not stray from their task. their actions are calculated in a split second, every movement taken to further their given goal.

lead.

support.

shield.

“dance!”

maillardet threw aside the screwdriver in his hand in frustration, kicking at the frost gathering in the arena. behind him, unmoving, were his magnum opus… though they refused to move.

“dance, dance. what’s the point of you?”

they did not dance. they did not move. they stood, hand in hand, one beside the other. coppelius and coppelia, the only signs of life being the frosty wind that would occasionally sweep by. they were in standby, with deflated skirts and unmoving hydraulics. normally, them being still would make maintenance easier, but their plates did not move as they should. he couldn’t even remove coppelius’ hat.

it was convenient, just not for him.

“looks to paimon like might just be the fault of poor design.” you watched from between the hairline gap in coppelia’s skirt, seeing paimon cross her arms. your traveller was stumped as well, merely shrugging.

“theyre infused with opposite arkhe,” aether said simply. “maybe they finally reacted with each other?”

“that’s impossible! the arkhe is held within them, far from where the other could react with it, and only one of them are externally charged at any one time.”

“so… why not reset them? paimon remembers one of the melusines saying that most meka around the city just need to be reset from time to time.”

“in those cases, the meka are given conflicting orders, typically by children. all these two need to do is dance, and-“ his voice choked, aether and paimon moving out of your field of vision to presumable comfort him. you try to shift and see, but coppelia’s skirt twitches inward, keeping you where you are.

you’re sheltered between the two meka, coppelius’ cape-thing making up for the gaps in coppelia’s skirt. you were lucky you hadn’t been seen yet, truthfully… but you didn’t want to stress out maillardet.

“what am i supposed to do?” he asked, words shaky. “i promised the chief justice i’d keep them functional for the divine one, and now- you know what they’re like, and they’re both broken-“

“h-hey, it’s okay! paimon’s certain you’ll get them working again! besides, they still seem to be functional, right?” she flies up, and you flinch at the knock of her hand on metal. it echoes around you, much louder than it should be in your hiding space. “oof, still as cold as ever…

“you should just restart it.”

“are you sure? what if something goes wrong? i can’t even perform maintenance, what if i can’t turn them back on after? you know how they acted last time—if lady furina wasn’t there, then..”

“..it’s better than nothing. besides-“ metal skidded over ice, and you see the flicker of aether’s boot as he kicks the discarded screwdriver back near maillardet’s bag of tools. “-you could always just not put them in stand-by. if they’re broken like this, just leave them dancing. i doubt they’ll notice, and it’ll buy you time until they want to visit again.”

”yeah! you only have a handful of hours until they arrive in fontaine, and it’s not like anything worse can happen!”

“i..” he sighed, and a long moment passed. “i guess trying is worse than doing nothing..”

“that’s the spirit!”

your hands twitch into fists, only partly from the cold. the ‘god’ they spoke of so highly, the one that got you into this mess… who were they, anyway? even you didn’t blame maillardet for needing maintenance between fights, but from his fear it sounded like they’d kill him for a malfunction.

you put those thoughts aside, pressing close to coppelia’s core as the meka were powered down. both of them slumped forward, a shift in their plating allowing a cold wind in. you shivered, and briefly considered praying before deciding against it—what god would answer?

gears clicked and switches flipped, both meka making various hisses. the elemental power seeping from both of them slowly ceased, and your heart picked up. how would this end? after a reset, would they remember to hide you? or would you get crushed beneath their skates as they danced?

“…you two should leave the arena.”

“why?”

“is something wrong?”

“no, but if they begin to dance again, i don’t want you to get hurt.”

“what about you? let me do it, i’m more experienced with combat.”

“it’s alright. in the early stages of their development, they didn’t even have a standby mode, so i’m used to repairing them while they’re dancing. don’t worry, i can get the memory you need unharmed.”

memory?

their memory? when aether had first approached, you’d assumed the ‘sabotage’ maillardet was talking about was the fact that neither of the meka would move. it made sense to want the memory to show which direction the saboteur left in, but that memory would show you, the most hated person in all of teyvat, and the melusine that had helped you hide from the gardes. veleda… you couldn’t let her take the fall for whatever crime you’d committed. she didn’t deserve that.

you take a breath, preparing to make a run over it, when you hear a small click. all at once, coppelia’s skirt snaps back to it’s normal formation, and you catch a glimpse of the traveller’s shocked expression before you’re pulled up and away. coppelius pulls you into his arms, coppelia smoothy following, spinning circles around the two of you like a top. when the two you skid to a stop near the edge of the arena, you quickly get your bearings, only mildly motion sick from the ordeal. maillardet is sitting in the middle of the arena, knocked off his feet beside his tools, and aether and paimon stand on the pathway leading back to the fountain. nobody says anything for a good few moments, the silence tense.

“…at least we know where they went?” paimon asks nervously, and aether draws his sword. coppelia sweeps in front of you and coppelius as he begins to walk towards you, and maillardet quickly gets up. he briefly slips on the icy floor, but quickly intercepts him, his words barely audible.

“traveller, the meka-”

“was tampered with.” his voice is cold, and you shiver at the weight of his glare. “don’t worry, i got it.”

“listen to me, please. coppelius and coppelia follow all the standard guidelines for meka-”

“this isn’t about you!” he shouts, “this is about something much more important then your meka!” his sword points at you, a shining blade despite the name. “this is about a crime too large for your opera house to handle.”

coppelius holds you tighter. the sound of his anger- of his hate makes your heart burn as it sinks, leaving an empty pit. you knew fontaine wasn’t the best at justice, but…

“traveller, have you ever read the machining requirements for battle meka?”

“why is this relevant? why am i talking to you?” he pushes off his hand and begins to walk, leaving paimon behind. after a moment, she gasps loudly, rushing forward to pull on his braid.

“wait! freminet lent paimon his copy of those guidelines once! she knows what maillardet means!”

“so what?”

your twin meka begin to slowly skate away from aether as he nears, ignoring paimon. maillardet is looking through his bag, searching for something, but all you can see are the traveller’s eyes. your traveller’s eyes, all your months of gameplay boiling into his rage.

maybe if the circumstances were different you’d forgive him for being so angry, but as it stands you’re barely convinced you’ll live through the hour.

“one of the clauses was about a special line of code that all the battle-capable mekas had to have- stop walking and listen!”

“how does that connect to this? don’t you care for our god? why are you stopping me?”

“because it’s about our god! don’t you remember? navia told you when we stayed with the spina de rosula!”

he does stop, then, staring paimon down instead. “fine. what is it?”

she lets go of his braid, waving a hand between the icewind suite and maillardet as she talks. “mekas have a special override wired into them in the case that the abyss got ahold of them which shuts down their combat functions when faced with the creator! it’s weaker when triggered through their vessels—which is why their attacks are limited instead of stopped—but is mandatory for every meka that’s combat ready, including coppelia and coppelius!”

aether turns to you, conflicted. you still carried in coppelius’ arms, you hidden under the plating of coppelia’s skirt, you who made the meka disobey their creator. you, the creator of those that made them.

“…maillardet?”

“it’s true, cease your fire.” he lifts a plain notebook from his bag, not that aether turns to see it. “i have my maintenance notes here. that override was the first thing i added, even before i gave them their weaponry. let’s bring our findings to the iudex and let our lord relax. please.”

aether’s sword dissolves into dust, a mix of shock and confusion still lingering on his face as he’s pulled away by paimon’s hand on his shoulder. maillardet packs his things and follows, taking some time to pick his way through the frosted floor. once the arena is cleared, coppelius skates to the center, setting you down carefully. then, he takes coppelia’s hand in his, leading her away. they begin their dance around you, gears clicking with elaborate pirouettes, leaving you in the middle of it all to wonder what just happened.

[kit-williams]

Husbandry Angron part 2

Part 2 to this fic

For @egrets-not-regrets for helping me here is your reward for helpin me.

@liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Thank you @squishyowl for the dividers

Dozens of apothecaries and human brain surgeons were there in the large surgery room in the base, curtesy of the Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists making it in such a short amount of time. Waiting in the wings were flesh crafter sorcerers as there was little chance for failure as this was a primarch. They had to try their best as they were going in blind.

With his skull cap removed they could see the mess... "Jesus Christ." A surgeon said looking at the mess... a mess of wires and brain matter barely holding together.

"Um, is... is his skull cap growing back?" Another human said noticing how the bone was slowly stitching itself back together and regrowing.

"Yes it is." the head apothecarian said walking up and taking a look as he was in full armor, "Get the flesh crafters on standby." The chaos space marine ordered as why he was head surgeon? He had worked with the consortium.

The humans were the ones who were mostly going to be working on the primarch given their small deft hands could be delicate in this situation. Hours dragged on and metal was removed leaving gaping holes in his brain to which the sorcerers and his own natural healing factor worked hard to repair. This meticulous surgery pushed the limits of what was thought possible for both humans and Astartes... they were dealing with a Primarch and whatever genetic monstrosity it meant to be a primarch curtosey of the Emperor. Several powerful sorcerers sat around the building all pooling the warp and keeping it stable so that the flesh crafters could utilize it with ease.

Apothecarians all communicated on the private vox channel when the humans would pause having to remove the regrowing skull cap or when they were stumped on how to remove a particularly tricky nail. Oh there was one from each legion, minus the World Eaters, sometimes there were even two from the same legion; one a traitor and the other a loyalist. But, outside the building were gathering war hounds and world eaters... they gathered like lost dogs just limping their way here... all there and all silently hoping...

Angron opened his eyes as he could hear the gentle click of knitting needles and a calm beat of a heart he knew over the white noise that the dozens of medical machines had become. He sat up looking toward the click of the needles...

"Welcome back." Your soft voice greeted his ears as there was a gentle smile on your lip, "It's been a few days and in that time, let me tell you, I've met more space marines than I've ever seen." You say as you put down your project. You wait a couple of beats and your smile falters as Angron continues to sit there, "They..." He could hear your swallow, "They said there might be..." again you swallow doing your best to stay strong, "unknown side effects." You finally walk closer, looking up at him as your tiny hand rests on his, "Angron?" You say softly.

For Angron... he was overwhelmed by the fact that there was no longer any pain... his mind rushing trying to think of how to react and interact when there was no pain at the base of it all. He picked you up and held you close, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, as large tears rushed down his face. Words... oh so many of his brothers were good with words in any occasion by here words would do him little good. As Angron wept in joy... joy... he could finally feel another emotion again without pain after so long.

The devourer of worlds... the warlords of madness and bloodshed... so many of them subjected themselves to the nails but now... so many of them came to get them removed. Feral Astartes came to get them out. As once more they came to him like a dog to follow their father. A legion of beaten dogs they were... but they were dogs who could still wag their tails.

[lovekabaneri]

B-movie villain Shockwave pt.2

Based on @keferon's TF Mecha AU.

The first impression everyone got when Shockwave was first brought to the labs and introduced was "This is one freaky looking kid." and they had the right to! Shockwave came decked out in gear and ready to cut open some aliens. Not to mention he was the (back then) youngest member of the labs, everyone else being at least a decade older.

He came in with a bang and a squeak as his heavy, stee toed, rubbery boots entered the building. His long purple lab coat fluttered as he introduced himself, the large yellow visor glowed like one giant yellow eye in the dimmer lights of the lab. He also wore a shirt depicting the human vascular system. It was a pretty memorable intro to the young scientist and his preferred name. They didn't think too much about it. After all, everyone that worked in the labs was a bit mad or became after working there long enough, but they should have known better.

Shockwave soon became one of the leading scientists and got his own private lab. He advanced the MECH program with leaps and bounds. Completely removing the need for the old mechanically or remotely controlled mechs the program was using. He developed Neurolink technology to directly connect the human mind to the machine, not that different from the same connection he used for his own cybernetic enhancemens. Yes, enhancements, as in plural. He implanted himself with multiple robotic components and limbs, turning from about average looking young man into a hulking amalgamation of human and machine, all while acting nonchalantly about it.

One day, he just casually strode into the labs, missing a leg, the stump was wrapped in a bandage and he was using an improvised peg leg made of a pipe. Everyone freaked out because they had literally seen him with 2 legs the previous day and now he was missing one?? How?! Well, he casually orders a few parts and requested they be delivered to him asap. And what does he say when asked about the missing leg less than a year after starting work at MECH?

"I cut it off myself, for science! Want to see the new multifunctional port I screwed into my severed tigh bone last night? I would have shown you the new leg but the bearings blew up when I tried it out last night." and does a sad puppy face.

And just like that, he dropped a bombshell that not only did he cut off his own leg and implanted himself with an attachment port but also tested a working prototype and blew it up.

And just like that, over the 10+ years working in the labs, Shockwave became infamous for his mad scientist shenanigans and slowly implanted himself with more and more machines. Including a brain implant that allows him to send orders from the two 'antennae' sticking out of his skull to his small army of robots or even connect his consciousness to them. (and the system but no one else really knew about it ... Well... Maybe one more person knew about it? A certain silent observer and master of spying and hacking.)

[pinturas-sgm-aviacion]

1941 07 21 MiG 3 vs Dornier 17 - Mark Postlethwaite

The first Luftwaffe air raid against Moscow was launched during the evening of Monday, 21 July 1941, and it consisted of 195 bombers -Ju 88s from KGs 3 and 54, He 111 s from KGs 53, 55, 28, lll./KG 26 and KGr.100 and Do 17s from KGs 2 and 3 - concentrated against the Soviet capital. No fewer than 170 fighters were scrambled to intercept the raiders, and one of the latter fell to Soviet test pilot Capt Mark Gallay. His victim was a Do 17 from 9./KG 3, flown by Leutnant Kurt Kuhn. Gallay was serving with the 2nd Separate Fighter Air Squadron of the Moscow Air Defence Forces at this time, the unit having been hurriedly established and manned by test pilots from the Flight Testing Institute of the Peoples' Commissariat of Aviation Industry. A test pilot from 1937, Gallay made ten sorties in MiG-3s from July to September 1941, although the 9./KG 3 machine was his only success during this period. He gave the following detailed account of this engagement in his memoirs;

'I clearly saw the angular stumps of the aircraft's wings, engines and two-fin tail. It was a Dornier 215 or possibly a 217, and I was flying straight into it - my MiG shook slightly when it passed through the bomber's slipstream. Crosses, crosses on the wings. Immediately, as if by instinct, I fired a long burst at the crosses. This was the wrong thing to do, for the Dornier was still about 400 m away. I removed my finger from the trigger. Then, as I got closer, I started firing at the cockpit and engines. It seemed that I had hit the bomber. Suddenly, lines of return fire from both the upper and lower gunners' stations stretched out towards my fighter. I still do not know how they did not shoot me down. I managed to escape, and continued my pursuit. I made my second approach from slightly below so that the upper gunner could not aim at me. I fired a short burst at the cockpit and starboard engine and quickly slipped off to the side so that any return fire missed me 'I made several more approaches like that, aiming my guns at the bomber's fuselage and engines. The return fire also stopped. I fired and fired, but the bomber kept on flying. One last approach, followed by a long burst, and suddenly the Dornier jerked oddly off to the right in a banking turn. It seemed to hang in mid-air in this position for a few seconds, before the angle of bank increased sharply and the bomber dropped out of the searchlights and crashed a few seconds later'

[reticulating-splines]

Chez Cromwell: Redux - Pt. 1

Magical Victorian Cat Mansion. Redone.

Part I: Exteriors | Part II

So after the long-awaited addition of Infants and Ceilings to the game, I realized I should probably update my one furnished build (so far) for these features. Unfortunately I got carried away again and just ended up revamping the whole build from the exterior, to each individual room + some new ones! This version has also been more extensively play-tested over time with all age groups and pets, with some extra fire hazard and accessibility issues addressed.

It still has all the original Lot Features:

Victorian era historical build, fully playtested

Off-the-grid compatible

9 Bed / 6 bath

Library Greenhouse

Spellcaster's room

Outdoor smokehouse

Pleasure + kitchen gardens

Portal to the magic realm

Hidden cat room, litterroom, + catway system for Familiars

Staff/Servant's lounge w/ private stairs

Bedrooms for Butler, Nanny/Governess, and Maids

Lot size 30x40, fully landscaped

Cat Hangout, Peace and Quiet

Spooky lot challenge

As well as an extensive Changelog and list of New Features:

Revamped exteriors + interiors, roofs, and gardens

Ceilings for all rooms

Added even more windows somehow

Skylights for 3rd floor and wraparound verandah

Rooftop meditation-garden-yoga-summoning-circle

Portals! Small library located off the spell-room has been converted into the Portal Room with 3 portals leading throughout the house: one to the tower on the roof, one to the greenhouse in the back, and one to the third floor hall.

Moved Magic Realm Portal to rooftop garden

Put more cat doors everywhere, they enjoy using the catdoors and portals for zoomies

Sprinklers, alarms, and fire resistant flooring have been added around fireplaces.

Fireplace in the tower was removed for it's propensity to set the roof on fire and become unreachable and inextinguishable

Tower room has been converted into a Collections display room instead, a la sims 3

Portal in the tower/Collections room also makes potential burglaries more threatening, but if you’re an occult you’re expected to employ practical DADA techniques to avert this

Updated Nursery and Playroom for Infants

Redid terrain paint. Twice. Why tf does it just vanish randomly sometimes

NEW Magic Bean Hunt! Stump is located where the magic realm portal used to be and beans are strategically hidden around the lot. I'd love to see how long it takes for you to catch them all!

Washbasins for rooms without bathrooms now look like washbasins and are actually useable, both on and off grid

Added privacy hedges and lattices to backyard and fenced in chicken run

Potions Crafting Table added to Spell-room

Crafters Supply Cabinet added to Kitchen

Pocketed pocket doors

Secret Cat Room color scheme updated and cat-approved artwork added

Another Cat room added to 3rd floor

Magic Well has been shrunk

Rooftop area outside 3rd floor Study converted into rooftop Pavilion with chessboard and painting easel

Jack-and-Jill bathroom added for two of the third floor bedrooms

Toilet room removed and bath added for staff washrooms, for an equal 2-toilet/2-bath arrangement, which means the build now has a total of 7 full baths, and 8 toilets.

More crafting tables (fizz machine and candle maker) added to Staff Lounge

Yoga/Meditation Balcony for staff above greenhouse

Small telescope added to rooftop outside tower room’s new 2nd door

Garden lights around yard configured for power + off grid lighting

‘Bike racks’ added by front gate

New Library shelves seem to allow sims to retrieve books but not put them back. However this is actually a feature, not a bug, since now you can put the books back yourself on on the right shelves and keep things organized 🙃

Should now be consistently able to feed and be eaten by the Cowplant

Homey trait replaced by Gnome lot trait since there is a proliferation of gnomes

Requirements

Lot: 40x30, $752,005, 9 bed 8 bath, Cat Hangout, Gnome, Peace and Quiet, Spooky Lot Challenge

Packs - packs in bold are essential:

EPs - Cottage Living, University, Island Living, Get Together, Get Famous, Seasons, Cats&Dogs, Eco Living, City Living, Get to Work

GPs - Realm Of Magic, Jungle Adventure, Parenthood, Vampires. Strangerville, Spa Day, Outdoor Retreat

SPs - Paranormal, Laundry Day, Romantic Garden. Nifty Knitting, Vintage Glamour

Kits - Blooming Rooms, Desert Luxe

Patreon Download

Public: Available Dec 15th!

[timeregistry]

A Human's Touch (p.AI.nter x Reader) | Chapter 3

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

Notes: Imagine me putting these as drafts because I have NO time and just going "I will post this on this date!" Counting as I'm reposting from AO3 I don't want to flood the tag so I hope this is an alright schedule--

It’s been some days since you last saw the Painter. Even when meeting other subjects you just couldn’t get the stupid AI out of your mind. Even after Urbanshade made you use Z-432 once, the Limited-Time Imaginary Friend, you couldn’t get Painter out of your mind.

You even asked your new Imaginary Friend what you should do in which she only responded that she saw dead people. Which was weird because she gave you actual responses this whole time, which in turn made your skin crawl a little bit and made you ask Sebastian to stay near you until the Imaginary Friend actually disappeared (which he couldn’t do because he had his own curfew like a baby).

Apart from that, you started going to some of these interrogations without your white coat, leaving it in the previous room and only going in with your trusty notebook and some pens.

Somehow, the subjects were definitely more receptive to your questions. Of course, there were exceptions, there always was. There were so many that couldn’t form anything coherent or anything understandable. But generally, subjects were a lot kinder to you. They didn’t see you as yet another one of the researchers. Especially when you dress in brighter colours.

One time, you did your monthly checkup with Eyefestation and it commented on how it couldn’t recognize you at first. You remember asking it what it meant and it responded with how the colours suited you.

Perhaps the lab was so dull that the subjects liked seeing colours. Your white coat did cover a lot of your clothes after all.

Even Sebastian commented that you looked more approachable without the coat. You didn’t know what the coat apparently did with your whole vibe but apparently they were very “rancid”.

You sat down on your office chair, stretching your muscles. This was another day where you were alone in your office as Sebastian stayed busy thanks to Urbanshade apparently breaking all of their underwater machines (which he kept complaining to you intensely as he stole 3 different lunches. There has to be complaints for missing lunches, and why hasn’t anyone checked the cameras? Not like you were complaining).

You looked over at your desk, Painter’s folder still at the edge of it as you pondered once again about the computer. Suddenly, the realisation that listening to him when it told you to remove your coat in the end for questioning went… well? Rather a lot of the subjects were reacting a lot nicer and those that you did re-visit even complimented you.

Maybe… Maybe the thing that is missing with Painter is reward. ‘I’ll scratch your back and you scratch mine’ kind of vibe. Even if Painter has no back you felt like it would be nice to maybe find out a way to thank him.

But what.

You looked around your desk, there had to be something on here that can give you an idea. What would a computer like Painter find enjoyment in?

You tapped your fingers on your table, pushing yourself slightly backwards as you looked around. Even opening some drawers and looking behind you to see the folder’s among folder’s of copies of some of the subjects.

What can it be?

You looked back at your desk, completely stumped. Tapping on your head you tried to think up something, anything.

Suddenly your gaze went on one of the picture frames on your desk. It was one of you and Sebastian, well, Sebastian’s shape. Every time you would try to take a picture of him he would always move, blurring the picture. There was something humorous about how you warned him about the flash, he knew about the flash, even accepted his fate, yet still got completely scared when the flash happened. Maybe you should actually use your phone instead of a Polaroid camera and just print the picture when you leave for your short vacation.

But then an idea sparked within you.

A picture! A picture of the outside world!

That is what Painter will find interesting!

You got up from your chair in a haste, almost tripping on your way to open the door to your office and completely sprinting to your living quarters. A lot of your co-workers turned their head’s at your direction and asked what you were doing but you didn’t stop for them.

Getting to your room, you realised you got there in record time as you tried to catch your breath opening your door.

The moment the mechanised door opened you went to your drawer, opening it to get out a box.

Immediately you started looking in it, the box was filled with pictures that you took of the outside world. Places you’ve visited, places you like. They were normally for Sebastian as he was the one that wanted to know as he was never allowed to go outside. It was thanks to him that you started having physical copies of these things.

Moving more pictures around you found those memorable postcards, some that were from places you’ve visited. Some were even vintage that you found in one of those old shops and were just a complete steal!

Though nothing really caught your eye, you wanted something that felt unique, something different, yet you couldn’t really pinpoint as to what.

You scratched your head, leaning back on the floor as you took a deep breath. It was hard to choose.

Yet one postcard fell from the rest. A picture of your hometown. It was an older picture, being one that someone in your family gave you.

You held it in your hands… maybe… maybe this one is the one.

Standing back up you left your jacket, grabbing your notebook and pens as usual, stuffing the picture in between your notebook for easier carrying.

And so you made your way back into where Painter was stored hastily. This time. This is the time you’re sure to get a better reaction than last time.

You used your ID to enter the research lab that was studying Painter from the outside (among other things), walking through directly, you had a mission and you will do it.

The leader of the team saw you and walked directly at you. “Ah, I see you’re back.” Your co-worker looked at you a bit disapprovingly noticing your coat missing. “Don’t you think that’s a bit unprofessional.”

“Believe me that others have been telling me the same thing.” You sighed, “Not only is this for research reasons, so don’t question it, but I have to speak with Z-779 right now.”

Your co-worker raised a brow at you. “And for what?”

“I have an idea.”

They only sighed as they quickly notified the other researchers that you were going to enter Painter’s room.

For the time it took them to command a group to make sure you were being oversought, you guessed that it must have been a slow day. Perhaps seeing you suddenly was the most action any of them got in the day.

“I’m going to try to pause its mining for a bit.” You started.

“I’m sorry? I thought you were supposed to-”

“Trust me. I have an idea and if it works Z-779 might even work more effectively.” If Painter was interested in your picture then maybe this is exactly the reward that it can receive.

Though the moment the door opened to Painter, you suddenly felt doubt. Maybe you should’ve brought more pictures knowing you had so many.

“Hey, it’s me again.” You greeted the computer, sitting down in front of it as you’ve done the last times you saw it.

“And here I thought I would be free of you.” It spoke, you were surprised it answered so quickly. Even if it was just to insult you.

“I wanted to thank you.” You started, putting a small pause as you breath in. “I decided to start going in these things without my coat and the others have been responding quite positively.”

Painter didn’t respond so you took it as a sign to continue. “My coworkers don’t like it much but my friend says that I looked more approachable.” You knew Painter wasn’t stupid, but perhaps calling the other subjects your “friends” would make it easier. You then leaned back on the chair. “So thanks for the advice.”

“... whatever.”

You didn’t expect a response from it. But the response was nice nonetheless.

You settled your notebook down on the table, opening it to where you left the picture. A slightly nervous sigh escaping you as you wondered if this would even work.

“I actually had a surprise for you,” you started, “oh and you can pause on mining crypto for a bit they gave me the go-ahead.”

You thought of mentioning that in case Painter would stop but alas, it didn’t bother. You’re not even sure if the promise of a surprise peaked its interest.

“Can you turn on the webcam for a second? I promise I won’t be long.”

Painter instead changed his screen to show its face. His face was in complete disappointment as you continued. It didn’t speak, just stared at you. You took it as your sign to continue (and hopefully that it is watching).

“I know you love sceneries and as much as I want to take you up outside, I can’t.” You sighed. “But, I thought maybe seeing at least something might make you happy so…”

You pulled out the image from your notebook, showing it directly to Painter right in front of the camera.

You noticed it’s eyes widened, mouth dropping slightly.

“It’s a picture from my home, passed down to me.” You paused, wondering how to phrase it to make it even more attractive. You wanted to make it something a computer would find interesting yet nothing really came to mind except, “it means a lot to me.”

You almost wanted to ask “what did this picture mean to you” as you’ve done before with other subjects with those typical black and white shaped “illustrations”. But instead you stayed silent, letting the Painter look at it thoroughly.

After a while, you explained the actual place to it, the name of the place, what it meant to you, where the picture came from, etc. You kept the picture still in the webcam’s framing, or at least you hoped so, simply moving to the side to be able to see the picture as you pointed at some parts of it.

The Painter looked intently. “Can I…” It paused, “can I draw it?”

You never thought you would hear the computer hesitate, his voice completely different to how it was earlier with its snarky remarks.

“Yeah!” You smiled at it. “That’s exactly why I showed it to you!”

Painter’s face turned into a smile as you started seeing a sketch already on the computer’s drawing program.

You were surprised to see him actually draw in front of you. It was actually sketching the scene down. You had read in his document that it drew akin to an actual human artist but you didn’t think it would even do the foundations of the piece.

Painter even would move parts around, sometimes maybe even pondering as it would undo some of his strokes.

It was… incredibly impressive to see it happen in front of you. It felt like you were watching one of those speedpaints only that it was completely live.

Though, your arm was starting to get sore from holding the picture. “Hey, do you still need me to hold the picture in frame?”

Painter paused for a second. “No.” He said quickly. “I think I know how it is now.”

You nodded briefly, putting the picture down back into your notebook. Flipping to another page as you picked up your pen writing down your current findings.

Painter was completely concentrated in his drawing, not even noticing when you closed the notebook and got up from your seat.

“Feel free to continue into the night,” you started, “good night.”

A simple farewell that Painter didn’t respond to. You didn’t expect an answer, just like last time. But at least this time, you think the Painter is in a lot better mood than the last times you spoke.

Leaving the room, one of the scientists approached you exasperated. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Letting the Painter paint.” A simple answer left your lips as you put a hand on your hip. “My theory is that if we let Z-779 do what it does best, in theory it should have a better work ethic.”

“You are talking about a computer.”

“Did you never see those studies of employers treating their employees better which raised their work ethic?” You sighed, a dead panned expression on your face. “We are dealing with a computer who has personality, why not try it. Come on, it's just for a bit.”

The scientist only let out a disapproving sigh, but in the end didn’t complain more. You’re lucky Urbanshade gives you a bit of wiggle room with your job, it felt nice to be able to convince the other scientists that they had to treat the subject a different way because what they were doing wasn’t helping it.

You just hoped that your theory could work, not only because your job is constantly on the line because of your theories that could always crash and burn, but also for the sake of Painter.

[trivialbob]

The company that recently cut down a tree in my yard came again today to remove the stump. They didn't call ahead and let me know, so I went downtown today for work. Had I known they were coming I would have stayed home so I could watch.

Sheila texted me. "The grinder is remote controlled. They let me try it."

Oh that Sheila, joking around like that. Then she sends me a second picture.

Now I'm distraught. She got to operate such a cool machine. I won't get any work done the rest of today, because I will be thinking of this.

Then she added, "I did NOT get to operate it, but they played along with the joke."

Whew! We are still even. Neither one of us can brag about operating a remote controlled stump grinder.

[chrisstumps05]

“How to Remove Four Uprooted Stumps Fast DIY Guide”

[itsjuststardust]

Heaven In Hiding - Chapter 27: The Foundation

Heaven In Hiding Masterlist

Chapter Summary: And if the Moff was right in what he had learned of Alaina’s lineage, and if she possessed even a fraction of her ancestors’ power… Maker, help them all.

Word Count: 12,573

Author's Note/Chapter Warnings: I’m dedicating this chapter to @hipcheckchick, who has (not so) patiently been waiting 15 chapters for this. 😜 Chapter Warnings: We're still dealing with a lot of angst and grief, but remember, the light at the end of the tunnel is getting a little brighter. 🎵Chapter Soundtrack🎵 "Long & Lost" Florence + The Machine MINORS - DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY

Chapter 27: The Foundation

He’d heard the sound of the alarms and the flatline more times than he could count over the last… Maker, he didn’t even know what day it was anymore.

Penn removed his glasses from his face to rub the sleep out of his eyes and grabbed the cup of caf on the desk in front of him—another cup in a countless stream of cups over last… however long it’s been since they returned to the lab.

He didn’t know the last time he’d slept—truly slept for longer than an hour or two at a time. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to sleep again.

The day of the battle in Nevarro City played front and center in his sleeping and waking dreams.

The horror of finding his best friend pierced through the chest. Watching Moff Gideon cold-heartedly remove her leg. Somehow, all three of them managed to cram into the Moff’s TIE fighter, watching Lainey’s blood seep through his fingers while he applied pressure to her chest wound during the short flight back to the lab in the lava flats. How Gideon carelessly tossed her onto the procedure table, treating her as if she were a slab of meat and not Lainey, his best friend.

Those events led to another whole slew of nightmares he knew he’d have to process later.

There was a reason he had gone into research. He had no interest in dealing with people—treating them, operating on them… He wanted his books, his numbers and figures, and maybe, just maybe, if he was lucky enough to succeed in discovering a cure for cancer or a way to clone organs, then maybe running trials that involved willing volunteers—ideally running it behind the scenes while another doctor dealt with the actual patients.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have that luxury at the moment.

His eyes slid to the unconscious woman lying in the bed next to the desk. Hooked up to so many wires and tubes, he’d lost count of them all. 

Two surgeries later, with his assistant literally reading how to perform the necessary steps straight from the medical texts while his arms were inside of Lainey’s chest, somehow, she had survived. Despite the circumstances. Despite Gideon breathing down his neck… The last few weeks had been the most stressful, painful, nerve-wracking weeks in his entire life.

But in the end, it had all been worth it.

Her progress was slow and steady over the last few weeks. But each day she was still alive, Penn knew was a victory, and each tiny improvement led to more significant improvements. Now, she was breathing on her own without the aid of a machine. Her vitals had finally improved and remained constant for enough days that he decided to begin weaning her off sedation to wake her up.

She had survived.

Had survived the blood loss. 

Had survived him massaging her heart back to life. 

Had survived the second surgery when one of his initial repairs had come undone, which led him to discover it had likely failed in the first surgery due to the infection she had developed—from the surgery, or the cauterized stump that was all that remained of her right leg, he wasn’t sure.

He’d placed her into a coma after the second surgery to allow her time to recover and give him extra time to address what was left of her leg, debriding the wound and repairing it to be fitted with a cybernetic prosthetic eventually. Unfortunately, even with his extra care of her leg, it still showed signs of a lingering infection, but that was a later problem. All that mattered now was that she was stable and alive.

Penn’s eyes slid to his reflection in the console before him, trying to block out the images that haunted him. He needed to push them back. He needed to remain impartial. Right now, Lainey needed Doctor Pershing. But now that she was back and had gotten over the initial shock, maybe he could find a way to get her to see that he still cared for her…

He took another sip of his caf, noting absently that it had gone cold and stale.

Maker help him once she woke up.

Incoherent mumbling from the bed pulled his attention from his thoughts, and Penn snatched his glasses from the desk and sat up straight to evaluate the situation. He studied the screens displaying her vitals while occasionally flicking his eyes to check on her. 

Lainey had been coming in and out of consciousness for the last hour or so, fighting the lingering sedatives she’d been pumped full of. He knew that at any moment, she would wake and realize what had happened… Needless to say, he was prepared to sedate her again.

“Din,” came the first coherent word he could make out since she began to show signs of waking.

Penn frowned. Den? No telling what kind of den she had been trapped in in her drug-fueled dreams. He knew the second she awoke, the nightmare waiting for her would be far worse than anything she could have dreamed of.

Her brow furrowed, and she moved on the bed slightly, a sign that she would likely come around momentarily, so he moved to stand up from his chair and cautiously made his way to her bedside, ready to be there for when she awoke.

“Din,” came her pained plea as she scrunched her eyes closed.

“Listen to her,” came another, sneering voice from behind him. On edge from lack of sleep, Penn jumped at the sound of the new voice and turned around to discover Moff Gideon had come to join him for his daily check-in. “Calling out for the Mandalorian,” Gideon finished, distaste oozing from the Moff as he moved to stand beside Penn.

Penn’s frown deepened at that piece of information. He turned to look at Lainey’s face, still fighting to wake up from her coma.

“Love?” Pershing scoffed. “You love the Mandalorian? The same one who brought you in?”

He gulped, his fears now confirmed. “She won’t be cooperative when she wakes,” Penn warned the Moff. “I’ll likely have to sedate her when she realizes where she is, and…” he paused to look at the dip in the sheets where her right leg should have been. “And what has been done to her.”

Moff Gideon turned and raised a single eyebrow high into his forehead. “What is she going to do?” he asked, but Penn didn’t have to answer him. The Moff leveled an evil grin at him before replying with, “Run away?”

Penn pursed his lips and turned to look back at Lainey, shame coursing through him.

“Doctor Pershing,” Gideon drawled, “I am tired of waiting,” he said, turning to Penn to give him his full attention. “I’ve accepted your excuses to prolong the inevitable reunion with your little friend, but your time has now run out.”

“Moff Gideon, I assure you, I have not been giving you excuses,” he told the Moff. Well, maybe some excuses, but he kept that thought to himself. “We only have enough of the Child’s blood for one more test,” he reminded him. “If you want the best outcome—if you want a successful trial, then our subject needs to be as healthy as possible to achieve that. We’ve come too far and, unless we are able to find the Child again, have no other alternatives.”

Lainey groaned and shifted in the bed. When he looked down to check on her, he caught her blinking her eyes a few times. She’d wake up at any moment.

“Only sedate her if strictly necessary,” Gideon ordered him, his focus returning to the woman on the bed as well.

“But—” Penn began to argue, but Gideon cut him off.

“Doctor Pershing,” he stopped his argument in its tracks with that authoritative tone before continuing, “there is more than one way to subdue—to break someone,” he said in that icy, disconcerting tone that inevitably ended with something terrible. “I’m surprised you haven’t learned that sometimes, psychological reasoning can be just as effective as sedating someone.”

“Din?” Lainey called, her voice stronger and clearer than it had been. Pershing held his breath as he watched her green eyes flutter open. They were glazed over and out of focus at first. “Where…” she started and then stopped to blink, bringing her vision into focus. She looked around for a moment, confused by her surroundings, until her eyes landed on the two men standing by her bedside, and Penn saw the awful, horrible moment her eyes recognized him, first as a friend.

Then as her enemy.

“No,” she murmured, frantically scanning the room, undoubtedly looking for some indication that this was some kind of nightmare, but Lainey only found himself and Moff Gideon. As her eyes landed on the latter, she shook her head, quietly chanting, “No, no, no.”

“I can assure you, this is not a dream, Miss Corra,” Gideon informed her, cutting straight to the chase as usual. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Lainey kept shaking her head. “No,” she murmured. “You-You’re dead! I—The bombs, and—”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Gideon replied, giving her a serious look.

When Lainey’s eyes flashed with fear as she looked at him, as if silently begging him to tell her this was all some kind of nightmare, all Penn could do was shake his head. 

With a deep breath, Penn began explaining what had happened. “You suffered significant injuries in the explosion,” he informed her. “You’ve had two surgeries and will require another one at some point.”

Tears formed in her green eyes, and she attempted to scramble to sit up in bed. Penn had to look away and up at the ceiling to avoid the moment of realization she was about to have.

“What…” he heard the word come out in a single breath. “What did you do to me?!” she screeched, the pain and despair in her voice echoing in the lab around him.

Her screams continued to echo around the lab and slowly morphed into anguished cries as she continued to grab the sheet, trying to tell herself that this wasn’t real.

Something else to add to his nightmares.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Miss Corra,” Gideon’s smooth voice cut in.

He could do this. He needed to be strong for Lainey. With a deep breath, Penn returned his attention to his old friend and watched her pat the empty spot in the bed where her missing limb should have been, sobbing when she still found nothing. He watched as her tears splattered against the white sheet covering her as her cries turned into deep, shuddering gasps for air. 

“You walked into that square and set those bombs off,” Gideon continued, unphased by Lainey’s traumatic reaction. “I had given you the opportunity to step out and surrender yourself. No one is to blame for your current situation other than yourself.”

Lainey’s eyes snapped to the Moff and then to him, and Penn saw the pain and rage filling them.

Rage for him.

“I’m sorry, Lainey. Genuinely,” he murmured, pleading with her to understand he did what he had to do to save her life. It was instinctive to reach out and comfort her, but she slapped his hand away with a growl. “It was the only way to save you,” he defended. “The cybernetic prosthetics available now are incredibly well built,” he tried to explain. “Once you adapt—”

“Stop,” Lainey growled with tears streaming down her pallid cheeks. “Just stop! I can’t believe you! Y-You mutilated me! You took my-my—” she broke for a moment, baring her teeth as she fisted the sheets where her right leg should have been, still trying to wrap her mind around the life-altering discovery. “All of this just for what? So you can allow him to continue with this pointless experiment?”

“Careful, Miss Corra,” Moff Gideon warned her. “That pointless experiment is the only reason I didn’t leave you impaled against the cantina wall.”

“I’d rather die than be your lab rat,” she snarled.

Gideon lifted an eyebrow, pausing momentarily before saying, “Why? So you could be with your precious Mandalorian again?”

A blink of confusion crossed her face as she cautiously assessed the Moff before she asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Din Djarin, the Mandalorian from Concordia, who you’ve been calling out for in your sleep,” Gideon began. Then his face was slowly replaced by that evil, conniving look that a predator has right before they emerge from their hiding spot to pounce on their prey. “He’s dead.”

Penn slid his eyes to assess the Moff, not wholly unsurprised that he would go that route… Although there was a chance that the Mandalorian did succumb to his injuries, which spurred Alaina’s attack on them. There was no telling if the Moff was lying or not. The Moff could have kept that information to himself, as he was prone to do, but for their sakes, he hoped they never found out the true answer. Equally, if the Mandalorian somehow survived, he hoped he never learned of Lainey’s fate. Because if Lainey loved him… and that feeling was returned…

Any strength or fire Alaina just had in her face left at hearing Gideon’s telling of the story. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. It only lasted for a second before her face hardened again. “No, you’re lying!” she spat. “Just like how you lied about having the Child!”

Gideon shrugged. “Now, the Child I don’t have,” he admitted. “Some of your friends managed to escape, but the Mandalorian did not,” he informed her, his poker face strong and firmly in place. “He came back for you, and you just had to set those bombs off,” Gideon tutted, slowly shaking his head. 

Tears filled her green eyes, and she shook her head in disbelief, whispering “No” repeatedly.

“Oh yes, Miss Corra,” Gideon nodded. “You set those bombs off and sent the cantina crashing on top of him,” he informed her, and Penn could tell the Moff was taking a certain amount of glee from spinning his tale. “Of course, I should probably thank you for that. Not only will it be easier to find the Child without the Mandalorian’s protection, but you also helped me add to my collection.”

Alaina sniffled and stared at Gideon in horror. 

Penn watched as his friend began to accept her fate, the fire slowly leaving her eyes as the seconds ticked by.

“I’ve been collecting Mandalorian helmets for some time now. I didn’t have to do as much work for this one as I have for others in the past,” he revealed with a shrug. “Of course, if you need more proof, I could bring it to you,” he offered with a smug smile. “Would you like to see the head that once filled it as well?”

The light left Alaina’s eyes at Gideon’s offer. “NO!” she screamed and began attempting to rip out the wires and tubes still attached to her. Instinctively, Penn moved to try to stop her from ruining his hard work and prevent her from further injuring herself, but his touch only intensified her screams and her determination.

“Enough,” Gideon snapped, gripping Lainey around her throat and squeezed. The shock of having her airway cut off was enough for her to stop thrashing and bring her hands to her neck. Now that he had her attention, Gideon slammed her back to lay down in the bed, unbothered that Alaina was still trying to pry his hand from her neck.

“Here is what is going to happen, Miss Corra,” Gideon began darkly, slowly releasing her neck from his grip once he was positive Lainey wouldn’t immediately begin fighting back. “The Mandalorian is dead. Your friends abandoned you and left you for dead,” he started slowly. Penn felt his body go cold as he watched the fire leave her, and she sagged into the bed, turning her head to look away from them. “You have one last chance—one chance to save yourself and the Child,” he threatened lowly. “You are going to comply with everything from here on out. And if you don’t, I will launch every resource I have into tracking down the Child, and I won’t rest until I find him.”

Penn had to close his eyes as the most heartbreaking, agonizing, broken sob left Lainey’s chest.

“And if that happens, I will ensure that your waking hours of whatever time you have left will be filled by the soundtrack of the Child’s screams.”

Penn’s eyes snapped open, and he turned to give the Moff a horrified look, only to find Gideon already staring at him.

Once Gideon saw he had Penn’s attention, he leaned in to whisper in his ear, “There is more than one way to break someone.”

Penn looked back to his old friend sobbing in the bed and itched to comfort her.

“Let me know if you need any additional assistance with the test subject,” Gideon barked, standing up straight. “I want a full report on the planned next steps in three days,” he ordered, performing an abrupt about-face before marching away.

Apparently, his boss did not see any problem leaving his doctor’s ears filled with the soundtrack of his former best friend’s sobs as she accepted her fate. So, Penn did the only thing he could think of at the time—be there for her. He listened to her as she sobbed, knowing that if she didn’t do as Moff Gideon ordered, then she would be placing the Child in harm’s way. He listened to her as she wept, mourning the loss of the Mandalorian, whom she loved.

Penn rested a hand on her back, even though he knew she wouldn’t draw any comfort from the action. It was more just another way for him to silently communicate how sorry he was for his friend’s current condition. He wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that she didn’t even react to the contact.

Three days… Three days to compile a report with facts and figures. Three days to present a timeline for his promises… He couldn’t fail this time. He couldn’t fail Lainey…

He knew the only reason Gideon even entertained letting the Child go for the time being was the information he had learned about Alaina’s genetic makeup in the days leading up to the battle on Nevarro City.

And if the Moff was right in what he had learned of Alaina’s lineage, and if she possessed even a fraction of her ancestors’ power…

Maker, help them all.

The early morning wind blew through his hair as he watched the first cracks of pink hedge their way over the distant horizon. The tall stalks of lavender grass bent and bowed to the wind rushing through them, seemingly pointing to the emerald lake nearby.

It was warmer than the last time they were here. While Din had only been to this tiny moon on the border of wild space three times now, he had always found it to be temperate, but he supposed it had seasons like most of the other planets out there. It was warm enough in the early morning hours that he had decided to get an early start. 

If it got hot enough later on, he might take the kid for a swim if it got hot enough later.

“Going to jump into the lake to clean myself like an animal,” he told her simply. Alaina’s body stilled in realization, and his smile broadened. The kid's laughter shrieked around them, and Mando looked down to see him clapping again. “What do you think, kid? Don’t you think Alaina deserves a refreshing swim after all that work scrubbing the floors?” “Don’t you dare, Mandalorian! Put me down!” Alaina shrieked again, renewing her attempts to squirm out of his hold.

He inhaled the warm, early summer air and stabbed the shovel he’d been holding in the dirt.

There wasn’t a body to bury, but burying Alaina’s trunks seemed like the next best thing. He had picked a spot in the lavender fields she loved to run through near the rock platform he had jumped off, taking them both into the lake. It seemed fitting.

IG-11 offered to do the manual labor to expedite the “grieving ceremony,” as he kept calling it, but Din declined. He needed to do this for himself. Instead, he told the droid to watch the kid, feed him breakfast, and entertain him while Mando was otherwise occupied.

And if Din was being honest with himself, he needed some time to himself. He needed time away from the kid because he saw her whenever he looked at him. He needed time away from the droid because every time he heard the droid, he was reminded that she wasn’t here with him.

In the weeks that had passed since Nevarro, he would have thought things would become easier. Instead, as the shock slowly wore off, he was left accepting that this wasn’t a dream. Every time he dropped down into the hatch and found IG with the kid, and not her, it made him angry. So angry that he would climb back up the ladder and lock himself away in the cockpit. Sometimes for hours. Once for days.

He was angry for all of it. Angry that Alaina had gone off and blown herself up. Enraged that the Empire used her as a science experiment. Furious that she was gone, and he was the one stuck alive and dealing with all of these emotions. Angry that all the kid was left with was a droid and an emotionally crippled Mandalorian.

Angry that Alaina told him that she loved him and died not knowing that he felt the same…

Din grunted as he speared the shovel into the dirt a little harder than necessary.

The worst part was the dreams. 

Or more the lack of dreams.

Weeks ago, he would have given anything for one sleep cycle without dreaming of her.

Now… Now, he could sleep for hours without seeing her. There was no Alaina with her emerald eyes wearing her lilac dress—no black-eyed Alaina wearing that devastatingly gorgeous red dress, speaking in riddles. She didn’t even come to him as a hallucination when he was awake.

Instead, that spot in his chest, where he used to feel the warm, golden ball that was Alaina, all he was left with was this gaping abyss inside that howled in pain.

He felt betrayed that she had abandoned him in his time of need.

And then they landed on the moon.

With a cup of instant caf in hand, he began his somber trudge down the ramp, stepped out into the familiar silver grass clearing, and let the memories of their time together here flood him.

He followed her at a short distance but veered to lean against the Crest, content to watch her experience the moon. “This is heaven,” she whispered, finally looking back at him once she finished her slow spin, mouth gaping open in awe. “Where—” Alaina tried to start again, but she had to stop to shake her head at the surreal environment. “Where did you take us?”

The kid went to Alaina and tugged on her pant leg to get her attention to show her the ball. “I see that!” Alaina responded with a bright smile that brought out matching smiles from him and the kid. She leaned down and rested her hands on her knees as she looked at the kid. “Now, can you say Mando’s a sucker?” she asked the kid with a snicker.

Another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the area, and he watched with a curious expression as she shot up and spun back to him, giving him a mischievous smirk. “When’s the last time you danced in the rain?” she asked, wagging her eyebrows at him. “This morning,” he deadpanned. Alaina’s smile spanned her face, and she offered him her hand. “Come on,” she whispered, motioning for him to get up.

“Stop,” he growled, pointing at her. “It’s my face,” she argued, unable to keep the pout as her smile slowly crept back on her face again. “I can’t just stop my face,” she continued, poking her tongue out at him. “Not unless you want to cover it with your helmet so you can’t see it.” Mando stared at her, frozen until his soldering pen slipped from his fingers and fell to the bottom of the access panel he’d been working at. “Osik,” he grumbled, thrusting an angry finger in her direction. “You can’t say things like that!”

In the dark, predawn hours, under the swirling galaxy in the sky above him, he realized he shouldn’t feel betrayed. Although he could not physically see her, he could still see her in other ways.

He’d be reminded of her every time he saw the sun shining. He’d be reminded of her in anything green he saw. He’d see her in the kid’s smile.

And he’d feel her in his very soul for the rest of his life. Because even in death, he felt the phantom tug of the invisible string they once shared, and he would hold onto that until he took his last breath.

And with that thought, he shed himself of the bulk of his armor and even his helmet after the first couple of stabs with his shovel in the dirt. He wanted to feel the sun on his face and let it warm his soul while he prepared for the one thing he’d hoped he’d never have to do.

The memories he held tightly seemed to come in full force now that he’d returned to the moon. As if entering the atmosphere lifted some kind of veil, allowing them all to come at him full force. But one memory in particular came to him in the early morning hours.

His helmet rolled back as he looked at the sleeping blonde in his arms. The pink rays of the morning light spilled into the hold, illuminating Alaina’s honey-blonde hair in shades of pink and gold. He was stunned at the beautiful, glowing creature sleeping in his arms. He couldn’t help himself, and his hand left her leg to slowly tug the blanket down to reveal her body, inch by delectable inch. He took her all in, appreciating how ethereal she looked, bathed in the pink morning light.

For one day, that was how he wanted to remember her. Just for one day, he didn’t want to remember the single limb that was unearthed from the rubble left over from her sacrifice. He wanted to remember her like that. He wanted to remember when she relaxed enough around him to trust him. He wanted to remember the first time she laughed at one of his jokes. He wanted to remember the first time he saw the spark return to her emerald green eyes, chasing off the hollow, tired, vacant, haunted look.

Din stabbed the shovel he’d been using into the ground to hold it while he grabbed the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his head. Maybe he’d take a dip in the lake before he headed back to the Crest, he thought, glad he’d had the forethought to remove his armor before he began. As he lowered his shirt, he looked at the sun hovering above the horizon and took a deep, calming breath. He could still feel the gaping chasm left behind in the wake of their loss, but with the sun’s rays warming his face, he could pretend for just a moment that he could still feel the warm tug of the invisible string that used to tie them together.

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum—Tranyc,” he murmured.

Din returned to the Razor Crest an hour later after cooling off in the lake's emerald waters and drying his clothes. He felt better after getting rid of the sweat and grime from his earlier activities.

The darkness and anger were still there, but his swim in the lake temporarily soothed him.

With nothing left to distract him from following through with their little ceremony, Din returned to the Crest to grab the kid. He had to stop at what he saw when he walked into the hold—in the middle of the hold was Grogu, floating the beskar metal gear ball from the cockpit. 

His mind thrust him back to that first campfire they’d shared on their moon. The kid had been floating that ball, and he’d looked over and saw the forlorn look on Alaina’s face.

Mando was about to discuss tomorrow’s training with Alaina while they waited for dinner to finish cooking. Before he could begin, he watched the kid levitate the silver ball into the air just over his head before letting it fall to the ground. He looked to Alaina to comment on the kid’s magic powers but stopped when he saw the hurt look that had taken over her face. “I want to be able to do that again,” she murmured sadly without looking at him. Pain flared in his chest. He could help train her physically, but he wouldn’t be helpful regarding whatever sorcery possessed her and the Child.

He blew out a slow breath as the guilt flooded him. He’d been so wrapped up in his own grief that he had completely pushed the kid aside. He would do better from here on out. 

For her.

However, it didn’t matter how much harder he tried, he still couldn’t help the kid with that. Alaina at least had the basic concepts of what the kid was supposed to learn from her previous lessons with her mother. 

He could teach the kid how to navigate, pilot, and fight (obviously, all in time), but to teach him how to hone his powers…

He should try to find someone to help give the kid some lessons. Try to find someone who could help him with his powers. If Alaina’s mother had survived the Jedi cull, then there was a chance others had survived. Surely, they’d want to help the younger generation hone their powers.

“The Child refused to give the gear shift back,” IG-11 announced, breaking through his thoughts. “He was able to slip past my defenses to retrieve it after I removed it from his possession initially,” he continued, making Din smirk.

“It belongs in the cockpit,” Mando grumbled as he descended the ladder. “And now you’re responsible for keeping track of it,” he informed her, helmet looking at the kid. “And you get to be the bad guy when it goes back up top where it belongs at the end of the day.”

“It’s okay, IG,” he sighed, walking to the kid to snatch the ball out of the air. Grogu sputtered and then smiled up at his helmet when he realized it was Mando lurking behind him. Din bent over and picked the kid up. “It’s the only thing that seems to inspire some of his powers,” he told the droid, holding the kid close to his chest. “I don’t want him to lose those abilities.”

IG whirred and observed them momentarily before saying, “Understood.”

“I’m gonna take the kid for a bit. Are you able to run some diagnostics on the Crest? I want to take advantage of the downtime. Don’t know when we’ll get a chance like this after we leave.”

“Does that mean the grieving ceremony will commence soon?” it questioned.

Din sighed. “Yes. Probably tomorrow. We might be here for a few days. We’ll see.” The droid whirred, and Din could tell there was a question coming. “IG,” he said, stopping the droid before he could start. “I don’t have a timeline, okay? Are you capable of performing some routine diagnostics, or not?”

“I am capable,” he confirmed.

“Good. Get on it. We’ll be back after a while,” Din ordered and then turned to walk down the ramp with the kid before the droid could say anything else.

The kid cooed at the familiar surroundings of the silver clearing and blinked his bug eyes toward the lake in the distance.

He’d take the kid berry picking and explain why they were here. They’d go through her trunk and pick out some things that stuck out. He’d make a campfire tonight like old times, and Din would share a few memories with the kid. Then, when they were ready, they would say their goodbyes.

And then… Then they would move on.

“Come on,” he said, carrying the kid through the tall, lavender grass as they headed to the lake.

“I’m sorry I’ve been distant, ad’ika,” Din started softly, looking at the kid. “I know that she’s not here, and I don’t know if that affects our bond… our invisible string,” he whispered, stroking the kid’s ear. “I worry that she was the piece that held us together, but that is no excuse for not being there for you,” he murmured and smiled when Grogu rested his tiny hand in the middle of his chest like Alaina was used to. “But I want you to know that if that is the case, and somehow our bond,” he paused to motion between himself and the kid, “starts to go away, you will still have me,” he finished lowly, tickling the kid in the ribs until he squealed.

Din smiled at the sound of laughter and let it fill his heart with some happiness for the first time since… well…

He let silence settle over them as they strolled through the tall purple grass. Once the kid’s laughter died down, he immediately became infatuated with their surroundings. Watching the kid take in the sights and sounds of their little hideaway with bright eyes filled the empty chasm in his chest.

When they breached the lavender grass and the terrain transitioned to black, the Mandalorian couldn’t help but smirk when he saw the kid’s ears perk up, and he pointed at a lizard as it scuttled over the black stones of the lake’s shore. When Din set him down, he shook his head as the kid attempted to chase the lizard, but thankfully, the reptile was faster than the green toddler chasing after it.

It was good that some things hadn’t changed.

“Come here, ad’ika,” Din murmured. He moved to sit down on the smooth black stone shore and patted the spot next to him.

Grogu glanced longingly at where the lizard had disappeared before toddling over to Din and dropping to his bottom beside him.

He sucked in a deep, steadying breath before speaking. “I wanted to explain why we’re here,” he started, turning his helmet to watch the emerald waters lap at the shore. “We are here to remember and honor her,” he continued, looking down at the kid who blinked his oversized eyes at him.

Alaina gave him a watery smile when she saw Grogu toddle around them, smiling brightly at the colors they were surrounded by. “I don’t ever want to feel that helpless again,” she told him in a whisper. Mando didn’t respond at first, making her feel self-conscious. However, after a beat, he gave Alaina a single, deep, solemn nod.

Mando sighed and almost felt Alaina sitting beside him, wearing her purple dress and smiling at him and Grogu. Part of him wished she was there, even if it was just a ghost or phantom of the real Alaina.

“I know the last couple of weeks have been hard,” he murmured, pushing his pain down to focus on the kid. After all, Alaina said that Grogu understood more than what he thought…

“I thought we’d go walk around and do some of the things Alaina liked to do,” he explained, pulling Grogu into his lap. “Then later, you and I will go through Alaina’s trunks and maybe pick a couple of things for us to remember her by when we want to remember her on our bad and good days. We’ll take today to remember her. Tomorrow, we will bury the rest,” he informed the kid. “And we’ll come back here whenever our schedule permits some downtime, and we will pay our respects to Alaina and remember her love.”

Grogu let out a soft coo and tilted his head as he looked up at him. Din wondered how much the kid understood. Hopefully, he understood enough.

Din stroked the kid’s head as if to tell him he was okay, even when he could feel tears threatening to form. “And the first way I plan on honoring her memory, ad’ika, is you,” he said, turning the kid around so he could look at him. “I made a promise to Alaina that if something happened to her, I would keep you. So, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, kid, 'cause I keep my promises,” he told Grogu, turning serious. “Grogu,” he murmured and smiled, watching the kid’s ears perk up when he heard the Mandalorian say his name. “You are my foundling, and I’ll be there for you no matter what,” he whispered, nodding at the kid. “I don’t do things by halves, kid,” he spoke quietly and then paused, suddenly feeling nervous. 

“Not this trip,” he started slowly. “This trip is about Alaina, but maybe the next time we come here… I’d like to make it official. I’d like to adopt you. I’d like to make you my son.”

Grogu blinked his bug eyes up at his helmet. Din reached out his hand for Grogu, and the kid looked between his helmet and gloved palm.

“But only if you want to. You won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t; if you say no, it won’t change anything. We’ll still be a clan of… two either way,” he continued, pushing through the pain in his chest. “I know a lot has happened, but… it would be my honor to make you Din Grogu, my son.”

He waited patiently, wanting the kid to try to figure out a way to communicate with him as best he could.

“You have time to think about it,” he continued, anxiously filling in the silence around him, and chuckled when he realized he was rambling like Alaina did when she was nervous. “You don’t have to make a decision right now.”

Slowly, Grogu’s hand moved, and just before the kid placed his smaller hand in Din’s, he looked up and gave him a smile and a soft coo, and for the first time in weeks, Din felt his chest grow warm. Grogu’s hand landed in the center of his palm, and Din’s shoulders relaxed.

“You sure, kid?” he rasped. “Cause if you thought you were stuck with me before, you’ll be extra stuck with me after this,” he teased and laughed when Grogu dug his claws into his glove and gave Din his patented toothy grin. “Alright, kid. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he whispered, reaching forward with his gloved hand to tickle the kid’s stomach, making him giggle.

His heart swelled when his chest warmed brightly, almost like when Alaina was alive. Hopefully, that meant he and the kid didn’t lose their connection when Alaina passed.

“Bah,” Grogu said through his toothy grin, and Din took that as acceptable in green toddler code.

The two watched the late afternoon sunshine sparkle off the lake's emerald waters, letting the soft, repetitive sounds of the lake lapping the shore lull them into a moment of peaceful relaxation.

They spent the rest of the afternoon together outside, enjoying the pleasant weather.

After their talk, Grogu had grown antsy, so Din let him explore the shoreline. The kid squealed excitedly the first time he walked close enough to the emerald lake that the waters lapped the shore and kissed his feet—a far cry from the first time that had happened.

Squeals of delight made him turn back to look at the kid standing just out of the reach of the lake waters threatening to lap at his feet. The kid seemed to be taking a particular delight in the adults’ antics. “What are you laughing at, womp rat?” he teased, stalking out of the lake to head toward Grogu. “Run, Grogu!” Alaina mock-yelled from her spot, still floating in the lake behind him. “Save yourself!”

Din smiled at the memory. He’d definitely take the kid for a swim before they left.

Once they had enough of the lake, they explored the area nearby, observing the birds and other wildlife that ran from the strange metal man and his green kid intruding on their little moon.

They’d walked through the plains and into the glittering black barked forest trees. They found one of the bushes that produced the yellow berries Alaina and the kid seemed to enjoy so much. The fruit must enjoy the warmer weather because the bushes they grew on overflowed with sweet yellow fruit. Din helped the kid pick as much of them as he could carry before they headed back to the Crest.

When he reached the bottom of the ramp, he stopped and stared into the hold, his eyes immediately landing on the two black trunks stacked on top of one another. He stared at the trunks, and the same electric feeling he felt when he saw them at the neighbor’s apartment cracked through him.

Only… he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t tell if the strange feeling was just his nerves…

Or if it was a warning.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered to Grogu and turned away to the ship, into the clearing to start their campfire.

The rest of the evening was a quiet, somber event.

He cooked dinner, watching the kid float the metal ball out of the corner of his eye. Every shuffle or twig that snapped in the distance, he half expected to see Alaina round the corner, drenched in sweat and glaring at him after completing her hike around the lake, but the blonde never came.

They ate their dinner in silence and had their fill of berries for dessert.

When Grogu’s eyes began to droop, Din carried him back to the Crest and held him as the kid drifted to sleep.

Sleep was more elusive for the Mandalorian.

He stared at the ceiling, trying to analyze the strange feeling in his chest. Rationally, he knew it was likely a result of his prolonged emotional distress manifesting as anxiety.

But there was something else about it that felt vaguely familiar. Some small part of him remembered what it was like to be between worlds, and all he had was the tugging on that karking invisible string to lead him back to Alaina and the kid. The comparison between the two was similar but not identical—siblings, not twins.

It itched instead of tugged.

Likely a phantom feeling. Something his mind had conjured after weeks of thinking, dreaming, and imagining Alaina.

As his eyes drifted closed, he decided he hoped the feeling never went away so he had a permanent reminder of her, right next to his heart, where she belonged.

“The foundation survived.”

Din’s eyes shot open at the sound of that hauntingly beautiful voice. He frowned to find he was still in the sleeping alcove on the Crest but was now alone. Maybe the kid had gotten restless and was up top with IG… but then the sounds, or lack of sounds, registered. Slowly, he sat up in the alcove, taking in the eerily silent Razor Crest. The Crest was only this quiet when she was entirely powered down. Yes, they were landed, but even when landed, there was still a hum of electricity that powered the lights and other essential systems.

He was about to call for IG when he caught a glimpse of his reflection and was surprised to see that he was helmetless. He looked around the alcove for his helmet and began to panic when he realized that not only was his helmet nowhere to be found, but the rest of his armor and gloves were gone, leaving him in only his boots, cargo pants, and undershirt.

“The foundation survived.”

Din’s eyes snapped to the cargo hold, and his heart clenched in his chest when he saw Alaina wearing that beautiful red dress she wore when they were all trapped inside her mind.

With a painful realization, he determined that he was dreaming.

Of course, he’d rather dream of the green-eyed, lilac-dress-wearing Alaina… but at this point, he was just thankful that her ghost hadn’t abandoned him completely.

With a sigh, he slid out of the sleeping area and walked toward her, committing every detail about her to his mind. 

She was sitting on top of the two trunks he had retrieved from her old neighbor, looking like she was sitting on top of the stone throne, similar to how he had discovered her in the decaying throne room.

“The foundation survived,” she repeated.

“But you didn’t,” Din answered, noting sadly that her eyes were black bottomless pools and not their usual emerald green color he longed to see again.

Alaina’s head tilted at an unnatural angle as she processed his words. “The foundation survived because it was constructed by four pillars, linked together by the strongest substance in the galaxy—”

“Stop,” came his whispered plea, and he breathed a sigh of relief when the black-eyed Alaina listened to him. When her head returned to its normal position, Din slowly walked the rest of the way to her. “None of that matters because you didn’t survive,” he whispered as he approached her.

Alaina appeared unphased as she stared back at him with those vacant black eyes.

“Don’t you understand?” he rasped, sliding his hands under the gauzy material of her dress to grab her calves in his hands.

“The foundation survived,” she repeated flatly. “The four pillars ensured the foundation was meant to withstand the loss of life and limb—”

“Clearly, it didn’t!” he shouted back at her.

“My mom told me something once…” she started and then tapered off, her eyes locked on his. “She told me that nothing in the galaxy was stronger than love.”

He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on her calves. “If love,” he growled, “is supposed to be that fucking strong, shouldn’t you still be alive? Huh? Answer me that!” he shouted, letting go of her legs to take a step back to glare at her. Alaina’s black eyes stared vacantly back at him. “Alaina… You told me you loved me,” he said, hating how his voice cracked from the swell of emotion bubbling inside him. “You told me you loved me and didn’t even let me tell you before you ran out and blew yourself up!”

For the first time since the dream began, Alaina moved. She slid off the trunks, and Din instinctively grabbed her waist to help her down. With her waist in his hands, Din struggled to let her go.

“It was supposed to be me,” he murmured, gripping her tighter as his head dropped in disappointment.

A tender hand came under his chin, bringing his head up, and Din felt tears spring to his eyes when he saw Alaina’s emerald eyes swimming in tears as she stared back at him.

“I always wondered what your eyes looked like now that you’re all grown up,” she whispered, smiling sadly back at him.

“Alaina—” he choked out, but she hushed him and shook her head.

“Look at you,” she smiled. “Always coming to me when I need you the most.” Din frowned at her words but didn’t get a chance to say anything before she continued speaking.

“I wish we had more time. I wish we would have gotten to return to our moon so I could have heard those words,” she whispered. Alaina stepped forward, cupped the sides of his face, and smiled up at him. “I couldn’t let you say it,” she admitted, giving him an apologetic smile. “I knew if I heard you say them, I wouldn’t be able to do what I needed to do—”

“You needed to live,” Din interrupted, keeping his voice quiet and hushed.

Alaina smiled and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. “Don’t think for a single moment that I didn’t know,” she told him, pulling his head down for a tender kiss. “Din Djarin, you and your passion and your love changed me. It made me stronger, and…” she tapered off, rolled her eyes, and shook her head. “Oh, for the love of—would you just kiss me already?” she whispered.

Din wasted no time, pulling her into his arms and crashing his lips against hers as if that kiss would breathe life back into her. It was a passionate, sloppy kiss, and their teeth and tongues clashed together. It was perfect—like her.

Alaina kept her eyes closed as she smiled for a few precious seconds after their kiss ended. When her eyes opened, they were full of determination.

“Now, let me see those brown eyes one more time,” she said as she smiled and looked into his eyes. Din shivered at the intense stare she gave him, feeling like she was looking inside his very soul. “There’s still a little of your younger self in there, Djarin,” she whispered, stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers.

“Alaina—”

“I know this moment is fleeting,” she said with tears in her eyes. “Look at our invisible string, bringing us together one last time. Some moment while our souls are stuck between worlds, but it’s okay,” she told him, nodding at him with tears in her eyes.

Din slammed his eyes closed and shook his head. “Alaina, I can’t do this again,” he rasped.

“You can because my love will give you the strength to, just like yours did for me,” she told him, forcing him to look at her again. “I’m not done yet, but if we get another chance like this, I’ll find you. Don’t look back. Look to the end of the road,” she whispered. “Can you do that for me, Din Djarin?”

All Din could do was hold her in his arms and nod.

“Good. Now, I don’t have much time left,” she murmured, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck to hold him as if he would slip away at any moment. “Tell me now.”

He knew what she wanted to hear, and as much as it pained him to say the words, even in his dreams, he wouldn’t waste this second chance.

“Alaina,” he rasped, grabbing her face between his hands so he could look into those emerald orbs one last time. “I already told you,” he told her as he threaded his fingers in her golden locks and smiled at her look of confusion. “On Dietes,” he murmured. “Kar’taylir darasuum,” he reminded her.

Alaina’s nose scrunched in confusion, bringing a sad chuckle from him. “But you said it meant you would wait—”

Mando shook his head, cutting her off. “Kar’ta means heart,” he began. “Kar’tayl is knowledge. Taylir is to hold,” he murmured. “It could also mean to keep. To preserve,” he rasped, leaning slightly to kiss her forehead. “In Mando’a, when you put them together, Kar’taylir means to know and hold in your heart,” he continued, letting his lips brush against her forehead as he spoke. “And darasuum means eternal,” he finished, and when he pulled away, he saw matching tears flooding Alaina’s eyes. “Kar’taylir darasuum,” he said again, stopping to gather himself. “It means, Alaina Corra, I love you,” he declared, voice shaking.

Alaina shot herself at him, meeting his lips for one last passionate kiss. Din closed his eyes, cataloging and savoring every precious second.

In the next blink of an eye, he was back in the sleeping alcove, redressed in his beskar helm and armor, with Grogu quietly snoring on his chest right where he had left him.

In the dark of the alcove, Din stared at the ceiling and let the tears roll silently down his temples.

Tucked away in a lab embedded in a volcano on Nevarro, she dreamed of green waters, purple grass, and a sky filled with glittering stars that hid the secrets of the galaxy. She dreamed of a green toddler’s happy squeals. She dreamed of broad shoulders and kissing in the rain while lightning cracked overhead.

She dreamed of a love that was really something.

Not just the idea of something.

Somewhere in that lab, green eyes snapped open at the feeling of something warm emanating inside her chest.

Somewhere inside her chest, she felt it.

It wasn’t delicate. This was no invisible string. This was something else. Something strong. Something powerful. There was no mistaking what she felt.

It was resting—hibernating, preparing for the attack.

Because the narrative had shifted and changed.

It was no longer he’s coming.

It was now she’s coming.

Tucked away in a lab embedded in a volcano on Nevarro, green eyes closed. However, this time when she dreamed—

She dreamed of revenge.

The early morning wind blew through his hair as he watched the first cracks of pink hedge their way over the distant horizon. The tall stalks of lavender grass bent and bowed to the wind rushing through them, seemingly pointing to the emerald lake nearby.

“I want to believe that was you,” he murmured, staring into the empty grave he dug yesterday morning. “I want to believe that you knew what today was—what it means to me, and you came to… I don’t know,” he sighed. “This is stupid,” he muttered.

He looked up and away from the grave and at the horizon, letting the first light of the morning right him.

“This is how I’ll always remember you,” he whispered, staring at the sun as it crept over the horizon. “Here,” he rasped. “Here on this moon. This is how I’ll always remember you,” he continued, nodding at the sun. “You said something that last day before you ran out there…” he tapered off until he ended in a huff and shook his head. “You karking rash woman,” he growled. Din clinched his teeth as he battled his emotions. “You never got it, did you? You never understood that you were worth it—worth everything.”

The sun continued to rise, slowly giving way to the galaxy-filled sky, and Din breathed out a long, calming stream of air to gather himself.

“You said something, though, before you ran out there. You told me not to look back,” he said, allowing his head to fall to the empty grave. “I didn’t get it. I still probably don’t,” he admitted with a shrug. “Never did understand anything as far as you were concerned,” he admitted with a smirk. The small quirk of his lip dropped, and he nodded. “I didn’t get it then, but I think I do now,” he continued with a nod. “I won’t look back anymore,” he promised, feeling the tears in his eyes. “After today, I promise I won’t look back. I promise that I’ll only look forward. I’ll look to the end of the road, just like you asked, and hope that someday, when it’s time, I’ll see you again.”

Din stomped and watched a clump of dirt fall into the grave, and at the same time, the tears left his eyes.

“Alaina Corra… Tranyc… I love you,” he whispered as a slow gust of wind blew, ruffling the tall grass surrounding him.

With a final sigh, he looked up and saw the sun’s rays shining brightly over the lake's emerald waters.

Don’t look back.

Look forward.

With that final thought, he placed his helmet back on his head and turned toward the Crest.

The two black leather trunks loomed in front of him. They called to him, singing a song that only he could hear. 

The final pieces of Alaina’s story resided inside those trunks.

Part of him felt he should leave them be and put them to rest. If Alaina wouldn’t get to know what her mother had left behind, then he shouldn’t either. She could have known the answers if he had just listened to her and taken her back to her homeworld as she asked.

But another part of him wanted to open them. The lingering, phantom piece of the invisible string still inside his chest felt called to open it—Felt called to know the rest of Alaina Corra’s story.

Even if she would never know it.

Din Djarin had to remind himself that he wasn’t alone.

“What do you think, kid?” he murmured to Grogu, staring at the two trunks stacked against the wall.

It was a cheap out, letting the kid decide, but it felt right to include him in the decision. After all, the whole reason they were doing this was to allow them to say goodbye.

“Mah,” Grogu sputtered, pointing at the towering chests before him.

Din nodded, understanding the kid’s nonsensical answer. “Okay, opening them it is,” he shrugged. 

With one final, calming breath, he moved to grab the top trunk, the trunk Alaina had given her neighbor, Soola, before she fled her planet, and brought it down for them to explore.

The black leather was worn and cracked, and the black metal accents were scuffed and needed polishing. The trunk was older than the other one and likely traveled with her mother for years. The word CORRA was etched into the leather on the top of the trunk.

Din removed his gloves and tossed them into the open alcove. It didn’t feel right to have a leather barrier between him and the contents of the trunk. He wanted to commit everything to memory. He examined the worn leather of the trunk and ran his finger pads reverently across the word, CORRA.

“Here we go,” he mumbled to himself as much as the kid, absently noting that Alaina hadn’t even bothered to lock the trunk before he opened it and shook his head about just how Alaina that was. To be so trusting of her neighbor… 

Once the trunk was opened, Din let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he looked at the mess inside. Alaina had obviously been in a hurry to throw things inside. Pictures, clothes, some leather-bound journals, random objects that meant nothing to him but meant something to Alaina, or she wouldn’t have stored them away in here.

He reached into the trunk and started sorting through the mess, making piles for pictures, clothes, books, and anything else that didn’t quite fit into those categories.

Grogu immediately fixated on the pictures, pawing through them and cooing at the blonde-headed women who were the main focus of the photographs.

“Careful, ad’ika,” he gently warned and smiled when the kid slowed at his words. 

Din looked at the rest of the piles—three pairs of pointe shoes that grew incrementally larger, several beautiful silk dresses and scarves that screamed Naboo based on the quality, and four leather-bound books. He flicked through the first couple of pages of each, confirming that they were her mother’s diaries, and organized them chronologically.

Grogu cooed and pointed to the pictures Mando spread out on the Crest’s floor. Seeing the blonde-headed girl grow into the woman she became brought a smile to his face. Every picture showed the mother and daughter's happy smiles and bright green eyes.

He moved to sit on the floor next to Grogu, and the two began wading through the piles he’d made of Alaina and her mother’s belongings. Din helped Grogu shift through the pictures, helping him pick out a picture or two from every decade of Alaina’s life for them to keep. Next, they moved to the clothes and knickknacks, but nothing called to him and the kid, so Din began to gather what they decided not to keep to put back in the trunk, leaving them with pictures and her mother’s diaries. Din still had the original pair of slippers she had when they very first met all those years ago, locked away forever and preserved in the room he had made for her. He kept her mother’s dagger on him, needing a permanent reminder of her.

Once everything was stored away, he slowly closed the lid to the first trunk. He refused to let the trunk’s lid slam shut, treating it as a reverent gift. His calloused fingers slid across the worn leather, and his eyes slid to the trunk resting behind this one.

That static feeling filled his chest again, like the cord inside had a current of electricity running through it, pulling him to open it. There was no telling what had been stored away inside. Alaina’s mother had given that trunk to their neighbor so her daughter wouldn’t discover its contents. Even on her deathbed, Iliana had never told Alaina that the other trunk had ever existed, which could mean that the contents were of no sentimental value.

Or that even on her deathbed, Iliana was still protecting her daughter from whatever lay in wait inside of there.

The trunk was in almost pristine condition. The black leather was covered in a thin layer of dust but otherwise unmarred or damaged. The decorative silver pieces protecting the trunk’s corners were dull but would gleam again with a bit of polish. The only other distinctive feature of the trunk was two thin silver lines that came together at the front piece and met at a silver diamond piece in the front center.

Din reached out to rub his finger over the silver diamond, noting that it was actually a lock with a slit for a key.

He frowned and attempted to open the trunk lid, but it didn’t budge. 

It would seem that Iliana Corra was more cautious with her belongings than her daughter.

It would be a shame to risk damaging the trunk just to open it… Din looked back at the locking mechanism. It was an odd size for a key. Nothing in the other trunk matched the thin design, and he wasn’t sure if any of his tools would work…

The pad of his thumb rubbed against the silver diamond again, and he realized it wasn’t a flat piece of silver as he had initially thought. There was a very delicate, intricate design carved into it.

Din grabbed his cloak and used the fabric to wipe the built-up dust and grime away so he could get a better look, squinting slightly to make out the fine lines—

Scales.

He sucked in a quick breath at the realization. The lock was engraved with scales.

His hands left the trunk and moved to the weapon resting on his hip, unsheathing the dagger from its resting place. Din held the dagger by the blade, eying the fanned rawl with eyes made of emerald gems that formed the weapon's handle. 

He looked between the serpentine dagger and the lock. Carefully, he let the blade slide in his hand until he gripped it by the hilt to study the blade, flicking his eyes to the trunk every few seconds.

It was unlikely… but…

Din held his breath as he brought the dagger to the trunk and slowly inserted it into the keyhole.

He huffed out a breath of disbelief. It fit. It fit like a glove, or a key, in this case.

Din twisted the dagger to the left and heard the distinctive click of the lock giving way.

Alaina’s mother had not only given her the dagger, but she had also given her the key to the trunk that held her family’s secrets.

Green ears filled his vision, and Din looked down to see the kid staring back up at him with his large, oversized bug eyes. He brought a hand down to rub the kid’s head, unsure of which one of them he was comforting before returning his attention to the trunk and opening it before he lost his nerve.

He felt his heart begin to pound as he looked inside the trunk.

Another large, black leather-bound book rested on a thin gray blanket, which was folded neatly over another black, fur-lined blanket.

Din frowned at the lackluster contents. After fully psyching himself up for some grandiose discovery, he wasn’t sure what was so secretive about another diary and some blankets.

He reached into the trunk, grabbed the leather-bound diary, and opened it to the first page. He immediately recognized Iliana’s handwriting from the other diaries in the other trunk.

“I thought I’d try my hand at bounty hunting.” Iliana’s first sentence leapt off the page, and Din snorted; it seemed he had more in common with Alaina’s mother than either of them had realized. “Besides, not sure what other jobs a castaway padawan is qualified for. Of course, the quarry that I picked was also being hunted by someone else. And let me tell you, if I ever come across that obnoxious, arrogant man again, I’m going to use my powers to toss him into another galaxy.”

Din smirked and closed the book to set it aside to read later before returning his attention to the trunk. He reached in and grabbed the gray blanket—

Something fell from the gray fabric, making a loud, clanging noise when it struck the metal floor, making both him and Grogu jump.

Din looked down at the small silver and black cylindrical object rolling on the floor. It stopped when it bumped the kid. He picked it up to examine it, looking for a clue. His initial thought was that it contained a message, but other than a couple of black adornments, the only other feature it had was a button. He shared a look with the kid and shrugged his shoulders. With one final look, he pressed the button.

Din was startled when the device came to life in his hand, and a concentrated beam of yellow light emerged from the cylinder.

“What’s a lightsaber?” Alaina asked, even though her mother couldn’t hear her. “If I were to take a guess, it’s what that guy's laser sword is,” he shrugged, and Alaina’s mouth dropped open. “I’m guessing you didn’t know,” Mando commented, moving to stand beside her. Alaina turned to give him a gaping, irritated look. “Mando, if my mother would have told me that she was a karking Jedi,” she paused after her voice finally reached a decimal pitch that rivaled a tea kettle before she tried to calm herself down. She huffed and looked back at her mother while she tried to wrap her mind around this new information. “No, she didn’t tell me. If she did, I would have introduced myself to people saying, Hi, my name is Alaina Corra, and my mother is a fucking JEDI!”

Iliana Corra’s lightsaber.

Din’s chest filled with air as he stared in awe at the weapon. It was lightweight, but he knew it held the power to be deadly.

Grogu’s tiny coo pulled his attention away from the yellow lightsaber, and he cocked his head at the kid. “I thought Iliana mentioned in your memory this was taken away from her?” he asked the kid, not expecting a response. “I’m guessing her old teacher gave it back to her, huh?” Grogu grunted and made grabbing motions for the weapon, but Din shook his head. “Sorry, ad’ika,” he said with a smile. “I think you’re a little too young for this one,” he told the kid, pressing the button again to deactivate the lightsaber.

He turned back to the gray fabric he had initially thought was a blanket and shook it out to see if his hunch was correct, smiling when he saw it was Iliana’s cloak she had worn in Grogu’s memory.

“Well, I guess that would explain why she hid this,” Din murmured, folding the cloak and placing it next to Iliana’s diary before resting the saber on top of the folded fabric. “It would be a little suspicious if her kid was found running around wielding a lightsaber,” he commented more to himself, smirking at the thought of a five-year-old Alaina wildly waving around a lightsaber.

Grogu attempted to make a beeline for the weapon, but Din quickly intercepted him. He picked him up and held him in his arms, smirking at the defeated sounds emanating from the tiny toddler.

“Come on, kid,” he said, nodding to the trunk. “Let’s see if there is anything else in here.”

Din knelt beside the trunk and reached inside to grab the thick, black, fur-lined blanket. The moment his fingers touched the fur, he frowned. Whatever was underneath was hard and oddly mishapen. His fist clenched around the fabric, bunching it up, and as the edges of the fabric pulled away—

He froze, dropping the fabric as if it had scalded him.

Din could feel his heart pound against his beskar chestpiece, could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and could see his hand shaking as it hovered over the blanket, as he continued to stare in shock.

That… That can’t be…

That was impossible.

He placed the kid on the ground, ignoring his squawk of protest. His focus remained on what had been hiding under the black blanket. Din shook his helmet in disbelief, his mind telling him he had to be seeing things, even as his eyes stared at the impossible.

Even as his hands reached in to grab the impossible, to hold the impossible in his hands.

Or, perhaps he could explain to you what it means to be a Mandalorian—

The fanned rawl is native to two planets. Naboo and—

My dad was a soldier.

My mom used to call me little one.

The fanned rawl is native to two planets. Naboo and—

But you two have had months to get to know one another.

My mom had a saying about snow.

The fanned rawl is native to two planets. Naboo and Mandalore.

After all, he knows you don’t have to be born on Mandalore to be a Mandalorian.

Din stared in shock at the dull, blue, Mandalorian helmet in his hands. There was no doubt about it—the feel of it, its weight, its design, and its craftsmanship, this was a beskar helmet that had once belonged to a Mandalorian.

This was… this was impossible. Wasn’t it?

Still holding the helm in his right hand, he reached back into the trunk with his left and ripped the blanket out of the trunk, tossing it carelessly behind him to reveal the rest of the trunk’s secrets.

The remaining pieces completed the set of Mandalorian armor.

They completed the set of Alaina’s father’s armor.

Din could only stare in shock at the dull pieces of blue beskar as his mind attempted to process this discovery.

This had to be some kind of cosmic joke, right? It was impossible. Preposterous even. That the only woman he had ever fallen in love with was a Mandalorian… or at least a descendent of one, and she didn’t even fucking know it.

Numbly, Din began sifting through the armor pieces, searching for a signet or any other marking that could tell him what clan the man had been a member of. He carded through each piece, looking for the pauldrons, where the signet was most likely to be branded, but as much as he searched, turning over every piece, he only found one pauldron.

He swapped the helmet for the pauldron to flip it over—

No.

It couldn’t be…

Din stared at the right shoulder pauldron, feeling as if the mooring lines tethering him to reality snapped, leaving him adrift and on uncertain footing. He stood from the trunk, stumbling slightly toward the crates at the other end of the hold. In a daze, he clutched the pauldron tightly in his hand, afraid it would disappear if he let it go.

When he bumped into the crate, he grabbed the lid and chucked it out the ramp, making the kid cry at the loud noise it made when it landed. Somewhere, deep inside his mind, he registered that the kid was crying, but his focus was on the crate. He frantically tore into the container, uncaringly tossing out his belongings and supplies while searching for his old armor set.

Din felt as if he was going to be sick when he felt bile rise in his throat when he found it. His fingers moved the old, damaged pieces of his former set until he found the pauldron in question. His left pauldron. The one that Rav had given to him all those years ago.

He couldn’t seem to keep his hands from shaking as he stood up to compare the two pauldrons, and his legs buckled, forcing him to sit on the ground and lean back against the crate as he stared at the two blue and white pieces of beskar in his hand.

They were identical.

A gutteral sob escaped him as he held the pauldrons.

Alaina’s father wasn’t just any Mandalorian.

“Right, your riduur and the baby.” Rav gripped his hand tighter, and Din watched as the man’s knees buckled, but he didn’t fall to the ground. “I’m sorry, did you say baby?” he whispered in shock.

Alaina’s father was Rav.

Din did his best to keep the emotion from his voice when he asked, “Am I ever going to see you again?” Rav breathed a long, sad sigh before answering, “I don’t know, kid. I’d like to think that maybe our paths will cross again, but it’s a big galaxy.” Din lost his battle with his emotions. He lunged forward and flung his arms around Rav’s neck, hugging him tightly with his pauldron and blaster still in his grip. “Thank you for everything,” he whispered, unable to keep the tears from coming. Rav returned the hug, squeezing him back tighter while he brought a hand to hold the back of his head. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re gonna be a good dad,” Djarin whispered in the man’s ear. Rav let out a watery chuckle and slapped him on his back before pulling away. “Thanks, kid,” he said, and Din’s tears came harder when he saw Rav was crying too.

All of this time… He had known Rav had died in battle with his brother, Kresh. He had stayed by his pseudo-brother, Paz’s side when they learned of their deaths. His younger self had fought with Paz over Rav’s armor. Din had wanted it, but Paz had insisted that it was to remain with the family… But he never imagined that Paz would return it to Rav’s wife, the outsider…

Rav’s wife, who turned out to be none other than Iliana Corra.

He couldn’t stop his brain. The revelations bounced and wound around in circles in his mind.

Alaina’s mother was a Jedi who’d fallen in love with a Mandalorian.

Alaina’s father was a Mandalorian—The very Mandalorian who had saved him.

Alaina wasn’t just Alaina Corra; she was also Alaina Vizsla, daughter of Iliana Corra and Raivi Vizsla.

Din’s head fell back against the crate, and he blinked when he saw IG standing in front of him, holding Grogu, who was looking down at him with a concerned face.

The droid’s red eyes blinked once before he said, “I am sorry for your loss.”

A/N #2: The foundation is constructed by four pillars—the mother, the father, the partner, and the son—all of whom are connected by the strongest substance in the galaxy: Love. Thank you all SO much for all the love from the last couple of chapters. 🩶 🌟 Gold Stars 🌟 if you get the “Why She Disappeared” poem reference 😊

Tag List: @racheldon @zenrobbins0021 @locked-ness @smoochispoof @hipcheckchick

Comment or send me a message if you would like to be added to the taglist!

Heaven In Hiding Masterlist

Heaven In Hiding - Chapter 28: The Albatross

[sepublic]

So why is Proteus Ridley called that, other than to differentiate his Samus Returns cybernetics from the ones in Prime and Corruption? Why that name specifically: Proteus?

The problem with the Meta frame is that while it did allow Ridley to perform on the field, the cybernetics themselves restricted his regeneration; A limb cannot regrow in space taken up by a machine. In order to continue regenerating from his injuries, Ridley would need to go through a whole process to remove them, place himself into an amniotic vat, and then reapply them, all between missions. Likewise, cybernetic limbs would have to be shortened to adjust to regenerated stumps and gaps.

To get around this, Mecha Ridley was created; A mechanical doppelganger for Ridley to remotely pilot as he regenerated his body. But even this solution was flawed, as Ridley was still vulnerable in his recovering state, and if the connection between his neural headset and Mecha Ridley were to be severed, it would have to rely on its built-in AI to take over; This was something Ridley deeply resented, finding his Mecha to be even more restricting and clumsy to use, and not respecting an AI's capabilities.

In response to very angry criticisms and feedback, science team finally devised a solution that would enable Ridley to recover 24/7, while simultaneously being ready to fight in-person 24/7; The best of both worlds! They devised the Proteus frame, named after a fluid, shape-shifting deity from human mythology.

Per its name, the Proteus cybernetics could affix themselves to Ridley's body to fill in the missing gaps; But at the same time, their fluid, shifting nature allowed the prosthetics to gradually recede and make room for Ridley's regenerating tissue as he wore the Proteus frame.

The Proteus frame still slowed down Ridley's healing, but it did not actively halt it as the Meta frame did. And because he was still healing while wearing the Proteus, it meant Ridley could get away with, and ultimately would have to insist upon, wearing the Proteus at all times in order to avoid being in a vulnerable state without his prosthetics.

Of course, where does the mass go? In order to gradually clear space for Ridley's body as it rebuilds itself, the mechanical mass has to go somewhere. The Proteus cybernetics compress themselves, becoming more armored in the process; Although this does make Ridley heavier. To get around this, he can shed Proteus plating, which will then be stored away. When Ridley fully recovers, he will remove any remaining Proteus cybernetics, and they will be reconnected with the removed plating for future use.

In other words: This is why the artwork for Proteus Ridley shows him being more cybernetic than the actual in-game model. The artwork depicts Ridley when he first put on the Proteus armor; The in-game model is some time afterwards, when he's regenerated other parts of his body, and the Proteus components have either receded into the others remaining, or been stored with prosthetics for other body parts to be reapplied in case of another catastrophic injury. Ridley would never get that opportunity, due to finally dying for real in Super Metroid.

[wolveria]

On Frozen Wings - Ch 12

Pairing: Crosshair x Hunter

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Hunter thought he was going to lose everything on Tantiss. Instead, he got something back.

AO3

Hundreds of missions completed with a one-hundred percent success rate. And in the end, they lost.

Or… thought they had.

Their infiltration into the base had gone awry almost immediately, their progress halted by a team of Imperial operatives just as well trained as the Batch. They were outnumbered and outgunned.

Hunter had been knocked out before they even had a chance.

He awoke in one of Hemlock’s labs, already in the throes of whatever machine he used to break the other clones. The insidious pain wormed its way into his skull, tried to pry him open and empty him out, like a burrowing creature that wouldn’t stop until he was a hollow husk.

And even through all of that, the throbbing in his head and Hemlock’s victory speech, which Hunter flagrantly ignored, he spotted Crosshair. Unconscious and trapped in another machine, his right hand ended in a stump that the medical droid finished cauterizing.

Sorrow buried deep in his chest, and then it ignited into rage as he watched Hemlock’s progress with a furious need to tear him apart. But he couldn’t break free before the machine sent him into a blinding, consuming hole where only agony existed.

It seemed to go on for an eternity until Omega freed them, only to be taken away by Hemlock. Hunter tried to follow, but he was unsteady, off-balance, his head a hive of angry hornets. A high-pitched ringing persisted, the planet wouldn’t stop spinning around him, and he distantly wondered if he was going blind, the edges of his vision dark.

He’d never felt so helpless. He hadn’t even sensed the operative behind him, poised to shoot, until Crosshair kicked him in the shoulder and knocked him off-balance.

Hunter saw the opening and took the shot.

Only after the electrospear was in the air did he glimpse what he’d first felt in the hanger. This was the closest Hunter had been to the assassin that had followed them like an ill omen.

Something was wrong.

The spear punctured through the middle of the assassin and pinned him to the stasis pod behind him.

Hunter couldn’t move. The electromagnetic signature, the heartbeat, even the hint of a faint scent that couldn’t be covered by the uniform.

But that heartbeat was fading. Hunter stumbled forward, grabbed the assassin’s helmet.

Please no, please no, pleasedon’t—

The helmet unsealed with a hiss, and he lifted it away.

Hunter was going to be sick.

He turned to Crosshair, whose own expression had gone abnormally pale.

“Help me,” Hunter pleaded. Not knowing himself if he meant getting him down or keeping him alive or—

“Here.” Crosshair grabbed Hunter’s vibroblade from where it was clipped to the assassin’s belt and held it out to him. “Use it.”

Hunter stared at him in horror.

“On the spear,” Crosshair instructed, his voice steady as he gripped his good arm around the assassin’s chest. “Cut through it. I’ll catch him.”

It was that calm, even tone that cleared some of the panicked haze from Hunter’s head. With great care and deep, slow breaths, Hunter sliced through the small space between flesh and metal. The spear separated from the pod, its edges glowing from the vibroblade, and they carefully set him on the ground. The spear was still impaled in his stomach, and before Hunter could reach for it, Crosshair’s words stopped him cold.

“We can’t remove it. It’ll kill him.”

He’s already dying, Hunter didn’t point out. Crosshair didn’t need him to.

Hunter could feel the assassin, or who they thought was the assassin, slip further and further away. But Hunter’s senses were also clearing, and he realized they weren’t alone.

“The others,” Hunter croaked. “They’re nearby.”

Crosshair immediately understood what he wanted—he called out Echo and Wrecker’s names, all while Hunter focused on the wound he had caused. They didn’t have any bacta left, and even if they did, this would need more than what they carried around in their supply packs.

And Omega needed him. Hunter was torn in two, hunched over the figure as he stared at his pale, bloodless face, praying to the Force or whatever deity would listen that he would open his eyes. Hunter needed to see them, proof that this was real.

Their other two brothers joined them, leaning against each other and looking worse for wear. Echo favored his right shoulder, and Wrecker had been shot at least once, but those injuries were forgotten when they saw the motionless figure.

Wrecker stumbled forward, his expression its own kind of fatal wound.

“…Tech?”

Echo pulled off his stolen helmet, his own expression brittle.

“We need bacta,” Hunter said, not addressing what they all could see.

“Hunter…”

“No,” he bit out and glared up at Echo. “He’s going to be fine.”

Echo didn’t say anything, but his expression said enough. Hunter ignored him, ignored everything, his only focus on the brother who needed them. There was no mistaking him for anyone else. The same stern features softened and slack in unconsciousness.

Hunter didn’t know how it was possible, but he couldn’t- he couldn’t lose him again.

But Tech was too still, too quiet, and his lips were turning purplish-blue.

“He’s not breathing.” Hunter looked up, desperate for answers, which instinctively made him look to Crosshair. “We need a bacta tank. There has to be one somewhere on this base.”

“Not enough time. My guess, his diaphragm is punctured.”

Before Hunter could insist they do something, Crosshair’s frown went focused and he left Hunter’s side to search a side cabinet. He brought back a black case and knelt opposite Hunter on Tech’s other side. He opened it, revealing several compartments, the bottom one revealing a long syringe containing some kind of solution, along with what looked like a battery pack.

“We have to wait for his heart to stop,” Crosshair said as he lifted the syringe and examined the liquid inside.

“What?”

“Otherwise, it will just send his heart into an abnormal rhythm.” Crosshair gave Hunter a grim look. “I’ve seen Hemlock’s doctors use it enough times. The reconditioning process is… harsh.”

Hunter couldn’t think about the implications of that, how Crosshair himself might have… No. He couldn’t think about it. Not when he was so close to the edge of something he feared he wouldn’t return from.

“Wrecker.”

Their brother took a moment to respond, his face streaked with silent tears, and he looked at Crosshair with a pleading sort of confusion that was painful to even look at.

“Grab that cart over there, the one with the tubes. Once we restart his heart, we’ll need to do his breathing for him.”

Wrecker obeyed without question, quickly bringing over the equipment and setting it up next to where they knelt. Crosshair grabbed the mask but didn’t put it over Tech’s face yet, and Echo hovered nearby, also ready to help. He looked even paler than usual, and it couldn’t be easy seeing a place like this, with his brother being used in a painfully familiar way.

Hunter grit his teeth and looked up at Crosshair, determined.

“What do you need me to do?”

Crosshair met his eye with the same determination.

“Tell me when his heart stops beating.”

Hunter paced in front of the door to the surgery bay, which remained solidly shut despite how much he glared at it. It had been a long time since he’d been on a Republic medical station, and finding out Rex had a decommissioned one hidden away had been a lucky break. Maybe the Force had heard Hunter, after all.

He ached all over, his head splitting, and he could still smell the faint acrid stench of ozone and singed flesh from his own time spent in Hemlock’s machine.

But no one would be hurt by Hemlock again. He was dead, and even Hunter didn’t know who delivered the killing shot with how many bolts he and Crosshair filled him with.

Rampart was also dead, and Hunter’s only regret was that he hadn’t done the deed himself. Crosshair just seemed relieved at the news, a weight lifted off his shoulders that he’d hidden well but seemed so obvious now that it was gone.

Hunter was glad of that, he really was. He just couldn’t… settle. Couldn’t stop moving, and he continued his pacing in front of the door.

Crosshair eyed him from his spot on the bench, a toothpick in his mouth as he watched Hunter’s restless progress.

“You haven’t slept in three rotations,” he drawled. “Sit down.”

Hunter didn’t respond. How long did it take a medical droid and combat medic to finish three-hour emergency surgery?

“Hunter. You’re going to pass out.”

“I’m fine. How long since they started?”

“Twenty-six minutes. Sit.”

He almost growled a response about how he wasn’t a damn dog, but then he caught sight of Crosshair’s arm. The stump was wrapped in a medical brace, one that would provide pain relief and further healing after the cruel cauterization done by Hemlock’s droids.

Hunter let out a breath and allowed himself to sit next to Crosshair. Just the act of getting off his feet was enough for exhaustion to grip him by the neck, but he fought off its heavy weight. He wouldn’t rest until it was over.

Crosshair, apparently, had other plans.

“Come here.”

He pulled Hunter down onto his shoulder, and Hunter gave only token resistance. He naturally sought out Crosshair’s neck, burying his face there and breathing in his scent.

“Can’t sleep yet,” he mumbled but didn’t pull away.

“You’re not sleeping. You’re resting your eyes.”

Hunter let out a huff, too bone-weary to laugh. All he wanted was to pull Crosshair into his bed (their bed?) on Pabu and sleep for a week. The kids were being looked after by Echo, Rex, and Wrecker, and probably any other clone that happened to wander by. Maybe Hemlock had a point about clones being paternal, but it was the only good point he’d ever made in a long line of terrible ones.

Including what he’d said about Hunter having lost a member of his squad and history was about to repeat itself. He’d practically rubbed it in his face that Tech had been his operative this whole time.

Hunter didn’t know how Tech had survived the fall, or what he could remember, if anything. What was left of him after Hemlock’s torture? Hunter hadn’t been in that machine for long, and he’d felt strange for hours afterward, like his skin didn’t quite fit right.

Uncertainty plagued Hunter like a ghost, a shadow, not unlike how Tech’s absence had lingered over every decision he’d made since Eriadu. And now here he was. Crosshair had managed to restart his heart with the syringe filled with bacta, adrenaline, and some kind of experimental concoction that no one but Tech would have understood. The syringe had also been equipped with a battery pack that shocked his heart directly through the needle, and Hunter had to try very hard not to think about Crosshair enduring the same brutal procedure.

But it had worked, and Echo and Wrecker had carried Tech back to the shuttle while Crosshair and Hunter caught up to Omega. Hemlock had been waylaid by a group of freed clone prisoners who had managed to subdue and stun the clone commando he was always with.

Without his bodyguard, and a little help from Omega, they’d stopped Hemlock for good. Omega was finally safe, and she hadn’t let go of Hunter or Crosshair the entire journey away from Tantiss. They’d all returned from the mission, including some unexpected additions, such as the clone scientist Emerie, and a group of “Jedi tubies,” as Wrecker had taken to calling them.

They had survived. Hunter couldn’t quite believe it, and he knew part of that was due to the lack of sleep. They’d been trained to endure long periods of sleep deprivation, but this was pushing it even for them.

And with his pauldrons removed, Crosshair was very comfortable. He gently stroked Hunter’s hair, and he was so out of it he couldn’t remember when that started. He drifted in and out, fighting to stay awake. Tech still needed him.

He couldn’t fall asleep. Had to… be there when he woke up…

When the door slid open, Hunter sat upward so fast he almost headbutted Crosshair in the jaw.

Kix gave him a look of poorly hidden amusement, but there was softness there too. That had to be a good sign, right? He wouldn’t look like that if Tech was—

“How is he?” Hunter asked as he got to his feet too fast, his vision spinning. He shook his head, indicating he was fine when Kix tried to approach him, but he needn’t have bothered. Crosshair was right there at his side, looping an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

If Kix was surprised by their odd closeness, he didn’t show it.

“Stable. The surgery went well. No complications. He’s still out, but I think that’s best for now, keep him sedated and in a bacta tank.”

“For how long?” Hunter pressed, sensing something more than what Kix was saying.

“At least another three days, then I’ll reassess. It’s… not just the abdominal injury. There’s nerve damage to his spine.”

Hunter had tried to prepare himself for that. It was a lucky shot all he did was graze Tech’s spine with the spear, but still, Hunter wavered. He only remained standing because Crosshair’s supportive arm kept him that way.

“How… bad?”

“There’s a good chance of partial recovery. He may have some mobility issues, but I think he’ll do well with physical therapy.” Kix paused, as if to carefully choose his words. “That’s honestly not my biggest concern. It’s the brain damage he sustained while in Imperial custody. It’s extensive. And no, I won’t know how severe or how permanent until he wakes up.”

Hunter knew there were questions he should ask, but he couldn’t voice any of them. He simply stood there, trying to process Kix’s words.

“He might not remember us?”

Crosshair’s voice was quiet, and Kix’s gaze was sympathetic.

“He might not remember anything.”

They were silent for a long moment, and when he thought Kix might end the conversation, he gave Crosshair a curious look.

“But you went through the process, and as far as I know, you don’t have any memory recall issues. I would like to ask more about that, and the reconditioning procedure in general. The more I know about it, the better equipped I’ll be to ease him through this transition period.”

Before, Crosshair always shut down or changed the subject when his imprisonment on Tantiss was brought up. But he nodded at Kix, mouth pressed into a determined line.

“I can do that.”

“Good.” Kix glanced between them both, a brow raised. “But that can wait. You both need sleep, and I seem to have found myself with a whole medbay full of brothers requiring my attention.”

“Wait,” Hunter said as the medic started to turn away. “Can we… see him?”

Kix’s smile was soft.

“Figured you’d ask. He’s down the hall where the bacta tanks are stationed. Tank two, though I’m sure you’ll have no trouble picking him out.”

“Thank you, Kix. Really.”

The medic put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“We’ve come a long way from Anaxes, eh?”

Hunter let out a tired chuckle.

“A lifetime.”

It really did feel that way. Hunter wasn’t the same person he was then, but that could be said of all of them.

Especially their brother suspended in the tank, Hunter and Crosshair watching him, side-by-side. He looked peaceful, slightly curled as he floated in the soft blue light, and Hunter was suddenly reminded of the clone incubators on Kamino. Something sharp twinged in his chest, settling into a dull ache.

He leaned against Crosshair, barely able to keep his own feet between the exhaustion and imbalance that Hemlock’s machine had caused. He’d have to have Kix look at him later. For now, he just wanted to see his family together again, in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

Worst case, Tech might not remember anything, but he was still Tech. Hunter was sure there was some part of him that would fight its way to the surface. Tech was just as much a soldier as they were, and he wouldn’t give up. He was too stubborn for that.

They would just have to wait.

“Think we can find a spare bunk?” Crosshair asked quietly, his eyes still on their brother suspended in the bacta solution. “At this point, any horizontal surface will do.”

Hunter considered it. He was far too tired to do anything, but if Crosshair wanted to just… well, use him, then—yeah, Hunter was fine with that. More than fine with it. He found himself wanting to touch Crosshair, reassure himself they were both still there. Crosshair still smelled too much like that place, and Hunter wanted to claim every inch of him until Crosshair smelled like… well, him.

At Hunter turning his head to nose against his neck and pull him closer, Crosshair gave an indignant noise.

“For sleep, Hunter.”

“Oh.”

He might have been embarrassed if he was more awake, but as it was, he was now exhausted with a confusing half-erection.

Crosshair sighed and tugged Hunter by his waist. Hunter looked back one last time, reassured himself that Tech was still there, and let Crosshair take him where he wanted.

Next Chapter

[horuslupercal]

Pasqal: Pasqal's fingers drum out a resonant crescendo on the control panel as his mechadendrites remove the metal cover and the data-cord slides into the machine's innards. The cogitator's body starts crackling with electrical impulses, and the Tech-Priest nods with satisfaction. A few minutes later Pasqal raises his hands above the machine, chants a brief litany only he can understand and pushes the surviving stump of one of the levers. "My humble prayers have satisfied this machine's requirements." (screenshot from Rogue Trader)

this is uh 😳😳 kind of sexual 😳😳😳

[goldom]

"When I was seventeen and able to give my consent to remove the arm stump, over my parents’ pleas to keep this withered useless piece of flesh and bone, the doctors gave me my cybernetic limb. When they explained the procedure and showed me the robotic arm, I asked, “Why cover it with flesh?” My parents couldn’t afford it, I didn’t need it. I am part machine. I am proud to be part machine. I was born twisted and strange by their standards. And after so much recovery, I was somehow amazing."

—from Noor, by Nnedi Okorafor