#drop the helmet on and twist and it does the ascending notes

[biscuityskies]

Just realised that the way I’ve been imagining the pressure lock on clone helmets is like an instant pot lid

[snitchcrimsonwrites]

Drawn Together-Chapter 5

Pairing: Tech x Jedi! Reader

The Bad Batch are on the run after the events on Pantora when they run into a mysterious stranger who offers them assistance. Who is this stranger, and why does it seem like they know Echo? The story will follow the events of the series once established.

After Echo recovers, you agree to help the Batch navigate the Crystal Caverns under Pantora back to their ship. Hopefully, it's a smooth mission, but with the Batch that's honestly a toss-up.

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

The Batch spent the following couple of days methodically packing supplies while Echo healed, ensuring they had everything they needed for their trek through the crystal caverns beneath Pantora. Finally, after days of preparation, you all stood before the cavern's entrance. The opening was looming dark and unwelcoming, framed by jagged rock formations like the gaping maw of some ancient creature.

Hunter glances back at his team, his expression serious, ready for the mission ahead. “Helmets on. Stay close, and keep your eyes peeled.”

The clones comply immediately. Tech, ever methodical, adjusts his helmet first, flipping a switch on the side to engage his headlamp. A bright beam of light cuts through the dim cave entrance.

Wrecker follows suit, his headlamp flaring to life as he gives a low grunt of approval. “Not gettin’ stuck in the dark down there,” he halfheartedly jokes.

Standing apart from the group, you don’t immediately turn on your lantern, choosing to save it for when they might truly need it. Tech, ever the skeptic, has assured you their lamps won't fail. Still, you feel better not solely relying on technology in this place.

Tech, noting your hesitation and comments, “I’ve checked the lamps. They’re functioning perfectly. No need for backup.”

You raise an eyebrow but say nothing, not wishing to argue here. You trust them, but you trust your instincts more.

Slowly, you all enter, one after the other, the batch’s headlamps cutting narrow beams through the darkness. You can feel the temperature drop instantly, and the air becomes cooler and heavier with moisture. The rocky walls feel close, narrowing the space around you as the tunnel slopes downward. Hunter assumes his natural position as the lead, and you file in directly behind, ready to assist in your role as team guide. This is his squad; after all, there’s no need for you to take command. That isn’t your role anymore.

Inside the caverns, tunnels sprawl out in all directions, splitting off and twisting away into the dark. It’s a labyrinth; without a guide, they’d be hopelessly lost in moments. You run your hand lightly along the cave wall as if communing with the rock itself. After a brief pause, you point down a tunnel to the right.

“This way.”

The Batch follows without question, trusting your guidance as the tunnels stretch and wind endlessly. The group moves in silence for what feels like hours, the only sound their footsteps echoing softly against the cave walls. Now and then, you repeat your ritual—hand on the wall, a pause, then a quiet, but then a call out with a specific direction.

Hunter watches as you conduct this same behavior, a few times, his brow furrowed in curiosity, watching you listen to the very pulse of the cave.

“How do you know? These tunnels look the same in every direction.”

Your hand trails along the cool rock again as you glance back at him.

“I’m sure you can feel the magnetic energy in the cave?”

He nods, his skeptical expression softening slightly.

“I just know which signals to follow, that’s all.”

He nods and falls back into step with the others. They press on, the path becoming steeper, the air thicker as they ascend a sloping incline. The tunnel walls narrow further, and Omega struggles to keep her footing as the ground shifts beneath her.

“It’s getting harder to climb,” Omega breathes with a huff of exertion.

“We’re moving up a level. It’ll be steep for a bit, but we’ll come back down into a more open space soon. Not much longer now,” you reassure her.

The strain begins to show on Echo, his pace slowing as the slope becomes more demanding. He presses on, determined not to hold the group back, but Wrecker steps in, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Easy, Echo. No need to rush. I’ve got your back.”

“Yes, we’ll be able to rest a little bit up ahead, ” you confirm.

Echo gives you both a grateful nod, though his face remains tight with concentration as they continue the steep ascent.

As you climb, the cave floor levels out briefly before sharply dropping again. Tech looks up, scanning the new terrain ahead, comparing the markers to his map as his headlamp cuts through the dark, revealing the glimmer of crystals embedded in the walls.

“Fascinating. The crystal formations here could indicate we’re nearing the core of the caverns. If we’re fortunate, the path will widen soon, making traversal easier.”

You nod. “That’s right. The next section will be more open, but we must be cautious. The Empire has scouts searching aboveground, and if they’ve caught wind of us, they might be waiting at the exit.”

The group presses on, the tunnel floor finally beginning to even out, and the steepness of the climb lessening as Tech predicted. You stop to rest, and as you do, Hunter motions for silence. His senses were prickling, and he listened carefully, hearing faint sounds ahead—something caught his attention in the darkness beyond.

“Something’s ahead. Stay sharp.”

Suddenly, the ground beneath the Batch shifts, rocks crumbling and groaning underfoot.

“Watch out!” Hunter exclaims, trying to elicit action from his squad.

But the ground gives way before anyone can react, crumbling into an open chasm below. The group falls, their arms flailing as they descend in a chaotic blur. Time seems to stretch, and for a heart-pounding moment, they all brace for the inevitable impact of solid rock beneath them.

But it never comes.

Instead, a strange sensation takes hold. The fall halts abruptly, their bodies hovering midair, suspended just a foot or so above the cavern floor. Confused, they open their eyes and look around, noticing the dust and debris settling all around them, yet none of them have hit the ground.

Wrecker, still bracing for impact, opens one eye and looks around. “Uh… why aren’t we flattened to bits?”

The Batch turns to see you gripping a narrow ledge above them, your arm outstretched, your face tense with concentration. Your hand trembles as you use the Force, its power extending to catch them all mid-fall.

Slowly, you lower your hand, releasing the Force’s grip on them. With a collective thump, the group drops the remaining foot to the cavern floor. They land ungracefully, groaning as they hit the rocky ground. Hunter rolls to his feet quickly, more stunned than hurt, and Omega rubs her arm where she hit the ground, but the sense of amazement outweighs any discomfort.

You gracefully jump down from the ledge, landing lightly next to them.

“Sorry… I’m a little rusty.” You say as you brush dust from your clothes, offering a sheepish grin.

Omega gazes up at you in wide-eyed amazement, while the others still appear to be processing what just happened. Tech shakes his head, the scientist in him struggling to grasp the display of Force power.

“I’ve never seen an ability like that in action, catching five humans all falling at different rates,” his fingers moving as he does the calculations in his head. “ The timing… the control—how did you—”

You wave off his question, a flicker of humor in your eyes. “Trust me, you didn’t want to see what happened if I got the math wrong.”

Wrecker, still lying flat on his back, laughs heartily, utterly unfazed by the near disaster. “Rusty or not, that was incredible! You saved our skins back there.”

You smile back but look down momentarily, the strain of using your Force abilities hitting you harder than you expected. It’s been a while since you had to rely on your abilities like that.

Hunter watches you, a mix of gratitude and curiosity playing across his face. He’s still adjusting to having a Jedi in their midst, especially one who’s now saved them more than once.“We owe you one. Again.”

You meet his gaze, your smile returning with more confidence now. “We’re all in this together.”

“Let’s move before the ground decides to give way again. We still have a ways to go,” Hunter urges, eager to return to the ship.

You continue to move carefully through the widened tunnel, the ground now more stable, but the fall was enough to keep everyone on edge. The tension only broken by the sound of boots scuffing against rock as the Batch trudged forward.

Tech moves forward, coming into pace at your side and studying you with his analytical gaze, still processing the earlier display, before speaking.

“You said you were “a little rusty.” That implies extensive prior training, even if dormant. I’m curious, what kind of missions were you deployed on before the war?”

You glance back at him and then shift your eyes forward, focusing on the path ahead. “Not many, at least not in the way clones or generals saw them. My master and I—Master Revas—we were more like archivists, in a sense.” You pause, remembering. “Most of my time as a Padawan was spent in ruins or libraries, not on battlefields.”

Hunter, walking just ahead, slows to match your and Tech’s pace, with curiosity visible on his face. “So when the war started…?”

“They kept us out of it for a while. The Council said our work was “strategically valuable.” Eventually, they needed every Jedi in the field; I guess that’s why, later on, I was chosen to lead a recon cell instead of a full battalion.”

Tech nods comprehending, “A research Jedi leading a field unit… statistically uncommon. Though it would make sense, smaller, specialized teams can operate under the radar more easily. Your background would've made you ideal for it.”

As you progress forward, the air grows thinner and cooler as it approaches the surface. A faint breeze whispers through the upper tunnel. They are almost to their ship.

Tech’s scanner beeps, finally working again. “Twenty meters ahead. The chamber where we parked the Marauder. It should open up soon.”

Echo nods in confirmation,” Let’s hope no one found it. We were gone longer than expected.”

The squad continued through the winding tunnels; they rounded the final bend and stopped short, crouching along a narrow ledge overlooking the cavern-turned-mining site below. The Empire’s operation sprawls beneath them, with floodlights casting shadows over rough scaffolding and clusters of heavy machinery. The previously deserted landing site is now crawling with Imperial troops. Transport ships sit near the edges, floodlights illuminate the rock, and dozens of troopers patrol between crates of mined crystal. The Marauder is still there, but surrounded.

“So much for slipping out,” Wrecker asserts through gritted teeth.

Omega frowns, “ We can’t fight through that.”

“No. But I can draw them away.” You reply, committing to the decision.

Hunter looks to you with a wary expression, “You sure?”

You nod. “I’ll cause a disruption—enough to get you to the ship. Once you're airborne, go. Don’t wait.”

Tech shakes his head, the tone of his voice skeptical. “A Force-sensitive in the open? You’ll make yourself a target. Every comm in the region will light up.”

You smile back faintly, resigned to your fate. “Let them try and catch me.”

The team goes quiet. The weight of the moment settles in. Omega throws her arms around you, holding tight. “I hope we see you again.”

Everyone gets into their positions in the next few minutes, and Hunter offers you the signal that they’re ready to go. You step onto a slender ledge that overlooks the cavern while the Batch positions itself to rush towards the Marauder. The troopers and mining drones remain oblivious to your presence as you shut your eyes, grounding yourself for what’s to come. You extend your awareness, connecting with the Force.

Suddenly, the ceiling above shakes violently, and a shower of enormous crystals breaks free, plummeting to the ground below. Troopers shout and scramble for safety, while sirens wail in the background.

You pivot, directing your gaze toward the spirals of steam ascending from the ground. Extending your hand, you clench your fist and pull back. In response, a surge of steam engulfs the cavern, offering essential concealment. You raise your hood, hiding your face, and jump down to the cavern floor, utilizing the dense steam as a shield. Upon landing, you activate your (preferred color) lightsaber; its radiance creates a haunting illumination amid the steam.

“GHOST!” the troopers shout, igniting another flurry of activity. It appears they've embraced the local legends surrounding the caves. You can’t help but laugh as you employ a force push to shift some rocks, maintaining the ruse.

The rest of the team rushes toward the Marauder as chaos unfolds. Tech and Echo protect Omega while Hunter takes the lead. Wrecker carves a path, hurling troopers aside like rag dolls.

Echo looks back, a grim realization appearing on his face. “There are too many. She’s holding her own, but she won’t last forever.”

“She knew what she was doing. That display…she’s giving us time.” Tech affirms.

Omega watches you elegantly fend off endless waves of troopers with fervor. Your saber moves in smooth, practiced arcs, but the swarm intensifies as the Batch reaches the ship. They enter and assume their positions, readying the Marauder for liftoff.

Omega observes the scene below, urging, "Hunter, we can’t just leave her! Not after everything!”

Hunter tenses as he looks out the cockpit window, “We don’t have time!”

The ship lifts off, nearly out of range. You watch it ascend while parrying, deflecting a blaster bolt into a power cell—boom—sending troopers scattering. But the shots keep coming, a stray one clipping your arm. Instinctively, you grasp the shot's location, recentering and formulating an exit plan.

“Please, Hunter!” Omega cries out as she watches you take the hit.

Hunter clenches his teeth and breathes out. "Wrecker! Lower the ramp. Tech, circle back, but stay out of range of that blaster fire!”

Tech is already adjusting course,” On it.”

You watch as the ship circles overhead, its boarding ramp descending toward you. You blink in astonishment. Then, Wrecker appears from beneath the loading ramp, extending his hand downward.

You make a move, climbing a nearby jagged rock face and pushing off with all your strength. It’s a beautiful arc—clean and fast—but just a bit short. Fortunately, Wrecker’s massive hand grabs yours at the edge of the ramp.

He grins widely, “Told ya we weren’t leavin’ you behind.”

You return the smile, breathless. “You’re insane.”

Wrecker grins wider as he hauls you up in one powerful motion as Tech banks the ship hard, engines roaring.“Yup!”

Troopers shoot recklessly below as the ship ascends skyward, climbing into the stratosphere. Just before entering, you extend your hand towards the force again, pulling down another set of crystals from the ceiling as the hatch crashes shut. No one will be trailing after you, at least not until they manage to free themselves from the caverns.

Omega rushes to envelop you in a hug as you enter, colliding with your body with a thud. “You made it!”

You’re breath hitches as she makes contact with a surprising amount of force. “I didn’t think you’d turn back.”

“We don’t leave people behind,” Hunter responds, turning to Tech, “Tech, find us a place to disappear for a while.”

[etherian-affairs]

Impromptu Departure

It’s the Mirak Season Finale! This one’s longer than what I normally give her. You earned it girl.

Infiltration of the Fright Zone is not the easiest task. It takes work. It takes multiple people. If you can't breathe underwater it takes disguises or distractions or both. There are patrols and locked doors and keycodes. There's also the issue that the place is massive. A sprawling industrial wasteland that stretches for many kilometers in every direction. 

Mirak thinks it's beautiful. She loves a challenge and she loves seeing a planet covered in Horde foundries.

Everyone knew that this mission would be the most difficult any of them other than Mirak has ever undertaken. Sam did not even particularly want to come. In fact he definitely didn't but they made him. Operation Fright Heist was a necessity and the core team plus Sam had to go all in on it. For the future of the Horde United. For the future of Mirak.

The initial entry into the Fright Zone is easy enough. Some other members of the Horde United bring one of the stolen tanks to the border and open fire on whatever they see! Drawing patrol forces to that area! The primary infiltration team then slip in on a skiff amid the confusion. Wearing proper Horde armor for a change. Well everyone but Mirak who is lacking a helmet. She does have a cool cape on though so she can pretend to be Hordak from a distance. They soon ditch the skiff and let it slam into a structure. Causing further distraction via destruction.

There are better ways to do this but currently Mirak's state of mind limits her to the "No one can trigger the alarm on you if no one is around" school of stealth. A reliable if unsustainable approach to the art of infiltration if there ever was one.

From there it's the same way Mirak got out all that time ago. They find a Horde Soldier, or soldiers, eliminate all but one of them, and take the survivor along with them as a door opening prisoner. Just like Tim once was when Mirak needed to get out of this place.

"Is this seriously how you two met?" Cass asks Tim as they stalk through the endless corridors of the Fright Zone. Mirak's ears twitch as the question is brought up but she doesn't speak. Let Tim answer questions for Tim.

"Yeah kind of. I found her deep below Hordak's tower in some random room. Naked. She knocked me out and the rest was history." He shrugs. It speaks a lot to Tim's mental health that he decided to stick with Mirak after that but no one here is going to complain. Tim is great, after all. 

"You're all insane…" the prisoner grumbles. He's been stripped of his armor, bound, and is being walked along as if he's the prisoner.

"Hey don't wrap me into this." Sam notes as he holds a stun baton to the back of the prisoners head. "They made me come along."

Mirak chuckles. Oh Sam. You're a hoot. "Movement ahead." She declares as they move forward, pulling her own weapon up. Then the moment the approaching person rounds the corner she fires on them. One shot and down. No time to play. 

"How do you do that?" Cass asks. "There was almost no time to get a fix on him." She has a helmet on but Mirak can feel the furrowed brow underneath.

"Mirak grew up on an evil boat that taught her warfare." Tim interjects.

"It was a Horde Blackship, and very carefully Cass. Very carefully." Mirak's head hurts far too much to explain how to mix sound and sight to plot the position of an oncoming target and hit them with maximum accuracy.

Cass just shakes her head as Tim chuckles. The trek continues much like that. Inevitably Mirak decides checking the throne room is going to be their best initial bet. Hordak is a cyborg. He will need a surgical and maintenance system of his own and will likely want to keep it in the areas that are well and truly his own. The places underlings fear to walk.

If Hordak is present or they can't find what they're after then they'll head on to the medical ward. 

As much as Mirak would love to get a shot off on Hordak she is aware she cannot win currently. She's too slow. Too clouded. Too in pain. The weakness disgusts her but she swallows it. Soon. Soon her head will be all better. Soon her body will be better. Then she'll put an energy bolt right through the Lord's lower spine and make him get her off of this rock. Get her back to her Madame. That's plan A. That's the good plan.

There are other less good, but much more likely, plans. She has prepared for those.

When they slip into the throne room Mirak stops them. Her ears wriggle. She searches for any sounds. Nothing forward. Something going on down a path to the right. Hordak is not on his throne. She looks back and nods to Sam who electrocutes the prisoner. Letting the guy drop. Mirak picks him up, wrapping him in her cool cape and the team moves forward. She tosses the prisoner off the side of the approach to Hordak's throne. Goodbye prisoner. You shouldn't have called us insane.

"Sam, Cass. Remain at the base and watch for anyone. Tim, with me." Mirak's commands are fast. She feels the anxiousness in her chest. A rare occurrence. Normally this feeling is heavily suppressed. The duo nod and take up positions beside the staircase. Trying to look like they belong there. Mirak nods to Tim who nods back, and they ascend. 

The throne is… actually not the gaudiest thing Mirak has seen. Sure it's huge and doesn't actually look very comfortable but in her time Mirak has seen some absolutely ludicrous thrones. Anyone who likes gothic architecture will just go full ham on their throne and it's almost always tacky. This one's okay. Respectable even. It makes one think that Hordak probably became Lord for a reason. He has some restraint. Some appreciation for simple industrial aesthetic. 

"This things huge…" Tim notes. "I kind of want to sit in it…"

"Later." Mirak snaps. She has no time for that. No time anymore.

As much as she wants to sit in it too. 

They circle the throne and quickly find what Mirak hoped they would. Right there, right there behind the throne. A full maintenance array. She can see the sensors and the arms. "This is it." She says as she steps forward, looking through the darkness at all of it. Searching for a control system.

"It won't surgery murder you right?" Tim asks. 

"I can override. It'll be fine." She starts to grin beneath her mask. As she searches the array they hear weapons fire. Tim glances back and curses. "Go help them." The command from Mirak is fast. "It's best if no one gets up here."

Tim nods and runs off. Mirak scowls a little. Deciding how she wants to proceed. The maintenance cycle can be truncated. No surgery just a light pruning. Enough to keep her going. Then she can rejoin the fight. That should only take a moment.

Then her eyes pick up movement. Two of the Many lights hidden in the darkness shifting. Fast. That's not good. Mirak's arm flies up, weapon in hand. Tracking the lights. As she squeezes to let loose a bolt of sickly green energy at the target some sort of six sided hex driver flies out from the darkness and knocks her aim off ever so slightly. Mirak misses. She recovers quickly, regaining her track on the target just in time for a cluster of purple strands to shoot out from the darkness and grab her arm.

Mirak growls and grabs the tendrils with her other arm and pulls hard. Dragging her assailant down into view. A human? 

"Fascinating! Are you the same species as Hordak! I didn't know there were others!" The human, or Etherian more specifically, announces happily as more bundles of what is apparently her hair shoot out and grab at Mirak's body. "Oh are your legs artificial?!"

The assassin starts to fire off her weapon, twisting her wrist to try and get an angle on her assailant. This Etherian's hair is strong. Very strong. Mirak is no slouch however. Mirak lifts. She can begin to overpower it.

She also has a free arm. That's more important. She uses that very useful arm to grab the stun baton clipped to her hip! Pulling it off and firing at the purple haired monster!

"Oop! That was close!" The Etherian laughs as she manages to deflect that one as well. It's as if she can predict Mirak's movements. Suddenly Mirak is tossed aside into the machinery by hair. She's never fought something quite like this one before and she is definitely not at her peak. 

Still she can win this. Again she trains her weapon toward the target, only to see the human lifting herself back into the machinery above. She fires after her, aiming to kill. Purple tendrils lashing out at her and keeping the human mobile. Tools being thrown with accuracy that's impressive even to Mirak. Knocking her aim aside or slapping into the parts of her body not covered in hard plate, possibly cracking some bone by the feel of things. All the while the voice continues, asking questions. Pondering. It's annoying and grates on Mirak's ears. This human is not a trained warrior though, that much is clear. She's not going for the kill.

Unfortunately things go south before Mirak can leverage this. Very south. The battle takes all of Mirak's limited focus. The migraines dull her senses and slow her reactions. No longer are her legs her greatest detriment. So when suddenly a hand falls on her arm and throws her into the back of the throne it takes her by surprise. It doesn't quite knock the wind out of her but it gets very close. Something cracks inside of her. She can still move though. So she gets herself up, ready to fire on the new assailant when she's grabbed again. Her favored weapon forced from her grip by the clenching strength, nearly shattering her wrist. Then a punch slams into her stomach and as Mirak collapses a second strikes her chest plate, partially collapsing it. 

Lord Hordak stares down at her, scowling.

"Hordak! Hi! I spotted her looking at your stuff back here and then she shot at me! So we were fighting! It was very exciting! She looks like you are you related?!" The Etherian has dropped down beside him.

"No." He growls. "We are of the same species, but different breed. This thing is an assassin. A broken one at that. I can let you study her if you would like, Entrapta." 

Mirak reaches out for her weapon, only to see Hordak kneel down to pick it up. He looks it over. Then tears it in half. "I think not." 

As he moves to pull the baton from her other hand Mirak squeezes the trigger on it alongside a second button she wired in. The barrel begins to glow but does not discharge. A forced energy feedback in the weapon. Building in its capacitors. "...No closer." She wheezes. 

Lord Hordak's eyes widen for a moment, he steps back. Then glares. Mirak begins to stand, chuckling softly. Then coughing and wincing. She's damaged, heavily. Hordak speaks. "What exactly do you expect to accomplish here? Do you think that will kill me?"

"Well… actually... I just wanted to get a maintenance cycle in..." Her voice is a mix of sarcasm and perhaps genuine annoyance.

Hordak raises a brow. "Feel free. It'll let me kill you while you're unconscious." 

Mirak gives a hacking laugh. Weak and pained. "That is… that's the problem…" her mind goes over the situation. Her companions are likely gone. She's beaten. The only thing she has going for her is that she's holding a bomb. New plan then. Fallback plan. Failure happens. That's normal. Inevitable. She expected this anyway! New direction.

So Mirak growls, the stun baton building charge in her hand. The safeties have long been disabled specifically in preparation for this moment. It will detonate soon enough, or if she releases the trigger before releasing the feedback button. “But see… You… brought me here. And now you’re going to have to help me leave.” she gestures around aimlessly as she says that.

Hordak’s head tilts up, his eyes narrowing as he looks down at the ESS. “None of this has actually been for me.” The Lord notes with realization. Entrapta is glancing back and forth quickly. Watching the situation intently.

“Oh now you see…” Mirak rasps as she stumbles forward. “I have a problem… and I have been building a solution. All this time, and effort, and pain… building my solution… for her.” her eyes refocus on Hordak. “But I don’t… I don’t have time anymore.” she’s getting angry. “I came here just to… just to get some time… but now I cant. So you. You will solve my problem, or I will solve the problem… of you.” The baton begins to visibly vibrate. Mirak clutches the side of her head. It hurts so much.

There's a silence. Lord Hordak seems to ponder the situation. Then he makes a gesture and Entrapta slinks back up into the machinery out of sight. Mirak is at a huge disadvantage here. They can likely take her. This is probably actually the end. Mirak's never been afraid of that, a violent end is how all of her kind go out. This is a pretty good one too all things considered. Still she wishes she could have gotten home. Could have seen the Madame again.

Then suddenly Hordak speaks. "Very well."

She has to blink, actually surprised. "... Seriously?"

The ruler of the Horde nods. "Entrapta and I have been working on a project that will be of use to you, a portal off of this world. It is not done, and requires testing, but it could work. Disarm the bomb, and you can test it."

It's a bad deal. She should just lunge at Hordak and blow them both up. Yet it's what she wants. It's what she demanded. A way home. A way to see Madame. 

Mirak shifts the baton and releases the feedback button, discharging the energy out of the capacitors in a violent bolt. The front actually partially cracks and disintegrates. If her design was right she should have one more buildup attempt in this thing before it's totally worthless. Either way she can bluff it. She rests her claws on the trigger mechanisms again. Mirak takes a deep shaky breath "Fingers still on the trigger…" she assures him.

"Of course. Entrapta, run interface update program 13. Implant a beacon" Hordak commands.

Mirak blinks "Interface upda-"

Then Mirak screeches as the metal arm suddenly slams a neural spike into one of the ports behind her ears. She feels a jolt go through her, her body pulls itself tight and paralyzed. Her finger remains on her baton. Electricity surges through her. Hordak is looking down at her as this happens. He looks impassive. Then suddenly a female voice chimes in. The Entrapta girl with the hair. “Do not be alarmed! You still have your finger on the trigger, as you said. I am simply installing a system update for your interface! Assuming you have one? I'm not sure if you do or if Hordak asked for this because it will paralyze you!” Suddenly Mirak feels something slide along get abdomen, and then slice into it. “Also I'm implanting a prototype of our interdimensional homing beacon! A way for us to see if you land somewhere other than Etheria. If you land. You were unlikely to agree to its installation willingly though so this is more expedient.”

The pain is excruciating but bearable for the specialist. Then it's over. Mirak gasps as she is released and stumbles forward. Hordak speaks now, walking past her. “Entrapta and I keep the hardware you need access to in my sanctum. This way please.”

Mirak watches him walk away. Then with little other option she follows. Her eyes dart around as she does. She doesn't see her people anywhere, not even corpses. Interesting.

Then suddenly Entrapta drops down beside her, a measuring tape and other tools out as she circles Mirak and takes measurements. "Fascinating! After all of that you can still walk! You must be incredibly resilient! I'd love to dissect you are you sure you don't want to just let Hordak kill you?"

Mirak growls and gives Entrapta a look. The woman leaps back in surprise, then giggles. "That's a no!"

Mirak can barely focus. Her head throbs. Her body throbs. She's damaged all over. She's having an even harder time breathing than normal. As they walk into the sanctum she stumbles, only barely righting herself. She's starting to second guess this decision. Maybe she should kill them…

"Hordak I'm not sure she'll make for a great test case! For one she's already really injured! And also she's unique! I could learn so much from her biology!"

Lord Hordak waves a hand to dismiss her concerns. "I'll give you a text book on my species biology. She will be a fine test case."

Entrapta just shrugs and moves around the consoles and terminals pressing buttons. Hordak for his part actually pulls some comically large levers. A green glowing ball lights the area up and that's the worst. Mirak has to reach up to tug her goggles back down. 

The Lord and the Entrapta are talking. Something about energy levels, mainframe tests. Capacitors. It's all above Mirak. A lot of it does sound like the sort of things that one would have connected to a weapon though. That's not great.

So Mirak growls again, loudly. She speaks up for them. "I still... have my bomb… it's sounding like I should use it…" it's sounding like they're planning to just kill her.

Hordak turns. "But you won't. Because you built it all for her, didn't you?" He asks pointedly.

Mirak freezes up. How did he… her impromptu monologue. Dammit all.

"Yes, as I thought. Who is it? You want to leave so no one in this world." Hordak ponders. "someone you care deeply for, deeper than an ESS should… a previous master perhaps? Perhaps one surrounded by rumors of a sordid affair with an assassin?" 

Mirak glares daggers. She can't respond though. He has her their. Of course he remembers those rumors. Mirak really thought those had died with the people that started them. 

"That is what I thought. The moment I heard reports of you running around this pathetic planet instead of reporting to duty as you should have. You still serve that pathetic creature Hera." He snarls.

Entrapta just kind of looks fascinated by all of this! Space drama!

Mirak starts to raise her weapon, anger truly filling her. How dare her call Madame pathetic.

Then something stupid happens.

"MIRAK!" suddenly a curly haired brunette stumbles into the sanctum! He looks confused! Alongside everyone else!

Mirak turns. "Sam?! You're alive! What are you doing here?!"

"I got lost while escaping! And… I'm not sure what here is!"

"Oh Sam you moron…" Mirak shakes her head. At least she'll die with amusement in her heart.

Then Hordak roars and strides up to the young man. Sam cowers. Only to be picked up and thrown at Mirak! They both tumble over! "new test! Double transfer! Initiate the mainframe!"

"Ooooh! Extra mass and varying densities! This'll be good!" Entrapta cackles as she starts pressing buttons and pulling levers.

Suddenly the atmosphere is nullified and… oh hey that actually feels nicer than just having the breather. Good job Hordak you invented a nice place to hang out dome.

Before Mirak can make a comment about Sam's gasping helplessly for air there's a blinding flash and a roaring sound. Then everything is gone.

…

"Well we didn't blow anything up!" Entrapta declares happily.

Hordak brushes off his shoulder and grumbles. "Entrapta in future I would like you to be more careful about the fights you pick. If she had not been on the brink of death already it would have been quite dangerous for you, and you are valuable."

"Aww. I like you too Lab Partner!"

============

See you in four months when I resolve this cliffhanger in the first paragraph.

[kunt-dracula]

Everybody Loves A Clown

Supernatural Rewrite.

OC, Sam, Dean

TW: Cursing...that's about it.🤣

I pull my leather jacket on as I bound down the staircase, denѕe boots thumping against the old wood. I call out to Sam—repeating his name when I receive no response. He must be out in the yard with his brother.

I make my way into the kitchen upon hearing clinking plates.

"Sam outside?"

Bobby doesn't look up from his aggressive scrubbing of a cast iron pan. "Nope. He and Dean left."

I raise my brows. Hm. Guess they caught wind of another case. Hey, if it means I don't have to drag them along with me on mine, I'm not complaining at all.

Without asking any further questions, I hoist my backpack further on my shoulder "Well, guess I'll see Ellen and Jo by myself."

"And while you're there tell those boys that the next time they eat here they gotta wash the dishes. At least then they wouldn't be completely freeloading."

I twist my body back to Bobby. "I thought you said they left?"

Bobby shuts off the faucet. "They did leave. They went to the Roadhouse."

"What!? Dammit, I told them to wait!"

Instantly becoming angry I spin on my heels and rush to the door, swinging it open. I hear Bobby yell something behind me, but I can't hear him over my feet stomping against the gravel in addition to my heavy breathing.

I yank the other strap of my backpack on the other arm, securing it. Since the case was in-state, I decided on riding my bike.

I throw my leg over the pillion of my 2005 Triumph Rocket III and drop my weight onto it. Keeping it up is pricey; hell the bike itself is expensive, but I managed to do both for free.

-

How I got this piece was I took it from the leader of this werewolf biker gang. After I killed him and a few of his goons, I looted them for some things. They were too nice to go to waste. The dead gang members didn't have much honestly. There were three of them—with the exception of the leader— and I only got a little less than three hundred bucks. But the leader...oh man, a holy grail.

I couldn't boost the fairly nice house from him. But not only did I get this motorcycle off him, but I also got this badass 2005 Dodge Ram 1500—as well as some nice jewelry. I could tell it wasn't his, so I instantly concluded that he had done some stealing himself. Not being aware of who the owner was I pawned the jewelry off under a false alias and got a few stacks for it.

Shoving my right foot against the kick-start lever—undoubtedly using more than likely with more force than necessary—the bike roars to life. Fairly new motor purring loudly, vibrating vigorously between my thighs.

I snatch my helmet off the front of the bike—almost forgetting to put it on—pushing my head into it. I kick up the kickstand with the heel of my boot, and peel through the yard, leaving a trailing cloud of dust behind me.

*12 MINUTES LATER*

Upon turning into the parking lot, I spot the beat-up, poorly maintained minivan I gave Sam the keys to earlier this morning. It was the only functioning car Bobby had. It was bad off, but I had fixed it up to where it'd get you where you needed to be.

Haphazardly parking my bike, I shut off the engine and remove my helmet—hanging it from the right handle. 

The wood groans under my weight as I ascend the few steps to the paint chipped door. I push it open, only a fraction surprised at what I see.

Jo was holding a rifle on Dean, who was holding his nose, and Ellen had a handgun pointed at Sam.

"See this is why I told you to wait." I couldn't help but sound 'matter-of-fact.' Hell I told them, but they didn't listen, and I knew how Ellen and Jo were with strangers showing up unannounced.

Four pairs of eyes instantly snap to me. "Hi Ellen," I nod "Jo."

"Hey sweetie, don't mind us, just some guys wandered in, looking to score probably." Ellen narrows her eyes at Sam who was looking back and forth between the 9mm pointed at his face and me, a pleading look in his eyes.

I shrug my bag off, setting it on the table. "They didn't come to steal. I know them. They're Sam and Dean, or dumb and dumber—which is quickly becoming a good replacement."

"Sam and Dean? Winchester?" Her face softens. I nod, confirming.

"Son of a bitch." She mutters.

"Mom, you know these guys?" Jo asks.

"Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's boys." She lets out a laugh, lowering the gun. Jo slowly does the same. "Hey, I'm Ellen. This is my daughter Jo." She gives Dean a smile.

"You're not gonna hit me again, are you?" Dean questions, nasally. She fills a hand towel with ice and offers it to Dean, without saying a word.

"Bobby called said you had a case for me. You needed help with something?"

"Yeah," she leans an elbow against the bar. "Demon. Heard he was closing in on it."

"He? He who?"

"John Winchester. I actually called you when he didn't return my calls."

"Ah. I see." Aware of where she kept files, I rounded the bar and slid the file cabinet drawer open. Flicking through the row of folders until I found what I needed. I open the Manila folder and frown. A lot of the writing from these newspaper articles are small. And I don't have my reading glasses. My vision is really good when pin pointing objects or when something's out of place but if it's words? Sometimes I catch hell. Glancing over at the drying rack an idea pops into my mind, and I lift a small shot glass from the rack.

"What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed? I mean, who are you? How do you know about all this?" Dean demanded.

I slam the drawer closed with my hip. "The same way you do, genius. She's not new to the world of hunters." I circle my way back from behind the bar. I'm rewarded a dirty look from the man.

"I just run a saloon. But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad, a long time ago. John was like family once." Her lips curl up into a small smile as she reminisces.

"Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?" Dean questioned, skeptical. Ellen's response was a mere shrug. "So why exactly do we need your help?"

"What's with mister moody over there?" I glance up from the open folder in my hand to see Jo slinking to stand next to me. She mirrors my position of leaning back against the hard wood of the bar.

"Their dad got off'd by a demon a few days ago," I whisper back, my eyes falling back on the newspaper article. "I'm not sure they know it was a demon though. Dude reeked of sulfur, but I'm pretty sure I was the only one that could smell it." I run the glass, rim-down across the page, the words becoming magnified.

"Have you told them about your 'abilities'?"

"Hell no! I barely know them. The only reason I'm around them is that Bobby wants me to. The old geezer's suddenly scared something's gonna happen to me."

"Well, you are like his daughter Essie." God, I hated when she called me that. "From what you've told me, he doesn't have anyone except you." I huff. I'm getting lectures left and right.

"Ash!" Me and Jo can't help but jump at Ellen's abrupt shout. Ash, who was asleep on the pool table jerks up with a start. Honestly, I'm not surprised I didn't notice him before. I've been coming here for years, and I'm so accustomed to seeing him drunkenly sprawled out, I just consider him furniture. "What? It closing time?" He grumbles, looking around in a daze.

"That's Ash?" Sam questions in disbelief.

"Yep." I walk past him, plucking the thick folder from its spot on the table in front of him before he has time to react.

"He's a genius." Jo smiles, pushing off the bar and walking behind it. I snicker.

"No," I grab the glass of water from the bar and saunter over to where he was. "These guys and I need your help with some info." I slide the water to him, and he looks up at me, his lips spread in a lazy smile. Here it comes.

"Well for you I'll help any way I can, Darlin'." As always, his eyes almost instantaneously fall to my breast. He goes to lean an elbow on the table but, misses and begins to fall until I grab his forearm--steadying him. "See I'm fallin' for you." I can't help but break into a smile at his cheesy flirting.

"Stop flirtin' with Essence and read the damn notes." Ellen scolds, but it's obvious she's amused as well.

"You've gotta be kidding me, this guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie." Dean states.

Ash smiled. "I like you."

"Don't doubt him." I did the same when I first met him, and he shocked the hell outta me. "Just give him a chance." I add.

"Alright. This is about a year's worth of our dad's work, so uh, let's see what you make of it." Dean watches as Ash opens the folder and skims through it.

"Come on, this crap ain't real. There ain't nobody that can track a demon like this." Ash scoffs.

"Apparently so, their dad seemed to be able to do it." I shrug.

"There are non-parametric, statistical overviews, prospects, and correlations, I mean, damn!" He wheezes.

"These are omens." A piece of paper catches my eye, I drag my fingers across the lines.

"Basically if you can track these, you won't have much of a problem tracking the demon behind it." I glance up at the boys to see a mixture of both impressed and confused expressions. 

"Yeah." Ash nods in agreement. "You know like, crop failures, electrical storms...You ever been struck by lightning? It ain't fun." he trails off, picking up another sheet.

"Can you track it or not?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, with this, I think so. But it's gonna take time, uh, give me," he ponders briefly. "Fifty-one hours." He stands to leave.

"Hey, man?" Dean stops him.

"Yeah." He turns to face us again.

"I, uh, dig the haircut."

"All business up front, party in the back." I chuckle as he flips his hair and shrugs before leaving the room.

"Hey, Ellen, what's that?" Ellen looks back at the space behind her before looking back at Sam.

"Well, that's Essie's police scanner she left here a year ago and never took it back." I scrunch my face.

"Hey now, first of all, I left it because I got a new one. Secondly, I left it so you could be more aware of what's going on and keep tabs on things."

With Ellen's folder still in my hand, I move over to the bar and slide on the stool next to Sam. "Hey, look at this, " I open the folder and place the first few pages of the article between us. I could see that in big red marker it had written on it:

COUPLE MURDERED

CHILD LEFT ALIVE

MEDFORD, WISC.

"Read over this again. I already did but, I don't have my reading glasses, so my vision is fucked up when It comes to words. You might see something I missed." He nods and grabs the sheets.

I fixate myself with something I have no problem seeing clearly. Photos of the victims, their information, etc.

The bar was all-around quiet. Except for Dean and Jo who were having an indistinct conversation on the farther side of the room, next to the windows.

"So uh," Sam starts. "How have you been. Its been what... five or six years since we last saw each other?" He asks with humor.

"Seven actually," I respond dryly, not lifting my eyes from the photos. "We were freshmen." I flip one and move to the next. "As for me, I've been fine. Grown accustomed to being alone." I murmur adding a shrug, more than likely to keep from visibly cringing at the statement I had unintentionally let slip from my lips. I could hope he hadn't heard me, but I already know he has by the way he's looking at me. Although I've still failed to make eye contact with the guy I can still feel his eyes staring at the side of my face.

"Dean," I call him over, not quite because I wanted too but, I needed to change the subject before it progressed any further. "Come take a look at this." At this statement, Sam leans closer to me, and Dean stands next to me, leaning his body against the bar. I frown at the uncomfortable closeness. "Too fucking close." I shake my head. They both mumble a 'sorry' and put some distance between them and me.

I roll my eyes. "A few murders not far from here Ellen caught wind of. And with my expertise, this damn sure looks like a hunt."

"Since when are you an 'expert' in hunting?" I turn my head towards the eldest and shoot him a harsh glare, before shifting my expression into one of smugness. "Since I saved your tight ass—not once but twice since we met less than a month ago." I slide off the stool and brush past him to the table I left my bag on, but not before gauging the look on his face. I can tell Dean's taken aback by my response at the way his brows furrow deeply. He clears his throat, crossing his arms. "So what's your point?"

"My point, Sweetcheeks, is that we're taking the case." I stuff the folder in my bag and pull out my Mossberg 500 12 Gauge Shotgun. Although I had intended on riding my bike to—what I thought was a nearby town in South Dakota but is actually a town in Wisconsin, I should go and swap out for my truck. Another good reason is the center of what's going on isn't really familiar to me at first mention, so who knows what and how many of it am I going to need to take it out.

"No, absolutely not." He protests. "You're not tagging along with us. Give me the folder." With my instincts, I hear his heavy feet approach me, and I turn, gun in hand. I grip the pump and flick my wrist harshly, gun clicking as it cocks. He immediately stops in his tracks.

"You really wanna try taking it from me?" I tilt my head. He's highly annoyed but shakes his head regardless. "Smart boy." I smile and the bag over my shoulder, shotgun still in my right clutch.

"Now come on," I pat his stubbled face with my hand and walk past him yet again. "Got a lot of work to do."

[diinofayce]

Devil’s Backbone

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader | Word Count: 1,882 | Warnings: Angst, Mentions of death, Character Death | Song: Devil’s Backbone - The Civil Wars

A/N: Sorry guys, this got a little dark on me. Thank you to my amazing 100 followers for your support. A/N-3/3: Sorry guys, I posted this last night and just c&p my taglist and didn’t activate. So if you’re getting a tag notification after having seen this story - that’s why. 

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have I done? I’ve fallen in love with a man on the run Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I’m begging you please Don’t take that sinner from me Oh don’t take that sinner from me

New York was falling.

Creatures streamed from a portal in the sky and the civilians ran in terror, hid in dark allies and wept, died under falling brick and mortar. The Avengers did what they could, but you were tired of watching. You were afraid, not for the people of Earth, or any of the super hero squad, but for the man who caused everything; Loki. You watched with Heimdall, forbidden by Thor to travel down to Earth with him only days prior. You watched as Thor fought with the men in the red and blue suits, you watched Loki’s capture, and you watched his trickery and escape. You hadn’t left Heimdall’s side, but you had had enough.

“Open the Bifrost,” you commanded of Heimdall and turned his gaze upon you.

“I cannot, my lady. Thor has left his orders,” Heimdall expressed and you gritted your teeth.

“And I have given you new ones. Open the pathway willingly or I will use force.” Your sword left it’s sheath with a ringing note as you stared down the dark skinned man.

“You would risk the punishment of disobeying orders for the likes of Loki?” Heimdall asked, ignoring the sword his eyes never leaving yours.

“I would risk everything for Loki.”

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what do I do? I’ve fallen for someone who’s nothing like you He’s raised on the edge of the devil’s backbone Oh I just wanna take him home Oh I just wanna take him home

Heimdall opened the Bifrost and turned to you one last time. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

You nod at him once before traveling the rainbow bridge to Earth. You land solidly on the cracked pavement of downtown New York. Your golden armor gleams in the small fires that spit and spark from fallen debris and corpses. You cast your eyes around the wreckage, ducking in time to not be taken down by caravan of aliens on flying machines, you catch Loki on the back of one of the machines. You hear a roar and watch as the Hulk jumps from one building to the other, raining cement to the streets below. You frown at the burst of screaming, did they not understand how many innocents the Avengers were endangering as well?

You take off at a brisk jog down the roads, your eyes open for Loki. You follow another trail of the flying alien’s and catch slight of glinting gold on the roof of a tall building. You watch Thor ascend the structure, Mjolnir spinning above his head and grit your teeth in resolution. You bend your knees in preparation to jump when the red and gold suited man suddenly blocks your path. Your grip tightens on your sword and you hold your golden and silver shield in front of you. You cannot read his face behind his mask, but you hoped you looked as intimidating as you felt.

“Another one of you out of towners? Really, tourism is getting out of control,” he snarks through his mask.

You frown and spin your sword in your hand. “I am here for Loki, nothing more.” You take an active fighting stance, ready to remove him from your path if necessary.

“Well, you see, that’s kind of what we all want right now. You know, besides stopping this mess your antlered friend created.”

You raise your brows and relaxed your stance, motioning to the destruction happening behind you. “You are making more of a calamity. You are containing nothing, metal man.”

“It’s Iron Man, thanks.”

“It does not matter. You and your companions are just as responsible for hundreds of deaths. Yes, Loki has fallen astray and we of Asgard will take care of it. But who will take care of you and what you have done?”

Tony froze as he looked to see the damages wrought as if he hadn’t really noticed before. You take the opportunity to strut past him and with a strong leap you make your way up the side with the tower with ease.

“Thor! Loki!” You yell as you land on the building with a crash. Both men stop their arguing and turn to look at you with shock. You slam your fist down on the roof, dust rising around you in a plume as you regain your warrior’s stance.

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, he’s somewhere between A hangman’s knot, and three mouths to feed There wasn’t a wrong or a right he could choose He did what he had to do Oh he did what he had to do

Thor’s eyebrows knitted in anger, his cheeks flushing. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he turned his back on his brother to approach you. “I told you to stay in Asgard. I forbade you from interfering,” the god of thunder roared, his golden hair flying around his face, strands catching in his beard.

“You do not give me orders!” you spat angrily. “I gave you the days out of courtesy to bring him home, but I stood by and watched you fail. I watched you get fooled by his amateur tricks that have been fooling you since we were children.”

Thor balked momentarily, the muscles in his jaw visibly clenching. You watch as he raises Mjolnir, almost in a challenge, before backing down. Your eyes shoot over Thor’s shoulder to Loki, who is watching with amused trepidation. He looked bedraggled and slightly deranged and you could feel your heart breaking at the sight.

“What would you have me do?” Thor asked, sounding helpless for the first time. “He will always be my brother.”

“Go help the others save the mortals, they are doing a poor job of it,” you answer, refocusing on the blond man standing between you and Loki. You reach out and place a leather covered glove softly on his cheek. “He may be your brother, but he is my heart. I will bring him home to us.” You smack his cheek sharply and steel your features. “Now, go!”

Thor nods at your command and with one last glower at his sibling, he launches himself from the building and back into the fray below.

Give me the burden, give me the blame I’ll shoulder the load, and I’ll swallow the shame Give me the burden, give me the blame How many, how many Hail Marys is it gonna take?

With Thor gone you finally got an unobstructed view of the God of Mischief in front of you. He seemed thinner and paler, the bags under his eyes were dark and hollow. You weren’t sure whether his clothing hung on him heavier or it was the weight of seeing his actions come to fruition. You took a couple slow steps towards him, the tip of your sword scratching against the concrete before you dropped your sword and shield to run into his arms. You sighed as you felt his arms wrap around you, but then he tensed and pushed you away.

“You should not be here,” he said sadly, refusing to look you in the eyes.

“You are right, I should be at home with you. Drinking wine in front of the fire or tangled with you in my bed. But I am not there with you, I am here with you, but you can end this and we can go back,” you tried to beseech him, try to stay calm and plead with him. Loki has always responded better when he thought he had the upper hand. “Come home with me, my love.”

You approached him again and rested your hand on the side of his face, forcing him gently to look you in the eyes. The green of his eyes swirled with turmoil and pain and you had to take a breath to steady yourself. He placed his hand over your own and lowered it to his chest.

“They would not have me back. Not like it was before, I would be a prisoner.” Loki stepped away from you again to approach the edge of the building and threw his arms wide. “Here, I can be king.”

You knotted your brows in anger and recollected your discarded weapons. “Do you honestly think your father would treat you as a common prisoner?”

Loki whirled on you suddenly, causing you to raise your shield in defense. The hurt your action created flashed across his face for less than a second before it was impassive again. “He is not my father,” Loki replied icily.

“He raised you as his own, Loki! He is as much your father as he is Thor’s. Do you really believe the Chitari are going to allow you rule of Earth? What will be left to rule when they are done with their invasion? It will be just you, my heart, just you on this godforsaken rock.” You sheathed your sword and reached for his hand. “Please, Loki, my heart, please come home with me.”

Loki closed the gap and takes your hand pulling you into his chest. In one swift movement he crashes his lips to yours. He always tasted so sweet, with the sharp bite of cold that you knew was his frost giant blood. He pulls back to capture your bottom lip between his teeth, pulling it softly before detaching from you and resting his forehead on yours. His helmet clinks softly against the warrior’s circlet wrapped around your head.

“I cannot stop, my darling. They will take you from me,” he whispers against your mouth.

You frown softly and reach up again to capture his lips softly this time. “Please stop this, Loki.” You beg one last time.

“No.”

“Then it is you, my heart, that have taken me from you.”

In one swift movement you pull the sword from your sheath and plunge it through his center. Tears fall down your cheeks in hot streaks as the hands that were at your waist wrap around your wrist. “I love you, Loki. But I do not know you anymore.” With a sob you push harder, twisting sharply and brace yourself as his weight comes down on your shoulder.

“My love?” Loki gasps in pain and confusion. Blood drips from the corners of his mouth. You slowly sink to your knees, bringing him with you. You pull his helmet from his head and drag your fingers through his dark curls.

“I am sorry,” you sob, tears falling onto his face as you brace yourself and pull the sword from his chest. You toss your sword to the side where it lands with a clatter. You wipe the blood from his chin with your thumb and watch as the Iron Man flies a missile into the portal. Looking back down Loki you bend down to kiss his forehead before closing his eyes.

Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve got Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I’m begging you please Don’t take that sinner from me Oh don’t take that sinner from me

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[tk-duveraun]

Title: Fallout 3/4 Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Rating: T Genre: Romance & Drama Warnings: Some violence Summary: Continuation of Resilience. Morathis continues to try to convince Fox to do something they both want him to do. Notes: NO MERMAID AU

Parts: One Two

The Mandalorian camp is loud, boisterous, which includes loud, but the volume needs a second mentioning, and far too unorganized for Rathi’s personal tastes. He’s only spent one other evening in the camp, just to get the lay of the land and to watch Fox flirt with his girlfriend, but he’s here again on the promise of watching them spar.

While Fox and Hound are still outside of the ring, a helmeted Mandalorian walks up to Rathi. His armor is just as bright as everyone else’s, but Meshurok’s gemstone sigil is on his shoulder. Rathi nods at him. “Ty’lk.”

“Hullo, Morathis. Heard tell from the alor that your Sith is going to be hiring us on after this,” Ty’lk says.

“Faximil is impressed with Hound’s leadership,” Rathi says. He looks and looks back at Hound. Neither she nor Fox are wearing their helmets and from the way their bodies are angled, it’s obvious there’s some level of intimacy there.

“And it has nothing to do with a personal request from one Lieutenant?”

Rathi turns and raises an eyebrow at the blank t-visor. “Would it matter if some request of that nature was involved?”

“We’re not a matchmaking service.”

Rathi turns back to where Fox is finally entering the circle. “Your leader found the work on offer amenable. I don’t believe the existence of ulterior motives, if there even were such a thing, matters. It’s rather a reach to think a Sith would pander to that sort of request to begin with.”

“You all love the curséd dar’jetii for a reason. Maybe he does listen.”

Before Rathi can come up with a suitable answer, Fox whistles a piercing and unnatural note. The crystals in Rathi’s chest flare to life, though thankfully not enough to shine through his uniform. Fox shouts something in mando’a, but aside from his name and a few clan names, Rathi has no idea what was said. Nevertheless, he jogs with Ty’lk up to Hound. “What’s going on?”

“What, you don’t speak mando’a, too?” Hound asks with irritation, even as she gestures for them to follow her out of the camp.

“Of course not; it’s difficult to get more Outsider than Ascendancy,” Rathi says.

“The Jedi are approaching the camp and I can’t reach Imperial command,” Hound replies. She draws her vibrosword as they enter the trees and then primes an EMP with her free hand.

Rathi draws his cursed dagger and changes his gait to a stalk as they move forward. When he sees the Jedi, he hangs back and watches Hound toss the EMP in. The kid flinches as his distorter fields drop. As he takes his time settling into his stance and taking deep breaths, Rathi strongly considers just tossing his dagger into the child’s heart.

“You’re all very tired. Yes, you just want to lay down and take a nap.”

Rathi grimaces as the kid’s Force energy from the Mind Trick is sucked into the crystals in his chest. He settles on merely maiming the padawan and throws his dagger at his arm.

Unfortunately for the kid, Hound fires a volley of shots, one of which hits his leg, but the bigger problem is that he moves into the path of the cursed dagger and it nails him just under his collarbone instead of in the shoulder. The blackening skin is immediately visible from the collar of his robes.

Rathi steps forward as the kid falls to the dirt with a howl of pain. Hound reaches the kid first and kicks him onto his back far more gently than Rathi would have.

“Please don’t kill me! I surrender! I’ll do anything!”

“We’re not going to kill you, brat,” Hound says. She kneels near his face and sticks the barrel of her pistol under his chin to make him look her in the eye. “Who’s your master and what’s his party trick?”

“Master Nicabre,” the kid says.

Rathi’s breath leaves him in a loud hiss. He knows that name.

“He can Mind Trick-”

“Leave him, Hound. We have to go.” Rathi doesn’t wait to see if Hound is going to follow him before he sprints off through the trees. After a moment, he can hear the two Mandalorians clomping behind him.

“Morathis, what’s the problem?” Hound asks.

“Nicabre has a personal vendetta against Faximil and his Mind Tricks can spread from person to person as they come into contact. If he can separate one of Fox’s party, he can infect the entire camp.”

“He only took the kid from Tiyaar with him. So he just has to kill the Jedi Master and keep Atonai in line, kriff. This is bad. Do you know where you’re going?”

Rathi holds up his tracker without breaking stride.

“Little paranoid, don’t you think?”

“You’re too naive if you think this is the first time Fox has almost died,” Rathi calls back over his shoulder. His blood is pounding in his ears and his breath is wheezing around the two crystals in his lungs when he finally breaks into the clearing.

Fox has his back to him and his deactivated vibrosword in hand. The kid from Tiyaar has his blade out and active while he stands in an aggressive posture. The Jedi is dead in two pieces on the forest floor.

“Fox? Tiyaar?” Hound calls out.

Rathi doesn’t wait for a response from either of them before drawing his blaster and shooting Tiyaar’s weapon out of his hand. The kid howls in pain and leaps at Fox, even though he’s unarmed.

Ty’lk tackles the kid to the ground and holds the struggling warrior still while Hound breaks the seal on the kid’s helmet and jabs him in the neck with a tranquilizer. Despite the commotion, Fox remains still and silent in concentration.

Hound gets back to her feet and brushes the loam off her knees. “Take him back to the camp and hand him over to the Imps. I want them to fix his hand, on Faximil’s tab, and make sure the jetii’s spell is broken.”

Ty’lk nods and picks the kid up in a fireman’s carry. He doesn’t question any part of the instructions as he leaves.

Hound pulls out her comm and calls back to the camp, instructing one of the Mandalorians to find the padawan and take him back for questioning. “Oy, Morathis, is that knife of yours going to kill him?”

“No, but your people should be sure not to touch the blade.”

Hound rolls her eyes at him and doesn’t include that in her instructions. Once that’s done, she stows her comm and crosses her arms over her chest. She stares at Fox, her expression hard and cold.

Before Rathi can ask what her problem is, Fox comes back to himself with a visible, full-body shake. He turns and blinks at them. “Rathi. Carina.”

“So, Fox,” Carina says, “when, exactly, were you planning to tell me you were Faximil?”

Rathi masks his initial surprise, but the grimace is clear on his face when he reexamines the Jedi’s corpse. There’s no mistaking that cleave for the work of a vibrosword, certainly not by a seasoned warrior like Carina.

Fox rubs the back of his neck and glances at the ground for a moment before meeting Hound’s eyes. “Eventually?”

Rathi groans and rubs his temples.

“Oh, don’t act like you’re not a party to this, Morathis,” Hound snaps.

“My identity being secret is a tactical asset. If Nicabre had known I was in the camp, he would have waited until I left to attack. If we had fallen in love-”

“Would you have told me, then? Would you really? Or would you have just moved the goalposts to some other vague point so you never had to deal with the consequences of your lies?” Hound shouts her accusations at them and Fox flinches from each one.

When she seems to be waiting for a response, Fox lifts his hands as it to ward off further yelling. “I’ll cancel the contract with your clan father. I’d rather just end this here without any more-”

Hound interrupts him. “I don’t care what you’d rather. You don’t get to decide for me.”

Fox flinches again and his expression is twisted in pain and regret, but under Rathi’s cold facade, he isn’t bothered. He’s not sure if Hound knows it yet, but barring some catastrophe, she’s not going to turn her back on them.

Well, Rathi thinks as she walks away without another word, once she comes back she won’t leave again. She wouldn’t be half as upset if she was willing to give Fox up. And I’ve heard the whispers; she’s not sending their Afflicted children away anymore. They’re two of a kind.

[immortalwanderer-a-blog]

A sharp gasp fills the room, rending the silence in twain. Gauntleted hands flex, the muscles spasming. His chest hurts, his lungs rattle. A raspy cough forces itself from his ravaged throat, burning all the way. He tastes the faint tang of blood but his mind offers nothing, only the desperate need to be freed from the oppressive force that is pushing down on him. He coughs and gasps as his chest hurts again, pain searing through his sternum like a lightning bolt. He grits his teeth and reaches an arm up, pushing through the weight that is pressing down on him and he grabs hold. It is pliant, but not overly so. He worms his other arm up, noting somewhere in his mind that it is no longer broken, and anchors himself. He extricates himself from the weight with a bit of a struggle and wheezes heavily. His helmet feels so constricting right now and he struggles to remove it quickly. The straps come undone and he practically rips it off, pulling a few hairs whilst the rest of his hair falls down around his shoulders, partially matted with sweat. He looks around, the darkness oppressive and the smell downright foul. It is cold, most likely underground. He can just make out the shape of bricks and the indents of mortar, though it appears older than what is used currently. Possibly an underground section of a temple? He frowns as he hears something in the distance and he moves a little, only for pain to flair again within his chest. It is fainter than before, but it seems to echo. He sets a hand upon his breastplate, gauntleted fingers settling over the rounded curve that is supposed to deflect blades yet… he distinctly remembers the feeling of it caving in. Of a sharp blade piercing his chest, tearing through his sternum and slicing through his heart… and his spine… He remembers the feeling of his heart pumping hard, trying to get blood to his brain, yet only killing him faster. He remembers the feeling of drowning on his own blood. He remembers the slick slide of the curved blade as he fell back… And he remembers glaring up at the one who owned the blade until he could no longer see. He feels sick. Gently tapered ears pin back a little, as much as they can move, and a shaky gasp escapes him. He died. He was murdered defending that village… They killed everyone. But… how… How is he alive? Is he alive? He has to be. The pain is too real… He wants to scream, to cry, to do something other than just sit here in shock.

He moves to get up when his hand gets caught, his gauntlet tied up in something. He looks and his mouth goes dry. He tugs a little bit and the thing his gauntlet is caught on moves a tad and it is followed by the tiny snaps of fibers breaking. He knows what this is, but it takes his mind a moment to catch up. He screams, more like shrieks, and rips his hand away, hair coming with him. He leaps from where he was sitting and stumbles back, staring in abject horror at the massive pile of corpses in varying stages of decay. He whimpers quietly as he pulls the hair from his gauntlet, tears stinging at his eyes. And then his stomach turns. He falls to his knees and vomits, or at least tries to. Saliva and mucous dribble from his lips and nose, tinged pink with left-over blood. He coughs violently and his back arches, his fingers attempting to dig into the stone floor. He notices the blood that has collected and dried upon it and that makes him dry-heave again. His torso is knotted up and he hacks and wheezes, spitting excess mucous onto the floor. He coughs a few more times and wipes at his face before slowly standing. He looks to the gruesome pile and he immediately notices the armor amongst the every-day clothing. His soldiers… Their names come to him and he has to turn away. He can’t. He can’t look anymore. His stomach is also threatening to revolt again. His hands shake violently. He feels cold, despite his armor. His legs feel like they want to give out. His head is swimming. He sniffles a little and ignores the tears that streak down his face. He can’t… he knows he can’t come undone now. It feels so wrong, but he forces himself to push the horrid images to the back of his mind. He can deal with this, fully, later… after he is out of whatever hellish place this is. He stumbles away from the bodies and pushes open the door, the heavy thing creaking on its old hinges. Defaced and partially destroyed tapestries line the walls, braziers go unlit. The rank smell of rot and decay fills his nose and his stomach threatens to turn. The cackle of Wargs sound in the distance and he immediately knows he is in danger, or at least in a dangerous place. He looks around the room he came from, hoping for even a makeshift weapon, but there is none to be found. He is defenseless. He wishes he just had something! Something to help defend himself with… Light startles him and a sudden weight settles in his hand. It is the familiar weight of the sword his father made for him but… he did not have it a moment ago. He squeaks and tosses the blade away, as though it were on fire. It whips through the air, singing as it goes, only to dissipate after a few moments. It never touches the ground. After a few seconds, it reappears in his grasp and he jumps, nearly dropping the thing. He stares at the blade and swallows heavily, readjusting his grip on the sword. Upon his apparent acceptance of the blade, he feels… something. Like a sort of quiet affirmation, and the feeling as though he has just reunited with an old friend but… there is no one there. Another quiet whimper. As he steps out of the room, leaving the bodies of friends and strangers behind, he feels just the slightest sort of tingling along his limbs. Like a quiet warmth, it is almost reassuring, though it is too foreign to be. He sets off at a trot, sword at the ready. His armor makes a minimal amount of noise as he ascends flights of stairs and walks down long, winding halls. He avoids patrols—there are too many and he is certain that they would alert whoever else is lingering around in this defiled temple. The antechamber is massive and filled with broken statues and defaced paintings and tapestries. Pews are broken apart and lie scattered about. And in the middle is the one who killed him, as though he was waiting for him. It is startling, and disturbing. But, as far as he can tell, the only way out is through here. He huffs and grips his sword, stepping forward and refusing to hide any longer. Bits of stone and old wood shift and crack under his sabatons. The scythe wielder turns and seems taken aback, though he cannot tell because of the mask covering their face. The exchange of words is one-sided. He’s barely holding himself together. He’s shaking and can’t think properly, especially not enough to provide any sort of witty word play, not that he was any good at that. With no return banter, the scythe wielder takes no time in turning to the offensive. Terra ducks under the swing of the scythe and goes on the offensive as well. His broadsword sweeps down, slicing through the scythe wielder’s dark attire, but making no contact with skin. Back and forth, they go, Terra using what time he has to get in a few hits between parrying or dodging the sweeping strikes of the scythe. His armor deflects blows that do not hit directly and the scythe’s curved blade gives quite a few scores across his chestplate and pauldrons. He even manages to catch the scythe’s blade on his gauntlet and make it slide away harmlessly. He is unsure of how long the fight lasts, but both combatants refuse to back down. Terra weakens, shock-laden body shaking harder with each swing. The strange, buzzing warmth just below his skin has become more active. More noticeable. Almost to the point of distraction. But it is a sudden pain in his chest that distracts him. He stumbles a little, guard open, and his enemy goes for the kill. But the scythe never connects. Instead, it is held against his other gauntlet, secured between two slots along the side of it, and locked in place. Terra twists, pulling his arm down and turning sharply, ripping the scythe from its wielder’s grasp and shattering the blade. His eyes are glowing bright as stars, though he does not know it. His hands are ominously steady as he brings his sword up, light blazing along his armor, following markings that shine through the metal. The light feeds into his sword and he knows… something. He sees what to do, almost like a suggestion within his mind, a near image. He takes a step forward and turns his blade to the floor. The light floods forward, weaving and twisting to form into a blade of pure light. Golden and majestic, it lights up the room. He turns and the blade carves through the stone, melting it. He makes a complete spin, hoists the blade up, and slams it down, tip first, into the ground. Light screams and whirls outward in a shockwave, spinning violently around him and fanning out. The scythe wielder has no time to scream as the light obliterates them… and much of the antechamber. For it fans out to about ten meters in diameter, a perfect circle, and shoots upwards into a column of golden light that tears through the ceiling and shines into the night. A beacon amidst the darkness. The light peters out and, with it, his strength. He struggles to hold himself upright, but ultimately fails. He collapses in the crater he made, his sword disappearing as soon as he lets go of it. Luminous silver eyes stare up to the stars. He stares for a few long moments, watching with quiet detachment… The last thing he sees is an unknown figure standing over him, the crest of the Pantheon emblazoned upon their chest.