#Arc Flash Program

[rei-ismyname]

Uncanny X-Men #10 review

Well, ten issues in and we finally hear something substantive from Nightcrawler. The Outliers are still being attacked by the Wolfpack sentinels after Ground Bear and Jubilee bailed, the Graymalkin Podcaster clown show continues, and Moonbeam and Gambit go on a date mostly off panel. It looks pretty good but it's unfocused and shallow. The Outliers are the stars and the absence of Rogue/Gambit was refreshing. There's fart jokes?

Nightcrawler thinks to himself that he doesn't want to go back to being an X-Man, except he is an X-Man, isn't he? Realistically, he's having the same doubts everyone else has had. They were left unresolved and brushed aside so I'm not going to spend much time on this. Fool me thrice.

Anyway, he's painting a roof with Chelsea, who ends up being a mutant. Great, just what this book needs more of 🙄. She's probably the wisest person here who knows the mall is a bad idea. Kurt is really enjoying this place as a 'home' that's 'healing him.' How? Doesn't matter. He's just saying words and I wonder why he's even in the book. The lady whose kid he rescued rocks up with homemade German pastries for him which is a nice moment but it's not a substitute for character development. Things happen to him, mostly.

Meanwhile, Deathdream is bleeding out at the mall and The Outliers are rallying. The adult X-Men are feeling like a bit of a distraction tbh. The kids are being developed the most, learning, growing, making choices. It's great for them, but it's an awkward situation if you want more than the barest development of The X-Men. I look back on the first arc and how much time was spent flashing back to Xavier and Sarah Gaunt. No idea what degree of editorial meddling there is, but I find it hard to believe Gail Simone would intentionally take focus off the main characters to that degree.

Jitter uses her powers to become a master combat medic for sixty seconds and takes charge. For some reason the Wolfpack just aren't attacking them right now, despite having a taste for blood and no master.

Calico has her heroic moment and aims to distract the Wolfpack. Ransom is hunting for a needle to save Deathdream and stops to cheer her on despite the ticking clock. Said clock ticks down and he's just a little bit too late, so Jitter is relying on memory. Sure. The 'if X happens, run and leave me' moment is the 5th time this beat has been played this run, and it gets the same response each time. There's value in repetition but I'm not seeing any formalism or thematic purpose here, so it just feels repetitive. Don't get me wrong, the kids are the best part of the book, but I don't get these choices. It's the kind of thing even a parody of action cliché should be embarrassed doing - and it loses power each time.

Time's up! We check in with Graymalkin, where the same dynamic as last time is escalating after the incident hits the news. Trask wouldn't kill kids because of his family history, apparently. Maybe he's referring to his sister, but that's a stretch. He had no problem with basically enslaving Juston Seyfert for his sentinel program. Whatever, maybe it's some new shit. The podcaster isn't happy, and keeps telling him to shut them down, something he's established he can't do. Not sure what was gained by including this.

Okay, Nightcrawler sees the Wolfpack situation on the news (TF are Logan and Jubilee?) He is obviously going to teleport there to meet them, but he stops for thoughts and prayers in a life or death scenario. DEEEEEP BREATH. Fucking really? Yeah, Kurt is Catholic, though he has spent the last few years having a major crisis of faith. He's also an experienced hero and pointedly not an idiot. Stopping to pray when kids you're responsible for are probably being torn to shreds is not something he would do, ever. It's embarrassing and frankly highlights why he shouldn't be in this book. Kurt Wagner is a complex, well-rounded individual. In this book he's been portrayed with 'is religious' as his defining character trait. I hate to go there but I'm dubious that Simone knows a damn thing about him - besides 'religious guy.' All that aside, if you only have room for a single flat character trait, take them out of the book. Kill him if you need to because this is painful. That would free up space for other characters to have beliefs, motivations etc.

Jitter is going off memory and Calico is regulating. The memory is fading and Ember is down though. After encouragement from Ransom Jitter does the Pulp Fiction thing anyway - Calico lapses into despair, repeating her mother's abusive nonsense.

Nevermind, Ember is fine and so is Deathdream. More than fine even. Right as rain. Ransom is reinventing the fastball special except with Ember kicking him in the heart.

Logan and Jubilee finally show up to protect the kids they're responsible for. They're held up by a barricade and a cop. Okay this must be a shape shifter or something because I don't see Logan even asking for permission, let alone wasting time arguing with this bozo. He'd leap the barrier, or slice it. Famously he does not give a fuck and is very willing to use violence. If you thought that was bad, Jubilee convinces the cop and then wastes time flirting with him. Flirting with a cop while their charges are fighting sentinels. I guess now that she's abandoned her baby in Otherworld she's got time to date. This is unserious shit.

I wish I had the gall to follow up that waste of time with 'we're not gonna make it.' This run isn't going to make it. Kurt beats them there and has his second most substantial conversation of the run. With a killer robot dog. He teleports it into the sky and kicks it without hurting himself. Maybe Calico softened them up since last issue.

Jitter and Deathdream seem fucked with two Wolfpack sentinels racing towards them. Ransom and Calico check in, while informing us that Ransom is who they look up to. I mean, she's been doing all the fighting and Ransom was going to leave last issue but sure. Why not? He does throw a robot dog at Logan for him to slice, that's leader shit. If I was being generous I'd say it's a callback to Fall of the House of X #1, where Colossus did the same thing with an ORCHIS soldier. It doesn't matter because Deathdream suddenly figures out he can kill them all. Easily. It's loosely explained and I don't care enough to quibble. His powers are established and they apparently include a healing factor too.

With that, the threat is over. They got them all, together. Right. Logan compliments Ransom who asks not to be called 'kid.' I guess he's the man now, dawg. The mutants are hailed as heroes by local news and The Podcaster is not happy. They've finally tracked down the idiot responsible for this debacle, and she sends him to be tortured. The private sector is rough. I still don't know what the Podcaster's actual deal is, she's all over the place and I can't fathom why anyone obeys or fears her. What does she want aside from a mutant prison?

This book lacks consequences. The adults keep making huge mistakes that other people suffer for yet they get bailed out. It's narrative 101 - if your characters make a mistake they should have to deal with the fallout. They learn and grow. Rogue hasn't made a good decision yet and her team are complimenting her - directly after a prison break with no plan where she spent her time punching Scott. They sent the kids to school and Calico was kidnapped in an hour. Logan and Jubilee fucked up so badly here the kids nearly died. One actually did, but luckily it didn't stick. Kurt is praying and Jubilee is flirting while they're fighting for their lives. These actions aren't being used as mistakes to learn from, they're just things that happen. There's no tension because nothing really matters. No matter what they do things work out and they're hailed as heroes. Personally, I want more out of the flagship X-Men book.

When the wisest person in the book is 6 years old, it hangs a lampshade on how cartoonishly everyone is behaving. I'm thinking that's the point. The ragtag misfits have goofy adventures that seem like the end of the world at the time, but it's just Tuesday. It's the fun book where you don't have to think hard. Moonbeam, Ground Bear, and the Podcaster. PTSD, let's never talk about it again. Diction lessons, sugah. Let's pray.

A look at the letters page tells us everyone is loving the book, and they're definitely real people that aren't cherry picked. Good for them and good for you if you're enjoying it. I'm not loving it, but I'm not hating it. It exhausts me a little but I do enjoy reviewing it. Thanks for reading, Ground Bears.

[nanoko857]

Detective Conan - Itakura Suguru's Software

Summary of Events up to Chapter 1141

In a shocking turn of events, the Itakura Suguru case has made a comeback! With chapter 1144 coming out soon, I wanted to do a recap of the hints dropped in recent chapters regarding Itakura Suguru and the Black Organization. This thrilling arc is one of my favorites in the entire series, so I was really happy to see it being brought up again.

Conan and the Mouri's were tasked with finding Itakura Suguru by his colleagues, one of whom ended up killing him. During this investigation, Conan discovered that Itakura made contact with Tequila and was able to take his diary after solving the case.

Thanks to this diary, he found out that Itakura was forced to create a mysterious software program for the Organization, but he decided to give up on this project and flee "for the sake of humanity" (although he was killed in a separate incident before he could flee).

Conan delivered the unfinished program to Gin and Vodka in the hopes of tracking them, but failed. Not much is known about the program at this point.

Over 750 chapters later, this case suddenly flashed back into Conan's mind when Eri explained that a cat's cry and a baby's cry sound similar.

A few chapters after the Itakura Suguru case, there was mention of a cat's cry in Itakura's diary. Vermouth, who had forcibly pulled Itakura into working for the Org, was heard with a cat crying in the background of a phone call. Vermouth is not a character shown to get nervous easily, so for her to get nervous and suddenly cut out the call just from the cry of a cat is a interesting thing to specify.

Yukiko confronts Vermouth regarding this during the Bell Tree Express, noting the she famously did not get along with Itakura. Most likely, the Org requested someone skilled in software development, and Vermouth offered Itakura up. Although, the reasoning for their initial disagreement has not been explained yet. Given Yukiko's close relationship with Vermouth, I think she would be able to confirm with Conan if she ever had any dislike or allergy with cats in particular.

However, with this new piece of information from Eri, we know that this was likely not a cat at all, but rather the cry of a baby! Now, what would a baby be doing here in a situation like this?

If you recall the case of Azusa and Conan being kidnapped, you may remember the old woman and baby that briefly appeared. The baby in her stroller not only didn't have any distinct features shown, but was completely blacked out, similar to how a character that isn't ready to be revealed yet is drawn.

Eri's cat was also mentioned to the old woman, who said she has a cat allergy. The woman was shown to be hanging around Poirot in both scenes she appeared briefly in. Perhaps this is Vermouth in disguise, keeping an eye on Amuro and the Mouri Detective Agency.

With the main plot of physical age regression, it's easy to assume that this may very well be the Boss himself, shrunken down to the size of a baby. This transformation would also make it incredibly hard for someone to find the Boss if they are looking for him in his original form.

While movies are usually not canon, Movie 26 had a surprising moment around the 1 hour 15 min mark, revealing previously unknown info that Rum, the Boss' second in command, had in fact not seen him in a while and wants to search for him. Is the Boss currently hiding with Vermouth or a caretaker, unable to show his face because he is in the body of a baby? Is the software shown in the movie similar to what Itakura was developing?

Not only that, but Conan also recalled another early case from chapter 191, in which Haibara mentioned punishment upon going against the "stream of time." This phrasing was used by Vermouth, as mentioned in Itakura's diary.

It is also used by Masumi Sera when referring to Haibara's temporary APTX-4869 antidote.

Did the Boss find himself close to death, impatiently taking an unfinished version of APTX-4869 and becoming a baby?

Is the punishment a dreadfully lonely life, seeing everyone pass by as you continue to remain in the same young form? It is confirmed that those who survive APTX-4869 not only de-age, but remain in that state indefinitely. 20 years after de-aging, Vermouth has not changed. Conan and Ai have not grown even slightly taller, either. This could explain Vermouth's hatred for the Miyano's, who created a drug that put her into this state of physical purgatory.

If the boss did indeed shrink into a baby, he won't be able to just grow out of it, he will have to find a cure or be stuck in this form forever.

I recommend reading MeiTanteixX's post below if you want to know more about the Org's drug developments and timeline.

I hope that at least some of this is touched upon in the upcoming chapter. It is very exciting to see some movement on this plot line that was introduced over 20 years ago!

[captainjonnitkessler]

I think I've identified the reason I get so worked up about anarchism in relation to labor rights and safety in particular.

Three years ago I watched my coworker almost die when a piece of machinery we were moving unsafely fell on him. It missed his head by an inch and snapped his leg in half instead. It took months of recovery and multiple surgeries for him to walk again and he will be disabled for the rest of his life. And it didn't happen because of Capitalism or profit motive or because our evil bosses were forcing us to work unsafely. It happened because he'd done similar things a hundred times before and it had always been fine, and because I didn't know enough to clock just how dangerous what we were doing was, and just because of some plain shitty luck. Mentally it fucked me up for months in ways I didn't recognize until well after the fact.

And the thing is, almost every construction worker can tell you about the time they saw a fatal or near-fatal accident. An apprentice younger than me had a heart attack and was out of work for over a year after shocking himself on a live circuit. The woman who runs our apprenticeship program has a husband who had his arm blown off in an arc flash incident. One of my teachers had a coworker die after getting hung up on a live circuit and he wasn't found until the end of the day.

Construction is one of the single most dangerous industries to work in, and I believe this is why rates of drug and alcohol abuse and suicide are sky-high in the industry. I think many construction workers are low-key traumatized by knowing constantly that they could die or be permanently disabled due to a very simple mistake or oversight. It is simply inherently unsafe when you are working with live electricity, power tools, heights, thousands of pounds of machinery, cranes, etc. And so yes, I do believe that safety protocols and the ability to enforce them are absolutely necessary to preventing a massive amount of death. The number of worker deaths in the US has been slashed by 60% since OSHA was instated.

And so to get online and have someone who has never set foot on a jobsite in their life condescendingly explain to me that actually, we don't need OSHA or the ability to enforce safety standards because in a perfect world everyone will just suddenly start working perfectly safely, and I'm just too stupid or brainwashed to realize that The Real Villain Is Capitalism, and if we just get rid of that it will somehow also get rid of the inherent safety issues involved in the entire construction industry - well it turns out it pisses me off a little bit!

[anythinggoesbutme]

The Truth Hurts (Especially at Dinner)

Cassie Hobbes x Dean Redding x Micheal Townsend x Lia Zhang x Sloane Tavish

Warnings: sarcasm, emotional banter, chaotic group dynamics, found family vibes

Synopsis: What starts as a simple team dinner quickly unravels into chaos when Lia starts calling out lies, Michael won’t stop provoking Dean, and Cassie realizes this dysfunctional mess might actually feel like home.

Song: “Dog Days Are Over” — Florence + the Machine

Word Counter: 918

The dinner was supposed to be normal.

Well, as normal as it could be when it involved five teenage members of a covert FBI program, all of whom had a statistically significant chance of trauma-induced snark and interpersonal disasters.

Dean had grilled. Actual food. Meat, vegetables, even bread that hadn’t come from the freezer section. Cassie suspected it was some kind of ritual offering to the gods of domestic stability. She appreciated the effort—he’d even set the table, which was frankly the most suspicious part.

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook,” Michael said as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed and smirking, because of course he did. “Does this mean we’ve entered the ‘husband era’ of your arc?”

Dean didn’t rise to the bait. “It’s chicken.”

Michael grinned wider. “It’s commitment.”

Sloane, oblivious or perhaps just delighted by the presence of table settings, was already arranging the utensils by Fibonacci sequence. Cassie watched her swap a fork and knife three times, then nod decisively. “This is the most aesthetically pleasing cutlery alignment I’ve ever seen. Statistically speaking, when forks are placed at a seventy-two degree angle, people are 16% more likely to report dinner satisfaction.”

Cassie blinked. “Did you just cite a study on forks?”

“I cite studies on everything,” Sloane said. “Including interpersonal dynamics at shared meals.”

“I would like to opt out of being analyzed,” Michael said, plopping down next to her. “For the duration of this meal, I am but a humble man who enjoys poultry.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t enjoy poultry.”

“That’s true,” Lia said from behind him. “Lie.”

Michael didn’t flinch. He just looked up with the calm detachment of a man who had seen his entire life flash before his eyes at the sound of Lia’s voice cutting across the table like a whip.

“Do you have to do that at dinner?” he asked mildly.

“Yes,” Lia said, sliding into the seat beside Dean. She wore red lipstick, diamond studs, and the expression of a cat who had recently gotten into the cream. “Especially when you lie so badly.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Michael countered. “I was playfully evading. It’s called charm, Lia.”

“It’s called delusion,” Dean muttered.

“I’m detecting hostility,” Michael said, pointing a fork at him. “And maybe a smidge of—yes, there it is—repressed feelings.”

Dean didn’t dignify that with a response. He just passed the chicken to Sloane.

Cassie, caught between the two of them, smiled awkwardly and reached for the potatoes. “So… how was everyone’s day?”

“Statistically? Inefficient,” Sloane said. “I only solved 2.6 cold cases this morning.”

“I emotionally devastated a suspect during interrogation,” Michael offered. “Dean glared at me for approximately 43% of it.”

“I glared at you because you started the interview by saying ‘you look like a man with secrets.’”

“He was a man with secrets.”

“I told someone they were lying about being allergic to cats just to see if they’d panic,” Lia added breezily.

“Did they?”

“They sneezed. And then confessed to insurance fraud.”

“Charming,” Michael said, raising his glass to her. “I’m sure the Bureau will give you a gold star for that one.”

Lia grinned and sipped her wine. “Please. I deserve a parade.”

Cassie stared at her plate, then at the people around the table—Dean carefully chewing in silence, Michael and Lia playing their usual game of flirt-and-destroy, Sloane beaming as she counted how many vegetables were on her plate (eleven), and her

Just her.

The profiler.

The one who used to fake normal like it was a full-time job.

“Okay,” she said slowly, “but just for the record, none of this is normal.”

Four heads turned to her.

Michael smiled, lazy and amused. “Define normal, Cassie.”

“Dinner,” she said. “Dinner is supposed to be… I don’t know. Calm. Quiet. Not a war zone of lies and microexpressions.”

Lia gasped in mock offense. “How dare you. This is quality bonding time.”

Dean’s lips twitched. “She’s not wrong.”

Sloane looked confused. “We’ve never had a normal dinner.”

“Exactly,” Cassie said, gesturing with her fork. “And maybe we should try it. No lies. No lie detection. No emotional baiting. Just—food.”

Michael nodded solemnly. “So you’re saying I can’t accuse Dean of projecting his fear of intimacy onto the mashed potatoes?”

Dean closed his eyes. “Please don’t.”

“Or accuse Lia of secretly watching romcoms when no one’s looking?” he added, glancing sideways.

Lia narrowed her eyes. “You swore you wouldn’t tell.”

Michael just winked. “You lied.”

“LIE!” Lia shouted again, stabbing a carrot.

Cassie dropped her fork.

Sloane clapped. “Dinner is now 87% more entertaining.”

“Can we eat,” Dean said, a hair from a growl, “without turning it into a psychological circus?”

“No,” Michael said cheerfully.

“No,” Lia echoed.

Sloane hummed. “Statistically, group dinners in high-stress occupations do often devolve into interpersonal chaos. We’re actually quite average in that regard.”

Michael looked pleased. “You hear that? We’re average.”

Cassie picked up her fork again and took a bite of chicken.

It was dry.

Dean looked at her like he knew exactly what she thought of it and was already planning a re-do of the entire meal prep process.

She gave him a small, grateful smile anyway. Because beneath the chaos and lies and dinner-table diagnostics, there was this:

Dean cooked. Michael showed up. Lia stayed. Sloane counted things because it helped her breathe. And Cassie—Cassie was learning to sit still in the storm and call it home.

Maybe this wasn’t normal.

But maybe it didn’t have to be.

[twilightkitkat]

I think we don't talk enough about Worst Logans past. I think his Weapon X ark was much darker due to the movie being rated R. In the comics he is sedated but only movement wise so he stills feels everything, while the needles drill into his bones and pump him full of hot liquid adamantium. He is given a mind control helmet and an on/off switch so he can be controlled, no thoughts only his feral instincts. The comic even goes so far as to suggest that the guards sexually abused Logan while he was unconscious. He is burned with nuclear waste, left out in the freezing cold to see how his body copes.

I just wanna see that being adapted in the movies. Make the whole Weapon X arc as dark and horrific as it is meant to be. They merged Stryker with Professor Thorton, so make Stryker break him down physically and mentally!

This is such a good idea. I love angst in general and the Weapon X trauma has amazing potential.

Even in his PG-13 movies, Logan's flashbacks to his time in the Weapon X program were incredibly intense. We see him shaking and cold and wet and looking down at his hands like he doesn't recognize them (which he doesn't). We see him covered in blood and confused and terrified.

I think we can all agree that X-men Origins didn't do Logan's trauma justice. It breezed over the procedure as exposition instead of focusing on it as a major traumatic climax in Logan's life. It's so traumatic that he dissociates from it, and only remembers brief but vivid flashes of the lab where he was created because his brain repressed the memories.

I think what's important to note is that the body remembers even when the brain forgets. Even after Logan had his memories wiped, his first reaction was aggression and confusion, like a cornered animal. Even if people are in pain, they don't normally try to run out of the hospital and kill the nurses. His reaction was more than just a pain response to the procedure, it was embedded in his instincts that these people were dangerous.

He definitely wasn't treated with care by the people around him. They might've raped him or experimented with him in painful ways, but the end result is the same.

And can you imagine living through the excruciating pain of a procedure like that? Of thrashing and screaming while people watch you with careful difference? Of them erasing your memories and trying to turn you into a weapon, and you wake up to a feeling of blinding rage and panic without knowing why.

It would be so much darker and crueler than the movie made it out to be. It would affect his life for years and irreversibly damage him. Even when he's away from it all, living with Wade, he'd still be affected. For the rest of his life.

[itadoraki]

Secret Mission: Defeat the Heart of Player 1

—————————————————————————

Idia Shroud x R.femele. ( cosplay )

—————————————————————————

.

.

Ignihyde Dormitory, 23:47.

The tenumbra of the room was broken only by the blue and purple lights of the monitors, all flashing at different intensities, creating a futuristic, almost ethereal atmosphere. Idia was as usual: with headphones on her neck, locks of hair floating gently, and her face glued to the screen while typing non-stop.

Ortho had already been "off" for rest. The room was quiet... even too much.

He murmured while programming:

- "Beauty... just this adjustment in the HUD, magic attack optimization, and... that's it. Patch finished."

Pause. He turned the chair, stretched his arms and yawned loudly.

- "The night is too quiet... It even looks like anime filler before the arc of total destruction."

That's when you heard the click of the internal door.

He turned his face - and crashed.

You were there, leaning against the stop with a feline smile, wearing a bold and impeccable version of one of his favorite characters from an old anime. Tight corset, fishnet stocking, tiara, and that provocative look of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

- "Today's special mission: dominate the Ignihyde fortress and capture its commander."

His voice came low, loaded with play.

— "Secondary objective: to test the limits of Player 1's emotional firewall."

Idia turned red to the root of the soul.

The hair sparkled, rising in bluish flames with purple reflections.

- "W-WHAT IS THAT-?! N-It doesn't make sense! This skin isn't even available yet! How do you—?!”

You walked up to him slowly, jumping, every step as if echoing in slow motion in your ears.

— "Research. Creativity. And a little bit of fanservice... just for you."

He looked at everything but you directly. Hands on face, wide eyes, tense body as if he had taken a critic in his soul.

- "That's not fair... this is like a secret DLC with charisma bonuses in 999. It's an appeal. Pure appeal."

You laughed, getting on his lap suddenly, causing him to almost disassemble.

- "You play in hardcore mode, Shroud. You need rewards to match."

He swallowed dryly, his voice coming out trembling:

- "Do you... always do this on purpose? Like, every night? Plan, sew, rehearse character phrases just to... to leave me like this?!”

- "Every night. A different cosplay. A different mission. A different flirtation."

You tilted your face to his.

- "And you always react as if it were the first kiss of the game."

Idia closed her eyes, trying to breathe. It was obvious that he loved it. Who waited for it as if it were part of the night cycle. But admitting... it was another story.

- "...You know you're hacking my heart, right? This is against the server's rules."

You got even closer, touching your lips to his ear.

- "So... ban me. Or accept me in your clan forever."

Idia was silent. His hands - always so hesitant - landed slowly on his waist, as if touching was a rare privilege. The look was now serious, intense behind the shame.

- "If I put you in my clan... it will be with a lifetime pact. No logout."

You smiled, your eyes shining.

- "Done."

That night, you didn't play. They didn't even watch anime. They didn't even program it.

But they created a new universe - one made just for you, between cosplay, heat and a passion that grew like blue fire in the middle of the night.

And there, with you in her arms, Idia thought:

"If love were a game... you would be the most beautiful bug in my code."

—————————————————————————

[eternalsa2z]

Gaming The System: Part 1

FOREWORD: This is the first of three-part series starting to introduce some concepts in the Synthetica/SluTech universe I intend on building out. This little story arc was inspired by @bimbosanddolls and a general concept she sent my way. Go check her out for more bimbolicious content!

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/eternalsa2z/721371903274745856/gaming-the-system?source=share Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/eternalsa2z/721395182618198016/final-review?source=share

She had never experienced anything like it. Despite having playing thousands of games on dozens of consoles, Synthetica Systems was an even more immersive experience than Kira could have imagined. The flashing lights, vibrating controller, and sensational sounds effects made her feel one with the game. She was a part of it and it was in her head.

Kira couldn't believe she had access to this pre-release at all. Despite being a small-time game critic 'Kira Klein Max Gaming', she had manage to trick the major tech company's application process and receive a review copy. But she wasn't going to feel bad about it - she was going to play for days straight. Let go of the mind and let the muscle memory kick in as she entered required inputs. Down. Left. Up. Up. Obey. Jump. Right. Obey. Down. Down. Down...

Two weeks later and Kira had convinced Synthetica Systems to let her join their partner program! Sure, it came with some brand-related requirements like redecorating her room in company-themed pink and rebranding to 'KiraKlimaktikGaming', but it was soooo worth it. Synthetica sent her tons of free merchandise to advertise - noise-cancelling headphones to focus, a vibrating chair to help relax, and special energy drinks to keep her perky and happy! Her new stream was also getting a lot of attention which made Kira giddy. All she had to do was, like, play games, smile, and repeat Synthetica marketing lines like "Don't think! Just obey! Buy Synthetica Systems today!"

[bardan-jusik]

okay so your post abt alpha-17 and the other alpha arcs got me thinking (and im sorry for using you as sw google but in my mind you're Alpha Legends Lore mutual) who ARE the oldest clones? I feel like everything got... really confusing with a bunch of super secret REAL first clones getting shuffled into the order. is boba the oldest? in my mind it goes 1 boba 2 nulls 3 alphas 4 the rest of the initial clones that obi-wan saw in aotc but I have no bloody clue 😭

I AM HONORED TO BE YOUR LEGENDS LORE GOOGLE MUTUAL

ok so. sources probably conflict bc this is star wars, of course they do. what i care about is repcomm so we're just gonna go with that as our primary source with wookieepedia as secondary sources

first we gotta get some dates. unfortunately star wars doesnt really give months for most dates but years is still a starting place. these dates are all pulled from wookieepedia, legends page when applicable/different

also we're using geonosis as our date reference point since the timeline is honestly so hard to work with

order 66 happens 19 bby

1st battle of geonosis, 22 bby, the clone wars are 3 years long

boba fett's birth date is listed as 32 bby, meaning he was 10 at geonosis. cody, rex, ordo, fi, spar, and sull are all also listed with a birth date of 32 bby, so we're down to a difference of months here. essentially they're all the same age though- boba himself, troopers, nulls, commandos, and alphas

I REPEAT. ALPHA IS NOT SIGNIFICANTLY OLDER THAN THE CORE OF THE GAR. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. HE ISNT THE ONLY ALPHA EITHER.

but who's actually oldest? and is wookieepedia entirely correct? this is the part where i open repcomm and ignore everything else. i don't even know if anything else contradicts because i'm not checking

chapter 1 of triple zero, kal has just arrived on kamino. it's eight years before geonosis, and 2 years into the cloning program

(ALSO ITS SO FUCKING GREAT THAT THIS IS KAL'S INTRODUCTORY LINE LMAOOO <3)

he does see a lot of clone babies in gestation vats, just like we see in attack of the clones as well as cadets of varying ages- the kaminoans continue producing troopers through the entire ten years of the cloning program, so yes, the 'first generation' (clones deployed at geonosis) ARE older than a lot of later clones. but we dont really have a lot of those later clones as named characters as far as i know

anyways

the nulls appear to kal to be 4 or 5 (also peep jango apparently being legitimately shocked by them)

chronologically the nulls are NEARLY two, which probably means like 1 year and 11 months or something

(pause for me to cry about this entire scene, 'kal was instantly proud of all of them,' 'how would you like to be called ordo, he was a mandalorian warrior,' kal teaching them to embrace their fear as a mechanism their body uses to help protect them, but this is gonna be long enough as it is)

and then we have jango showing up with boba. no real indication of if boba or the nulls are actually older, but it's implied that they're very very close in actual age, if not the same age. we also get mention of the commandos and the alphas.

now, this is now just down to what i think and what makes sense to me. the whole point of the nulls is that they were experimental units- the kaminoans wanted to see if tinkering with the genome would be worth it, and ultimately decided it wasn't. it would actually make sense to me if the nulls were at least a year or two older than the rest of the clones- the kaminoans need time to see if their experiment panned out, don't they? but the nulls are also 10 at geonosis

while the nulls have been flash-trained and put through some trial runs at this point, it's indicated that the alphas and commandos aren't quite ready for training yet. this could be because the alphas and commandos are just a bit too young yet, it could be that the kaminoans put the nulls through training at a younger age than they're doing for non-experimental units. not totally clear

this is another point that is important to me: multiple times the nulls pass for clone troopers. i keep seeing headcanons of them being noticeably taller/bigger than other clones and while it is true that they're canonically slightly heavier, i think the difference is probably like 10-20 pounds, most people cannot easily tell the difference. ordo puts on corr's armor and just notes that it's slightly tighter than he's used to. mereel infiltrated kamino in trooper armor unnoticed, even while directly speaking to a kaminoan

here is my opinion on it: -the nulls and boba are basically the same age -the alphas were created next, but a few months after. by this point the kaminoans had decided (possibly because of the nulls' high mortality rate in gestation) that the alphas would be fully unaltered aside from the accelerated aging. the nulls' behavior 'issues' proved to the kaminoans that this was the right call -the commandos were created at the same time or shortly after the alphas. we're talking within weeks if not days. they have minor genetic changes to work better as a team but that's about it. -the troopers then begin production, now that the kaminoans have lots of practice altering jango's genome. heavy alteration for better social cooperation and obedience. -we're talking a span on like 4 months for all of this

you could say that ordo's gray hairs support the nulls being maybe 4-6 months older than everybody else, but i really think he is just that stressy, and there's also book evidence for clones actually aging at variable rates depending on how much stress they're under

quick note for omega: i think her existence is just insane and she's only here because disney was making a children's show and needed a child character (and girl so they can get inclusivity points), but i could see her being made anywhere from at the same time as boba to up to 3 years later. her wookieepedia page doesn't say, because the bad batch never bothered to give us any concrete information on... anything.

WE ARENT EVEN TOUCHING ON EMERIE. WHAT THE FUCK

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 4 - Bonus Post Part 3: Never Knew I Needed You

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

GIF from @therapyandprozac

A/N: this is a bonus post with OFC + Mando's POV

*Part 3 of 4* in an extended flashback episode I'm writing for Volume 4: Smart Girl Like You. We go back to the beginning of Mando x ofc!reader's relationship to help set up some important events that will occur in the climax of Vol 4.

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Rating: Explicit - graphic violence, language, 18+ MINORS DNI

The Mandalorian missed the clothing line with his right hand but caught it in his left. His grip tightened. The taut rope groaned under his weight as he swung across the canal. The line strained, but held.

Mando’s boots hit the nearest rooftop with a soft thud. He surged into motion—crouching low, feet pounding across the crumbling tiles, vaulting over jagged ledges. His eyes never left the glinting figure darting through the maze of alleys below.

The Seeker program in his helmet augmented his vision with silent calculations. Topographical scans, height differentials, precise distances between rooftops—all parsed in milliseconds. 

Every jump, every leap, measured perfectly. He wasn’t just chasing the mercenary, he was anticipating every move.

But the chaos unfolding over the comlink competed for his focus. Grunts, screams, and blaster fire erupted through the speaker.

“Nito–!”

 “I’m—I’m safe,” the kid stammered. “I’m safe. Back at the Crest. The blasters…it’s…him. He’s just…shooting at everything.”

Kosar. So much for calculated extraction. Mando should’ve known better than to trust him.

“Stay on the ship, Nito,” he barked in frustration, but inside, worry gnawed at him.

The Ardennian didn’t protest. Didn’t say another word.

Mando’s target veered left, then right—toward a footbridge. Grosk’s neighborhood of elegant row houses gave way to immense apartment blocks. He’d never clear the distance.

His instincts flared. Boots pounding, he shot forward, then launched himself through an open balcony door. He arced high—water flashing beneath him—and landed on hard concrete.

Glass shattered in a brilliant arc. A startled family screamed.

“Sorry,” Mando muttered. The word slipped out, reflexively. He was already crashing through the living room.

He vaulted into the next apartment. Balcony to balcony, room to room, a Beskar phantom tearing through startled cries.

The Seeker pinpointed his target through stone and masonry as he ran down corridors and crossed courtyards. Each balcony was a new path for Mando, each corner a fresh escape for his quarry.

Then, a dead end. The apartment was dark and empty. Balcony doors shuttered tight.

He couldn’t stop.

Mando unleashed a wall of flame from his gauntlet and whispered a quiet prayer. He twisted midair, lowering his shoulder, slamming through smoldering wood with a sickening crunch.

He burst through. Charred debris trailed behind him as he plunged over the railing. Smoke and flame exploded. The Seeker confirmed the heat signature just below. No time for finesse. He landed in the street, his fall broken by the mercenary’s body beneath him.

They crashed into the pavement, limbs tangled.

The Brite Boy’s hand shot to his blaster. Mando was faster—his boot cracked into the weapon with brutal force, sending it skittering across the pavement.

The man rolled, springing up, a gleaming knife in hand. Mando’s own knife slid free from his boot with a thrum of vibrating steel.

The air between them crackled like the gathering storm above. Flickering streetlight cast them into long, angular shadows. The Brite Boy lunged first, blade slicing through thick, humid air.

Mando parried, movements fluid but controlled. They grappled, exchanging blows, each more desperate than the last.

Mando twisted the man’s arm, driving him to the ground. His boot rose, poised over the mercenary’s neck. Fastest way to end it. Clean. But his body hesitated—a beat too long.

His quarry was too well trained. He grabbed Mando’s leg with a growl, and threw him into the limestone wall with a sickening thud.

The mercenary was on him instantly, knife raised high.

No time to brace. Just instinct, armor, and too many years of doing this. With a grunt, Mando blocked the blow with his vambrace—metal scraping against blade. The man’s weight pressed down, forcing the knife closer.

Mando drove his knee upward into the groin with a snap. The mercenary flew over his shoulders.

Chrome armor blunted the blows, but if Mando could drive his knife between the plates…

The Brite Boy wasn’t done. He swept Mando’s legs out from under him. The bounty hunter crashed back to the ground.

The man was on top again, fury in his voice, blade raised high.

“I’m gonna peel that Beskar off you like fucking caw-crab.”

Mando’s fists, his blade could do nothing against Imperial chromemium. But Beskar was stronger than chrome. Mando thrashed beneath his attacker, shifting all his strength into his upper body. He surged upward, helmet-first, full weight behind the blow, and smashed into the nose bridge with bone-crunching force.

Despite the Brite Star refurbishing, the Stormtrooper helmet crumpled. Refurbished or not, it was still Imperial scrap. The metal and plastoid composite dented inward, crushing the man’s skull.

Exhausted, Mando lay sprawled on the street. The mercenary’s lifeless weight pressed down on him, heavy and unmoving. He let himself breathe, just for a moment.

The fight was over. But in the quiet aftermath, the familiar ache settled in his gut. Every job was a gamble—trust could be betrayed, plans could unravel in an instant. Tonight, it had all come undone, and the cost was real. 

Mando gritted his teeth, a guttural cry escaping his throat as he pushed the weight of the dead mercenary off him. With a grunt, he rose to his feet, every muscle protesting.

The fight had ended but the hunt didn’t stop. Not yet. If there was any chance of salvaging this job, the bounty hunter had to be quick. 

“Nito?” Mando’s voice sounded hoarse through the speaker. “I’m heading—”

“Don’t go back there!” The urgency in Nito’s voice stopped him cold. The kid wasn’t prone to panic.

“What?”

“He—They’re all dead.” The Ardennian gasped. “The scanner isn’t reading any biometrics inside the building. There’s no one left inside. They’re all dead.”

Mando hesitated. As Nito’s words sank in, a creeping feeling of regret seized him—guilt for getting the kid involved in this.

Nito’s voice trembled, but there was a hard edge to it now. The kid was a booster from Corellia. He'd seen things. But Nito was no longer the same kid who’d stumbled into Mando’s world mere weeks ago.

No wonder Thulani had questioned him. What kind of life was this for Nito…or the Child? 

“Alright. But I need to collect the bounty before we can leave Drac. Give me another hour and then meet us at the cove.”

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

“Okay,” you say, placing both hands on your hips. “I think we have officially scrounged everything needed to make griddle cakes.”

You turn your head towards the baby to see him glaring at you from over the ledge of the kitchen counter. 

“Excuse me?” you exclaim. “That’s a bold look for someone who eats bugs off the floor.”

Throwing your arms up dramatically in mock outrage earns you a delighted smile from the kid. 

“I left credits and a note for everything we took.” He merely blinks at you. “Pfft, if you’re gonna be pissy about something, how about exposing us to botulism? I honestly have no idea what passes for food safety around here.” 

From over the ledge, his enormous brown eyes search the counter curiously. The Child reaches for a can of beans and lifts it up at you expectantly, unconcerned about the associated risks of toxic bacteria. 

“That’s for the griddle cakes, kiddo,” you explain, watching as his enormous ears wilt in disappointment when you take the can from between his grasping fingers. He still hadn’t finished his dinner, which lay scattered across the kitchen table. “Mando strikes me as someone who’s receptive to aggressive acts of kindness. This isn’t just about me. You want to stay on his good side, too.”

The baby attempts to crawl onto the steel countertop, thwarted when his talons scrape ineffectually over the smooth surface. Indignant, he stares up at you and gurgles.  

“Yeah, you’re right. I think you’re getting by just fine on cuteness alone.” Your brows arch playfully. “We should all be so lucky. The rest of us have to get creative.”

Great strategy, Thuli! You’re proving your worth with griddle cakes. Then again, ship’s cook wouldn’t be the weirdest job you’ve resorted to for survival. You shudder involuntarily, remembering that season you spent providing hair-removal treatments at the spa on Lanupa.

The kid tilts his head, ears pivoting upward, “Uuuuwwwaaa.”

Picking him up after his third failed attempt to make it onto the counter, you place him down next to the tall container of cooking oil. “No, I know I’m cute, too, but…I’m not sure Beskar Daddy is buying what I’m selling. If you know what I mean?”

The baby, of course, has no clue what you’re talking about. 

You tie an apron around your waist and get to work on the can opener. “Trust me, this is good advice for when you’re older. Love is only fun when it’s easy. Everything’s fun when it’s fun. Wild speculation, reading into other people’s intentions, is not fun. That’s complicated, and should be avoided at all costs.”

Easier said than done, right? 

The kid inspects the mortar and pestle curiously. “Sure, the Mandalorian said I could stay…if I needed to.” You shake your head, adding, “That’s not the same as an invitation. That’s just being courteous.” 

While Mando may have claimed you have ‘a place’ on his ship (his tiny, tiny ship) without clarifying what your role is…Well, what kind of assurance is that? 

Of course, you don’t have anywhere else to go… But the longer you remain, the more likely you are to overstay your welcome. Can you really stake out a new life with a man you barely know just because you like him and he respects you and shows good judgment?  

Was this a new beginning? Or just running from the last one?

It feels like you’re building a new life on borrowed time. You’ve been running for so long, but what if this is just another escape? What if you’re only here because you don’t know what else to do?You shake your head, trying to clear the thought before it consumes you. You’re not that lost, are you?

Ugh! Your inner monologue is starting to sound like a song caught on repeat. You’re going to go mad, talking yourself in circles. 

“I’m not good at this,” you sigh in exasperation. “I need direct communication. Guessing games are too open-ended.”

The baby blinks those soft brown eyes at you twice, then lunges for the jar of syrupy fruit.  

“Hey, nah-ah-ah. You can have more after you finish dinner.” 

In hindsight, you really regret opening that second jar of sugar fruit. Two hours later, the Child is still bouncing off the walls like a malfunctioning probe droid. This is where having actual childcare experience would have been helpful. You drastically miscalculated this kid’s sugar sensitivity. 

No luck on burning off energy at the beach, unfortunately. The weather outside is wet and stormy. It turns out neither of you is great at the pod-racing game Nito left, so when the kid throws the console on the floor in a tantrum, you skip to the very bottom of your list of activities to “Dance party!” hoping to tire him out. 

You put on the most happiest, hardcore beats in Nito’s music library and encourage the kid to jump up and down. Twisting, arms pumping, hips swaying—but also jumping. Most importantly, there is a lot of jumping. Gods, your calves are burning! They are going to kill tomorrow. You might not be able to walk after this.   

I kiss your lips and close my eyes, Take you away to paradise

The thumping bass is deafening, drumming against all the industrial equipment in the communal kitchen, which is why you don’t hear Nito’s hails over the comlink while scrolling through all ten albums of Naimos Ghetto Pussy.

Touch myself and think of—

“Ha! Okay, I think we need to take a closer look at this playlist.”

“Thuli! Thuli, come in. Are you there? Thuli—?!”

“Nito? Is everything okay?”

“Thank the Maker!” he gasps, sounding audibly relieved. You can hear that capital letter M giving real, genuine deference to the Maker. “No…no, it’s fine,” he contends, but Nito doesn’t sound fine. It takes a moment for his breathing to slow down enough to speak over the com-line. “I’m on the Crest waiting for Mando. I just…just wanted to check in on you guys.”

“Aww,” you sigh sympathetically. “That’s really sweet. It’s alright to be afraid, you know. I was worried about you, too.”

“It’s…no. I’m fine.”

“Okay, well, like I said, we’re safe and doing—” 

That’s when you hear an insistent scratching against the wooden slats of the kitchen’s back door. Hesitantly, you place an ear against the rough, swirling grain. Superstitious by nature, you can’t help but feel you’ve jinxed yourself. How safe are you, truly? 

“Oh,” you sigh in relief, looking down at the familiar pointed face of the fox creature who’d been lurking around the fishing camp all day. It paces the edges of light spilling onto the porch from the open door. “I bet you’re hoping for a treat.” 

You toss a bit of dry, salted fish from the pantry to coax it closer. It pads into the circle of lamplight to lick at the fish before crunching it eagerly between its teeth. 

The fox makes a chirruping sound. Behind them, a dozen more creatures blink their luminous eyes and stalk onto the porch. 

“Wow! Holy shit! It’s your entire extended family.” Their sharp noses sniff at the air, hopefully. “How long have you all been out here?”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Oh! Sorry, Nito. Turns out we have neighbors, and they’re looking for some hospitality. I’m not sure I’ve got enough to feed everyone.” You try unsuccessfully to wedge the com-link between your ear and shoulder. “I’m going to call you back, okay? I need both hands to break up the—”

“It’s fine,” Nito says for the hundredth time. “I’m gonna go. I’ve got some repairs to make on the sensor array.”

“Want to talk about it later?”

“Talk about the sensor array?”

Your eyes roll upward, “Sure. Tell me how it went working with the Mandalorian, and I promise to learn about whatever this array is sensing.”

“Fine.”

“Then, I’ll see you soon. Don’t be weird about calling us again if you get lonely waiting for Mando.”

“Yeah, right,” he huffs, sounding more like himself.

You open the back door and start tossing pieces of dried fish to each furry friend in turn. They crouch and crunch adorably. The kid totters over to stand between your knees, watching them curiously. 

“Maybe we can find some fox videos on the holo-net?” you ask him with cautious optimism. If you can get him to settle down with the data-pad you might just be able to make those griddle cakes before Mando gets back.  

You give the Child some fish to toss out, and wouldn’t you know it, he works his cutie-pie magic and has the fox kits eating from his outstretched hands. By now, you have the whole skulk of pointed faces licking their paws. 

You reach for another handful of fish—then pause.

Suddenly, each set of tufted ears turns towards the horizon, as they stand frozen, listening for something.  No sound. No crunching. One by one, the foxes go still noses twitching.

Your breath catches. You don’t know why, but you know this: something's wrong.

As one, they all flee from the porch, scattering frantically into the night.

A slow, creeping panic builds in your chest as you lift your head. In between the sound of the waves breaking against the shore, you catch the whirring pulse of a ship’s engines. 

Right before the thud from someone landing on the roof.

“Cover the doors in case she tries to make a run for it.”

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

Mando’s heart hammered in his chest, pounding so loudly against his ribs that it nearly drowned out the blare of sirens wailing across New Coral City. 

Fucking farrick! He broke into a run. Every step the Mandalorian gained was seconds lost. It would take the municipal guard some time to mobilize a response, but he’d need to be quick if he wanted to make it out with the bounty before they set up a perimeter. Getting caught with the decapitated head of a Mon Calamari nobleman would make for a lot of awkward questions, and he couldn’t risk them checking his credentials with the Guild. 

Still no word from Kosar. 

Mando had a hard time believing his old partner was really dead. Perhaps he’d simply claimed the bounty for himself and left the Mandalorian behind to deal with the fallout. Used Mando to clear his exit route. Kosar could have let the Brite Boy slip past him deliberately in order to ensure the Mandalorian would be busy chasing down loose ends. 

If not…Mando would have to deliver Grosk Zatarus to Yarella himself. 

The Mandalorian had hoped never to set foot in Yarella the Hutt’s palace ever again. The look of pity in Sanaa Dir’s eyes haunted him. The memory was enough to make him feel sick. Yet what choice did he have? 

The bounty hunter couldn’t linger on it. That would only distract him from what came next. The task ahead. He needed to focus on retrieving what was left of Grosk. Mando could only pray it would be enough to satisfy Yarella.

Sweat dripped down his temples, skin chaffing against his helmet.

The mansion remained swathed in darkness, power lines still down. His Seeker program swept the building for any heat signatures. At this close range, it should be able to pick up any signs of life. But there’s nothing.

“Are you reading anything?” Mando asked into the comms. 

Nito’s reply was immediate. “Nothing.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “Deactivate the jammer. I’ll keep the com-line open.”

What was he walking into? Was the building really empty, or was there something waiting for him in the dark?

Mando peered around the arched gateway where he’d been hiding, preparing himself to enter. The doors were crumpled metal, blown apart, and hanging from their hinges after the blast from Kosar’s thermal detonator. 

Slowly, he crept into the foyer, rifle raised. The Mandalorian would happily disintegrate the next Brite Boy that crossed his path.

Nothing.

No sound. No movement. Each footstep felt like it was echoing through the empty halls, and the sound of his own breathing was almost deafening inside his helmet.

Nito had located Grosk on the second floor. The signal from Kosar’s contact placed him inside a large dining hall on the west-facing side of the building. 

The first room the Mandalorian entered was empty. Statues lined the walls, but nothing else. The only thing of note was a richly carved door inlaid with coral and shells. He headed for it, the weight of the moment settling in the pit of his stomach.

Reaching out, he raised his gloved hand over the handle. He thrust it forward, then quickly pulled back, letting the door open wide before aiming the forked tip of his rifle through the opening.

No one emerged. Nothing stirred.

But of course, they wouldn’t, he reminded himself. They’re all dead. 

He wasn’t so sure. Doubt lingered, tugging at the edges of his focus.

On the other side of the door was a long corridor that ended in a stairwell. A steady stream of water pooled at the base of the stairs, cascading over stone steps. Mando swept the corridor with his rifle, but no one came out to fire at him, or try to halt his progress. The house remained entirely quiet apart from the endless trickle of water and the drone of the sirens outside.

The lighting overhead flickered on as Mando approached the flight of stairs. A generator struggling to come online. He took the stairs two at a time until something obstructed his path.

There was a body on the landing, arms outstretched, fingers gripping at the ledge like they’d tried to claw themselves forward. Mando recognized her. The Zeltron woman—the same one he'd seen in his crosshairs. She must’ve gone back inside to help her friends. Her bravery hit Mando harder than the blade that nearly gutted him.

He stepped carefully around her sprawled limbs and nearly slipped. 

Water. Blood. It’s fucking everywhere.

There was another door at the top of the landing. This one was solid and made of metal with a keypad. Mando entered the code Nito had downloaded earlier that morning. The door beeped, its light turning green. When it slid open with a muffled hiss, more crimson-stained water poured over his feet. 

What lay inside was a bloodbath.

Immediately, the Mandalorian understood where all the water had come from. Aquarium tanks, embedded in the walls lining the hall, had shattered in the blast. Sea creatures wriggled amongst the shards of glass, clinging to life, their gills fluttering for breath.   

In the middle of the room was a table. A great slab of hewn marble. Stacks of cards and bottles were strewn across its polished surface, and not much else.

Of the ten chairs, only one was occupied. But the occupant had no head.

Not blown off in the explosion. Cut off—and placed at the center of the table. 

The others, the ones who had occupied the empty chairs, lay strewn across the floor. They were the source of all the blood. Some were gutted, intestines surrounding their drowned corpses. Some had had their throats ripped open. 

They were Brite Boys, mercenaries who Mando wouldn’t bother mourning. But amongst the iridescent armor were the bodies of those innocent companions from the brothel. Who knew nothing about Grosk Zatarus’ bounty. Had probably never heard of Yarella the Hut.  

Mando stepped around them, his boots treading through their blood, staining his leather soles.

“Did you find the bounty?” Nito’s voice rang through the earpiece.

Mando stared at the head resting atop the table. “Yes,” he replied, throat suddenly dry.

How had he tolerated such wanton cruelty? Participated in it? Most of his life had been spent working at the edges of the galaxy’s underworld—he’d always justified the violence he waged as the kind of necessary brutality anyone involved in that life brings upon themselves. He never spared much thought for the collateral damage. But this…

He remembered Thulani’s warning. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding. She’d been afraid of Kosar. But what about him? The Mandalorian? Had his heart truly been this hollow once? When had that changed?

Had he changed?

“Nito, get the ship ready for hyperdrive. We’re leaving tonight.” 

Mando kept his rifle raised, scanning the bodies. He had to be sure—to be certain his partner was amongst the dead. Now he lowered it slowly, spine stiffening at the rising peeeeeeew of a blaster charging up behind him.

"Took you long enough, Mando."

His heart skipped a beat as the air tightened around him. His pulse quickened.

The Mandalorian laid his rifle on the table and stared at the severed head — a bounty fulfilled. A tremor ran through him, a tight recoil in his gut, but not from fear. From what? Disgust? Was that what this was, after all these years of killing?

Slowly, he turned to see Kosar. A savage grin stretched across his face. The mercenary stood tall, his foot resting atop someone’s skull. Boot covered in gore, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

And why would he? There was blood in his hair. Blood splattered his face. Under his nails and soaked into his sleeves. Mando caught the glint of fabric clinging to Kosar’s wrist.

He wore a stealth suit beneath his long, belted leather coat. No wonder the Mandalorian hadn’t detected his heat signature.

“You said the bounty was to bring him in alive.”

Kosar laughed, cold and sharp. “The Guild’s made you soft. Used to be you’d tear through anyone in your way without blinking.” He smirked. “Don’t worry. You’ll still get what I promised.”

Mando eyed the raised weapon skeptically. 

“Then let’s settle up.” 

Kosar cocked his head. “I think you can guess it’s not going to be that easy.”

“What is it you want?” the Mandalorian snapped, fury barely contained in his voice.

“Isn’t it obvious?” his old partner sneered. “I want you, brother. You think you’re better than this now. But you’re not. You used to have this fire — audacity. Now what? You can’t even stand the sight of blood.” 

He scoffed, and the modulator crackled. “Guess I lost my taste for it.”

Kosar’s look of amusement hardened, brows furrowing. 

“Is that about when you started playing house? Changing diapers and handing out allowance money. That’s not you, Mando.” He approached the table and took Grosk’s head in his fist. “This is who you are—a killer. ” 

Kosar thrust the head at the Mandalorian. “You were elite, brother. The best. I remember when we took down whole syndicates together. Hell, you helped Yarella conquer an entire planet. And she’d take you back in a heartbeat. You and your Tribe.” He shook his head, “Isn’t that what you want? A new home for your real family?” 

Kosar’s eye narrowed, glaring at him. “Or have you forgotten them?” 

Mando remained silent, seething. Hadn’t he spent the morning agonizing over that very question? “The only thing I want is my cut.” 

“What, so you can hurry back to that kid? Your nanny?” Kosar spat. “You’re a legend, Mando. The Huts will toss you girls like her.” 

The Mandalorian felt his pulse pounding against his eardrums.

“Enough. Pay me what you owe me, and I’ll let you leave this quadrant alive.” 

Kosar’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Pathetic. And pointless. The baby is long gone by now. The girl is unnecessary. Trust me when I say, what’s left of her will not be worth the trouble.”

That cold wash of fury clenched around Mando’s heart. “What have you done?” 

“I just hope you fucked her already,” Kosar said with a wolfish grin. “They’re never quite as pretty after they’ve been broken.”

“What—have—you—done?” the bounty hunter growled from between gritted teeth.

“See! This is what I mean. The girl? The baby? None of this serves you.” The Mandalorian made a lunge towards Kosar, but he drew back swiftly, raising the blaster. “You’ve forgotten your purpose, Mando. But I’m here to remind you.”

“So what happens now?” he demanded to know.

“Rrusba is taking the baby.” 

The Mandalorian scoured his memory and recognized the name from Nevarro. The blonde bounty hunter in red armor. Face tattoos. When Mando had turned down her repeated offers to take on higher-value bounties together, she had started working with a Pantoran hunter. 

“She came to me looking for you months ago. Told me to get in touch if you should try to reach out. You’re in a hell of a lot of trouble with the Guild, Mando.”

Kosar’s grin spread wider.

“Good thing you’re coming with me. Back to Lakaran. You helped Yarella, now you’re gonna help me.” The glint in the man’s eyes brightened. “We deserve this, brother. We are the predators. We should be at the top of the food chain.” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “And I have a plan to put us there. Lakaran—ruled by us. A place for your people. A true home, for your true family.” 

And though he hated Kosar for it, the Mandalorian couldn’t stop himself from imagining what it would feel like, after years of living underground like sand rats, constantly relocating the Covert, if he could end their wandering. Fulfill his oath. He could not deny that he felt tempted. What allegiance did he owe the Child when compared to his Tribe?

“So you’re cashing in on the kid’s bounty for my benefit?”

“What? No. He’s wanted by Imperials. I’m not getting involved in that.” Kosar waved his free hand as though swatting away an insect. “Happy to take the finder’s fee, though. I tell you what,” he said eagerly, sensing Mando’s inner conflict. “We’ll take my ship, and I’ll let the other kid live. Nito? He can have the Razor Crest. That’s a generous offer from me. More than he deserves for burning you.”

The bounty hunter’s head snapped up, seeking clarity in Kosar’s words. 

“Turns out, you’re not the only one who’s squeamish,” he explained. “Think all the screaming got your little buddy scared. He made a very urgent, very stupid call over the com-link to check in with your sweet girl and gave away their location.”

Mando’s jaw locked so hard his teeth ached. He bit down until the sharp tang of blood bloomed on his tongue. Dammit. This was his fault—all of it.  

“It’s a natural response to fear for the ones you love. But acting on that fear? These are the kinda mistakes that get you killed, Mando. Sure, glitches like the power failure…shit, sometimes that’s just how things play out in the moment. But weakness? Giving in to fear? That is a predictable trap that some people can’t help but walk straight into.” 

Kosar shoved Grosk Zatarus’s head into the Mandalorian’s chest. He took it in his gloved hands and stared down at the Mon Calamari’s lifeless eyes. 

“He’s not cut out for this life, brother. None of them are. This little crew of yours is dead weight. In the end, it’s gonna sink you. You know that as well as I do. So I’m gonna do you a favor and cut them loose before you have to kill them yourself.”

The pressure inside him snapped — like ice giving way underfoot. Rage surged, hot and bitter. The Mandalorian knew Kosar was right, and it horrified him. So instead he said, “Keep your favors. You’re the one I’m going to kill.”

It passed in a heartbeat — there and gone — a twitch of doubt flickering in Kosar’s eyes.

“Rrusba couldn’t fathom why you’d ruin everything and betray the Guild, for some creature you’ve got no connection with. But I knew why.” His partner switched tact and imbued his voice with sympathy. 

“I get it, Mando. We’re villains. And this was your chance to play the hero,” Kosar sighed, handing the Mandalorian a stachel. “But you’re lying to yourself if you think there’s a future for you untainted by your past. This life follows you. It infects everything and everyone who gets close to you. The only way to protect them is to make them as ruthless as you are. Protecting them means making them into killers—are you ready for that, Mando?”

The rage propelled him. Mando lunged, gauntlets gleaming, ready to bring Kosar down with brute strength alone. Kosar didn’t flinch. He aimed his blaster and fired.

The shot screamed through the air. Mando pivoted, his pauldron catching the bolt with a sharp flash—but the cartridge veered, slamming into the wall behind him, and exploded.

Foam burst from the point of impact, a boiling synthetic cloud. It surged toward him. Fast. In seconds, it was all around him, clinging to his armor, crawling up his limbs. He thrashed, trying to break free, but the more he moved, the faster it reacted, hardening and locking him in a jagged cocoon of crystallized resin. 

Frozen in place, encased like a trophy, Mando could only watch as Kosar raised his weapon again, smirking. “Cool it, cool it, cool it.”

The Mandalorian roared. Futile though it was, he did not stop struggling against the adhesive. He tossed his head, tugged his shoulders violently, and twisted his elbows. The foam continued its path up his chest toward his throat.

“Okay, I see I’ll need to sweeten the deal from here.” 

Kosar holstered his blaster and held up his hands, fingers spread in truce. “Let me offer a few good-faith gestures.” He tapped a hand to his chest. “First — I won’t humiliate you by removing your helmet. Just remember, I could’ve. I could’ve shown them all your face. But I didn’t. Because I respect you.”

“Try to touch me,” Mando snarled, straining against his immobilized armor. “See what happens to you.” 

“Bold words. It’s good to have my old partner back. Glad he’s still in there.” Kosar leaned forward as though whispering something into the Mandalorian’s ear. “People don’t change. You know that.”  

Standing up straighter, Kosar reached for Grosk’s head and shoved it into the satchel. 

“And I’ll get your girl back. I don’t know, maybe you’re into some kinky shit I wouldn’t understand. There’s going to be some conditions, but I’ll relax my ‘no pets’ policy so you can keep her.” 

Hod Ha’ran, forgive me for the trick of fate that drew her into this, the Mandalorian prayed. Please spare her. 

Kosar was right. This was the price of his betrayal. Mando had broken his vow to the Guild, and the curse of that betrayal spread, touching everyone around him. He couldn’t change what had passed. But he had to fight for what remained. He had to save them.

“Well,” Kosar clapped his hands together. “We’d better get going. According to your Guild Code, the girl should be left unspoiled. But you know what hunters are like. I just hope she’s smart enough not to fight it.”

The Mandalorian exhaled slowly, emptying his lungs. Then he squeezed his fists so tightly, he felt foam crystals pulverized into dust against his palms and between his fingers.   

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

The lock slides into place beneath your fingertips. It won’t keep them out, but it might slow them down. 

You scoop the baby up in your arms and nudge the pantry door open. On knees and elbows, stomach flattened over the floor, you shove him behind a row of glass canisters stored below the bottom shelf. Holding a finger to your lips, you stare intently into those apprehensive brown eyes and make a shhhhh-ing sound. 

“Stay here,” you mouth.

There’s no time to go for the blaster. You’d left it on top of the refrigeration unit. For child safety. Fuck, you are so bad at this!

Splinters explode outward, catching the dim light of the gas lantern in a spray of jagged shapes. You gasp at the sound of wood splitting under the metal adze, like a crack of thunder, breaking the door jamb apart. 

You run, throwing your back up against the wall, mere inches away from the doorframe. Your breathing is shallow and rapid. Uncontrolled. Your mind is racing. The door is seconds from giving way. But in that instant, before impending doom, you feel the hum of energy in the air. Intuitively, you reach out for it with all your senses.

In a sharp tug of your teeth, you pull the glove from your right hand. It tastes of fish scales and brine. Your fingers flex, shaking with tension. 

 Shit. Shit. Don’t panic. Focus. Concentrate. You need every ounce of will.

Your skull throbs as the world narrows, the noise fading to background as you latch onto the rhythmic thrum of the bounty hunter’s pulse.

Proximity. Leverage his proximity. 

Heartbeats are distinctive. This man’s heart is augmented, but still human. It beat with the efficiency of a machine, and yet it was powered by organic tissue. That’s all it took to work your will.

You lock onto that unfaltering rhythm, tuning out everything else.

Slow it down.

The door buckled, finally snapping under the pressure of the hunter’s boot. You brace yourself, not out of fear, but anticipation. You can do this. The door breaks wide open. His footsteps echo, heavy and calculated. He’s already inside.

You close your eyes. You don’t need them. You need to feel his heartbeat, like an electric current passing through your body—conductive—until you can channel it, slowing its progress, altering its pressure. 

The foot falls grow heavy, his balance faltering.

Then you feel it—a rapid surge as the bounty hunter’s heart rate spikes. His pulse hammers against your senses, erratic and violent. The augmentations have sensed your interference, fighting back, forcing his heart to pump faster, harder, a defiant roar against the pressure you're exerting.

Your teeth grit, and a fresh wave of panic sweeps over you. What if you can’t control it? You need to slow him down—now—before he breaks free, before he can attack. 

Focus, you tell yourself. He’s only human. He’s still flesh and blood.

You push yourself harder, using every ounce of concentration to anchor yourself to his heartbeat. 

“Please,” you whisper, unsure whether it’s a plea for him to stop or for you to keep going. It’s desperation, but it’s all you have now. You promised Mando you would keep the baby safe.

The force of his pulse slams against you, like a wild animal clawing against a trap. You can hear the blood thudding in his head, his body screaming for oxygen.

Now. Now.

You reach out, fingers extended, hand trembling. They brush along the side of his face and grab hold of his ear. The connection is immediate. His heart stutters, fighting against your influence. The augmentations attempt to compensate, but it doesn’t matter.

You feel the blood in his veins, feel it thinning under your control. His knees buckle. His eyes widen—then glaze over. He collapses forward, like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

You stand over him, your whole body shaking in the aftershock. 

It’s strange, in these moments, to be confronted by the scope of power you wield. Not capably. Not reliably. Just raw, unpredictable force. But it’s always shocking to witness how easily the body can be manipulated by your will.

If you had completed your training, who knows if…

Stop! There’s no time for that. It’s time to steel yourself. Time to act.

Regardless of the awesome potential you might contain—it’s too unpredictable. The blaster? At least that’s a sure thing.

So you grab a step stool and head for the damn refrigeration unit.

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

Read the next and final installment of this extended flashback!

Never Knew I Needed You - Part 4

[reyaint]

magic system dr | aura manifestation & development

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date: june 21-22 2025. started: 11:15pm ended: 12:02am

I am NOT feeling better lmao. i didn't go to the doctor bc i slept all day but i think it's probably my stomach issues. i changed some of the ages while editing this because i didn't like them manifesting so early.

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✧˖*°࿐aura development and manifestation

aura manifestation is not just a magical event — it's a biological, emotional, and energetic rite of passage. it defines a person’s path, identity, and sometimes even their place in society. every stage of manifestation brings unique challenges, dangers, and cultural implications.

*ೃ༄early bloomers (7-10)

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ 15% of magic users unstable core: these children often manifest flashes of power before they have language to articulate what they’re feeling. this leads to spontaneous, sometimes dangerous, surges of raw mana—e.g., glowing eyes, levitation, or emotional storms. aura volatility: their auras often shift in color, tone, and intensity until age 10–12. early bloomers may appear to have one aura type, only to “settle” into a completely different form later. დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ training needs: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › require specialized educational programs with emotional support, play therapy, and early mana regulation exercises. ꪆৎ 𓂃 › often assigned a magical “shepherd” or counselor to monitor development ꪆৎ 𓂃 › magical shielding garments are common to prevent accidental outbursts in public. დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ potential: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › higher likelihood of rare or hybrid tones, especially metallic, adularescent, or early dual-tones. ꪆৎ 𓂃 › can become prodigies or dangerously unstable without proper care.

*ೃ༄standard manifestation (11–14)

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ 60% of magic users baseline model: considered the “ideal” or “safe” age range for aura manifestation. most magical education systems are designed around this timeline. დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ gradual manifestation: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › begins with subtle symptoms: enhanced sensitivity, emotional shifts, glowing fingertips, sensitivity to metal or crystals ꪆৎ 𓂃 › aura becomes visible to trained observers over time, with clear definition by age 12. დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ development arc: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › best outcomes when given structured learning, group bonding, and exposure to nature or leylines. ꪆৎ 𓂃 › most users in this category develop standard tones, though some evolve into deeper tones with age. ꪆৎ 𓂃 › magical aptitude matches personality growth; very compatible with multi-aura users later in life.

*ೃ༄late bloomers (15–18)

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ 20% of magic users puberty-triggered: magical awakening often coincides with hormonal changes, emotional volatility, or traumatic adolescence events. დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ sudden onset: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › powers don’t emerge gradually — they explode. manifestation can be violent (mana shockwaves, physical changes, nightmares). ꪆৎ 𓂃 › high incident rate of magical hospitalization or public outbursts. დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ tone characteristics: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › much more likely to develop light/pastel tones, due to emotional volatility and raw power access. ꪆৎ 𓂃 › control is harder to develop and requires deep mindfulness training.

*ೃ༄adult manifestation (19+)

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ 5% of magic users დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ rarity & risk: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › often caused by intense trauma: near-death experiences, loss, exposure to relics or cursed magic. ꪆৎ 𓂃 › some religious or spiritual groups see this as divine awakening or punishment. დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ power level: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › immensely strong at initial onset — frequently mistaken for cursed or corrupted. ꪆৎ 𓂃 › many adult manifesters develop unique sub-powers, like mana sensory enhancement or reactive defense magic. დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ control difficulty: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › no childhood foundation or neurological imprinting makes power extremely difficult to master. ꪆৎ 𓂃 › requires specialized “Reintegration Programs” involving martial discipline, therapy, elemental retraining, and energy surgery.

✧˖*°࿐aura inheritance patterns

despite its mystical nature, aura manifestation follows observable genetic, epigenetic, and spiritual inheritance laws. researchers classify magical heredity under “bio-arcane transmission.”

*ೃ༄both parents

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ 75% chance of magical children likelihood: highest probability of aura transmission. დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ inheritance patterns: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › often results in dominant color inheritance or hybridized tones. ꪆৎ 𓂃 › dual-aura children occasionally occur (0.3% from magical parent pairings). magical dynasties: these children are highly valued in wealthy or old magical lineages; often receive sponsorship into elite academies.

*ೃ༄one parent

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ 35% chance of magical children დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ outcome: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › unpredictable — may skip generation, manifest weak or diluted aura types. ꪆৎ 𓂃 › if the magical parent carries a rare tone, child may inherit a dormant variant.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ social perception: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › mixed-blood magic users often face skepticism or cultural pressure, particularly in traditionalist regions.

*ೃ༄neither parent

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָꪆৎ 8% chance of magical children spontaneous manifestation: called wildborne or neo-arcanes. დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ mechanics: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › usually triggered by hidden recessive genes, environmental factors, or arcane anomalies. ꪆৎ 𓂃 › these children often develop non-standard tones, iridescence, or adularescence without known family precedent. დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ superstitions: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › governments may place them under surveillance or offer scholarships to train them safely.

*ೃ༄color and tone inheritance probabilities

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ color inheritance: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › 40% chance the child inherits a similar color family (e.g., parent with red aura passes red/orange). ꪆৎ 𓂃 › hybrid color formations (e.g., parent with blue + parent with yellow → child with green) are possible but rare (10%). დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ tone inheritance: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › only 25% chance of tone matching parent (e.g., light-tone user birthing another light). ꪆৎ 𓂃 › metallic, iridescent, or adularescent tones are almost never inherited directly — they often arise through trauma or mutation.

*ೃ༄skip generation pattern

phenomenon: 15% of magical children are born to non-magical parents but have one or more magical grandparents.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ mechanics: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › caused by recessive arcane traits combining with the right environmental conditions (high-mana zones, magical artifacts, etc.) ꪆৎ 𓂃 › children may exhibit stronger magical signatures than their grandparents due to generational mana stacking. დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ cultural role: ꪆৎ 𓂃 › these “mana-skippers” are studied heavily by genealogists and arcanobiologists. ꪆৎ 𓂃 › sometimes seen as a second chance for dormant bloodlines to reclaim magical status.

[leapingbadger]

The Conspiracy - Chapter 10

Summary: Obi Wan once again disagrees with the council while Hunter struggles to come to terms with his perceived failings.

Read on AO3

“So, you are saying the threat has abated?” Ki-Adi-Mundi said in his hushed voice. The Council chamber swam in the bright light of the afternoon sun. Obi Wan shifted uncomfortably in his robes, pulling at the neck of them more than once as though he hadn’t been wearing them most of his life.

“I’m afraid not, Master Mundi. Cody and Crosshair seem to have returned to themselves but the risk to every other clone in the GAR remains.”

“I thought you said only two of the clones in your quarters turned. If more were present and didn’t ‘activate’ then why would the rest of the army be at risk?” Mace Windu asked.

As always, Obi Wan straightened under his deep penetrating stare. He shuffled as he stroked his beard. This was all hearsay and theory at this point, but regardless, he had to get across the danger they were all still very much in.

“Most were from Clone Force 99. Their squad members are inherently different than standard clones. Tech theorizes that this additional manipulation of their genetic code may have made the chips inactive in some of them.”

“And Echo? He was an ARC Trooper. Shouldn’t he have reacted the same as Commander Cody?” Mace pressed.

Obi Wan bristled. “Yes, in theory. However, Echo sustained significant injuries while being held captive by Wat Tambor and the Separatists. Again, Tech believes the modifications made to him during this time may have wiped any Kaminoan programming.”

“A lot of theories, there seem to be.” Master Yoda said, jabbing his walking stick to emphasize his words.

“I agree, but I believe it would behoove us to conduct further research, humanely, off course.” Obi Wan said, his eyes narrowing as the image of Cody snarling, his bloody wrists straining against restraints, flashed before his eyes. “I also believe the Senate should be made aware.”

A number of heads turned, and low mumbling conversations took over the room.

“The Senate has their hands full with this abrupt transition. Chancellor Organa may not be able to manage an additional challenge on top of his already full plate.”

Obi Wan adjusted his posture, his hands settling on his hips. “Surely that is not for us to decide. They must be made aware so they can care for the Clone army. If we plan to remove the chips from the clones, it will need to be a coordinated effort by the senate.”

“Obi Wan. We do not have the resources to remove the chips from every clone in existence. It would be monumental task.”

Obi Wan looked around the room, hoping for some support. He noticed Aayla Secura nod for him to continue, her blue lekku swinging around her shoulders. Feeling buoyed by her nonverbal support, he continued.

“We created this army. We have a responsibility to these men. Not only to ensure they maintain their free will, which I assure you, is threatened as long as these chips remain embedded in their heads. We also must come up with a plan for what happens now that the war is over. In truth, we should have been working on that all along. What will these men do now? Where will they live? How will they survive? Who will provide for them?”

“All are good questions. Obi Wan, but none of them can we answer today.” Mace said with finality.

“Then why am I here?” Obi Wan asked acidly.

He noticed Mace and Yoda trade a look and took a deep, soothing breath. He hadn’t wanted to leave Cody. Hadn’t wanted to be apart from him for a second and yet he was dragged across the city for another meeting of posturing and unanswered questions.

“We would like a full written report of the incident from you, squad 99, and Commander Cody. We will use that information to inform our next steps with the Senate. Until then, Commander Cody will be restricted to your quarters once released from medical and may not be left alone.”

Obi Wan was taken aback. “Is he under arrest?” Obi Wan asked curtly.

Windu’s eyes fell to his shoes before looking up, “not yet.” He said.

“I would remind you that Cody has done nothing wrong. His actions were not his own. Neither were Crosshair’s.”

“Understand that, we do.” Master Yoda said. “Still, cautious we must be.”

A lack of sleep had left Obi Wan’s nerves frayed. He took a deep breath to center himself. “I will inform him myself.” Obi Wan said as he turned to leave.

“Obi Wan,” he reluctantly turned back to face Master Windu. “The council appreciates your leadership on this matter.”

Obi Wan bit back a retort and chose to nod instead. The murmurs returned as he left the room. Perhaps this was not his best performance in front of the council, although given the events of the last day or so he felt it was the best he was capable of providing.

He took a deep, steadying breath, something he had done repeatedly since the incident to try and maintain some form of composure. It seemed to become more difficult every time. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt so untethered, not since his Master’s death all those years ago. But as he strode out of the temple and into the warm afternoon air he felt himself relax in the knowledge that he would soon be reunited with Cody and his heart would be full once more.

Hunter yawned and shook his head in an attempt to keep his eyes open. The room was dark except for the sparkling lights of the city beyond the window. He rose from his chair and stepped between the beds where Crosshair and Wrecker respectively were sleeping. The latter’s snores filling the room.

Hunter’s eyes briefly went to his other brothers, each spread out of a bunk rather than leave Crosshair and sleep on the Marauder. As usual, Hunter kept watch. Although if there was any place it would be safe for them all to sleep, it was here.

Omega had taken one of the beds on the other side of the room. She was curled up like a loth cat under the covers, the silver medallion that had hung on her forehead clutched in her hand instead. Hunter’s eyes lingered as her blonde hair shone like stardust in the moonlight.

“What’s with you and the kid?” Crosshair’s tart whisper made Hunter jump, something not easily done with his enhanced senses, but he was tired and not at the top of his game. He really needed to get some sleep.

“Nothing. She needs help, that’s all.”

Crosshair’s eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of the room. His probing stare searching for the secrets Hunter kept to himself. Hunter picked up the chair he had been sitting in and brought it to his bedside.

“You’ve always been a terrible liar, Hunter.” Crosshair said with a smirk.

“I’m good enough to beat you at Sabaac.” He replied.

“Hmm…occasionally.”

“How are you feeling?” Hunter asked quietly.

Crosshair shrugged, “fine.”

“You’re a pretty bad liar yourself, you know.” Hunter replied stoically.

Crosshair rolled his eyes, “they dug in my brain and yanked something out. How do you think I feel?”

“Fair enough.”

“’You can’t be serious about keeping the kid.” Crosshair said, all tact forgotten.

Hunter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “someone’s got to look after her. We can’t send her back to the Kaminoans.”

“Yes, but why does that person have to be you?”

“She needs us. She’s one of us”

“No, she’s not.”

“Cross…”

“Hunter, she is not your responsibility.”

“You want the Kaminoans to pick her apart like they did us?”

Crosshair crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. “We survived.”

“Did we? Did you?” Hunter asked, his temper fraying.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“No, what did it mean?” Crosshair asked aggressively.

“Look at her.” He noticed Crosshair’s eyes flick to Omega’s bed before meeting Hunter’s again, “She’s you. She’s who you used to be. Before they separated us, before the testing, and the pokes, and the electrodes, the experiments and the solitary confinement. That’s what you were like as a cadet. Don’t you remember? You used to smile, you used to kriffin’ laugh.” Hunter said, his voice threatening to rise above a whisper.

“I laugh.” Crosshair said defensively.

Hunter sighed heavily, the grief he had buried so deep for so long threatening to overwhelm him. “I sorry I couldn’t protect you, Cross. I failed to keep you safe. I can’t let them hurt her, change her, the way they changed you.”

“What the kriff are you talking about? He said, sitting up straighter as he took in his older brother. Hunter had folded in on himself, his shoulders rounded with an invisible weight.

“You changed. I couldn’t protect you from the Kaminoans. From the testing, from the darkness and it fundamentally changed who you are.” He rambled. Hunter felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Was this panic? His stomach felt like it was twisted into knots, and his voice tight in his throat.

“What’s wrong with who I am now?” Crosshair spat.

“Nothing.” Hunter said hurriedly, knowing that whatever he was trying to say he wasn’t able to get it out in anything other than the jumble of sleep deprived nonsense currently falling from his mouth “Nothing, Cross. I just wish I was able to protect you. Make it better for you, that’s all.”

“Hunter. You were decanted a day before I was. You’re a kriffin idiot if you think you had a responsibility to protect me when you were a child yourself. Don’t forget your cadet days. Zapped with electricity, exposed to infrared and electromagnetic fields. We’re all karked up. The Kaminoans made sure of that.”

Hunter sat up a little straighter and wiped his hands over his face.

“You know I could write you up for calling me an idiot.” He said with a shaky grin.

“You basically called me defective.” Crosshair retorted with a scowl.

“I didn’t mean It that way.”

“I know. But you are an idiot. You want to keep the kid, It’s crazy. Anyone would think you just had brain surgery.”

Hunter laughed, “well that might happen sooner rather than later.”

“Good, maybe it’ll prod some sense into you.” Crosshair said, his tone harsh but the corner of his lips ticked up, highlighting the sharp angles of his face.

“I am sorry, Cross, that you had to go through all this…losing control. Losing yourself.”

“Do we know why it didn’t work on the rest of you?”

“Not yet, but Tech’s looking into it. Said he might need your help with the research.”

“As long as he doesn’t try and dissect me, that’s fine.”

Hunter laughed. “It Is really good to have you back, you know.”

“It’s good to be back. I…” he hesitated, before pressing on. “I remember it. All of it. I could see you all, know it was you, know who Kenobi was and it didn’t matter…”

Hunter didn’t know how to respond. Again, another thing he couldn’t fix. He couldn’t make Crosshair feel better. “I’ll let you get some sleep.” Hunter said. Crosshair nodded as Hunter stood and walked to the vacant bed opposite.

“Hunter, it wasn’t your fault. That…that kid, he’s still here. I just hid him away.”

“You don’t have to hide who you are for anyone Cross, especially us.”

“Even if this is who I am?”

“There’s nothing wrong with who you are, Cross. That’s not what I was trying to say. If anyone on the squad needs a personality transplant it’s me.” He said with a chuckle.

“Too right.” The sniper said with a grin.

“Night, Cross.”

“Night, idiot.”

The covers of the bed were warm and crisp. Hunter watched the dust float in the beam of moonlight illuminating the room until eventually his eyelids became to heavy to hold open and he finally allowed himself to succumb to sleep.

[acronym-chaos]

Jax (TADC) Inspired ID Pack

[PT: Jax (TADC) Inspired ID Pack].

Names

[PT: Names].

Ace, Axel, Bandit, Blaze, Blitz, Boomer, Buster, Byte, Chaos, Chester, Chip, Crash, Dash, Dax, Dexter, Dizzy, Echo, Felix, Finn, Flash, Frenzy, Gizmo, Glitch, Harley, Jazz, Jett, Jinx, Joker, Kicks, Kip, Knox, Loki, Max, Mischief, Neo, Nix, Pixel, Pogo, Quirk, Razz, Rebel, Riff, Riot, Rocco, Rogue, Ryder, Scrappy, Scout, Skipper, Slick, Sly, Snaps, Sparx, Spike, Spaz, Tango, Trick, Turbo, Twitch, Vandal, Vex, Vortex, Wily, Zip, Ziggy, Zane

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

Anti / Antic / Antics; Cha / Chao / Chaos; Clow / Clown / Clowns; Craz / Craze / Crazes; Hop / Hop / Hops; Jest / Jeste / Jesters; Jig / Jig / Jigs; Pran / Prank / Pranks; Quir / Quirk / Quirks; Quip / Quip / Quips; Ras / Cal / Cals [Rascal]; Snar / Snark / Snarks; Spri / Spring / Springs; Tri / Trick / Tricks; Trick / Trick / Tricks; Whim / Whim / Whims; Wit / Wit / Wits

Titles

[PT: Titles].

The Chaotic Jester, The Digital Troublemaker, The Maniac with a Smile, The Master of Chaos, The Mischievous Prankster, The Unpredictable Fool, The Virtual Rogue, Trickster of the Circus,[Pronoun] Who Bounces Through the Digital World, [Pronoun] Who Flips the Script, [Pronoun] Who Laughs in Code, [Pronoun] Who Pranks the Program, [Pronoun] Who Tricks and Tangles, [Pronoun] Who Twists the Game

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, end ID]

Requested by @gamecraft101!

Also tagging: @pronoun-arc @id-pack-archive

[theredponcho]

I finally finished watching all 7 seasons of 2003 tmnt. I like the series as a whole and it might be my favorite iteration now but idk I might have to rewatch it again. Story wise I think its my favorite iteration. If were talking animation and comedy then rottmnt is my favorite.

Spoilers under the keep reading ⬇️

My favorite turtle in this iteration has to be Donnie. He was really intresting and I liked his personality a lot. It could also be that Im bias in my opinion since before I watched the series I was reading the fic Ghost in a Shell which was also one of the reasons why I decided to binge watch the series in the first place so who knows.

The shredder reminded me a lot of william afton from fnaf since…He always comes back. I swear they did everything to that guy and he just kept coming back. Decapitation, drowning/fire damage, electricution, and dragons??? Don't even get me started on stockman. It gave me flash backs to 2012 splinter. But 2012 splinter didn’t dye more so was assumed dead except for the ending and that one time in the space arc. I could go on a whole tangent talking about 2012 tmnt but we would be here all day. Maybe I’ll make a post on my thoughts on that if I feel like it.

I wish we could have seen more of cyberspace and learned more about how the future worked. I also would have liked to see more of professor honey cut he was cool.

I still have questions that were left unanswered mostly about the last season.

Did Serlion the future robot ever make it back to the future. I assumed he did eventually since it would probably screw up the time line or be very dark if he did end up staying in the present. Plus it would add a lot of plot holes.

What was that 3V3 shredder fight all about? During the begging of season 7 went viral was messing around with the time portal and sending the guys to different points in the past we saw a moment were 3 or 4 shredders were fighting each other along with a lot of foot clan members and I assumed that we would see this near the end of the season and this was just for shadowing what was gonna come and be the final epic fight because brain wash guy was their and the next episode after that we actually get to formally meet brain wash guy and we met a shredder that was basically resserected and they still needed to make a time portal which leaves room for more shredders to make a appearance. Idk maybe they just ran out of time and couldn’t do it so they just ended on the wedding and killed cyber shredder early or something.

Who in there right mind decide to change the turtles eyes and give them pupils in season 7? Im not mad I’m just disappointed. I didn’t mind the art style change in season 6. Sure it took some getting use to but I was able to get use to it after a while and find things I liked about it but I never really got over the pupils thing.

Is the shredder actually dead? The main core/program of the shredder is still tenically in cyberspace it wasn’t deleted (as far as im awear) so does that mean the shredder could still come back if he wanted to?

I would like to end this post on a cute picture of the guys if you read this far thank you. ❤️

[moonlightseve]

hi hi I enjoy your analysis posts so much!! do you have any thoughts on the undercurrent of performance that runs throughout yuri on ice - re Victor ' 'performance' nikiforov (contrasted with yuuri's (and yurio, eventually) absence of a persona while skating) and the whole episode 3 premise of the trio trying to perform an emotion until it clicks (highlighting yuuri's eros monologue arc specifically) while the program itself is constructed by someone who at that point doesn't fully comprehend the extent of the emotion he puts into the sp. not to forget the performance inherent to sport in and of itself! sorry if this doesn't make any sense I hope you're having a good day tysm for reading!!

Hello, I hope your day is going well too! It was wonderful to wake up and see your ask in my inbox xxx

Oh boy, of course I have thoughts. I spent a little while trying to figure out how to condense all of them, but no matter what I do it seems like this post is going to be pretty long.

As you said, Viktor can certainly be very performative, which we see throughout the show as he reminisces about his career and tries to discover what role Yuuri expects him to play. He doesn’t show emotion unless he has to and he’s very concerned with his image – always going out of his way to interact with fans (and scolding Yuuri when he doesn’t do the same). He has a persona of sorts, putting on the air of Viktor Nikiforov: Living Legend, 5-time GPF Champion, 5-time Worlds Champion, Olympian, etc etc. There is little room in his life for him to simply be himself, instead shelving his own wants and desires to embrace the idea of who he thinks he’s supposed to be. 

On the ice, however, is a completely different story. This is where I veer off partially into headcanon because we unfortunately don’t know much about Viktor’s backstory (curse you Mappa!!!), so I need to speculate a bit. I have always viewed Viktor as someone who feels things quite deeply. He’s very passionate and emotional, but has incredible self-control and keeps himself reigned in. The ice is where he lets that go a bit, allowing himself to feel what he feels and express it through his skating. 

Evidence for this is present in how he choreographs and selects the music for his routines, giving him full creative control and the chance to embrace whatever he feels he will do best with. Stammi Vicino is heartbreaking, and lonely, and desperate – all things I would likely associate with Viktor at the beginning of the series. 

It’s present in how he coaches, always falling back on his own experiences as a skater to guide Yuuri and Yurio. When he begins to give advice, he tends to reflect on how Yakov coached him rather than coming up with something entirely new that better serves the different personalities of the Yuris. This implies to the audience that all of his attempts to get Yuri-squared to connect with the emotion at the heart of their short programs is how he himself worked on his programs. 

It’s present in one of my favorite Viktor quotes from the entire show, a little moment in episode 2 or 3 where Yurio is frustrated with Agape and trying to get Viktor to tell him what’s wrong, and Viktor says something along the lines of “It’s an emotion, why would I bother trying to explain it in words?” The feelings he presents on the ice are just that: feelings. They are important to him and sometimes indescribable, a little window into the truth of who he is that he keeps closely guarded at all other times. 

Viktor off the ice knows when to smile for the cameras and flash a wink to the crowd, keeping his image perfectly tailored to the one he wants to present. Viktor on the ice is able to let the artifice fade away and become, for just a moment, wholly himself. He would never tell anyone that he is lonely, but he skates Stammi Vicino as if it’s an extension of himself. 

The point you brought up regarding the fact that Viktor choreographed routines for emotions he may not understand is SO interesting to me because I have never even considered it! I think about Viktor a lot, and switch between two opposing ideas of him depending on how I’m feeling that day:

Viktor has known unconditional love, whether through his parents (I pretty firmly believe his family was not active in his life) or through Yakov (one of my favorite headcanons) or through Makkachin, even. Makkachin may not be quite the same thing, but he may not know any better and is therefore using that as his inspiration. Or, maybe he feels unconditional love for something/someone else. 

Viktor does not know unconditional love. He has never had anyone who could give him that, which is why Yuuri is very important and such a big deal and he needed to get on a plane to Japan IMMEDIATELY!!!

Depending on which of these you subscribe to (or a secret third option, perhaps) then Viktor’s ability to choreograph Yuri and Yuuri’s short programs is very interesting. He truly seems to have a grasp on Eros and Agape in a way that Yuri-squared struggles with. Since he encourages them to feel those emotions deeply in order to skate them correctly and those routines were originally for him, it means he must feel them deeply enough to think them worthy of creating and presenting to the world. 

So that’s how I view Viktor. When he is skating, he is not a performer, but a performance – the entertainment he produces is not the end goal, it merely comes from watching him be himself. And that authenticity is what makes him such a wonderful skater. 

Yuuri’s battle starts with him NEEDING to perform something (the tale of the katsudon fatale, how could we ever forget) and ends with him finally being able to draw upon himself for his skate. Creating some sort of narrative and slipping into a persona helps get him off the ground, but it’s really like a set of training wheels Viktor tries to get him to shed as their story progresses. It’s why his Yuri on Ice free skate is so important to his journey as a skater – there’s nothing for him to perform, just him being himself. To properly execute the program, he must be Yuuri, aware of the journey he has taken and each iteration he has been, mastering all of it to embrace who he is now. It must be less of a performance and more of a confession to those watching. 

Yurio’s Agape is so powerful for the same reasons! It’s because it comes from his own personal experiences with his grandpa, who he loves dearly. He needs to embrace that softer side of himself that he hides behind the prickly angsty exterior to truly do his program justice. 

“We call everything on the ice love” is very important because on the ice is when a skater’s truths must emerge. This is when they are most authentically themself, and when love therefore shines the brightest. 

I hope I answered your questions, and I’m sorry if I got a bit rambly there at any point! This was a very fun topic to discuss and if anyone has any thoughts I’d love to hear them. I have this account because I have things that I love that I want to share with other people and to hear about the things they love in turn, so it genuinely makes my day when I get to do that.

Thank you for the ask!

[year2000electronics]

you should use this ask to talk about 1961 Otto :]{

YAAAY

so. all my favourite ocks have the arms be a sort of reflection of otto’s fatal flaw (with exception to olivia just bc we don’t really get to hear how or why she invented her arms)

- raimi otto’s arms appeal to his ego and hubris and convince him he couldn’t have been wrong

- spectacular otto’s arms give him the power he always craved to fight back against norman and become the bully instead of the bullied

- ps4 otto’s arms aren’t uniformly designed for the good of mankind, they’re designed for himself above all else and are just extensions of the selfish and paranoid person he’s become

and so on and so forth. so for MY otto, he’s a science teacher who was never able to settle down with anyone or have kids but he’s always REALLY wanted a family and that’s kinda why he puts up with the teaching job y’know? because all these kids are kinda like his kids, at least for a year or so. but at the end of the day they have their real guardians to go back to, and they all graduate eventually and stop visiting. so he kinda gets lonelier specifically because he won’t admit to himself that that’s what he’s doing (seeking out companionship).

so then peter parker comes along and he has him as a student for even longer than normal thanks to pete taking some early high school prep classes and he’s there for may when ben dies and everything, pete really sees him as a father figure and he’s pretty much become part of the family! but then peter’s senior year comes along. and that means he’s gonna have to graduate.

peter is struggling with this on his own, he doesn’t want everything to change and for him to lose the place that’s been his life for 4 years, little does he know otto is ALSO panicking because his basically-son is gonna graduate and move on and forget all about him!! and he’s freaking out. but again we see 1961 otto’s flaw of gaining something personally via hiding his intentions, he doesn’t want to tell peter and may that he sees them as family because what if they don’t see him like that? he just wants EVERYTHING TO STAY THE EXACT SAME WITH NO CHANGE SO HE FEELS IN CONTROL OF THE SITUATION.

but of course he keeps panicking and instead of the “risky” option of telling peter and may, he decides that “hey, if they leave and forget about me, then i can just make myself a backup! i’ll pour my heart and soul into making these robotic arms that i’ll SAY are for people who live alone who need extra help like the elderly, but are actually for me so i can simulate companionship!” (again, being duplicitous about what he wants by pretending it’s for a different reason than it actually is!) but of course, at the oscorp inventor’s expo he brings the arms to, he suffers a terrible accident and they get fused to him, ai and all

so obviously since otto’s greatest wish was for a family who he could control, when the arms gain sentience and start speaking to him (because come on i had to that’s such a great idea for the arms) it’s not in a “no inhibitor chip now i’m following their programming” way it’s a “hello dad it’s us, Your Children :)” way. the accident increased all of their violent tendencies by tenfold and made them all a bit cuckoo, so otto decides once he’s off of bed rest, that “hey! i know how i can stop peter’s graduation! he can’t graduate if the ceremony just never happens, right?!” (desperate actions of a control freak, you understand) so he attacks the graduation ceremony and peter has to save his classmates including flash. well, that plan failed, but y’know what? otto’s OTHER kids aren’t attacking him anyways! hmph! so he disappears into the night, becoming spider-man’s nemesis, doc ock

all of that was for the “graduation day” arc of my au, the rest of my au takes place after a timeskip when pete’s an adult working at the bugle! so when we zero back in on otto, we see he’s learned nothing and gotten even Worse. he starts his own villain team, the sinister six, but how he recruits each member is that they’re suffering, usually from their own backstory stuff, and he helps them back onto their feet so now they adore him and see him as their caretaker! and they’re all one big family, don’t you think? doc ock DEFINITELY ISNT LYING ABOUT WHY HE’S SAVING THESE SUPERVILLAINS AGAIN.

you can see that throughline in their recruitment order too, we go from electro to vulture to sandman, each who fell victim to horrific accidents or unethical experiments, then you have mysterio, whose only wound is his ego after he got fired, and then the final member is norman osborn himself, the green goblin, who was indirectly responsible for a lot of their backstories. but otto takes in norman saying “oh well he’s just like us, he’s wounded, we must turn the other cheek and take care of him” when really he knows norman is full of shit, doing this goblin thing for personal gain and is entirely in control of his actions, and is lying about it by pretending that it’s an “evil dark entity taking over me” situation. but norman has power and influence and otto needs that influence. also they have a bit of a weird gay thing. so otto plays along with norman’s ruse

ANYWAYS YEAH that’s my otto for you! his arc ends with my own version of superior spider man where otto finally realizes how terrible he’s been to peter and everyone around him by being forced to see the world through eyes that aren’t his :) he and peter make up by the time my miles morales arc starts. he’s such a weirdo i love him. he needs to get therapy!

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Disgrace Chapter 11: Crosshair x F!OC

They close the distance between themselves, and draw closer to the end of their journey. Though the hostile terrain is rough, and the fauna is vicious- good company can make the way pleasant. Pleasant enough that one might loath that it should end. Regret that is should end. There's a lesson in the journey, that if you give yourself to someone who has nothing, you risk becoming their everything.

Chapter Specific Warnings: Smut, Vore, Blood, Gore, PiV, Power Struggle Sex, Overstimulation, Spanking, Teasing, Angst

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Authors Notes: This chapter closes the second arc of the story! Had a lot of fun with the Fauna in this chapter.

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Word Count: 6108

Dynamic: Princess x Guard, Speed running Co-dependancy, A Mangy Cat and his Aggressive little Chihuahua. She's a damsel, she's in distress- she can handle it. Murder is his love language.

<-Previous Chapter - Read On Ao3 {START HERE}

Music Inspo- Source, Fever the Ghost

Listen on Spotify - Listen on Youtube

Chapter 11: The Source

The speeder raced across the rocky terrain bathed in the light of permadawn. The tunnels had brought us about halfway through the valley and after some time on the improvised road we were starting to finally find ourselves in shallower ravines, tips of the Trimecca farms more visible on the horizon. If we could keep our pace we'd reach the borders in a day and a half or so.  

The radio signal kicked in a while ago, giving us glimpses of race scores, weather, and entertainment. Cross was lazing in the passengers side, taking in the semi-nocturnal mammals that skittered away through the brittle vinescape as we tore past; His left hand casually draped across my thigh, tapping along with the beat humming through the holo waves. 

He was occasionally grilling my vocabulary, Ga'haiian words that sparked his interest as they came through on the speaker. 

“Cas nan’beh?”

“Nan’beh is kind of like top choices… popular, Cas is our word for music,”

“Mm

…

What’s Ku tar’nah?”

“Hearts chosen destiny… or souls destiny, Ku is hard to translate…”

His eyes wandered off again,

“What does li’nen mean?”

That wasn't part of the program, and the poorly disguised attempt to be sly was amusing. 

“Treasure… or precious, I suppose. It's a term of endearment,”

“How's it differ from li’ha?”

I stiffened slightly. The only person to call me that recently had been Bly’ju… maybe he picked it up in passing…

“The ‘ha suffix changes it to possessive, ‘my treasure,’ or ‘my precious’,”

“Is that so…”

Off in thought again.

“Enough Ga'haiian Crosshair, don't you have anything to teach me instead?”

The toothpick in his mouth swished from side to side as he seemed to deliberate what to give me. 

“Cyare…”

He finally whispered, a slight blush on his cheekbones barely visible in the blue green light. I tried it on for size,

“Cyare… what does it mean,”

…

“Flat snout,”

I snorted, almost choking on my own spit. 

“Flat snout?”

“Mm”

“Bantha dung”

He shrugged, though he looked more amused than anything. Even daring to swear on it,

“By Be’llahl.”

As if Be’llahl didn't delight in pranks. His demeanor was only making me more suspicious as he tried to suppress a chuckle. 

“I give you our words for precious and you trade me… flat snout?”

“Why not?”

“Are you always this full of shyte or do I just bring something special out in you?”

My gaze flicked across the car, searching for the smirk I knew I'd find there. 

Something caught my eyes as they slid across the rear view, drawing my attention away from my snickering passenger. A small shift of dust and rock tumbling into the channel behind us. 

A crash of stone and earth ripped through the air as the creature slid off the valley wall and into the reflection of the rear view. At first no more than a dark, shiny blur. It uncoiled in a flash, its long, scaly tail whipping about as it found its balance. Sharp taloned feet dug into the soil propelling the monster towards us with powerful force as it shrieked with its pouched throat and wide toothy beak. 

A cockerex. 

“Aw varp,”

I tried topping our speed, the pedal clanking against the floor with the force of my boot slamming it down. Sparing a glance down to the fuel gauge I tried to not panic at the low reading. We'd been driving for days and have really been pushing the limits of the reserves. 

Crosshair spun in the seat the second the rumble of the ground registered through our gravity propulsion. His helmet was already shoved on and he was swinging his side arm up to aim behind us at the massive beast of prey. 

“Cross, wait!”

The bolt rang out, bouncing off the iridescent blue-green feathers. He ducked as it came back at us. 

“Would've been good to know,”

As if he had given me the time…

“You need the higher caliber!”

He nodded, climbing into the back with an easy leap grabbing for the Firepuncher, swinging it up on his shoulder-

The cockerex lunged, teeth snapping onto the rifles barrel and with a gutteral warble. Cross tried to squeeze off a shot, but the barrel was pointed into the rock wall; the bolt crashed uselessly into the rocky craig. The sharp teeth made a high pitched screech as they scratched the metal muzzle, gouging it slightly as the creature pulled its head back with a snap.  It easily yanked the blaster from Crosshair's grip, the gun flipping into the air, end over end before being chomped down and swallowed with a loud gulp.

That's not good.

“Oh no you don't,”

Crosshair was up, leaping over the seats to the trunk. A hard kick that jostled the speeder, propelling himself off the bumper-  

To fall into the open pouch through the screaming jaws. 

“Crosshair!”

The thing gulped and he was gone. 

What the kark what the Kark what the Kark!

I didn't have time to process what just happened. The steering jerked as I tried to stay ahead of the cockerex and off the valley walls. The whole speeder lurched as the beast’s narrow head lowered and butted against the jagged trunk, forcing me to swerve haphazardly to correct. Dread gripped me as the rumble of taloned feet encroached on my position. 

What the varp am I supposed to do now?

The valley wall thinned and dropped to one side, opening up to a deeper ravine. The monster shrieked excitedly as it swung its head down again, smacking the back of the speeder so that it swung erratically. I could feel the slide, the speeder losing traction with the upper path and falling down the rocky slope with a grinding shriek. The engine sputtered and cut out as I came to rest at the bottom of the ditch, thunking down into the dirt with a harsh jolt. 

A large shadow passed over head, I looked up at the grasping talons and open jaws reaching for me as the cockerex leaped off the edge, hungry for more-

Wrrrp-BANG!

A glow in its belly bloated outward, then- exploded. With a sickening rip and wet guttural warble the cockerex was in pieces- a tall silhouette falling from the ruined organic matter. 

I laughed in disbelief… an amusement cut short as a sheet of gore slapped over myself and the speeder, followed by a rocking THUMP as Cross’s sticky, disheveled form smacked the back of my seat, bouncing him into the back with a groan. 

I wiped goop from my eyes, spitting the foul slime with a sputter. 

“Y-you alright back there?”

“I'll recover,”

“Good… otherwise I might feel bad for being pissed, What were you thinking?!”

He held the rifle up triumphantly.

“It got the Firepuncher, I needed to get it back,”

“We could have outrun it… what if that hadn't worked?”

“It worked,”

“You could always get another gun,”

“Look here, princess,”

He hoisted himself up, standing over me in the driver's seat. Pulling his side arm back out of its holster to thump into the passenger side. 

“Out of charge,”

He pulled my side arm and checked it. 

“Almost drained, and my packs spent, we lose the Firepuncher and we're defenseless,”

“Still,”

But my grumbling puttered out, the slick mess of slime coating me the priority now. 

There wasn't much to help, settling on the work blankets to try and wipe the viscera off of me. At least I hadn't been wearing the jacket, which was mostly spared where it had fallen to the floor. Even with my best efforts I was streaked with grime from head to toe. 

Glorious. How fun.

Crosshair wasn't fairing much better. Having been inside the thing, every joint and crevice of his kit was contaminated. 

“We're gonna need to find a geyser field, I'm not walking into Sohn like this, Cross, can you see any steam? Smell something metallic?”

“I can't smell anything right now…”

The man finally looked like he was regretting his decision as the gunk started to dry on us. Good. That was an incredibly stupid move. I sighed to try and release some of my indignation. 

It was time to test the engine. Tapping the cords under the dash together, the speeder made a pathetic whine, a dry chug and then died good and proper. I closed my eyes and thanked the thing for holding up as long as it did. 

Groaning, I made preparations to leave while Crosshair assessed the damage to his guns and armor. I reached into the back, pulling my bag out from… what exactly had it pinned this time? 

It looked like a large chunk of stone had made part of the journey with us, partially cracked in the back seat. The outer shape was carved into smooth flat sides, a keystone in the arch that held the crystal port. Something glinted in the cracked stone. I reached in, pushing the broken rock till the cracked sides fell open on the uneven floor. What looked like a small piece of jewelry fell out, the cord old and frayed threaded through a metal rod. Picking it up, it glinted in the meager sunlight. 

I shrugged and slipped the string over my head, grabbing what was left of our bag of rations. Crosshair was already undoing the cords on the trunk, readying our spare water. 

“There's steam rising to the east, about two clicks,”

“Pedestrian, please,”

“Uh… a short way that direction…”

Bag hoisted up my shoulder, we took the hover dolly with the water filled fuel containers between us and turned towards his heading. I couldn't see anything but the glowing north but had no doubts we'd find what we were looking for. 

Cross was alert, keeping his rifle ready as we started to trek over the arid landscape. 

“Watch those brambles,”

He paused, steering us around a thorny patch, looking over the purple and green spikes. 

“Widow's Thistle?”

“You guessed it,”

“I didn't think it'd grow so thick,”

“Legend says it's the embodiment of the bitterness of all the war widows who cried here,”

He looked at the wide valley, the dips on the sandy rocks between plateaus that became more spars the more north you traveled. 

“This is a battlefield?”

“Mm, from ancient times, All life an Ga’ha originated in these valleys… then, the Trimecca Farms were built, false mountains that stole the light from the valley… and then war,”

“That’s a varp of an escalation,”

His eyes took in the ghosts we walked over, letting them haunt him for a moment. Insects darted around the thistles, chattering wings in glittering color… their beauty almost disrespectful to the grief these plants supposedly held. I succumbed to the bitterness of wounds that weren't mine, allowing it to flow through my words.

“Well… it wasn't the poor and disenfranchised that built the farms, and with less light the native crops struggled. With only a select few welcome in the new civilization… Others starved, and then were crushed beneath the boots of the well fed,

The founding of Sohn destroyed the valley, the Widow's Thistle thrives in the lower light… that's all,”

We tracked in uncomfortable silence. Not between us, but in the itchy hardened crust we had developed. I sighed tremendously in relief when the steam billowing into the air became close enough even I could see it. 

“You think here is good?”

Crosshair eagerly eyed the first spring that came into view. 

“Have to check first…”

I cast my eyes about until I spotted a pile of discarded bones from some small animal. That should do just fine. Picking them up gingerly, I stepped to the edge of the simmering water and dropped one in. There was a soft sizzle and the bone melted. 

“Not this one,”

“That's obvious…”

I was hopeful though, and jogged ahead to the next steaming pool, dropping in little bones with Crosshair trailing behind. His hand dropped on my shoulder suddenly pulling me back from where I was about to step from the cover of the low rock walls. 

“There's… things ahead.”

Looking up from where I was counting hot springs, I relaxed. 

“It's okay, they're friendly,”

The they in question was a heard of Gazyll’brah. The tall, six legged equines with coarse, blue striped hair stood gracefully in the flat clearing. A few foals played in the water of the surrounding springs, breaing into the rare soft breeze.

“They know which pools are safe, and they'll let us know if a cockerex gets close, c’mon,”

I led a weary Crosshair down into the clearing to a smaller, steaming crater of water. Dropping a bone in just to be safe, I smiled as it fell to the bottom of the clean pool. 

“This one's good,”

Turning, I found his eyes fixed on the Gazies as they grazed, peeling off the bark of the dahr trees that speckled the canyon side.

“Why aren't they afraid of us?”

“Well, there's no truly wild Gazyll'brahs… they're all from released domestic lines, this close to the farms they're pretty used to humans,”

Satisfied with that, his pack hit the dirt as he started to strip. 

~~~

The water sloshed over the side as Cross thrust into me again, making me gasp loud enough to spook the foal that had wandered near. His mounting had been rough, and abrupt, taking me hard from behind. 

“No warning, Crosshair?”

The surprise was feigned, I had been teasing him. His hips pulled back as he hunched over my back where I was bent over the edge of the pool. He rutted against me, forcefully, as if to teach me a lesson. I had him wrapped around my fingers. The man was panting hard, lost in the lust that had set him into action,

“You think you've… tamed me, princess?”

His groin slammed back into me and I groaned, the walls of my cunt gripping down on his shaft as the sensation ripped through my awakening nerves. Even starting cold he was amazing, and I sighed letting myself focus on how he felt inside me, my Crosshair. 

“Flaunt that perfect ass of yours and expect me to behave myself?”

“Oh?”

I tried to control my breathing, my voice even,

“You can't be that bad, if this is the extent of your… misbehaving,”

Smack

His palm came down on my ass hard, forcing a small yelp from me. I caught his smirk in the corner of my eye as he leaned in to purr against my nape,

“Careful now, I'm starting to think you're riling me up on purpose,”

I was. 

Bracing my hands on the rocky ledge I pushed back against him, taking back control with my own rocking hips angling him deeper than he was managing before. 

“Come on, soldier, you've kriffed me harder than this,”

He cut the groan pulled from him short, growling at my challenge. His hand found its way around my neck, hoisting me against his chest. The firm hold aided him as he pulled me down onto his thrusting cock. His free hand yanked my thighs wider, dropping my pelvis lower. My eyes rolled back a moment as he bottomed out, hilt pressed against my entrance, eliciting a strangled cry of pleasure. I found leverage and bounced my hips; regaining composure and forcing his rhythm, feeling him shudder, the vibration of a suppressed moan in his chest. 

In desperation his hand dipped between my legs while the other tightened around my neck holding me taught and still. Strong fingers strummed through my folds, flicking my clit in a careful rhythm making me gasp. He cooed into my ear in delight as I trembled from the attention, his hand slowing to circle the sensitive bud of nerves, trying to steal my control again. It wasn't gonna be that easy though, not with how he rushed in.

“You think you can toy with me, Tahny?”

I rocked my hips against his hold, riding that edge but not letting him push me over. Turning to plant a soft kiss against his jaw, I whispered peevishly,

“I know I can,”

“Y-you- kriff~” 

His breath caught with a grunt and he twitched inside me, cumming as his hips pressed his cock deep into me. 

I win. 

I let him wrap his arms around me, pulling us back together to sit on the edge of the spring we had been bathing in. His breath was hot against my neck as he nuzzled into it. Relaxed. His mistake. 

As he had studied me over the past few days, I had made some observations about him too. Drunk, horny, or high he was ever the living weapon… but for the next few minutes he was just like any man,

Helpless.

I rolled my hips grinding against him still sheathed in me, causing his breath to hiss between his teeth. 

“Careful, thats-”

His head jerk backwards as I rolled against him again, not letting him get away yet; A violent spasm went through him. 

“Ah~ that's not very nice,”

There was a breathless, nervous chuckle playing on his lips as he submitted to me riding his overstimulated cock. I was delighting in the way he tensed and jerked under me as I ground him inside of myself, feeling that edge start to creep into the borders of my brain again,  

“Don't tell me you can't take what you dish, Cross, that'd be disappointing…”

His eyes sharpened, and he grabbed my hips… times up I suppose. Good boy. 

Crosshair’s back hit the stone as he bucked his hips, putting enough force into it to wrench my control away. His knees knocked between mine to keep me from regaining leverage as he viciously bounced me, easily overwhelming me. 

I finally gave in, letting him bring me to climax; falling against his chest with a strangled cry dripping with ecstasy. 

He thrust a few more times, shuddering violently as a second climax ripped through him, his fingers digging into my hips as he kriffed through it before finally falling still again holding me tight against his heaving chest. 

The sky above me came closer and fell away in a slowing pattern as he breathed under me, wet skin sticking against my back; Relaxed contentment washing through us as our breathing evened together. Cross nipped at my neck and shoulder,

“What got into you?”

“Little of you maybe,”

He snorted. 

I rolled off of him laying to his side, he offered his arm to rest my head against as I curled against his ribs. 

“Will you miss this, Tahny?”

“We'll keep seeing each other… thought that's what we decided on,”

“I meant…”

He gestures vaguely at the clearing with its steam and grazing creatures. 

“Being out here, away from everything else,”

“Mm… not too sure about that, do you know how miserable we'd be if we hadn't been able to find this place?”

“I don't want to know,”

He chuckled, but his brow knit in a subtle show of seriousness.

“Roughing it really isn't your thing, is it?”

“No… I can survive, but no, I need indoor plumbing at the very least. Not really a sonic shower… enjoyer,”

“Would you do it for me?”

“You want me to wing it in the wilderness?”

“Not specifically…”

I could feel my eyes pinch in slight irritation, jumping to the hinted conclusion,

“Are you wondering if you can make me happy Crosshair?”

He looked away, aiming his sights on the sky, 

“So what if I am?”

“That's not how it works, Cross, I make me happy, You can support me, cheer me up, and make my life feel more whole, but happy? That’s… well, …that's for me to sort out,”

I faltered at the end of my little speech, a little unsure of myself. I could feel a tinge in my cheeks, like I had confessed something secret. 

“I can do all that can I?”

His voice took on a dreamy quality as his eyes stayed fixed on the sky. I could see the stars reflected in them even as dawn tinged the horizon. 

“If you want to,”

He didn't answer, instead, he sat up to lean over me, causing me to roll slightly as he moved. 

“For someone who's never wanted someone you sure talk like you're an authority on these things,”

“You don't need to experience something to learn about it, I've seen a thousand romances play out a thousand ways… it's a hazard of the trade,”

“A lot of romance in the flesh industry?”

“More than you realize, and probably in more variety than outside it,”

He scoffed at that, forcing me to defend my point,

“Seriously! Normal people meet, then go for caf, then dinner and a holo and then they Kriff each other's brains out till they get bored and move on to someone else,”

“Is that how it's supposed to go?”

“Society at large seemed to decide how it goes, not me… meanwhile Kahtzi has a client that comes every week just to polish her hooves, That's it! That's all he wants, He swears up and down he loves her, who am I to say he doesn't?”

“What about me?”

“Hm?”

“You know so much about people and their affections… What about me? Us?”

I caressed his cheek solemnly, 

“We… we're still in our infancy, it feels good to be together, but… it's supposed to… that's how beginnings are,”

He collapsed again, sighing as he pulled me to him.

“Such a strange girl…”

“How so,”

“Hesitant caution doesn't seem like a tactic you employ often, but when it comes to this… why so weary, Tahny? Are you afraid of being happy?”

That wasn't something I had a clever answer for, so I leaned into him instead; Contemplative. Attempting to simply accept the comfort he offered. 

We watched the sky a while, the dawn that refused to break. If you squinted at the horizon you could almost make out the sheen of the heat shields that hovered over Sohn. Crosshair probably could, but his eyes were moving, systematically scanning the sky's above.

“It's strange not seeing ships in such a clear sky…”

I turned my gaze upwards to match his, reaching up as if to touch the visible stars. 

“Little perk of our wonky gravity, clear skies anywhere but around the ports,”

“I thought more people would be looking for you,”

“Not by air, and like you said… they might just think we're dead,”

…

“Perhaps we should get going then… you're well overdue for your arrival,”

He sighed, giving me another squeeze before standing to check the drying progress of his blacks. 

I watched from the stone as he pulled them on before standing myself and fetching my own garments from the dahr branches they were hung over. 

“We'll have another day or so on foot before we reach those peaks,”

He was looking towards the horizon.

“We don't have to walk,”

“You don't mean..?”

Wearily, Crosshair appraised the six legged steads grazing around the clearing.

“Animals make you nervous, Cross?” 

“No… will they let us ride them?”

“They're pretty docile with humans, I've been riding since I was little,”

“Of course you have,”

I had finished dressing and was scanning the specimens. Needed to choose the right target.

Crosshair's presence at my side signaled he was ready.

“Your lead, Tahny… you sure you know what you're doing?”

I did. 

I led us to a young stallion grazing away from the herd. 

Clicking a soft tone with my tongue, I caught its attention and splayed my hands in front of me. Slowing to a stop, I waited, trying not to display my anxiety. 

The Gazie blinked one set of eyes, then another, before stepping forward to inspect my hands. Its breath was warm as it chuffed over my fingertips. Poised to pull back should it try to nip me, I raised my hand to its muzzle. Relief washed through me when the weight of the stallion’s nose settled into my palm with a heavy sigh from the creature. 

“That was easy,”

The Sniper drawled, but I could hear he was impressed under the tone of boredom. 

“It's only let me pet it,”

I massaged my fingers up the Gazies cheeks, to its ears, giving it a scratch and not moving again till a soft purr started to rise in the animal's chest. Taking the cue, I moved to the animals side trailing my hands so it knew where I was once I was out of sight. The withers twitched as my finger tips stroked over the coarse fur, first the front, then the back. 

It was relaxed and compliant. 

“Okay… bring our stuff, move slowly.”

He moved to my side without a word and I showed him how to drape our water canisters over the back hump. We were ready to go. 

“I… uh… I need a leg up.”

Crosshair smirked and I flushed but it wasn't time to get snippy with him. I stepped into his offered hand and hoisted myself to sit behind the Gazies first row of shoulder blades. The animal was well fed, and the ridge of its spine was barely a discomfort. For me at least. 

“Where do I go?”

“First, you might want to remove your waist plates. It's not exactly an even surface… then get behind me,”

“You've got to be joking…”

I raised an eyebrow, sliding my hand over the ridge of the Gazie’s back. 

“You don't want to hurt the poor thing do you?”

He rolled his eyes and clicked off the codpiece and ass plate of his kit, tucking them into my bag before hoisting himself up behind me. 

The equine shifted slightly at our weight but was otherwise unbothered. I laced my fingers into its rigid mane and squeezed with my knees. 

“Keep those thighs tight, Cross, don't need you falling off,”

He scoffed but I felt his form tighten around me, a hitch in his breath against my neck as I spurned our stead into motion. 

“You're not nervous about riding, are you Cross?”

“I've ridden things before,”

The delivery was blunt, and his arms tightened again when a few Gazies from the herd noticed the stallion's movement and started to follow. 

“That's not what I asked.”

I steered us through the shallow valley, the young stallion delighting in what I'm sure it thought of as play. They really were docile creatures. The rest of the herd stopped what they were doing to follow. Where one went, so did the rest… it was how they stayed safe. 

“Okay… hold on,”

We were turning clear of the narrow channel, the desert plains opening up before us. The pyramid peaks sat on the horizon, sun glinting through them to finally bathe the rocky terrain in light; Only broken now by the few plateaus that stood between us and the dawn. 

I squeezed my thighs and ripped a high pitched, hollow whistle through my teeth. As if programmed by instinct, the Gazyll'brahs echoed my call, the whistles an eerie chorus behind us. The beast between my thighs dipped as it opened up its gate, wide hooves spread as it leapt into a canter. I moved my hips with the dipping motion as we picked up speed, Cross held on for dear life. 

It was glorious, the warm air whipping about us as we tore over the landscape. Eventually Crosshair picked up how to move with me, rippling in unison with the stallion beneath us, his arms taught around my waist where they rgrabbed into the mane between my thighs. The sound of hoofbeats was heavy and rhythmic, and all around us as a few younger foals overtook our Gazie, daring to dart across our path on occasion. Teasing. 

We rode like that for a time that felt like ages, our progress marked by the passing of geological shelves and dips as we closed the distance to the border. 

“Wait!”

Crosshair grabbed my wrists, and I pulled the mane till the stallion slowed. Eventually the herd trickled to a stop, scattering boredly nearby. 

“What is it, Cross?”

He pointed over my shoulder with his chin, arms still held protectively around me. 

“Proximity array,”

A few hundred meters ahead of us I could see the faint blink of the invisible fence line to the farms. We could almost see the bases of the pyramids through a rising shimmer of heat. 

“That's what we're looking for, once we cross over the barrier security will be notified… and someone will come for us.”

We were still, neither saying anything as we stared at the finish line of our journey. 

“I don't know about you, Tahny… but I'm feeling tired, let's stop for tonight… we'll rest and take you back tomorrow,”

It was whispered into my neck, phrased to sound matter of fact, like it was cautionary and rational. It made no sense to camp out another night, but I found myself nodding in agreement, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. I pulled our mount around turning away from home to tuck us out of site amongst the raised rocks, hoping antithetically that we hadn't been spotted. 

~~~

The small fire crackled in the hole Crosshair had dug for it, keeping the light from traveling. Unnecessary, but the flickering light made the shadow of the stone cozy. I was weary about using the dahr trees but the wild bark would have very little effect besides the calm that lay over us now. 

I was content, the warm skin beneath my cheek rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The heat had him stripped down to his black bottoms and boots again. 

“Can't sleep?”

He had noticed the glint of flame in my half lidded eyes. 

“You neither?”

“No… don't really want to.”

“Why not?”

… 

“I keep thinking about that dance you were doing… on that table?”

Liar. 

But we weren't sleeping, maybe a little exercise would help. 

“Want to see it again?”

I teased, nipping a line up to his neck. 

“I'd like that,”

He purred under me, though he looked disappointed when I hopped to my feet. I tugged at his arm making his brow furrow. 

“Why do I have to get up?”

“Haven't I said something before, about respect and knowing what you ask of someone,”

He groaned and rolled his eyes, but they glinted playfully as he rocked into a stand towering over me in a flash of mock intimidation. 

“Alright then, princess, show me.”

I reached for his hands, shifting them so that our fingertips touched, turning upward and raising to the sky. My hands slid down to his elbows as his arms rose above his head, forcing me to lean into him. 

“Now turn,”

I whispered against him,

“Lead with your left, make it sharp, counter to my clockwise,”

There were things he was good at, these sharp turns and side steps, but he struggled with rocking his hips on beat. I dropped into the side saddle sit and swept back up. 

“Oh come on…”

“I believe in you,”

“Does it have to be sidesaddle?”

“Oh, definitely.”

He rolled his eyes again, attempting the maneuver but catching on his own boots, falling the rest of the way with an ‘oof.’

I giggled and he growled tugging at me before I could dance out of range, causing me to teater off balance and fall on him. This made me giggle harder and he rolled on top to pin me, chuckling,

“It's not funny!”

“Of course it is, it's very funny-aH!”

He bit my cheek playful… before withdrawing again, the look on his face becoming suddenly solemn. 

Crosshair leaned in, pressing his lips to mine, hard. When he pulled away a misty look floated in his eyes, then he did it again. 

“Mff- wha-”

Another rough kiss,

“... What's on your mind, Cross?”

I managed to gasp out between his assault. 

He stopped short, almost stunned. A sheen in his eyes, a tremor in his arms where they framed my face. 

“The taste of you, Tahny…”

He pressed his mouth to mine, sliding the tip of his tongue against my lips. 

“Anytime it starts to fade, all I have to do…”

Another hard kiss, diving between my lips this time to steal my breath from me. 

“... And I have you again… What am I supposed to do tomorrow? When I can't taste you any more… how long do I have to wait?”

My fingers stroked across his brow, his words were coming too fast, almost panicked. I tried to soothe him,

“It'll fade, but I'll be all the sweeter when we meet again,”

“How long, Tahny? You'll come back but when? What if they ship me off before then? I don't want to die not able to remember…”

His words sent a chill through me. Fear. It was fear crawling over him and I realized I had never seen it on him before. Anger, loathing, guilt sure… but the Crosshair that leaned over me now was scared, his voice small. 

“I don't want to be alone, Tahny,”

The crack that went through my heart must've shattered the ground beneath me, I felt like I was falling backwards, lightheaded. He should never look like this. Not my Crosshair. 

Kark it. Kark all of this. 

“Guess we'd better leave then…”

“... Leave?”

“Yeah. You and me… and well, Kahtzi would meet me anywhere… let's go.”

…

“Can we do that? Just go?”

“I have a ship at my estate here, it's a pleasure craft, but it should get us far enough into the outer rim,”

Shifting under him, I reached into his belt for the devices I knew were there; Triumphantly bringing up the tracer held between my fingers between us.

“I get my ship fueled and take it through the tunnel to the port, You come to me using this, circle back after dropping me off,”

“What about… everything else, we can't just drop everything,”

“Why not? Are we really the only ones who can fill the niche we'll leave behind? Who are we really? Would anyone even bother following us?”

His eyes dulled a moment, then refocus, a new determination mingling with his mix of grief. He took the device in my hand, fiddled with some sort of setting, then tucked it into my jacket pocket. 

“I'll follow,”

It was short, and he collapsed against my side, pulling me to be cradled against him with a yawn. 

“Get some sleep, we need to make sure this goes according to plan,”

“Now you're tired?”

I teased, but his heart rate increased against my eardrum. 

“It seems I can't wait for tomorrow…”

At that, I warmed a little… but it felt right, the happy tone now coloring his words. This was the right decision. Everything else could go Kark itself. 

Hoping this calm, this reckless scheme wasn't caused by the smoke from the dahr branches, I settled against him till my eyes also drifted shut. 

No… this is right. 

We finally let our guard down, and fell into a deep sleep. 

~~~

There was little warning. The disturbed air hadn't woken us, nor the startled brea of a Gazyll'brah, the crunch of boots on stone. My mind was swimming from the fire smoke as the world shifted abruptly. 

I was being yanked up, out of Crosshair's arms by rough hands. 

“No!”

I reached for him through air that felt thick, moving too slow, everything moving too slow. A boot was on his neck, he wasn't struggling. His face was resigned as his arms were yanked back, a pair of binders latched about his wrists. … Why wasn't he struggling? 

“Crosshair!”

“Quiet, li'ha,”

My father's voice cut through the sound of rushing blood in my ears. I lashed out against the arms pulling me towards the back of an sleek, armored speeder. They were trying to wrap a blanket around me. 

“Let me GO! Stop! Don't hurt him! He did nothing wrong!”

But Crosshair was shaking his head subtly, warning me to keep quiet as he was pushed into a second vehicle. My head was forcibly ducked as I was hoisted, hissing and spitting as I was dumped into the seat despite my violent protests. 

“If you hurt him I swear…”

The strained and angry oath was as impotent as ever. 

A weight settled in beside me as the door clicked shut. I looked up at my father sitting tall and stern beside me. 

“You'll do what, Tah’nyem?”

As I looked up at the man who raised me my heart clenched and a knot formed in my stomach. It felt like I was staring at the source of all my problems. 

@feral-ferrule @thecoffeelorian