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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

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A Fresh Start [10]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: mentions of nightmares and past trauma, shooting training

Word Count: 4,634

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

Ch. #10: SHOW OFF

Chapter Summary: Cozy wake up calls and blaster fire.

“Your relationship should be a safe haven, not a battlefield. The world is hard enough already.” bliss

It wasn’t your alarm that roused you from sleep but rather a tiny hand patting your cheek repeatedly. You blinked your eyes open and found Grogu sitting on your bed with his hands on your face. Noticing your now open eyes, his entire face brightened. “Ma, Ma, Ma. Skraan, Ma!”

“Mmm no skraan. We’re just gonna go back to sleep. Sound okay to you?” You teased.

“No, Ma. Skraan.” Grogu tugged on your ear trying to make you sit up. With a tired grin, you wrapped your arms around him and tightly pulled him into your chest. Grogu squealed in response. You tickled his sides and his giggling helped energize you. For days now, you had been plagued with a mix of haunting memories and terrible nightmares. It was as if that first night Kurt visited your dreams he had taken root and you couldn’t shake him. “Buir! Help! Buir!”

You chuckled and squeezed him tighter. “You’re mine now, silly. We’re gonna nap all day long.”

“Grogu?” Mando called out. The boy called out for help once more and you could hear the modulated sigh before Mando peered into your room. He was still in his sleep clothes, but you found the simple shirt and sweatpants was really growing on you. It felt odd to see the only bit of besker being his helmet, but you couldn’t deny how much you loved seeing his arms and hands. Mando set his bare hands on his hip as he stayed in the doorway. “I told you to let her sleep, you womp rat.”

“Buir, help!” Grogu called desperately but the laughter drowning his words was downright contagious. You grinned and the smile widened at the sound of Mando’s deep chuckle. “Buir!”

“Call him all you want.” You peppered his head with kisses. “I’m not scared of some Mandalorian.”

Mando crossed the room until he stood at your bedside. He stared down at you, towered over you, and his hoarse modulated voice, though amused, held a tone of challenge. “Not scared of me, huh?”

Your mouth went dry, and you were suddenly very awake. Grogu tried to wiggle away so you readjusted your hold on him and rolled over so you were laying on your back with him on your chest. You swallowed the lump in your throat and kept your voice as steady as you could. “Nope.” You popped the ‘p’ in the word and smirked. “Not even a little.”

Mando chuckled then suddenly threw himself forward. You yelped in alarm, but he caught himself at the last second so instead of landing on top of you he instead hovered above you. His hands boxing you in on either side, and his knee resting on your bed to keep his balance. Heat flooded every inch of your body⏤ had you just spontaneously caught fire? It sure as hell felt that way. You stared wide eyed into the reflective black t-shape of his visor. Slowly, Mando tilted his head, “Not even a little, you say?”

“Uh, I⏤ Admittedly,” You blurted. “You can be…intimidating.” Maker, he was all you could see. You knew he had broad shoulders, had admired them a time or two or hundred, but having him hover over you in this way made it that much more obvious. Clueless to your turmoil, Grogu lifted his hands to try and reach his father⏤ still laughing. “But I’ll have you know, I’m immune to it. I’ll never give in.” Mando leaned down closer, truly boxing you in, and he was close enough that Grogu’s small hands were able to clutch at the collar of his shirt. If you even lifted your head a little, you’d be able to headbutt him. “I, uh… You won’t win, Mando. I’ll never leave this bed, and Grogu is staying with me.”

“Interesting.” Mando hummed.

Unable to find your voice, you just nodded quickly. Mando picked up one of his hands form the bed to carefully untangle Grogu’s hands from his collar. Once free, he sat up and you immediately missed his close presence. Mando kept one knee on your bed.

“Last warning.” He said. “Give in or face the consequences.”

For a second, you pitied every single bounty he had ever chased down. At least here in this scenario it was playful and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that Mando would never hurt you in a million years. To actually have the Mandalorian chasing you down? The thought both terrified and excited you. You were starting to question your sanity.

“Now…” Mando drew his words out, “Do you surrender?”

There were a handful of words and phrases you knew in Mando’a. Partly because it was helpful to know them since Grogu used them so often day to day, but also because you just enjoyed the action of learning. Regardless of the topic. That being said, just a few days ago you had heard Mando tell Grogu ‘Absolutely not’ when the child tried to eat something he shouldn’t.

You tried to bite back a smile and look as serious as possible, “Nu draar.”

Mando took in a sharp breath. It was so faint you nearly missed it. Then, without any preamble, Mando scooped his arms under you and picked you up without even a flinch or sign of struggle. Grogu chirped in excitement, clapping his hands, and you quickly wrapped one arm around Mando’s neck to stabilize yourself.

“Maker!” You said in shock.

“I warned you.”

Grogu was bouncing on your belly so you kept the arm not wrapped around Mando loosely around him to prevent the kid from tumbling over. Mando began to walk out of your room and used his foot to kick the door open further. Mando carried you as if you weighed nothing. You let out a nervous laugh, “How are you⏤ I’m not too heavy?”

“Cyar’ika.” Mando scoffed. “All my armor is pure beskar.”

“I⏤I don’t know what that means. That’s the type of metal it’s made of?”

“Yes.”

“Is beskar heavy?”

“Yes.”

You tilted your head. “How heavy? How much does your armor weigh?”

Mando shrugged and the movement reminded you that your arm was resting on the bare skin at the back of his neck. The sliver of flesh was warm. Anytime you had the opportunity to feel him, Mando was always so warm. “Wearing all my gear, including the jetpack and weapons, I’d say maybe forty-five kilograms?”

“Forty five⏤ What?”

“What?” Mando replied as he hadn’t just admitted to walking around with a hundred pounds of gear on him at all times. You thought about how easily he moved around while in the armor⏤ how quick he could be. Maker, how strong was this man?

Mando walked you into the kitchen then bypassed the island counter to head toward the living room. He carefully set you down on the couch and all you could do was stare up at him in a mix between shock and awe.

“Gar parjir, Buir?” Grogu asked. The only word you recognized was Mando’s title.

“Gar serim.” Mando replied. He held his hands out to the boy, “Vaabir gar copaanir at gaa'tayl ni ve'ganir Ma lor'vram?”

You distinctly heard the word ‘Ma’ in all of that. Was that a similar sounding Mando’a word or had Mando just referred to you as ‘Ma’ just like Grogu does?

“ ‘lek, ‘lek, ‘lek, ‘lek!” Grogu jumped into Mando’s waiting hands.

You opened your mouth to ask questions, but Mando beat you to speaking. He also motioned for you to stay on the couch. “We’ll be back. Grogu wants to get you breakfast.”

“That’s not necessary. You already let me sleep in and⏤”

“It’s your day off, cyar’ika.” Mando chuckled. “Just wait here.”

Grogu held his hand out to you, his face drawn in nothing but seriousness, “Ma stay.”

“Yeah, Ma,” Mando said and your eyes widened at the confirmation of what he must have called your earlier as well, “Stay.”

You leaned back into the couch, sinking in its seats, and Mando and Grogu walk back to the kitchen. The absolute giddy smile on your face could probably be seen from the Inner Rim it was so large. You were glad Mando was focused on whatever he was doing in the kitchen so he wasn’t watching you watching him. If you gave into the temptation, you could sit here and pretend that this was actually your life. Not a nanny with her boss and boss’ child, but a mother with her husband and son. You couldn’t give into that temptation though. It was pathetic to think that way, wasn’t it? Probably. In a poor attempt to distract yourself, your mind decided to think about the bad dream you had been stuck with last night. You flinched and a hand lifted to the scar on your chest.

Maker, you were bad at thinking this morning.

With a huff, you tried to clear your mind and just focused on the movement in the kitchen. Mando was working on something and you could see him allowing Grogu to actually help rather than watch. The moment was so peaceful and calm that you felt your eyes droop. Getting up to wash your face and clean up would probably help keep you awake, but Grogu had looked so cute asking you to stay. A unit of Imps wouldn’t get you off of this couch.

Another minute or so passed then Mando helped Grogu off the counter. He asked something in Mando’a and the little boy called out an affirmative before holding his arms out. Mando carefully handed him a plate. Excitedly, Grogu waddled away from his father with breakfast in hand. Mando lingered in the kitchen, but you kept your gaze on Grogu who walked around the couch until he stood in front of you.

“Ma!” Grogu declared.

You took the plate from him, which was filled with a few different fruits and your favorite bagel toasted. It was your typical go to simple breakfast. “Thank you so much, baby.” Grogu began to step away before turning back around and holding his hand out. You picked up a slice of the fruit you knew he liked and offered it to him. “Here you go.”

“V’ore.” Grogu shoved the fruit in his mouth.

“You already ate your breakfast, womp rat.” Mando lightly scolded as he came into the living room with a mug of something hot. Grogu cackled with laughter and rushed away. “Don’t run with food in your mouth!”

You set the plate on the couch beside you and took the mug of caf that Mando held out. He sat down on the other side of the plate⏤ the picture of casual. You wrapped your hands around the hot mug enjoying the warmth and smell. “Thanks, Mando. You didn’t have to do this.”

“As much as you do for us, it was the least I could do, cyar’ika.”

“I can’t believe I slept through my alarm.” You hummed and took a slow sip.

Mando shrugged. “I… may have stepped in and turned it off.” Your eyes widened in surprise. He sighed. “Sorry. You seem more tired than usual. I thought you could use a little extra sleep, and since I was off today…”

The consideration warmed your heart more than the mug did your hands. You nodded. “Thank you. Really. I appreciate that.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as you enjoyed your caf and slowly enjoyed the plate of food Grogu had brought you. The kid had run off to his room, but he was now in the process of dragging his toys from where they were tucked into a chest below his hammock out to the living room to play with.

“Can I ask you something?” Mando cleared his throat.

You chuckled and decided to tease him with his own words. “I thought we were past being timid, Mando.”

“Funny.” Mando replied, but you motioned for him to go on. He shifted where he sat so he faced you more comfortably. “Are you having nightmares again? Reliving bad memories?”

You recalled the question the two of you had in the middle of the night as you cleaned his injury. He didn’t follow up with anything else, and you could feel his heavy gaze on your features. You twisted your lips then focused your eyes on the plate between you. “Yeah. I am. The last few nights have been…kind of rough.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mando asked.

Your eyes snapped up to him with a small, tired laugh. “It felt silly to bring it up. You might be the big, badass Mandalorian, but you can’t chase my bad dreams away.” As the words left your mouth they felt wrong. It technically wasn’t true. The one night you fell asleep in Mando’s bed with him, you had a dreamless, restful night. “It was dumb. Not worth it.”

“You’re always worth it.” Mando replied softly. Your eyes widened marginally and he coughed once. “I mean, what you’re feeling⏤ If you’re troubled then… then talking about it is worth it. I don’t want you to needlessly suffer.”

You couldn’t hold back the soft, content sigh that left your lips. “I know your secret, you know.”

“My secret?” Mando questioned.

“You’re a big softie under all that hard beskar.” You took another sip of your caf. Grogu had finally settled on the floor with the toys he chose to bring in and you chose to watch him. Still, you could feel Mando’s gaze on you, but you were much too nervous to glance back at him.

Grogu mumbled to himself playfully as he surrounded himself with his stuff. It came as no surprise to you that Mando spoiled the boy rotten. You had seen, first hand, the way Grogu would find something in the market and ask for it until Mando caved. It usually only took a few pleas before he’d buy the toy. At one point, Grogu grabbed him by the cloth of his pants and attempted to drag him off of the couch. Mando let out a sigh, but he didn’t hesitate to scoot off the couch and sit on the floor with his son. Grogu pointed at Mando’s helmet a few times.

Mando shook his head. “Meh gar copaanir Ma olar, enteyor haaranovor troan.”

Grogu glanced at you before nodding with a quick chirp. He went back to playing. Mando more or less just followed along and did everything Grogu motioned for him to do. You continued to eat and slowly finished your caf. Occasionally, Mando would say something else in Mando’a and you clung to every unknown word. Briefly, you wondered if it was the language itself that had a tight grip on your or just Mando speaking it. If you were a betting woman, you’d put credits on the latter.

Regardless of whether or not you’d let your brain play pretend, you knew for certain that you didn’t want to lose this⏤ couldn't lose this. An idea began to take hold and you only thought it over for a few seconds before deciding to follow through. You needed to ask before you lost your nerve.

“Hey, Mando.” You called out. He turned his head to face you. “Do you have any plans for today?”

He paused to think then shook his head. “No. Were you thinking of something?”

“Yeah.” You sat up so your spine straightened rather than curling into the couch cushions. The mug in your hand was empty, but you continued to hold it in your hands. “Can you teach me how to shoot a blaster?”

The absolute last thing Din ever expected you to ask was for him to teach you how to work a blaster. It was so surprising that when it had happened, he had just stared at you in shock for a minute or so. You hadn’t elaborated on the question, didn’t even cutely ramble like you often did, and he hadn’t asked for any clarification. Add the request along with the mysterious scar and her nightmares and it created a picture that concerned Din greatly. Everybody had a past and he was learning yours may have been more violent than he ever would’ve guessed.

Din simply nodded to your request with a nod and rose to get ready. The best place he could take you to practice shooting without worrying about distractions or hitting something⏤ or someone⏤ important was the lava plains. Din didn’t even entertain the idea of bringing Grogu along. He wanted to focus on your lessons, truly teaching you how to shoot, and with his son there his attention would be torn. Half on you, and half on making sure Grogu didn’t wander away and eat something he most definitely shouldn’t.

Luckily, where he planned to set up the makeshift shooting range, they had to pass Peli’s workshop. After dropping him off and promising to be back after a few hours, Din led you out of the city. You had been your usual cheery self throughout the walk, but you grew quiet as stone paths turned to the black, glassed landscape of the lava plains. He wasn’t sure if this was because you were focused on taking in the new surroundings or if you were nervous about the lessons.

“Have you ever fired a blaster before?” Din asked. He set down the duffel bag he had packed and motioned for you to stand by it. He walked about 5 yards out and used a half empty can to paint an ‘X’ on the large boulder. When he returned back to your side, Din realized you hadn’t answered him yet. You shifted foot from foot and shook your head. “Then I assume you haven’t even held one before either?”

You gave him a sheepish smile. “Good assumption.”

He dug through the duffel bag looking for a specific blaster and mumbled an annoyance under his breath. It was moments like this he missed the Razor Crest all the more. Din had been meaning to get a weapons closet in the house, but he kept putting it off. When he found what he was looking for he held it out for you.

“All of my weapons are designed or altered for me.” Din said. “The grip would be too large for you to practice with.” He motioned to the blaster you now admired. “That might be a little bit too small, but it’ll work for today.”

“Why is this one so small?” You asked.

Din took your hands in his and arranged them so you could comfortably and efficiently handle the blaster. He cleared his throat. “It was designed for a child.”

“A child?” Your eyes widened. “Grogu can shoot??”

“Maker, no.” Din laughed at the thought. “He’s a menace enough without having access to a blaster.” You laughed in response, and being able to be the reason why made him preen with pride. He tapped his hand along the barrel. “It was mine. This is the blaster I learned on.” Your amused smile turned to something soft and warm, and Din wished he knew what you were thinking. “Alright. The rules.”

“Always keep the safety on unless I’m using it.” You began to list the basics he had stressed to you on the way here. “Don’t point it at anything I don’t wanna shoot at. Especially people. Uh,” You paused in thought, “My finger shouldn’t be left on the trigger?”

Din nodded. “Right. Keep it here.” He straightened your pointer finger to rest on the blaster above the trigger. “What else?”

“You said something about targets?” You winced sheepishly.

Din chuckled. “I did. Know exactly what your target is, and keep in mind what’s beyond it.” He leveled his voice to convey the seriousness of his next statement. “You have to be sure of yourself. Don’t pull the trigger unless you’re positive that’s the decision you’re making. Once you fire, you can’t take that back, cyar’ika.”

You nodded in understanding, “Got it.”

“Now,” He took a step back and motioned to the boulder, “Aim, don’t fire.”

You held the blaster up in front of you and made simple, rookie errors. Your elbows were locked, feet stood to match your shoulders, and your entire body screamed tension. Din nodded and went to work. As he adjusted your stance he explained each motion. Keep your arms loose, don’t lock your elbows. One foot a step back. You absorbed each bit of information he gave and followed instruction.

“Take a deep breath. Relax.” Din said. You took in a deep breath, but even after letting it out your body remained tense. He set his hands on your shoulders, lightly squeezing them. After a few seconds, he felt your body loosen up and unwind. Satisfied, he motioned to the boulder. “Flip off the safety. Take a few practice shots. I want you to get used to the blowback.”

“Will it hurt?”

“No.” Din shook his head. “The blaster’s too small for that, but it can still startle you if you’re not used to it.”

You nodded and after flipping the safety off he watched you fire a few times. The shots were going wide of the target, but right now Din just wanted you to get a feel for the weapon itself. He watched you intently, and his eyes traced from head to toe. Din was attracted to you⏤ that was no secret. He had seen you strolling through the market chatting with the vendors with a smile so bright it could rival the sun. He had seen you in your pajamas, Grogu in arm, rocking him while whispering a quiet song to him.

Maker, just this morning he had seen you laying under him in bed. A sight that nearly stopped his heart altogether. Din was so sure that moment would remain unchallenged as his absolute favorite way to see you, but this new sight was stiff competition. You, standing with a blaster in hand, focused on a target as you fired shot after shot. Din was obsessed with the idea of you handling a blaster. Weapons were a cornerstone of who he was, but he hadn’t expected it to be a turn on for him. Yet, here he was out in the lava plains with you resisting the urge to pull you in his arms, rip off his helmet, press his lips to yours, taste⏤

“Mando!” Your voice startled him. He shook his head and realized you had stopped firing to stare at him. Din had gotten more lost in his thoughts than he had intended. So much for staying focused on training. “Are you okay?” You lowered your weapon, barrel to the ground. “I asked you a question but you were just staring. Am I doing something wrong?”

“No. I’m sorry, cyar’ika.” Din cleared his throat and drew closer to you. “What did you ask?”

You grinned and motioned to the boulder which had various blackened marks from your firing, but not a single one touched the red ‘X’ he had painted. “I asked, how the kriff do I hit the target?”

Din huffed out a laugh. “For starters,” He tapped above your eyebrow, “Don’t close this eye. Keep them both open.” You nodded. He then pointed to the sight. “Line this indicator with the one at the end of the barrel. Then, before you pull the trigger, blow all the air out of your lungs.”

“Huh?”

Din drew his own blaster and took aim. He took in an exaggerated deep breath and exhaled it loud enough for you to hear. At the end of the breath, he pulled the trigger. You jumped in surprise at the sound. Din’s blaster was more powerful than the small one you were using. Your eyes darted from the blackened ‘X’ then back to him with wide eyes. Amused at your reaction, he glanced at the boulder and fired four more shots that hit the dead center of the ‘X’. From this distance, and being a still target, Din was confident he could hit the ‘X’ with his eyes closed.

You snorted and lightly elbowed him in the side. “Show off.”

Din beamed down at you and didn’t argue otherwise. If there were any other, more complicated, targets out in the lava plains he would’ve gone for that. Din wanted you to be impressed with him. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that⏤ to himself, at least. He’d walk barefoot across the lava plains before he ever let someone like Cara know that. He’d never hear the end of it.

“Come here.” Din holstered his weapon and motioned for you to stand in front of him. He let you place yourself in position first then corrected a few little things. You’d aim, fire a shot, then Din would advise you of a change to make. It only took about five minutes before you hit the target and the way your face brightened in excitement made him chuckle. After that, he spent another thirty minutes or so letting you practice.

You lowered the blaster finally, “Call it a day?”

“Sure.” Din nodded. As much as he loved spending time with you, he still wanted to spend some time with Grogu on his day off as well. He held his hand out for the blaster. Din watched you double check the safety before setting it in his palm.

“Thank you.” You said. Din stood from where he had knelt down to reorganize his bag, then pulled the strap over his shoulder. “I appreciate you taking the time to teach me how to shoot a blaster.” Din nodded and you began to walk beside him as the two of you made good pace back towards the city. A beat of silence passed before you spoke up once more. “I, uh, also appreciate you not asking why I wanted to learn to shoot today.”

Din shrugged. “It’s your business, not mine.”

“I just…” You began but stopped. Din didn’t press and just walked beside you slowly as you worked through whatever thoughts you were having. It wasn’t until the edge of the city was reached when you started talking again. “I thought if I knew how to shoot a blaster I’d feel…safer.”

“Did it work?” Din asked. He frowned at the aspect of you feeling unsafe.

You smiled with a small nod. “Yeah. It did.”

He nodded and you both took a few more steps before his hand shot out to gently wrap around your arm. You turned with eyebrows curiously raised, and Din tried to sort through his words. He let go of your arm and gave you a small nod. “I don’t know why you feel… not safe. I hope it isn’t⏤”

“It’s not you.” You blurted. His shoulders marginally relaxed. You reached out and knocked on the besker covering his chest. “Don’t you remember from this morning? I’m not scared of you.”

Din chuckled. “Right.” Feeling bold, he reached out and cupped the side of your face before he could second guess himself. You didn’t flinch or even tense. Instead, you leaned your face into his palm and Din took in a shuddering breath. He caressed his gloved thumb over your cheekbone then gave a single nod. “Whatever it is, I just want you to know that you’re safe here⏤ safe with me.” Din pushed out every word with as much sincerity as he could muster. He wanted you to know, to understand, that you had no reason to fear anything anymore. “As long as I’m here, nothing, no one, will ever hurt you, cyar’ika. I swear it.”

“I know.” You replied softly.

Din Djarin was wrapped around your finger. If he hadn’t been sure of it before, he sure as hell was now. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you.

mando’a translations

V’ore: thanks /// Cyar’ika: Darling /// Buir: Father ///

Gar parjir, Buir?:

You win, father?

Gar serim:

You’re right

Vaabir gar copaanir at gaa'tayl ni ve'ganir Ma lor'vram?:

Do you want to help me get Ma breakfast?

Meh gar copaanir Ma olar, enteyor haaranovor troan:

If you want Ma here, must hide my face.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #protective din djarin #good dad din djarin #mando x reader #mando x you #mando #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian fanfic #grogu is a precious menace to society #star wars

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alegendoftomorrow · 2 months

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We'll Make It Out

Summary: As the new Jedi Commander of the Bad Batch you aren’t exactly well liked by your new team, who view you as a babysitter. Except for Echo, who understands better then most what it’s like to be on the outside. When a mission goes sideways you start to lose faith in yourself, in your squad, in everyone but Echo, who won’t let you give up.

Character: Echo and F!Jedireader (no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 2,782

Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril, minor injury, mention of blood.... I think that's it.

A/N: This is my second entry for the incredible secret gift exchange hosted by @cloneficgiftexchange you are so incredible and thank you so much for doing these amazing events, and giving me a reason to finally write again! I have never gotten to write for any of the Bad Batch boys and I was super excited to do this prompt especially as I got to explore the Batch's earlier days and work in a little about the way they may have originally viewed Echo and a new leader of the squad. It definitely took me out of my comfort zone, but I took a risk and tried something new for the wonderful @orbital-mirror. I hope you enjoy this fun little piece as much as I enjoyed writing it!! As always, any comments or reblogs with your thoughts are appreciated.

“Echo, look out!” You shouted to be heard about the blaster fire as you raced towards the Arc trooper currently being surrounded and cornered by a legion of Droids.

He spun towards your voice and managed to blast the three shots needed to dismantle the droids that had snuck up behind him, while you ignited your lightsabers and flipped in front of him to slice through the remaining ones there.

“I’ll handle the rest of these you get that door open and try not to trip the alarm this time,” you ordered. Echo grumbled something but it was hard to hear through his helmet modulator as he jogged toward the metal door built against the mountainside you were currently cornered on. Inserting his scomp into the lock and beginning to twist as he typed hurriedly on the pad.

You took a stance in front of him and spun your two lightsabers back and forth as you guarded him and yourself from the relentless blaster fire. Your eyes scanned back and forth as you reached out and connected with the force around you. Feeling the reverberations in the ground and the change in the air pressure as you blocked each blast by near instinct alone.

“I don’t mean to rush you, but there’s more coming,” you said breathlessly. A sheen of sweat coated your forehead as you tossed one of your sabers up high in the air, reaching your hand out and using the force to shove the first few rows of the advancing battalion back into each other. The clink of metal and their high-pitched voices adding to the chaos as you spun and caught your saber again before it hit the ground.

“I’m doing the best I—got it! Go get inside I’ll cover you,” Echo said loudly. You didn’t even hesitate as you felt him stand and move towards you. You blocked one more shot before you took off into the dark maw of the now open tunnel, turning and calling out for Echo as he walked backwards into the tunnel after you.

One press of your fingers has your lightsabers disengaged and back on your belt before you flick your wrist to close the door and spin the lock. Echo blasts the control panel with two shots.

“How long will that buy us?” You ask. Shifting on your feet and doing a poor job of keeping the nerves from your voice. Regretting volunteering for an assignment you clearly weren’t ready for.

“Not long enough,” Echo replied dryly.

“That’s very helpful thank you,” you said with only a hint of sarcasm. Echo just shakes his head and gives you five more seconds to catch your breath before he starts moving deeper into the tunnels. Hugging the wall with his body as he taps the side of his helmet to turn on the light there.

You couldn’t see his face behind his gray and red helmet, the matching colors of the squad you’d been newly appointed, the same squad who were not at all happy to have a Jedi babysitting them. Especially one so young. A newly minted jedi knight. A product of a war that needed more commanders and generals then there were master’s and knights to fill. You hadn’t been ready for the trials, you’d tried to argue against them, but your master said you were ready, and you had passed them easily enough. Yet, the seed of doubt had remained. Growing and festering like a vine around your heart, all the way until you’d been sent to Kamino to work with a highly specialized squad. They’d been on assignments before without a Jedi, but a recent mission had gone sideways and resulted in half the team coming back in various casts and bandages, requiring month long stays in Bacta tanks before they could resume training. Plus, they’d gained a new member, an Arc Trooper and rescued POW. Since then, the Generals had decided the Bad Batch as they were called, could use a Jedi’s supervision. At least temporarily.

No one on the squad had been happy with your appearance. No one that is except for Echo. He always made sure you had a seat and were included in plans, even if the others looked at you suspiciously and had on more than one occasion tried to leave you. He stood up for you when the others got snippy or ignored you entirely. You knew realistically that he was simply doing it because he was used to following a Jedi’s command, but part of you couldn’t help the warm feeling that spread over your chest every time he did something kind for you. A feeling you did your best to mediate away every morning. To little effect.

“Come on, the coordinates Tech gave us show the control room should be down this hall and to the left,” Echo’s voice cut through your wondering thoughts and brought you back to him.

Nodding your head you searched up ahead through the force for any signatures of life but found nothing. You took that to mean the other members of your squad had done their part in causing a diversion leaving you and Echo free to get the stollen plans and leave behind a virus that would wipe out the Separatist’s systems here.

Easy.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be here,” a droid called when you unlocked the door to the control room. His metal finger pointed at you while he reached for his blaster. Echo and you were swifter.

“Get the files to Tech and plant the virus I’ll watch the door,” you said. Stepping back into the hallway as Echo inserted his scomp link into the port and began to search for the files.

“On it commander,” he replied. His eyes shifting over the screen far faster then you could keep up with.

You really wished they’d drop it with the commander title and just call you your name but, that seemed a habit you couldn’t break any of them off. Though you got the impression only Echo actually did it out of respect for your authority. An authority you question daily. Especially now as you flicked your gaze to the hallway, a sense of dread building at the base of your spine as you could hear the banging of droids firing against the metal door. You tried to find the peace within yourself that always seemed easier for those around you to find. Imagining you were back at the Temple, sitting underneath the flowering tree in the courtyard as you watched the pink petals float down to the pebbled ground. The image only helped for a moment as you refocused your attention back to Echo. He seemed unfazed by any of it. Working quickly and silently aside from the faint whirring of his scomp every now and then. Somehow, he looked more at peace than you did.

“Are you almost—”

Bang! The sound of the door at the end of the hall being blown to bits made you wince and reignite your saber on instinct. Echo was already beside you when you turned back to get him. His hand on your bicep as if he intended to yank you somewhere. The sounds of droids shouting orders and marching down the hall in time with your rapid heartbeat made you ignore whatever Echo’s hand there had meant and instead trade your sabers out for your comm link as the pair of you raced down the hall.

“Tech please tell me you’re there?”

“Yes, commander we read you,” Tech’s voice was staticky. Probably due to being underground but you hoped he could hear you enough as you sprinted for your life. Opening and closing any doors you came across with the force.

“We’re going to need an immediate pick up!” You shouted a little more frantically then you meant to.

“Sorry commander that’ll have to wait,” Tech said again.

“Wait for what?!” you shouted back.

“It seems your earlier light show display set off a series of silent alarms that alerted the commander of the base that we are here. So, we’re—” There was a pause as the static grew worse and Hunter’s muffled voice could be heard shouting something about Fighter’s on their tail. “Yes, yes, I see them. We’re fine.”

“Tech!” Echo shouted now through his own comm.

“We will have to use the secondary agreed extraction point as the first one is now overrun.”

“We won’t make it to the second extraction point,” Echo says as you force open another door which had dead ended in a hanger bay. There’s no way out.

“See this is why we shouldn’t have agreed to work with a Jedi. Or a reg,” Crosshair’s voice drawled over the comms. You didn’t need the force to sense his aggravated disapproval that he and his brothers were being forced to reassess their plans for the two of you. That they were being thrown back into danger because of you.

“Stow it Crosshair,” Echo snapped. “Just be at the extraction point. We’ll make it there.”

You did not share his hope as you slammed the door on a droid’s face, ducking the incoming blaster shot he’d managed to get off. They were right. This was your fault. Your poor leadership instincts had led you and Echo to be trapped down here while the others were trapped in the sky.

“Copy that,” Tech’s voice said plainly and then the comm cut out.

The second extraction point was several miles away from the command tunnels you were in now, there was no way you were going to make it there. Not trapped like you were with a virus about to short circuit every piece of technology in here and a battalion of droids outside the only blast door you could see.

“Commander over here.”

You didn’t know when Echo had left your side, but you followed his voice until you found him halfway in a small gunship used to protect the supply ships that came in and out of here. It was just big enough for two people. A pilot and a gunner.

“Can you fly this ship?”

“I—” The droids were carving their way through the door. You couldn’t do this. Sure you could fly the ship but what then? The mission had gone wrong because of you. If someone else would have been here they wouldn’t have needed lightsabers, they wouldn’t have tripped the silent alarms. Echo would be safe. The men you were supposed to lead and protect would be safe.

“Commander,” Echo’s voice pulled your attention back to him as he pulled his helmet off and looked at you with a face that was always so stern, yet he had the softest pair of eyes you’d ever seen. “Our only way out of here is this ship. Now I can’t fly it, so I need you to do it. Okay? Can you do that? Please,” he added. His attention still solely dedicated to you despite the banging and shouting coming from behind the pair of you and the racing of your own heart. Right here there was only him. Only Echo.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. Clearing your throat and nodding your head. “Yes, I can fly it.”

“Then get in and get it started, I’ll open the bay doors and we can go.” He’s gone again before you can argue.

Hoping in the cockpit your hands move on their own. Using your memory and placing trust in the force that hums around you louder than before, you flip the engine switches and grip the controls steering it around into position as you wait for Echo to swing himself up onto the wing and then flip into the gunner’s seat behind you.

The canopy doesn’t close fast enough. You’re too focused on the controls. The force tugs and pulls your attention to the back but you ignore it in favor of making sure you don’t crash. It’s only after you hear a muffled scream of agony that’s quickly swallowed up by the sound of the roaring engine that you bother to look back. To see Echo’s shoulder smoking with a brand-new blaster wound through it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Echo, we have to stop,” you begged as you marched through the heavy underbrush in search of the clearing that was pinging on your outstretched data pad. “Please, I know I’m no doctor, but I can patch you up.”

“It’s fine commander I’m… fine,” Echo’s voice was weak and even though he’d turned off the sound on their walk so you couldn’t hear the pained breaths and heavy pants, you could feel them there. Feel them in the way his force signature wavered and spiked. Hotter and louder than it usually was, though now it was growing colder.

“No, you’re not fine you—”

“Commander please!” he panted loudly. Resting his scomp against a tree to get some weight off his legs as he looked over at you. You winced at his harsh tone and even if you couldn’t see his face, the way he lowered his voice showed he regretted it. “I’m fine. There are scouts looking for us and if we don’t make it to the extraction point, we could be stuck here.”

“And if you bleed out on the way there then were both dead anyway.”

“No, you’ll be fine. You keep going if I start to—”

“I’m not leaving you Echo! You’re stuck with me out here, so if you pass out from blood loss then I’m going to sit down right next to you and face whatever comes for us. Even if it kills the both of us. It’s my job to protect you, so stop arguing with me and sit down so I can patch you up!”

Echo stood frozen in front of you before finally slowly nodding his head. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeated. Walking over to him and helping him sit so you could take off his shoulder piece and helmet to assess the damage. It wasn’t as bad as you expected, but his blacks were quickly filling up with blood and the circular wound was blackened. You pulled a Bacta patch from your kit and carefully applied it to his shoulder. Apologizing at the slight hiss that left his lips as you did so.

“It’s fine Mesh'la,” he whispered. His eyes widening when we realized what he’d said. Apologizing and looking away as you went back to work.

“What does that mean?” you asked after a moment of silence. Your curiosity getting the better of you.

“What?”

“Mesh’la,” you repeated the word poorly.

He looked away again and flushed a faint pink along his pale cheeks. Pausing for a moment before looking back over at and giving you a gentle smile. One you’d never seen before.

“We make it out of this I’ll tell you,” He promised.

“That’s not fair,” you whined. Leaning down to kiss the bandage you’d put on his shoulder without thinking about it. “How will I know if we don’t make it out?”

“I…” he gaped at you for a moment, and it was only his bewildered expression that made you realize what you’d done. Now it was your turn to blush and duck your head. Handing him back his shoulder piece and helping him attach it without looking anywhere near his eyes.

You force lifted his helmet over to your hands as the pair of you stood. Running your fingers over the edge of it before offering it back to him. His gloved hand brushed yours for the briefest of moments when he took it back.

“Then I guess it will just have to be a mystery,” he said quietly again. His tone almost hinting that he was smiling again, and it was enough to make you meet his eyes. Rewarded for a fraction of second with a smile you could tell used to cross his face more often.

“We’ll make it out,” you said firmly. Wrapping your hands briefly around the hilts of your lightsabers and finding yourself calm again despite it all. Not because you’d imagined the tree at the Temple, or your master’s kind teachings, but because Echo was smiling at you.

“You know I meant if we survive the whole war, right?” he almost teased as he clicked his helmet back into place. Leaving you with only the memory of his smile to reply for the rest of your life.

“No, no, no you can’t change the rules like that,” you argued with no intentional malice. Letting yourself laugh quietly for the first time in…. too long. “You alright enough to walk again?”

He nodded his head. “Wherever you lead commander.”

#TBBE24 #tbb echo #echo x reader #clonegiftexchange #tbbecho x reader

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starqueensthings · 5 months

Text

Dork Love: Part Four

chap1 | chap2 | chap3

Pairing: Tech x GN!reader (can be read as ND!Tech x ND!GN!reader if you squint)

Summary: never thought I'd see the day, but here is the final part of Dork Love! Things happen, questions are answered. I won’t say any more for fear of spoiling things. Make sure you’ve read the previous three parts before proceeding.

Rating/WC/POV: Teen+ readers, but no real warnings. 7847 words (I hate myself too, don’t worry). 2nd POV but from Tech’s perspective.

A/N: thank you to the always lovely @staycalmandhugaclone for proofreading, and for reminding me that unstiflable, as much as I’d like it to be a word, is not LOL like “so fetch” it just ain’t gonna happen!

That autonomic demand to narrow his eyes was irrepressible, and the onslaught of light pouring in through the open door dazzled him to near paralysis as he stood in the shadows, pistol raised and poised to fire blindly if or when the situation required. But even through long lashes near-opacifying his vision, Tech’s astute mind instantly noted the familiar, swaying cadence of the figure stepping through the threshold, its movements much less hurried and frenetic than his sergeant’s broad-shouldered, deliberate strides would have been as he hastened to provide backup. In that subsequent second, as Tech’s eyes screamed in protest and the alleged assailant stepped delicately atop that worn wood floor, a cresting wave of unadulterated relief and realization crashed into his heaving chest and forced the bated breath from his lungs.

“Thank the Maker,” he exclaimed as he attempted to swallow the panic that had taken up residence in the back of his throat.

His feet took him urgently toward you, stowing his pistol in it’s holster with a deftness that his trembling hands should not have possessed, and the now-redundant flashlight fell with a thud to the floor, spinning away to uselessly brighten a forgotten corner as he closed the space between you and flung his arms around your shoulders.

The startled gasp that escaped your lips at the unexpected movement went ignored. He spared no consideration for the way your arms balked against the restriction of his unexpected embrace; your choked and stuttered demands for distance and clarification registered even less in his mind than your obvious sense of alarm. He would explain after… He’d offer a million apologies in just a minute… What mattered most to him in this second was that you were safe— you were there in front of him unailed, injury free and not bludgeoned to death by the bloodied hammer still imprinted in his mind's eye.

“T— Tech?!” you stammered, the futile attempts at tugging your arms free creating barely enough leverage to tip your head back and peer upward at your captor. “Is that you? What— what are you doing here?”

“You are alive,” he spoke, seizing the brief opportunity that your acknowledgement presented and retightening his grip around your shoulders.

“Of— of course I am?” you answered, the snort of incredulity almost completely muffled by the power of his embrace as you slowly reciprocated his affection by encircling his narrow waist. “How did you get in here?”

But your behest for an explanation once again failed to pull even a fragment of reasoning from his lips, that brilliant mind utterly failing in its feat to process the emotional undulation of your perceived murder, and he hung his head silently into the gap above your shoulder, greedily breathing in the same scent he’d spent countless mornings trying to imagine were in the bunk next to him.

“This doesn’t look like any ‘perilous and life-threatening event’ that I’ve ever been a part of.”

Hunter’s amusement, while somewhat muffled by the modulator in his helmet, was entirely apparent in the small chuckle that followed his quip. Tech snapped his head toward the door, the intrusion he’d utterly forgotten was on its way taking quick advantage of the adrenaline still doping his blood and setting every inch of his akin aprickle. Yet… having your form pressed against his in that quiet moment of long-anticipated reacquaintance had embedded him with a need for you equally as powerful, and releasing you from his clutches felt oddly like he was willingly permitting a limb to depart his body.

“Who— who are you?” you voiced as you turned toward the door, shielding your eyes with the same hand that had last been the recipient of Tech’s converged affection.

“Hunter,” the sergeant chirruped, boots treading thoughtlessly atop that trail of morbid, red breadcrumbs as he crossed the room and extended a hand. “Glad to see you’re not dead.”

“Why would I be dead?” you asked as you shook his hand, a very potent confusion still swaddling every word that left those lips.

“Good question,” Hunter chuckled, tipping his head forward slightly to pull that painted plastoid bucket from his head. “Can’t say I have an answer. Tech was losing his marbles about a limp fickle tree or someth—?”

“Ficus,” Tech interrupted, feeling a fresh surge of embarrassment rise to his already heated cheeks. Those frenzied emotions… the atypical and unbridled panic from mere minutes ago was being quickly usurped by a coursing regret for the composure he’d altogether abandoned the minute your safety was in question.

He cleared his throat and shifted his goggles on his nose, shying away from your inquiring gaze as it returned to him. “My apologies for the infiltration,” he continued, readjusting his helmet needlessly under his arm. “My brother and I returned with every intention of completing the required electrical repairs, only to find the premises looking uncharacteristically derelict. Regrettably, I had no means of contacting you, so I permitted myself entry hoping to affirm your safety, or collect clues to identify the assailant.”

He chanced a glance in your direction; the way your wide eyes darted intently yet curiously back and forth between his instantly threatened to steal the justification still poised on his tongue, and watching your lip disappear between your teeth saw the battle against that implacable itch to reach for your hand vigorously resurrected.

“There was undeniable evidence that harm may have come to you,” he offered, reaching instead for his datapad and tipping the screen toward you. “My scanners indicated blood of a human origin splattered in several places, with a significant percentage of it congealing atop the handle of a hammer still perched in the sink. Objectively, all access points to the establishment appeared to have been boarded to prevent any external supposition, eliminating any obvious need for an investigation. Your beloved flora was presenting with several signs of neglect, and I noted a discarded caf beside the computer that my scanners confirm has been sitting undisturbed for nearly two dozen rotations.”

“Ew, what?!” you exclaimed as your expression shifted abruptly from concern to disgust, nose scrunching as you peered over your shoulder toward the counter.

“Is that what that smell is?” Hunter queried under his breath, his throat bobbing heavily as if trying to steel himself against the cresting heave in his stomach.

But the notion of the abandoned dish and its putrid contents didn’t befuddle you as it had Tech, instead he watched your eyes soften and roll before an incredulous scoff huffed from your nose.

“Figures,” you groused with a small shake of the head. “He has the wherewithal to put a bloody hammer in the sink but not the dirty mug.”

Tech paused, your grumbled words failing to establish even a scrap of sound reasoning in his already overladen mind, and the slight cock in Hunter’s brow as he turned to glance inquisitively at his brother clearly indicated he was equally as confused by your insufficiently explanatory grievance.

“Who’s ‘he’?” the sergeant asked on their behalf.

“My father,” you answered with another disgruntled roll of the eyes. “I asked him to come here and seal the place up for me.”

“Your father left this carnage?” Tech posed, unable to keep the bewilderment from his voice. “How peculiar.”

“But… why?” Hunter added.

“It’s a long story,” you replied, failing to conceal a large yawn with the back of one hand as the other stretched high above your head. “And I’ll happily tell you the whole thing once I get some caf in me. Give me a few minutes to turn the power back on and then we can catch up.”

The first twinge of an adoring smile tugged at Tech’s lips as he watched you first heave a preparatory sigh before squaring your shoulders and reaching for the handle of that soiled mug. With your nose pinched tightly between your fingers, and your cheeks expanded to their full capacity under the strain of a held breath, you carried the dish at arms length and retreated to the back door. Tech watched you go without even really seeing you… eyes unfocussed, mind spinning tirelessly. It seemed wholly impossible that attempting to ascertain his feelings for you during their trek along that sunlit pathway had rendered him so uneasy that he nearly faceplanted; then mere seconds later, he’d hurled headfirst into a panic so foreign and inexplicable that even Hunter, his most astute brother and the person who likely understood him most in this galaxy, had difficulty navigating Tech’s discombobulated fears. Now here he stood, the ravaging tornado of emotions spanning the last half an hour, only a thing of the past. His mind, instead, brimming with nothing but absolute certainty of his affection for you, and it wasn’t until (“...oof!”) you tripped over the long-abandoned spools of wire and nearly slooped that rancid liquid all over the floor, that a distant glimmer of reality returned to him, and he hastened to retrieve the discarded flashlight and hand it over to you.

“Was that a hug I just saw?” Hunter jeered, knocking his fist against the dome of Tech’s shoulder the second your figure vanished into the enshadowed hallway.

The genius soldier did not answer, offering his brother a mildly embarrassed, reproachful glance before shifting his attention to the device in his hands.

“You know Tech,” the sergeant persisted, keeping his voice tactfully low. “You’ve pulled some really impressive tricks out of your arsenal over the years, but I don’t think I’ve ever been more impressed by you than I am now.”

Tech let his brother's indirect praise wash over him, turning his response over in his mind several times. “It is most peculiar,” he uttered quietly to the screen as the lights flickered into life overhead, “That simply the notion of this companionship can trigger such dichotomous sentiments.”

“What do you mean?” Hunter queried as he stepped toward the front door and pushed it closed.

“Well… it seems implausible that one individual could initiate both anxiety and comfort in another, as they are contradictory emotional responses that otherwise do not theoretically coincide.” Tech kept his eyes pointedly downward to the illuminated device in his hands as he spoke. “How is it that my fear for the safety of another is rendered so paramount, that the notion of having lost said person clouds the judgement in which I hold in such high regard, particularly so when the person in question is one of whom I hardly know? Yet, the moment I deem their safety established, I am overcome with a protective urge so robust that I would unquestioningly forfeit the use of my limbs if encircling them promised a shield from any potential harm?”

The momentary silence that ensued post-confession was undoubtedly amplified by the recent extermination of fracas from the outside world, yet nothing reverberated louder amongst the walls of that dusty shop than the proud pause that proceeded Hunter’s answer, the smile doming his inked cheek as he stepped back toward his brother entirely missed by the genius still staring deliberately downward.

“I don’t know,” the sergeant answered slowly, placing a discerning hand on the top of Tech’s shoulder. “Feelings are powerful things… I guess we don’t give ‘em enough credit.”

“Indeed,” Tech agreed as he finally lifted his gaze, eyes flashing as he peered at the space where you were due to appear at any moment…

“Hunter?” he added quietly as a thoughtful silence reemerged.

“Yeah, ‘vod?”

“I do not think I will ever tire of this ‘feeling’.”

Hunter’s response was stolen off his tongue by the squeak of old hinges as you pried that back door open with the toe of your shoe, reappearing moments later in the doorway with a green mug held carefully in one hand and a clear glass of water in the other; the way your lips pursed and hitched to one side as you focussed on maneuvering toward the counter without spilling either liquid, rearousing the tingle under Tech’s skin.

“What’d’ya say we pull these boards down?” Hunter spoke loudly, clapping his brother on the arm before turning to face the obstructed windows.

“That would be fantastic,” you said, carefully depositing your steaming mug beside the computer. “I’m handy enough in my own right, but I don’t trust myself not to pull a ‘Dad’ and take a finger off trying to get them down.”

“It’s not a problem,” Hunter answered, dismissing your comment with a wave of his hand as he crossed the room and debated which of the wood panels to dismantle first. “Tech, let's start with the one on the right—”

But Tech heard none of his summons, too enraptured with the charming crease between your brows as your concentration shifted toward your drooping plants, hands lovingly tipping that glass of water into the clay pot housing your limp, little tree.

“—and then we’ll just go along the front and rip 'em down one by one. We can stack them in the corner out of the way for now. Ready? Tech…? Tech.”

“Coming.” Tech wrenched his gaze from you and hurried to meet his brother next to the furthest of the boarded windows.

“I’m a little alarmed at how easily you broke in,” you admitted with a smirk as the duo trod past the counter moments later, carrying the first the half-dozen bulky boards between them.

“It was quite simple,” Tech offered, lowering his end of the board to the dusty floor in the corner and keeping it stable while Hunter tipped it against the wall. “With the correct tool and the appropriate leverage, one can deactivate such an unsophisticated deadbolt system with relative ease. If the security of your store is of utmost concern to you, I would recommend installing a mechanical upgrade; one that permits only those who carry an individually coded microchip to ent—”

“What’s with the boards anyway?” Hunter interrupted, leading his rambling brother back toward the windows.

“I, uh… I was on Ryloth.”

The soldiers froze, hands stalling in their feat of tugging the next of the boards down while they exchanged fleeting, dark looks. “Ryloth?” Hunter repeated. “In the middle of a war? Hmm… that’s kinda—”

“Kinda risky. I know,” you agreed, looking somewhat crestfallen as you perched your chin in your palm and gazed listlessly out the now transparent window. “In my defense, the war hadn’t really reached Ryloth when I bought my ticket. Though, admittedly, I would have gone anyway with the situation being so dire. Those poor kids… Maker, I feel for them. And it’s only going to get worse as access to medical supplies gets increasingly challenging…”

Hunter looked back at Tech and raised his eyebrows, confusion etched into every superficial line of that tattooed face as he readjusted his grip around the edge of the wood panel and tugged it free of its shoddy adhesion.

“Are you being intentionally vague?” Tech voiced innocently while shifting his goggles on his nose. “Or have I simply overlooked a myriad of implied details?”

“No,” you snorted, glancing at him with an unexpected affection and igniting a blush to his cheeks potent enough to force his gaze away from you again. “Sorry, I’ll backtrack a little…” As you picked your head out of your palm and perched yourself, instead, in the desk chair behind the computer, Tech reached for his end of the nearest board and gave it an assertive tug. “About a month or so ago, an impoverished family came in here looking for some help. There were these three kids– cute as a button, but losing their eyesight pretty rapidly. Their mom has a degenerative visual disease that the kids ended up unknowingly inheriting, and Dad was at-a-loss for what to do. There’s no cure for the condition itself, but I told them I’d make some glasses for them that would help preserve the vision they had left. I tried to expedite the process as much as possible, but they fled the planet before I could finish.”

“They wouldn’t stick around for free glasses?” Hunter asked incredulously, eyes attuned to the floor below him as he walked carefully backward to the corner where they’d stashed the first panel.

“Their situation was pretty destitute,” you answered sadly. “Anyway… once their glasses were done, the only option left was to hand deliver them, as I don’t particularly trust inter-stellar couriers anymore with all the rampant piracy these days, and… well, part of me has always wanted to do some missionary work. Unfortunately, it was barely an hour after my shoes hit the sand outside of Lessu that the blockade was implemented, and all public transports were barred from entering or leaving the system. So I—”

“You’ve been trapped on Ryloth!” Hunter groaned. “For weeks!”

“That explains the fetid caf,” Tech chimed.

“Please don’t take this as a complaint,” you continued quickly. “Being on Ryloth and living with that family was an unforgettable experience, and one of which I would never have been granted the opportunity, but… I was more than a little worried about this place; this level of the Undercity is notorious for petty theft and pickpockets thanks to its proximity to the lifts, and the affluent clientele that trickles in from the surface one level above. A few days after I landed, I managed to get a transmission back to my Dad and asked if he’d come and secure the store until I could figure out how to get back, but… I think I might have drastically overestimated his handyman skills. He admitted to me afterward that a poorly-aimed hammer strike had done some damage to both his left thumb and my floor. He conveniently didn’t mention he was growing a mold farm in my favourite mug.”

“Any substantial trauma to the thumb could prove detrimental,” Tech spoke up, tipping the second board on top of the first. “The thumb houses several primary vascular bodies including the Princeps Pollicis, a major artery branching from the deep palmar arch. If the artery itself has sustained enough significant external force to cause a secondary dermal laceration, it has the potential to elicit substantial blood loss, not to mention warrant a possible surgical repairment.”

“And that explains the mess,” Hunter agreed, pointing toward the puniceous trail still adorning the floor beneath their feet.

“Mess is an understatement now that I’m looking at it,” you chuckled. “I’m still not sure if I want to thank him for helping me or invoice him for all the cleaning I’m going to have to do before I can reopen this place.”

***

It took just shy of an hour to remove and rehome the barriers your father had inexpertly installed, and the welcome addition of the dazzling sunlight through the now-unobstructed (albeit dusty) windows had the store feeling nearly exactly as Tech remembered. As he and his brother trod back toward the counter, dabbing droplets of sweat from their brow with the backs of their hands, the Ficus Elastica on the counter stood proudly erect in, what appeared to be, its own personal ray of sunlight.

“Thank you so much,” you sang as they approached, the grin atop your lips challenging that bright celestial body in the sky for its title as the most radiant entity in the galaxy.

“Not a problem,” Hunter answered as you hopped out of the chair and walked around the counter to meet them. “If the panels are still here the next time we’re planetside, I’ll get Wrecker to come rip up 'em and throw ‘em out back for you.”

“That’d be great,” you nodded eagerly. “He’s the only one I haven’t met yet.”

“Actually speaking of…” he continued, “I should check in and make sure Crosshair hasn’t lost his temper and used him for target practice. Gimme a second and then we can start the wirin–”

“I can manage.”

His interjection was abrupt, slipping off his tongue nowhere-near as passively or nonchalant as he’d intended when Tech opened his mouth to reassure his sergeant, and the responding look on Hunter’s face readily confirmed that Tech had also failed to conceal that burgeoning need to be alone with you. But he was fighting a losing battle; the trio stood only inches from where he’d first wrapped his arms around you. Despite continuing to dodge each other’s bashful glances, the near-irresistable urge to grab your hand and wreath you with his arms hadn’t left him since releasing you, and he was more determined than ever to swallow that ever-plaguing apprehension and physically communicate how much you’d been on his mind since your last encounter.

“I am capable of completing the installation without assistance,” he added politely. “And Crosshair was particularly irascible this morning despite having acceded to his demand that I park the ship in an area of complete shadow, so the need for a supervisory presence is likely heightened.”

“Shadow?” you interrupted questioningly from Tech’s elbow. “What does he have against daylight?”

“Hurts his eyes in the morning,” Hunter answered offhandedly. “You sure, Tech? We lost time with the whole ‘possible-murder’ thing. Think you can tackle it alone?”

“I will not be alone.” He glanced fleetingly in your direction before swallowing.

Hunter hmph’d quietly, mimicking his brother and glancing your way as his lips twitched against the impish smirk he continued to stifle. “Well alright then,” he conceded, returning his brother's mildly guilty look with a rather knowing one of his own. “I'll leave you two to get… reacquainted. Just don’t abandon your comm again; there are no ‘unscheduled breaks’ from war no matter what you say.”

“Thank you for the help,” you said, extending a hand toward the retreating sergeant. “And for making sure I’m not dead.”

Hunter offered you a smile and a respectful nod before his face disappeared behind that painted plastoid again, and he made his way toward the front door. Distant, yet raucous laughter filled the shop as he pulled the door open and stepped over the threshold.

“Oh… and don’t forget, Tech,” he added, the visor of his helmet poking back around the door unexpectedly. “We’re leaving for Felucia at first light tomorrow. Midnight curfew.”

***

As you locked the door behind the departing sergeant, Tech stooped and collected the coiled wires from the floor, tossing them over his shoulder before following in your wake toward the sanctity of your workshop. Despite your established safety, he couldn't prevent his eyes darting toward that large aluminum basin as the kitchenette passed on the left, the tool that had so-instantly horrified him now scrubbed clean and leaning benignly against the side of the caf maker to dry. The moldy mug, however, was nowhere to be found, though the peculiar addition of a small, tightly tied garbage bag sitting on the floor by the fire exit had Tech near-certain he’d never see that red ceramic again.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you offered as you veered right into the fabrication lab, the slight chuckle beneath your words recapturing Tech’s attention. “It seems that’s a habit I’ve unintentionally fallen into. First I gave you a heart attack about your goggles… then this. I’m regularly quite the bore, I promise.”

Tech bit back the retort on his tongue as he stepped through the doorway— you, a bore? Well that seemed even less likely than Crosshair dropping to his knees and begging them to forgive his abhorrent attitude.

“An apology is not required,” Tech spoke instead. “It would appear that I jumped to an inaccurate conclusion upon arriving here to find you missing. It was a most uncharacteristic overreaction, and one from which I now-suffer a great compunction.”

“Compunction?” you repeated, brows furrowing at the implications of his confession as you reached gently upward and began to lift those heavy coils from his shoulder. “Why?”

Tech hesitated for only a breath, watching your nimble fingers blanch under the weight of the wire as you took it from him. “Well… several years of advanced training and exposure therapy have rendered me effectively inured to a multitude of scenarios that others may deem distressing,” he divulged as something near concern wiped the smile from your lips. “Yet, I failed to maintain control of my emotions in the face of your disappearance. I became largely inexorable, making objectively impetuous and questionable decisions.”

“Tech,” you uttered in little more than a consoling whisper, his stomach lurching as your free hand collected his from somewhere near his hip, those slightly chilled fingers weaving their way in between his before the soft, consoling brush of your thumb nearly weakened his knees. “There is nothing to regret. Worrying about someone is nothing to be ashamed of, and arguably even less so if that person is someone you care greatly about. In fact, an initial surge of panic followed by attempts to verify their safety is likely the expected psychological response to such concerns. You walked into what looked like a very foreboding situation and had no data to disprove your suspected theory.”

“I suppose that is correct,” Tech shrugged, dropping his gaze to the toe of his oily boot, “Though it has been several years since I last studied the sympathetic subsection of the autonomic nervous system in response to traumatic stimuli.”

“Sounds like an interesting read,” you mumbled through a sarcastic smile that prompted the return of his gaze. “Tell me– if the same situation presented itself again, would you not react similarly? Would you not do everything within your power to make sure that someone was okay while everything around you was telling you they’re not?”

“Of course I would.”

“Then that’s that,” you answered simply. “There’s no reason to regret your actions, just like I don't suffer any contempt for getting myself stuck on Ryloth. Making the trip there was the best and potentially only solution based on the information available to me at the time. Things went awry… and that’s okay, because we should always do what our gut is telling us to do when it comes to things and people that we care greatly about.”

And there it was: that intemerate benevolence that he wholly adored about you, reemerging to knock him over the head with a validation that he’d never experienced before… and the subsequent moment, as his eyes locked on yours and his grip on your hand tightened, he felt truly seen as himself. Not Tech the highly-skilled soldier… not Tech the ingenious mechanic responsible for keeping the GAR’s most elite squad in the air… not Tech the pilot who loved his datapad above all else and never slept. You saw Tech… accepting and welcoming him as he is; validating his infrequent displays of vulnerability as if humanity was something he could and should experience first hand without fear of persecution or judgement.

“Oh, and don’t think I didn’t catch that,” you added, brow shifting into a devious arch as a playful smirk tugged at your lips.

“Catch what, exactly?”

“The oxymoron you dropped in there: ‘found you missing’. Someone can’t be found and missing, hun. But keep dropping them– I’ll catch ‘em every time.”

Was it that teasing smile, or the enamoring, little puffs of air that escaped your nose as you snickered in the wake of your own coy intelligence? Or could it be the way your gaze kept darting from his eyes to his lips, that had him feeling as if he were suddenly hovering? The ground had, at some point, simply disappeared from below those smeared and blackened boots– vanishing into nothingness with everything else that had previously encircled them underneath those dim, humming lights. There was simply nothing but your hand interlaced with his. Nothing but the soft flutter of your eyelashes as they danced with every subtle shift in your gaze, and the unobtrusive quiet of an empty building that promised no foreseeable interruption. Every unhurried second ticked into the past by the chrono on the wall saw him pulled toward you by a force presented to him only once previously– when he’d boldly adorned the back of your hand with the same gesture that he longed to press to your smiling lips.

But… did you want that? Was your heart also hammering heavily in your chest, threatening to send the room spinning more than it already was? Were you as captivated with his eyes as he was with yours, letting that effulgent twinkle dazzle him like the radiance of hyperspace did? Had the last month also seen you seeking out moments of solitude, keen to forgo the mundanity of the present in favour of vanishing into the memory of him? The memory of an utterly ineffable connection?

Or were you standing there watching his eyes flutter closed, wondering what in Maker’s name you’d done in your past life to warrant having to endure such an awkward encounter? Was your mind frantically trying to find the words to politely reject his bold advance? Were you desperate to yank your hand from the clutches of his clammy gloves, and assert that he simply complete the required electrical repairs and then vanish indefinitely?

That sabotaging little flitter of doubt was enough to have Tech leaning backward, eyes opening to their full extent and quickly darting toward his boots while he reached for his goggles and shifted them needly atop his nose.

“Tech?” you whispered as he pulled his hand from yours, stowing his gauntlet comm in the pouch at his thigh before tugging at his gloves.

“I should initiate the electrical deconstruction,” he muttered as his face burned, pulling his datapad from its holster and bringing it to mere inches from his nose. “Can you please deposit those coils in the corner underneath the panel?”

“Sure.”

The sigh that preceded your curt answer was near deafening, circling around that quiet room what seemed to be half a dozen times before it dissipated into the now suffocating quiet. And while that soft huff of exasperation had near-tortured him, it was the unbridled disconcertment wholly engulfing your reply that stole his attention back from his device, and he watched with a sense of suppressed horror as your face fell rapidly into, what looked to him, an expression of dispirited chagrin.

***

Tech spent the next several hours near-furious at himself. Thoroughly incensed that his body never failed to repeatedly fall into the encompassing urge to physically connect with you whilst his mind remained downright incapable of elucidating the veracity of his perception, and infiltrating every modicum of that surging desire was an equally powerful right-hook of uncertainty.

Chiefly infuriating was your continued, unwavering kindness; he could barely stomach the ever-gracious way you offered to help him at regular intervals. Truthfully, he’d like nothing more than to have you hovering at his elbow for the entirety of the process, handing him whatever tool was required to progress the installation and witnessing him do what he truly did best while he chattered endlessly about the importance of matching the electrical capacity of the wire to its respective fuse. Yet, every time his eyes met yours, he was harrowingly reminded of his close shave with humiliation; reminded of the sheer confusion he’d seen behind your eyes as he pulled away from you, and your persisting geniality had him nearly-suspicious it was nothing more than a front upheld until the work was complete.

For the sake of niceties, and as a measly effort to atone for his self-proclaimed embarrassing behaviour, he accepted the glass of water you’d offered him shortly after he began the labour-intensive work, though despite the layer of dust gathering in his throat with every inhale, it sat untouched on the counter beside the lens generator.

He took his frustration out on the task at hand, snipping wire casings with an unnecessary gusto and scowling anew with each new electrical breaker that he clicked into place, but it seemed no degree of mechanical tinkering could distract him from the resentment coursing through him. Even the addition of a small radio, churning out happy-go-lucky, intraplanetary hits every couple of minutes was no match for his morose mood.

“Tech?” he heard you probe from the doorway several hours later, as he stooped over the sink in the kitchen and began to scrub the grime from his hands.

“Mmm?” he answered, ignoring the prickle erupting on the back of his neck at the sound of his name leaving your lips. He felt you approach, listening to the muted scrapes of your shoes on the floor as you neared, casually leaning against the counter in his peripheral vision.

“My brain might still be on Ryloth time but… were– were you about to kiss me?”

His stomach plummeted to his toes, eyes quickly unfocussing on that aged and rusted drain, hands briefly hesitating in their attempts to rid his skin of the encrusted soot and grime that had accumulated over hours of working in the walls.

“Yes,” he admitted after a poignant swallow, and found himself watching the drain noisily consume the stained suds falling from his fingers, hoping the gurgling sound would be loud enough to drown your surely impending stammered apologies for the uncomfortable misunderstanding and your request that he leave and take his misguided feelings with him.

“Well why didn’t you?”

His head jerked somewhat awkwardly; he’d nearly snapped his gaze toward you, only to stop himself part way through as the sound of your stifled chuckle surprised him. Tech stilled upon realizing that laugh had not sounded chastising at all. Nor jeering or humiliating, nor repulsed or repugnant. It sounded almost… frustrated. Indignantly accusatory, as if you were mildly annoyed that he hadn’t kissed you.

He reached blindly for the towel folded on the counter adjacent the sink, lips pursing as he thoughtlessly ran that cloth between his fingers until his skin began to revolt against the continued abrasure.

“Tech?” you whispered, the delicate probe successful in only fleetingly drawing his gaze.

“My affection for you, while subjectively highly enjoyable, is paired with an exponential degree of uncertainty that I have never previously experienced,” Tech divulged to the fabric in his hands. “And there are recurrent moments when, despite all other variables suggesting otherwise, I suffer an inherent doubt that you would ever reciprocate my feelings. You are well educated and even better mannered… meticulous with the quality of your work… exceedingly intelligent… your compassion for others and your willingness to assist them, even where the circumstance would deem reciprocity impossible, is truly unrivaled by any person I have ever met and… and…” He paused to regain control of his words as they spilled uncontrollably from mind to mouth.

“Tech, hun,” you cooed through the ghost of another exasperated laugh. “You are all of those things too. You have no vested interest in this shop yet here you are, laying on your back in the dust, doing several days worth of electrical work so this place can function at peak productivity and make my life easier. You graciously donated several hours of your time last month to help me plough through the mountain of work that had been looming over me for days. You broke in here ready to hunt down and assault whomever it was that had allegedly harmed me without even a thought for yourself. Despite having malignantly convinced yourself that you lack emotional intelligence, you have a truly exceptional mind. You are uncommonly and refreshingly polite, and you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, which is saying something because I’ve seen a lot of eyes. I– I’m kinda crazy about you, too.”

A truly exceptional mind? Refreshingly polite? Did you believe all of this to be true? He searched every inch of your face for any signs of insincerity, any fragments of dishonesty, any twitch of the lip that might disenchant the gratification coursing through his veins from your admonishment.

“Well,” he continued, attempting to keep his tone neutral as the realization that he’d likely blown his chance with you threatened to kick his heart clean out of his chest. “With any luck, another moment shall present itself where I may demonstrate how much you undoubtedly mean to me.”

He jammed his finger needlessly against the bridge of his goggles, dejected gaze dropping back to boots now dirtier than ever while a quiet, albeit forlorn sigh left his lips and he resumed inattentively fiddling with the little towel.

“Well,” you mimicked. “Since, the ‘ideaology of luck’ is, apparently, illogical… allow me.”

He must have stumbled over his toes in the subsequent second, though the most he’d ever be able to offer was a deduction based on the force you’d used to tug him toward you. In the reality of that moment, your perfect response to the divulgence of his feelings and the unexpected affirmation that you, too, felt similarly, had instantly rendered him euphorically ignorant to anything other than the feeling of finally having your lips against his.

That damp little towel somehow ended up displaced and draped atop the caf machine, but exactly how and when it had left his hands was a mystery that did not need solving. There was simply nothing else worthy of consideration or acknowledgement in that moment; nothing more important than the small drafts of warm air cascading across his cheek every time you shifted your lips atop his; nothing more prudent than the small yet mighty grip you maintained on the collar of his chest plate keeping him no more than a breath away from you. Somehow, you ended up perched on the counter next to that hammer, its existence now so inconsequential that it wasn’t even spared the courtesy of a glance as it fell over and landed with a thunk behind the caf machine. Tech didn’t even notice you blindly lift his goggles from his nose and rest them on his forehead, though the tender brush of your thumbs along the chronic indents on his cheeks sent shiver after shiver down his spine.

It wasn’t until your lips separated from his, and he was enveloped almost entirely with that same feeling of permitting a limb to depart his body that he returned to some semblance of awareness.

“Are you still uncertain?” you asked him with a smile that sat somewhere on the border of devious and playful.

“Darling,” Tech answered near-breathlessly, “The only notion unclear to me at this point, is how I will survive until I can see you again.”

“Speaking of…” you sighed, gesturing to the small chrono embedded into the caf machine. “You should probably head out. It’s nearly midnight.”

Tech glanced at the old clock as it mocked him. 23:44 pm. Just enough time to collect his tools from their scattered displacement around the fabrication lab and depart the store. He’d be climbing the Marauder’s ramp within minutes… silently deposit his pack in the cockpit… settle down at the workstation to tinker with his current modification project and reminisce about his afternoon in your company. But… why? Surely if his squad members were already tucked into their bunks, or quietly preparing their weapons for deployment tomorrow, there would be no harm in staying here a little longer with you? “There are no unscheduled breaks from war, no matter what you say…” The sergeant had been referencing his previous alibi; the off-the-cuff excuse Tech had offered his brother after the previous, irresponsible mistake of letting his comm depart his person had ensured him unavailable and unreliable.

His jaw tensed under the audacity of what he was about to do.

“Please excuse me,” he requested of you politely, stealing a chaste peck of a kiss from your lips before stepping backward and extracting his gauntlet comm from the cargo pouch where he’d previously stored it for safekeeping.

“Hunter,” he spoke after activating that little blue light. “What time are we set to depart for Felucia?”

“0600…” his sergeant answered suspiciously. “But curf—”

“I will see you then.”

“Te—!”

Tech silenced his comm with the blind poke of a button and tossed it carelessly to the countertop where it came to rest next to the hammer, his hands instantly reaching to cradle your waist while he chased your kiss so eagerly that you nearly toppled backwards.

***

An hour. It took an hour to stop kissing long enough to resume talking, and then several hours after that to accept that neither of you were going to achieve any other productive tasks that night. Still wholly invigorated by your union, Tech declined your midnight offer for a caf, though with how the taste lingered on your tongue between sip and kiss, he may as well have drank a cup on his own.

At quarter-past two, you dragged him by the hand back toward the lens edger and lifted his goggles from his nose. You first giggled about how much he absentmindedly squinted in the void of his regular, average eyesight, before instantly launching into an educational titter about precisely why humans even developed that anatomical squint response, and how effective it can be at temporarily improving visual acuity. And while he longed to query every fact against one of which he’d researched on his own time, he’d found a new use for his lips that he much preferred.

Shortly after four, as you locked your hands around his waist and groaned into his chest about having to spend the next several days on your hands and knees, scrubbing the floor in preparation for the reopening of your store, Tech accidentally knocked over a bottle of effervescent blue liquid; the same concoction you’d used to disinfect his glasses previously, and a quick glance at the ingredients list while he collected the dripping container had him instantly yammering about how the peroxide additive would be the perfect solution for removing the embedded blood stains.

A short time later, an unseen gang of bad mouthed adolescents were heard hollering on the other side of the fire exit door, their voices amplified by the stillness of the night and the empowered notion that they were loitering where they were not permitted, and despite their inebriation posing no apparent threat while you remained behind a locked door, Tech still refused to let you leave the backroom until he could confirm their exodus.

At half-past five, an oversized yawn barely concealed by your hand reminded Tech that, despite wishing Father Time would simply abandon his post and gift him a moment with you free from that nagging and imminent deployment, his squad was waiting for him; his sergeant likely highly perturbed and waiting for the pilot’s next transparent excuse.

“How do the eyes feel now?” you asked over your shoulder as you walked ahead of him toward the front door, his pride-and-joy helmet bobbing near comically on your head as it concealed the smile that he could hear lay atop your lips.

“Much improved,” he answered, breathing in what he could before your companionship would be lost to him for another little while.

“Thought so!” you chuckled proudly, the modulator in his helmet distorting the music of your amusement. “Changing the refractive indices of a lens can sometimes initiate a bit of a hiccup in visual processing, especially when paired with changes in curvature and correct application of coatings, but the foreign sensation typically dissipates within a rotation or so.”

“May I remind you, you need not have gifted me new lenses.”

“I just supplied the material,” you argued, helmet wiggling again as you casually shrugged away the innocent condemnation in his tone. “You did all the work the last time you were here. They’ve been sitting here waiting for you to come back so I could put them in your goggles. Plus, yours were in… questionable… condition, and if your last set were any indication of Kaminoan knowledge of refraction, you’re much better off with these. How do you feel about the slight tint after wearing it for a few hours?”

Tech forced his gaze toward the window where the sky was undoubtedly beginning to lighten under the embrace of the sun's first morning rays. He, truthfully, hadn’t given that slight yellow tint any thought in some hours; what was initially found quite unusual had quickly morphed into something… “Quite calming,” he answered.

“There’s built-in blue light protection, too, for all the quality time you spend with that datapad. Give it a month or so, and your circadian rhythm will thank me.”

You stopped when you reached the front door and turned around to face him. Despite the exhaustion having swollen the tender skin beneath your eyes, there was no denying they were still alight and twinkling as they watched him approach. But Tech stopped shortly after you did, knowing that the nearer he reached the door, the nearer he’d be to leaving, and he wasn’t yet done processing the night's events. The budding sunrise on the other side of the glass was bringing with it an understanding he never knew he’d been deficient. So this… this is what he spent his days fighting for. Feelings like this. Companionships like ours. People like you who spent their time trying to better the lives of others without even a hint of motive. Someone who cared if he returned or not.

Tech sighed, very aware that finding the correct words to elucidate his feelings for you was simply a task for another time. For now, as the sun continued to betray him by rising ever higher with every lingering breath, he wanted every last second with you to be one completely void of thought.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” you probed suddenly, breaking into his torpor. He refocussed his gaze and found another of those playful smiles crinkling your eyes, palm raised to shoulder height and facing him.

He let only the ghost of scoff depart his nose as his lips lengthened under their own smile, and he resumed his approach, not stopping until the toes of his boots were nearly touching yours. As he reached upward and gently pulled his helmet from your head, a faint ache erupted in his chest, amplified by the quiet snicker that left you and the regretful reality of that sound being one he would not hear for the foreseeable future.

“Five,” he whispered after tucking his helmet under his arm, interlacing his gloved fingers with yours and holding tightly to your hand.

“Correct,” you breathed, eyes fluttering closed as he rested his forehead against yours. “If your next mission is counting fingers, you’ve got that in the bag.”

“Considering Felucia is widely known as the Planet of Fungal Forestry, I would deem that largely improbable. However–” he added, identifying the first flickers of fear behind your eyes, “–it is highly probable that I shall return by month’s-end.”

“If Cranky Crosshair doesn’t use you for target practice first?”

“Cranky Crosshair compares naught to Hunter when he’s truly angry. Hence why I must not be any later than I already am. Goodbye for now, darling.”

He stole one last, lingering kiss from your lips before reaching for the handle on that vibrant yellow door.

***

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#bad batch fan fic #bad batch fanfic #bad batch Tech fanfic #tech x reader #tech x gn!reader #x reader #starqueenswrittenworks #starqueensedits #tech Tuesday

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jpitha · 1 year

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Just a Little Further

I woke with a start. I was going to be late! Today of all days!

I slept through my alarm, my backup alarm, and according to Starbase Picaresque, 5 minutes of him pinging me, trying to wake me up.

"I was about to call the infirmary, Melody. I was sure there was something wrong." He said.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry!" I said as I threw on my clothes. Fortunately, Vin'aren wouldn't leave until I was completely packed last night. I wouldn't have been done otherwise. Running a comb through my hair - luckily it was a fresh, cute short cut so it wasn't too bad - I grabbed my uniform jacket and glanced longingly at my kitchenette.

"There isn't time to make coffee." SP said.

I sighed. "I know. It's just..." I ran over to the kitchenette, grabbed my hand grinder, my brewer, my set of measuring cups, the scale and the airtight container of coffee and swept it into a bag. "I don't know what kind of coffee FarReach has, and I don't want to be a grump because they have bad coffee!"

SP sighed. "Really Melody? Fine. But you have to leave now unless you want me to get the Fire Brigade to bring you.

Starbase Picaresque was threatening me with having to get a ride from the only folks who have vehicles on board. The Fire Brigade uses them to carry hoses and equipment to a fire and sometimes bring injured people to the infirmary. If they brought me to the docking ring because I was late I would probably die of embarrassment.

"I'm going, I'm going!" I said, as I ran out the door, no breakfast and no coffee.

Hi, by the way. My name is Melody Mullen (ugh, I know) and I'm the information warfare officer on FarReach! The administration of Starbase Picaresque and the joint Human/K'laxi colony Zen'agan's Reach have sponsored our mission to travel the Warp Gates and go as far as we can!

Normally yes, humans would just use their wormhole generators and link to a location in space, it's instant and easy. And sure, a few people feel like they died and visited the afterlife, but not too many, and it's not like they get hurt. But before they met us, the K'laxi didn't travel that way. They'd use the Warp Gates and travel from gate to gate using an Addressing Module.

These days, K'laxi ships have both an addressing module and a wormhole generator. They actually bought the rights to build them from us and improved them! The newest Human ships have K'laxi wormhole generators and they're amazing! They use less power than ours do and they even have fewer people suffer side effects when they're used.

You know about the K'laxi right? They're the first sapient species we ever met! They're from a world that's smaller and lighter than ours, plus their planet is straight up and down, no tilt and their orbit is almost perfectly circular. That means they have no seasons! It's always a fall (for us) day there! I went once for vacation with my moms, it was kind of weird. We were there for a month and the weather was identical the whole time. They didn't even know what a meteorologist was until we explained the concept!

They're so cute looking too. They're shorter than us, and they have big expressive ears on the top of their head, a long fluffy tail that they can grab things with and fur all over! Someone said they kind of look like a cat or squirrel or fox person from comics and I guess I can see it, but they are definitely their own thing.

The crew of FarReach is about half K'laxi, they are a major sponsor of this expedition too. They share the work onboard with us.

Oh, I should mention FarReach too. She's an AI, and has been alive for nearly a thousand years, can you believe it? Humans and AI have been working together (mostly) harmoniously for two millennia. When AI take on a new ship, they name it and that becomes their name. I learned it's incredibly rude to call them by an old name, it's like deadnaming them. Oof. That was awkward. I apologized and She said it was okay and that I didn't know, but I think I was beet red for like three hours.

FarReach started out as a Starjumper, an old, old ship originally designed to go between human colonies at relativistic speeds. They were more than a thousand years old when the first wormhole generators were developed. They can thrust with their star drives at tens of gees when needed (though when there are biological people on board they keep the thrust around one gee) and they can cost through interstellar space at half the speed of light.

Before they were FarReach, the Starjumper was refitted at the Mt Greylock docks in orbit around The Reach. It's a brand new facility meant to bring the K'laxi and I closer together. Made up of Human and K'laxi facilities, it will enable us to work even closer together to design ships.

FarReach has more K'laxi parts than any Starjumper ever! They still have their stardrive and massive printers and hidden laser batteries (just in case) but a lot of the interior was refitted and reconfigured to be an exploration ship. There's a new information warfare suite (hello!) hibernation cabinets (just in case) and enough cabins for a dozen crew with room to expand later.

Speaking of which, I bet you're wondering why an exploration ship has an Information Warfare Suite (and your lovely Information Warfare Officer). We're not planning on going to war per se, but we don't know who we'll be meeting (if anyone) and how friendly they'll be. A few years back Venus decided they didn't like AIs and tried to apply applications to shackle them. They seemed to have dropped the rhetoric and aren't really making noises about being mean to AIs anymore, but the lesson was learned. Now, ships have an IWC (Information Warfare Community) which is a group of people who have the job of making sure that all the signals coming in are... safe.

We can also send out bad signals if needed, but we probably won't need to do that.

As I walk up only slightly out of breath, Captain Q'ari is standing there fielding questions from reporters. She sees me walk up late and flicks an ear, a K'laxi raised eyebrow. I salute and say "Apologies for being late Captain. Permission to come aboard?"

She returns the salute and says "Permission Granted Lieutenant Mullen. Please endeavor to be more punctual from now on." From her ears, I think she's annoyed, but not too annoyed.

"Yes Captain. Thank you." I say and head inside. I rush to my cabin and toss my belongings inside without even putting them away - I'll do it later. and rush up to the Command Deck. "Hi FarReach! I call out brightly as I walk onto the Command Deck. It's set up human style with the Commander's seat in the middle rear, and everyone sitting around them at their stations.

"Good of you to join us Melody." FarReach says wryly. "I was wondering if you were going to show up on the back of a Fire Brigade vehicle." There were chuckles from the other crew members. I'm known as being slightly late for things.

Just a little late.

It's really hard to be punctual, okay?"

"Har har, very funny FarReach. I made it, on my own even, and I managed to remember my coffee supplies." I said smugly.

"Good thing too" FarReach said "Because I just happen to know that there are thirty pounds of coffee from the mountains of Parvati that was loaded on just this morning."

I gasped. Parvati's mountain ranges were known for producing excellent coffee from the original Earth stock. It was a rare treat. "How did you manage that?" I asked, surprised.

"She didn't have anything to do with it, that was all me." A voice said behind me. I turned and Ambassador Vivenni was standing there, looking casually elegant. She wore a smarty tailored uniform of the K'laxi government and stood there with her hands on her hips. "I heard that some people here enjoy good coffee and I happened to know offhand of a shipment coming in, and was able to... ahem... ask for a donation to the cause." she said, her eyes shining.

I didn't think to ask where she learned so much about coffee, it's poisonous to K'laxi. Even decaf will mess them up. They do love tea though, and I'm sure the stores are packed with chamomile tea as well as other flavors.

"Thank you Ambassador!" I said gratefully. "It's so nice of you to think of us coffee drinkers."

She smiled "I know a bit about coffee thanks to my human friends and when I saw this go by, I couldn't help myself. Enjoy!" And she turned back to speaking with another officer.

Maybe this trip would be more fun than I had originally thought.

Part 2!

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans go on adventure #humans are space oddities #sci fi writing #writing #humans and ai #humans and aliens #the k'laxiverse #jpitha #just a little further

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veryferaldistributions · 7 months

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Autism is Not “Fun”

(Brutal honesty ahead.)

I think when autistic people such as myself get defensive about certain behaviors or personality traits “not being autistic,” we’re not trying to gatekeep, we’re telling it how it is.

I myself get really aggravated when certain kinds of people who would have been vicious bullies towards me and other autistic peers back in grade school become adults that then turn around and go “omg, autism is cool now! So this innocuous thing I did as a kid MUST be an autistic trait.”

No, it’s not. Autism is not cool. It’s the furthest thing from cool.

Autism is painfully uncomfortable, autism is gross, autism is lonely, autism is isolating, autism is embarrassing.

Autism is slow processing, and looking stupid in front of your class because you don’t understand the material. Even if you’re considered “gifted.” Or not being able to debate friends because your brain isn’t working fast enough.

Autism is having a full crying meltdown in front of your whole class because the fire alarm won’t stop going off or because your science class is using balloons and you’re terrified of them. In high school.

Autism is seeing another autistic kid wearing headphones all day and thinking “god, I don’t want to be equated to that freak.”

Autism is throwing other weirdos under the bus in self defense because “at least I’m not that bad. Maybe if they bully him, they won’t target me.”

Autism is your whole class laughing at you because you’re “freaking out” for seemingly no reason. Then forgetting you even exist the next day.

Autism is picking your nose and eating it or chewing your nails because it’s the one habit you can’t break. And doing it unconsciously in front of your peers.

Autism is having college-level writing skills and first-grade math skills simultaneously.

Autism is constantly being seen as “stupid” or “not applying herself.” And also being on honor roll.

Autism is sudden, violent rage that gets you sent to ISS for verbally threatening one of your bullies.

Autism is the teacher saying your handwriting looks like “chicken scratch.” In front of the whole class.

Autism is fighting with your mom because she wants you to dress “appropriately” but the fabric of the jeans is too overwhelming and all you want are ugly sweatpants.

Autism is being a terrible and possessive friend because you’re so scared of being alone again.

Autism is not having voice modulation, and shouting when you’re nervous.

Autism is not understanding why the class is laughing at you when you mispronounce “Uranus.”

Autism is not ever being able to enjoy fireworks because your brain equates it to being shot at.

Autism is never going to loud concerts and missing out.

Autism is not being able to stand working in retail because your brain fixates on the music until it drives you bonkers. Autism is constant miscommunication with customers.

Autism is not liking the feel of deodorant, so you smell like BO until a teacher calls you out on it.

Autism is farting in class because you don’t know you’re not supposed to do that.

Autism is not knowing you’ve bled on yourself until ANOTHER teacher points it out.

Autism is not being able to look teachers in the eye, even if it’s for something good, because it feels humiliating.

Autism is knowing, deep down, there must be some kind of disconnect, some kind of reason that you only gel with the other autistic kids, but your parents and counselors not having enough knowledge to help you.

Autism is your friends not knowing that THEY are also autistic, or are in denial about it. Even as adults.

Autism is your parents being in even deeper denial about it, because you’re so “high functioning.” But your therapist saying you are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, autistic.

In closing, I don’t completely hate being autistic, I don’t want to be cured, but I’d never say I’m “glad” I have autism. Life has gotten easier not being in public school, but the workforce still sucks with autism. It is what it is.

#autism #rant #anger #gross #autistic #autistic woman #dyscalculia #dysgraphia #self hate #disabilities #disability

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jedijesi · 7 months

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Caught in the Cat's Web Chapter 12

Miguel O'Hara x Felicia Hardy!Reader

Previous Chapter 🕸️ Series Masterlist

Warnings: Violence, Angst

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: While Miguel is out getting breakfast to surprise Felicia with, intruders attack her in her sleep.

Co-Author: @stclairesplace

Nueva York, Earth-928

Desperation and fear filled Felicia’s eyes as she struggled to break free, her heart pounding in her chest. The room felt claustrophobic, and she knew that her life hung in the balance, the weight of an unseen threat end her. Fear surged through her, and she fought to break free, struggling against the assailant who had intruded into her peaceful slumber. In a frantic scramble, Felicia quickly triggered her bracelet, her sleek web-shooters materializing on her wrists. With a swift and practiced motion, she fired webs toward the intruder's masked face. The sudden impact caused the assailant to stagger backward, their grip on her throat loosening.

Gasping for air and still in a state of shock, Felicia was able to scramble away from the attacker. Her heart and mind raced to assess the situation and identify the person. Amid the chaos and fear of her immediate threat, Felicia's acute senses detected the unsettling sounds of other intruders rummaging through the penthouse. As her mind raced to process this disturbing realization, she fought to push it to the back of her thoughts, determined to focus solely on the menacing figure in front of her.

"Target isn't here!" a modulated voice shouted from another room.

Miguel. Felicia thought.

The masked assailant in front of her, however, had a different plan. Ignoring the shouted commands, they swiftly produced a gun, firing a series of shots in her direction. “Too late to abort, there's a witness!”

Thanks to her heightened spider senses and agility, Felicia managed to gracefully dodge the bullets, moving with incredible speed and precision. In the blink of an eye, she used her web-shooters to disarm the assailant, rendering their firearm useless and causing them to backpedal. Despite the chaotic and perilous situation, Felicia's training and superhuman abilities gave her a distinct advantage in defending herself. As Felicia attempted to scream for LYLA, she was suddenly tackled from behind, her attacker intent on silencing her. Swiftly, Felicia adjusted the settings on her web-shooters, and in a desperate move, fired a web behind her head. The electric web surged, stunning the man behind her and providing her with a momentary reprieve.

Gasping for breath, Felicia managed to crawl away from her assailant. She finally found her voice and shouted, "LYLA!"

The AI, materializes, instantly becoming aware of the dire situation. Upon seeing the struggle that Felicia was engaged in, LYLA acted decisively, setting off the facility's alarm system, hoping to attract attention and secure assistance for Felicia's dire predicament.

Miguel's walk back to the penthouse was interrupted by the sudden activation of the alarm system. The piercing red lights began to flash, and the wailing sirens filled the air. A shiver raced down his spine as his heightened senses the danger. A surge of worry and determination coursed through him as he realized they were for Felicia. With a sense of urgency, he moved swiftly, to respond to the distress call barreling through the artiumn and hallways.

Amid the chaos and the assailants closing in on Felica, she displayed remarkable agility. Her electric webs crackled to life, immobilizing and stunning each thug who rushed her. It was an impressive display of her combat skills. However, as she grappled with one of her attackers on the loft, another managed to get the drop on her. A knife gleamed in the intruder's hand, and with a swift, malicious strike, they cut through Miguel’s sweater and into her side, causing Felicia to scream in agony, stumbling to her knees. The sudden pain left her momentarily vulnerable.

The thug behind her repositioned his knife, aiming for a deadly strike towards her heart. Before the knife could pierce her skin, a red electric web collides with the thug, wrapping around their arm and yanking them away, sending them tumbling down the stairs. Relieved by the intervention, Felicia scanned her surroundings to find Miguel, dressed in his distinctive suit, standing at the bottom of the stairs. Their eyes met before he grabbed the man at his feet and stabbed them with his claws, shredding him. The next wave of enemies swarmed out of Miguel's downstairs office, but with the rage in his veins, he swiftly dispatched them one by one.

Meanwhile, Felicia engaged in a fierce struggle with the last intruder remaining in the loft. The masked, woman's gun fired at Felicia several times but missed as electricity from the web shocked her system. Hastily, Felicia was able jump to her feet to unarm the woman, turning the weapon around to unload the last of the bullets in her chest. Exhausted and in pain, Felicia fell backward, her back pressing against the wall. Her energy was rapidly draining, and the deep slice in her side continued to bleed, staining her sweater with crimson red.

As Miguel finished with the last of the intruders, he leaps into the loft to Felicia’s body. “Mi Vida.” He whispers, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek while the other lifts the sweater to inspect the wound. “Fuck!” He shouts, as his eyes study the gash in Felicia’s side.

“It’s okay, baby.” She manages to hiss out through the pain as Miguel applies pressure to the wound. “Nothin', I can’t handle.”

Miguel gently hushed her, his concern evident in his eyes. "Shhh," he said softly. "We need to get you to the ER. Come on." Carefully, Miguel gathered Felicia into his arms and lifted her, but the pain of her injuries caused her to cry out in agony. "I know, I know," he whispered with remorse, fully aware of the distress she was in.

With a heavy heart, Miguel was determined to get her the medical attention she urgently needed, swinging and sprinting through the hallways of the Spider Society. The passing Spider-People observed the scene with a mixture of shock, confusion, and horror. The sight of their leaders in distress and the aftermath of the attack left a deep impression on their fellow members.

As Miguel rushed into the emergency room, Spider nurses and doctors immediately sprang into action. They swiftly attended to Felicia, placing her on a gurney and wheeling her through the doors, their urgency and expertise focused on providing her with the necessary medical care.

Miguel, filled with worry for Felicia's well-being, attempted to follow them into the ER, but he was intercepted by LYLA and another doctor. They insisted on letting the medical team take care of Felicia, emphasizing the importance of trusting the professionals.

"We'll alert you with any Night-Spider updates, Sir," the Spider-Doctor assured him as LYLA's facial expressions pleaded for him to not create a scene.

Reluctantly, not wanting to expose his true emotions to his team, Miguel silently turned around and walked out of the emergency room. Under his mask, his teeth gritted together, his fangs puncturing his lips as he battled with the anxiety and frustration of the situation.

LYLA had locked Miguel away in his office to allow him to have his tantrum in private. It was a period of intense emotional turmoil for Miguel, who was grappling with the attack. He didn't want the other Spider-People to read into his emotions, for the Night-Spider, and this time alone was essential for him to process everything that had happened.

Meanwhile, LYLA teamed up with Jessica Drew, Web-Slinger, and other veteran Spider-People to investigate the attack on the penthouse. They meticulously scanned the crime scene and unmasked the deceased intruders, trying to gather as much information as possible to understand the motives and origins of the attackers. All information gathered was sent to Miguel’s comupters for him to decipher in solitude.

Inside his office, Miguel was in the midst of a chaotic puzzle, trying to piece together the fragments of information. His usually composed demeanor had given way to frustration and confusion as he analyzed the data surrounding him. The various screens full of evidence, and images he had been studying for the past two hours crowded his mind, threatening to push him over the edge. He ran his claws through his hair, feeling as if he were about to lose his composure.

Just as the stress and anxiety seemed too much to bear, LYLA intervened with her characteristic efficiency. Her AI cough cut through the tension, prompting Miguel to turn and face her floating form. Her holographic presence was a calming sight amid the turmoil.

"The doctors are allowing visitors now," LYLA informed Miguel, her voice offering a sense of order and hope in the disarray.

Miguel wasted no time, his determination overriding his earlier frustration. He dashed through LYLA's transparent image, swung through the bustling lobby, and sprinted hospital doors with a singular focus. His heart raced with a mix of worry and urgency as he rushed through the entrance of the ER.

The hospital corridor buzzed with activity as medical staff hurried to attend to their patients. The nurse at the desk offered a friendly greeting to her boss, albeit with a noticeable jump in her demeanor when she realized who stood before her.

"Oh, good morning, Sir!" The nurse stammered, taken aback by Miguel's imposing presence. She quickly composed herself, a touch of nervousness still lingering in her voice. "What can I do for you today?"

Miguel's focus was unwavering as he leaned closer. "Where's Night-Spider?" His deep voice rumbled through the hospital's commotion, demanding an immediate answer.

In response, the nurse turned her attention to the chart hanging on the wall behind her, searching for the alias that matched the room number she needed. She hurriedly scanned the list of patients, her fingers moving with urgency as she found the information she sought. “Room D23-” However, before she could lift her gaze from the chart, Miguel was already making his way down the bustling hallway. His determination was palpable as he took long strides, leaving the nurse.

The sliding doors to Felicia's hospital room parted with a soft hiss, allowing Miguel to finally lay eyes on Felicia. The relief that washed over him was almost overwhelming, realizing that she was safe and sound in her hospital bed.

Quietly, Miguel tiptoed closer to Felicia's sleeping form, his footsteps light as if he feared disturbing her. He moved an armchair from the corner of the room, positioning it next to her bedside. Sitting down, he was now level with her, allowing him to be closer to her. Gently, he placed his hand on her cheek, his touch soft and tender as he caressed her skin. It was a reassuring gesture, a reminder to himself that she was okay. The warmth of her skin beneath his touch provided him with a sense of comfort, despite the tubes and medical devices scattered around her body.

After a few minutes, Felicia’s eyes slowly blink open. "Mí corazon," Miguel sighed with heartfelt emotions as he looked into her eyes. He couldn't hide the guilt that weighed on him. "I'm so sorry."

Felicia shook her head gently as she met Miguel's gaze, their hands now intwined as she reached for his free one. "It's not your fault, Mig," she reassured him.

"How's your-" Miguel began, concern etched on his face, but Felicia cut him off.

"I'll have a tiny scar by next week," she assured him with her signature smirk. "Cats have nine lives, you know." Her playfulness and confidence lifted Miguel's spirits.

Miguel reached out to brush a stray silver hair out of Felicia's face, his fingers gentle against her skin. Unable to resist, he leaned in to kiss her. The kiss was passionate, filled with the worry that had been haunting Miguel, and the immense relief that flooded over him as Felicia reassured him that she was alive.

He slowly backed away, gazing into her sparkling eyes. The two stayed like this for a while, basking in each other’s presence, grateful for the other to be okay.

Miguel cleared his throat, breaking the silence of their momentary peace. "I know you probably don't want to talk about it right now," he began, his voice carrying a note of caution.

"They were hunting you," Felicia cut him off abruptly, her eyes filled with urgency.

Miguel's brows furrowed in confusion as he processed her words. "What?" he asked, his tone marked by surprise.

"While they attacked me," Felicia continued, her voice trembling with the memory, "they said 'Target isn't here' and that they had to kill me because I was a witness."

Miguel's brow furrowed deeper as his previous theories unraveled before him. "They were from Earth-1048, the Maggia," he recalled, "the mafia family we stole the mask from. Why would they just want me?"

Felicia added another layer to the mystery, her voice laced with concern. "And why would so many of them jump all the way here to kill you instead of going for the Vault?"

The questions hang in the air, shrouding the room in uncertainty and tension as they grappled with the enigma surrounding the attack. Felicia squeezed Miguel’s hand, pulling him out of his thought before he could be consumed.

"Someone here wants you dead," Felicia stated, her voice edged with concern. "Are there any Spider-People you've pissed off?"

Miguel rolled his eyes. "I piss people off every day, Hermosa, you know that," he replied.

Her eyes locked onto Miguel's. "Well, this is 100% an inside job."

Miguel sighed, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the situation. "We can't stay here. If they're going to hunt me down, we've got to run."

Felicia tilted her head to the side, considering the options. "Where?"

Timidly, Miguel proposed, "Maybe... we can hide on your Earth, at your place."

A sly grin formed on Felicia's lips. "You asking to move in with me, Spider? That’s a pretty big step." She teases.

Miguel huffed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Just temporarily."

"Alright, then," Felicia said, her voice laced with determination. "You better go pack your stuff and let LYLA know."

Miguel nodded, his gaze locked onto Felicia as he stood from his chair. He leaned down to press a soft but meaningful kiss to her lips. "As soon as I've got everything, I'll come get you, okay?"

Felicia nodded in agreement. She tugged at Miguel's hand, urging him to kiss her again, her desire and urgency manifesting in the passionate and desperate nature of their second kiss. Their lips met with an intensity born of the perilous situation, conveying their feelings and the need to keep each other safe.

After a few kisses that left both of them breathless, Miguel reluctantly pulled away. He gave Felicia a final longing look before he left the room to start packing his things.

As soon as Miguel departed, the nurses returned to check on Felicia. They were efficient in their duties, changing her bandages with gentle care and monitoring her vitals. A subtle knock at the door broke through the sounds of rthimic beeping and nurses conversing.

"Come on!" Felicia shouted with a bright smile. The doors to her hospital room slid open, and she couldn't help but grin as she saw Web-Slinger's familiar figure. "Hey there, cowboy."

Web-Slinger removes his hat with his free hand holding it to his chest in respect. His other hand held a bouquet of flowers and placed them on the bedside table. "Hey, darlin'," he replied, his voice filled with warmth. "How are you feeling?"

The nurses finished their tasks and quietly shuffled out of the room, leaving the two of them in a private moment. Felicia shrugged, her eyes never leaving Patrick as she watched him take a seat in the armchair beside her. "Could be better."

Patrick's gloved hand lowered his mask, revealing his expressive eyes that met Felicia's gaze. "How could something so awful happen to such a beautiful thing?" His words were filled with tenderness.

Felicia smirks, “[inset flirty comeback]

"I've been so worried about you," Patrick admitted timidly, his eyes betraying the traces of anxiety and concern that had weighed on him during Felicia's battle. He offered her a genuine, heartfelt reassurance. "Those assholes will be brought to justice, I promise."

Felicia responded with a soft, appreciative smile as she placed her hand atop Patrick's, grateful for his concern. "Thanks, cowboy," she murmured, her voice laced with warmth.

Curiosity soon got the best of Patrick, and he couldn't help but ask the question that had been lingering in his mind. "What were you doin' in O'Hara's penthouse, anyhow?"

Felicia's expression shifted, her previous ease giving way to a subtle discomfort as she wrestled with her response. "Oh, well," she began, searching for an answer that wouldn't expose her true intentions. "I just wanted to ask his permission for an upgrade in my suit and about a mission. Him being the boss and all," she chuckled, offering her explanation with a touch of humor.

Patrick, however, didn't seem fully convinced, his brow furrowing as he pressed further. "Why didn't you just ask LYLA?"

Felicia's mind raced, trying to maintain the facade of her story. "We'd just returned from a mission, and I figured it was a good time to catch him," she explained, attempting to justify her actions. Yet, even as she spoke, she could sense that Patrick's doubts remained, casting a subtle shadow over the situation. Although, before he could ask another question, he was cut off.

“What’s going on here?” Miguel's commanding presence filled the room as he strode in through the doorway, a potent mixture of concern and authority radiating from him. It was clear that he was in his element, firmly in control of the situation.

Patrick, caught off guard by Miguel's arrival, swiftly pulled his mask over his face and adjusted his hat back onto his head. While doing so, he yanked his hand away from Felicia’s and stood from the chair, his demeanor switching to one of respect, and acknowledged Miguel with a nod. "Sir," he greeted with a level of deference. "Was just checking in on the miss, that's all," he explained, gesturing towards Felicia.

Miguel's gaze sharpened as he responded, his tone carrying an unmistakable note of skepticism. "Uh-huh, and when's the last time you checked in with LYLA about the investigation? Now that I think about it, you should be with her and Jess right now." The words hung in the air, their implications evident. Patrick seemed poised to offer a rebuttal but was interrupted by Miguel's stern assertion. "Don't tell me I have to repeat myself, slinger."

“My apologies, Sir, I wanted to check on Night-Spider. I’ll take my leave now.” With a final nod to Felicia, he made a hasty exit from the hospital room. Once he was out of sight, Miguel set down their bags at the foot of the bed, his attention returning to Felicia.

As Miguel looked at her, he found her expression a mixture of emotions. Her gaze seemed to silently communicate the words "Really, Miguel?" to him, her eyes conveying her disapproval at his handling of the situation.

“What?” Miguel said in a nonchalant demeanor.

Her eyes sparkled with amusement “Was it really necessary to scare him off like that, Migs?”

His smug grin widened as he sidled over to sit on the edge of her bed, “Like what?” He plays dumb.

“Oh geez I don’t know, like scaring the shit out of him maybe?” Felicia asks sarcastically, giving him a playful glare.

“Ohhh you mean just now? Ya I did do that.” Miguel playfully teased her by leaning in close. Hovering his lips provocatively above hers, he whispered huskily, "But I thought you liked it when I'm all... oh, what did you call it? Dominant." He punctuated his words with a tantalizing kiss on the corner of her mouth before drawing back slightly. Miguel couldn't help but notice the shift in Felicia's expression, from a playful scold to a bashful smile.

“So what’d you bring me lover? Why do I get a bag?” She nods her head toward the end of the bed, where the filled leather bags rest on the ottoman, changing the subject.

“I brought you a change of clothes. As much as I adore staring at your ass I’m not really a fan of everyone else having the same luxury.” He nods to the hospital gown that Felicia’s currently wearing. He quickly adds with a cheeky smile, “Not to mention the easy access.” And winks as he pulls a bundle of clothes out for her to chang into, placing a pile of clothes on the sheets between them.

Felicia’s brows lift up in surprise before softly giggling at his remark. “Then I guess I better start changing before my horny boyfriend decides to take me on the hospital floor.” Felicia smile fades, clutching onto her change of clothes, not realizing she had just verbally labeled Miguel as her boyfriend for the first time.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Miguel smirks, reaching up to tuck a fly-away strand of hair from Felicia’s face behind her ear, before resting his hand on her cheek. “Sounds so juvenile… girlfriend.” He winks at her, rubbing her bottom lip with his thumb.

The thrill of Miguel's words, calling her his girlfriend, sent a surge of giddiness through Felicia's heart. It was a feeling reminiscent of young teenage love, and in that moment, she couldn't help but heat creep onto her cheeks and feel a flutter of excitement in her chest.

“Come on, lets get you changed.” Miguel insists, unfolding her clothes.

Miguel's gentle touch and careful hands eased Felicia's discomfort as he helped her change out of the hospital gown. With meticulous care, he slid the clothes onto her injured body, making sure not to disturb the bandages or cause her any unnecessary pain. The two shared a quiet, intimate moment as she watches him change her with such care and adoration.

With Miguel's support, Felicia stood from the hospital bed, and he assured her that they had all the necessary supplies to take care of her at home. As they prepared to leave, Miguel triggered the portal, creating the hexagonal rings that would transport them back to her Earth. With Felicia in his arm, Miguel confidently stepped into the portal.

Chapter 13

Taglist: @leahnicole1219 @oscarissac2099 @www-interludeshadow-com

#jedi jesi #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x reader #stclairesplace #miguel ohara x female reader #miguel x reader #felicia hardy #miguel o’hara x felicia hardy #miguel o’hara x felicia hardy reader #spider-man x black cat #spider man x reader #miguel o’hara smut #spider man 2099 x reader #spider man x felicia hardy #miguel ohara smut #spider man 2099 #spider-man x reader

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theworldbrewery · 4 days

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50 Items of Sci-Fi Dungeon Dressing

For filling up a derelict spaceship or magi-tech ruins, this list of science-fiction themed dungeon dressing provides useful items galore. These items can be simple set dressing, plot objectives, or provide environmental storytelling. You decide the condition of the items and if any are still usable.

Short range wrist comms - 60ft

Laser pointer

Air compressor

Emergency beacon x10

Water purification kit

Truth serum

Sedative

Tranquilizer serum

Painkillers

Syringes

Wound sealant

Medscanner (checks vitals)

Hoverboard

Personal datalog

A buggy universal translator

ID cards

Roomba with a knife taped to it

Geiger counter

Heat-vision goggles

Reflective tarp (for camping)

Oxygen tank with mask (1 hr)

Arc welder (1 hr)

Fingerprint lock

Antigrav boots (3/day)

Silencer

Solar cell

Respirator

Lightsticks (waterproof) x10

Gas mask x10

Coldpack

Heatpack

Holopad

Prosthetic exoskeleton

Bionic eye

Star charts

Electric drill (10 charges)

Stopwatch

Ammunition bandolier

Metal manacles

Retina scanner

Smoke alarm

Portable quarantine kit

Laptop computer

Radar scanner (3 charges)

Vocal modulator

Electrical charger

Data drive

Propane tank (10d6 fire damage when set aflame)

Freeze-dry SnackPack TM (20)

Bio-sequencer (for disease ID)

#d&d #rpgs #dungeons and dragons #sci fi #ttrpgs

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mooonjin · 11 months

Note

Imma rant rant a sec. I never seen a Clone fic (or fic in general for that matter) where the reader is masculine but not a dude, and I even experience body and gender dysphoria sometimes bc of it (especiallywhen the reader is thin with long hair).

So if you don't mind helping a sad she/they masculine nb person out, could you right a Hunter or Tech x Masc!Reader fix where they save their man and he falls even more in love with them

Falling For You

Notes: hi anon!! first of all terribly sorry you had to wait for sososo long and second of all i hope this is kind of what you had in mind? thought captive x rescuer or whatever suited it and ALSO hope i did the masc thing okay !!

Pairing: Hunter x masc!f!reader

Summary: During a mission for Cid's client, the Batch is separated from their Sergeant and with quick thinking, you were bound to get him back. That was the seed for a new relationship.

Warnings/Tags: imperials, no y/n mentions, only one mention of your pronouns (i think) ⁠— tell me if I've missed anything!

Hunter had found himself separated from the Batch during a dangerous mission on a remote Imperial outpost. Another one of Cid's crazy clients that needed the groups help. Unfortunately, the "remote" outpost was, in fact, not remote as Cid specified. This resulted in Hunter's separation, pretty much fending for himself whilst the group trudged to the Marauder for a swift and hopefully safe pickup.

As he navigated the dingy corridors, there were several blaster fire echoing in the halls only a few blocks down the outpost. He was being hunted and being hunted fast. Every corner he turned, his head pounded, his sense constantly filled with energy that didn't seem to stop waning.

His instincts were sharp but there was an often thought that the odds were stacked against him.

"Keep low, these damned troops are always on our tails." Echo said sternly as the group, minus Hunter, ran down the dim corridors to find the Marauder.

"I am having difficulty tracking the Marauder with the rising energy from this outpost. Whatever Cid's client needed is certainly out of our reach."

Great, another problem. As you were running, you couldn't stop thinking if Hunter was alright. Obviously the Sergeant is capable of handling himself but his recent capture on Mt Tantiss didn't help these thoughts disappear. You had to swallow any response to do something foolish in order to go help Hunter.

The sounds of alarm echoed throughout the outpost as Imperials gave chase, their footsteps pounding against the creaky, metal floors. Hunter was panting but keeping pace as blaster bolts whizzed past him. His enhanced senses allowed him to anticipate the movements of the pursuing stormtroopers, narrowly avoiding their shots and grenades.

He was also worrying about you and his brothers.

As you and the Batchers ran through the corridors of the outpost, you were nearing an eventual 100m vicinity to the Marauder. Worry settled like a heavy stone in your mind. You gave the group a proposition.

"I'll go get Hunter, we'll regroup on my comm signal." You said hastily, quickly dashing around a corner before anybody could protest.

"D'she really just leave?" Wrecker's confused voice spoke up.

Hunter found himself in another tight spot. Literally. With broken hallway doors, Hunter's way out grew thin. The constant noises of blaster fire continued to echo as Hunter maneuvered through the corridors and away from the Imperials, to no avail.

Ultimately, he was cornered, the heavy footsteps of Imps surrounding him. Hunter attempted to calculate his next motive, the chance of being gunned down increased as more and more Imperials gathered like vultures.

Many troopers ordered him to unarm himself, the growly, modulated voices ringing through the halls. He tightened his grip around his blaster before eventually dropping the gun to the floor, kicking it over with both hands in the air.

The troopers tightened their encirclement around Hunter, grabbing both his wrists to cuff them. As they were about to move out, a sudden commotion echoed through the corridor.

Then out came two rolling smoke bombs.

The canisters gave a quick hiss, spinning in circles as the air immediately filled with dense clouds of obscuring smoke. Three troopers guarded Hunter as blaster fire had erupted almost a second after, in an attempt to shoot down the sudden presence.

You.

You swiftly rolled into the clouds of smoke, pulling out your DC to gun down the three troopers surrounding Hunter. One of the Imps put up a fight but with a quick kick to the stomach and a trip to their ankle, they fell to the ground, a blaster hole sizzling on their back.

Hunter watched your agile figure take down the troops, caught in a trance.

"It's good to see you." You unfastened the cuffs, in hopes not to waste time before the clouds began to dissipate. Multiple voices faded in and out, orders being thrown all over the place all because of your successful chaotic rescue.

Hunter was in hypnotised as you unfastened his cuffs. He looked at you through his drooping curls, admiring your facial features. The way you carried yourself with a quiet confidence, your every action purposeful and precise, left him in awe.

"Where are the others?" He rubbed his wrists before grabbing his DC off the ground to start shooting. The smoke clouds eventually disappeared, everybody being able to see everything as clear as day once again.

You grunted, taking down a troop, "Heading to the Marauder, we're regrouping on my comm signal."

Hunter gave a small smile amidst of the dangerous action, grinning at your consideration to come and rescue him. He was captivated by your aid and your selflessness. A tender affection blossoming, even in the middle of such a situation.

The two of you began your run to the extraction point as you leaped over fallen debris and ducked under busted pipes. You sprinted, briefly turning your head back to shoot at the tailing Imperials who were determined to capture you both.

"Coming up on the extraction point, Tech!" You commed.

The corridor behind you was filled with white crusted Imperial armour of troopers, swarming the trail like hungry ants. Blue blaster fire flying past your heads, one actually hitting your shoulder.

"Agh!" With a grunt, your armour hissed at the burning shot. Hunter was quick to use himself as a meat shield from any other oncoming blaster fire that could affect you. He knew you could push through, he knew how strong you were and right now was not the time to stop and rest.

"You're okay, keep going." You could hear his deep, modulated voice behind you, causing you to form a small grin despite the pain.

The distant sound of engines grew louder as the both of you finally came up to the landing pads.

With Hunter still running behind you, you grabbed his gloved hand, almost dragging him towards the Marauder. An evident blush on Hunter's face, although being hidden under his helmet. In the howling moments of escape, the two of you ran hand in hand towards the shuttle.

The stairs lowered, Crosshair standing with his rifle aimed at the Imperials trailing the two of you. He was your cover as the two of you boarded the Marauder.

The shuttle was quick to leave the outpost, immediately entering hyperspace. You panted, blushing as you looked down to find your hand clasped in Hunter's. Embarrassed, you gently retracted your hand, taking your helmet off.

You hissed, sitting down as Tech came over to inspect the blaster shot. Hunter took off his helmet, giving you a kind smile and a small nod of affection. He stole glances at your strong figure, still admiring your act of saving him from the wave of Imperials.

His heart became entangled in a web of admiration as you were being patched up. He'd like to think you took the shot for him, boosting the thought of unexpected love.

Post-Notes: currently constructing my masterlist and getting through all my requests!!

~ ~ ~

@elsastoes @nekotaetae @lokigirlszendaya @imalovernotahater @backyard-bear @namesmox @jiabeewrites

my taglist form!

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #hunter the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #hunter x reader #hunter #tbb hunter #clone trooper x reader #mooonjin #YAYa LOOVE HUNTER HE FALIN #ok enjoy eheh!!!!

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aillian · 9 months

Text

These are my must-have mods and custom content. Please go support and show these wonderful creators love! If there's something you'd like to know that's not listed here, please don't hesitate to ask!

DEFAULTS! —

skin + infants / eyes (pets + animals) / newborns (bassinet + bottle) / smaller plumbob

GENETICS + COSMETICS! —

skin tones / skin details (1, 2, 3) / teeth / blush / lip overlay / dramatic shadow

CREATE A SIM! —

cas background (changes frequently) / cas lighting (v2_Rim) / stand still in cas / more columns (4) / tidy cas (camUI_v1)

GAMEPLAY MODS! —

mc command center / ui cheats / littlemssam mods (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7) / simulation lag fix / relationship & pregnancy overhaul (modules 5, 14) / science baby tweak / dwdwyap / slower infant needs / bed cuddle / control any sim

ENVIRONMENT! —

sunblind lighting overhaul / no blu (darker) + no glo / cloud replacement / snowflake retexture / cubemap remover / map replacements

MISC. DEFAULTS + OVERRIDES! —

food retexture / phone override / animation overrides / dudley's default replacements / no effects (1, 2) / infant bath seat (light blue) / remote / game controller / fire alarm / grim reaper

MY STUFF! —

rosemary - reshade (should work with gshade too!)

#aillian.resources #resources

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combatdrillcucknomancer55 · 5 months

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Just me writing my Lancer characters last moments

He was a bioengineered clone with a 10 year lifespan. He's 5.

I am on fire. Molten slag sloughs off my mechs frame. I called it Day Of The Dead because it was the name of my favourite holiday. A festival to celebrate the return of those long past, not as poltergeists or hauntings or terrible things with a grudge, but family, friends. So long as memory would hold the idea that I would be able to come back and drink and sing and dance... And now it seems I am the one returning to them. The alarms roar through the speakers, warning lights flash through the melted displays as sweat builds between the rubber seals of me and the interface. Through heat-warped technicolor vision, Heavens Fall delivers a final devastating blow to my mech.

Total Structural Failure, my HuD reads, Core Criticality Security Procedures commencing.

Heavens Fall is bad, close to me in fucked up beyond repair but not quite there. I turn to Wasp, a cloud of drones breaking apart like clouds on a hot day. He'll be next. Monarch fires rockets from the river bank, she'll be right, she always is. But here and now as I sit bathed in a casket of fire, this is a choice only I can make. I will free Mary Hill. I rip out the safety module, sparks racing over my fist.

Core Reactor Critical Failure Imminent.

I turn on my comms to my fellow pilots, do they even know I think of them as family? It's a little too late for heartfelt confessions. "I'm not making it out of this guys. I can't control what you'll do or even if it's possible. But give her a chance, give her a choice, give her kindness."

My comms crackle to life, their voices lost in the static. I think Wasp is shouting my name... The counter ticks down, red pouring out from the bar like blood draining from a corpse.

I don't hear, or feel, or even see how I end. I simply cease. My whole vat-grown self, the cells and atoms and particles assembled together by algothrims and viral nanomachines, returned to white noise.

All I think of, before the wet electric chemistry in my brain gets atomised, is that night with Sarah. The night before everything went so wrong. Where she showed me the stars and I told her that under the choked skies Io, that gas giant with methane seas we found constellations in each other. I see those same stars in her eyes, I think she punches me when I see her again.

I-

#lancer rpg #character death #anordinaeryguy #myglorboblewthefuckup #totally100%emotionallystable #lancer ttrpg #ihateitwhenyouhavetodietogetyourpointacross #imissmysupercommunisthorsegirlexgf

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justforbooks · 7 months

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On Christmas Eve 1968, as commander of Apollo 8 – the first manned lunar orbital mission – Frank Borman, who has died aged 95, came out with words that, alongside Neil Armstrong’s “giant leap for mankind”, from Apollo 11 in 1969, and Jack Swigert and Jim Lovell’s “OK, Houston, we’ve had a problem”, from Apollo 13 in 1970, defined an era.

In that moment before the moon programme became mundane, when astronauts were prime time, Apollo 8’s broadcast ended with the crew – Bill Anders, Lovell and Borman – reading the story of Earth’s creation as written in the book of Genesis.

It was Borman’s conclusion, “Good night, good luck, a merry Christmas and God bless all of you, all of you on the good Earth”, that clinched it. For Gene Kranz, Nasa’s chief of flight control operations in Houston, the phrase was “literally magic. It made you prickly. You could feel the hair on your arms rising, and the emotion was just unbelievable.”

Thus, for some, the traumatic 1968 of the ongoing Vietnam war, the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy, and the crushing of Czechoslovakia, had been transcended. From a distance – around 238,855 miles – it was still, apparently, the good Earth.

Around two years earlier, Nasa had been in crisis. On 27 January 1967, Gus Grissom, Ed White and Roger Chaffee had been incinerated on Apollo 1 during a test launch. Borman was appointed to the Nasa board which, that April, reported on the fire, slamming Nasa management and North American Aviation for its “ignorance, sloth and carelessness”.

Borman was then sent to North American’s plant in Downey, California – where drunkenness had been rife – to scrutinise command module redesign. “Borman set them straight,” wrote the second man on the moon, Buzz Aldrin, in Men from Earth (1989). “His shoot-from-the-hip management style – some called it bullying – worked.”

The Mercury programme had put astronauts in space. Gemini – to which Borman had been recruited in 1962 – had honed the business of Apollo: to fulfil President John F Kennedy’s goal of a manned moon landing by the end of the decade. In December 1965, Borman and Lovell had made their space debut with a record 14 days of orbit on Gemini 7, and also made a rendezvous with Gemini 6.

In the wake of the 1967 tragedy there were three unmanned Apollo launches, with mixed results. But in September 1968 the unmanned Soviet Zond 5’s orbit of the moon triggered alarm in the US. The Soviets had launched Sputnik, and the space age, in 1957. The first man in space, Yuri Gagarin, had orbited Earth in April 1961. That, along with the furore around the Bay of Pigs fiasco, had helped propel JFK into making his rash pledge in May 1961.

Seven years on, in autumn 1968, Nasa and the CIA were asking whether history was going to repeat itself. Would a Russian be first around the moon? That October, the Apollo 7 astronauts, Wally Schirra, Walter Cunningham and Donn Eisele, spent a successful, albeit cold-ridden and fractious, 10 days in orbit around the Earth. There were rows with ground control. None of those three would get another mission.

Nasa needed a breakthrough. Rather than the next planned Earth orbit, Apollo 8 was to be sent to the moon and, after the astronaut Jim McDivitt turned down the offer, Borman got the job. On 21 December, following a morale-boosting visit from the aviator Charles Lindbergh, Borman, Lovell and Anders blasted off.

Borman’s greatest fear, wrote Andrew Chaikin in A Man on the Moon (1994), was that the moon mission would be aborted and Apollo 8 would be confined to orbiting the Earth. It did not happen, but en route Borman was afflicted by vomiting and diarrhoea, the detrital consequences of which floated on, to be trapped by paper towels. The three men orbited the moon 10 times in 20 hours, descended to 69 miles above the rock’s surface, and were the first to witness the far side of what Borman called “a great expanse of nothing”.

It was on the fourth orbit that Borman spotted the Earth rising from behind the moon – an image that Anders captured on colour film and became known as Earthrise. “Oh my God! Look at the picture over there. Here’s the Earth coming up,” Borman is recorded shouting in a transcript.

Born in Gary, Indiana, Frank was the son of Edwin Borman, who ran an Oldsmobile dealership, and Marjorie (nee Pearce). The family moved to Tucson, Arizona, where his mother opened a boarding house, and Frank went to the local high school. He first flew as a teenager, in 1943. Seven years later he graduated from West Point Military Academy in New York state.

From 1950 Borman flew F-84 fighter-bombers with the US Air Force. A perforated ear drum denied him Korean war combat experience. In 1957 he gained a master’s in aeronautical engineering from the California Institute of Technology and became an assistant professor of thermodynamics and fluid mechanics at West Point.

Three years later he graduated from the Aerospace Research Pilot School at Edwards air force base in California. There, his aircraft included the controversial Mach 2 Lockheed F-104 Starfighter. It was in 1962 that, alongside Armstrong, Lovell and others, he became one of Nasa’s Gemini programme “New Nine”. Apollo 8 proved what had been evident to insiders for many years: that the US had won the space race. Borman, Anders and Lovell became Time magazine’s 1968 men of the year.

Having achieved the rank of colonel in the mid-1960s, Borman retired from the USAF and space flight and, after a sojourn at Harvard Business School, joined Eastern Air Lines. By 1975 he was Eastern’s CEO and a year later became chairman. But by the late 70s competition was intensifying, labour relations were deteriorating and Borman – never a diplomat – was in the firing line. He quit the company in 1986 when it was taken over by a corporate raider, and Eastern collapsed five years later.

He and his wife, Susan (nee Bugbee), whom he had married in 1950, moved to New Mexico, where he remained involved in business interests. They later settled in Billings, Montana, where he had a cattle ranch and rebuilt vintage aircraft. A supporter of Richard Nixon and both George Bushes, Borman was a man of brisk views. Among the many targets of his ire were the sound barrier-breaking pilot Chuck Yeager, the Democratic party presidential candidate Michael Dukakis and the scientist Carl Sagan.

He received many honours, including the Congressional Space Medal of Honor in 1978, and published his autobiography, Countdown, in 1988.

Susan died in 2021. His sons, Frederick and Edwin, four grandchildren and six great-grandchildren survive him.

🔔 Frank Frederick Borman II, astronaut, born 14 March 1928; died 7 November 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Frank Borman #in memoriam

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witchofthesouls · 1 year

Text

This was a weird crossover thought, but hey, it’s a rare pair:

Grandmama Frump has no idea how, what, when, and where the ancient grimoire had dumped her, nor the spellwork that pushed her into a metal body, but the entrails did say she will be on quite a transformative journey. Meets up with the DJD by intercepting on their List. Not her fault if the mechs were stupid enough to bother her and joins them after admiring their skills. Grandmama Frump and Vos would get along like fire on a gasoline-soaked body.

She can fully appreciate a being that can fully transform into a sniper rifle. Granny Frump prefers to go down and bloody close to the target, so she tries to convince him to get a bayonet attachment.

Nothing says romance than a personal stab, together.

Just as nothing says “I love you” so much to an Addams than causing chaos, mayhem, and murder with a partner, especially if they could literally use their partner. How intimate…

Vos and Grandmama would croon sweet nothings full of murderous intentions to each other. Unfortunately, they do all the time, especially during meals.

No one understands what the hell they’re saying since they’re speaking in the respective dead language of Primal Vernacular and Ancient French. Except for Tarn… and he’s dying from the horniness.

The leader of the DJD feels beyond uncomfortable, but Tarn can’t turn away when Granny climbs into Vos’ lap, face to face as she steadies herself with his shoulders. The romantic locked deep in his untouched spark practically swoons as Granny tenderly cradles Vos’ mask and simultaneously recoils from what Vos purrs back.

There are some things a mech is not meant to know. Please stop playing with the ruffles and seams of her armor.

Actually, everyone is dying from the horniness. They may not understand, but even the blind mech could feel that raw tension.

There’s many strange sounds in Vos' habsuite. It’s screaming. A lot of screaming. Not of terror. Sometimes agony, but it’s mixed with pleasure. With laughter. High and demented that leaves scratches over a brain module, like rusted nails shoved deep into a helm.

Once it stops, the door opens to dreamy Frump swaying to invisible music as she heads to the shower rack.

The way she moves is reminiscent to the artistic bodily freedom of the Golden Age music underground and the famed courtesans of the High Towers and Primal Palace: strangely sensual and oddly provocative in its fluid grace of free-form steps and twirls. The armor she uses doesn’t help, it sways to her movement.

Vos, in berth and completely enraptured, watches on, smoking a cygar.

Tarn and Kaon gives him hell for it since the ship has designated smoking areas and the communication officer hates the smell leaking to his hab.

Grandmama had commandeered the kitchen and refuses to let anyone else into it. Not even if it causes the fire alarms and toxicity sensors to blare. She has it well in hand, sonny! There are at least three cauldrons always on the flames from a sweet simmer to furiously frothing to the point the lid will become a deadly projectile. The smell can be absolutely delightful or completely atrocious -far, far worse than Tesarus not properly deep-cleaning his most inward blades.

Tarn has no idea if Granny Frump is trying to kill them by an obvious poisoning attempt since whatever she heaved over to the shared table is... ghastly vibrant with a sludge-like consistency. And possibly in its dying throes as she smacks the cauldron insides with a spiked ladle. And he’s absolutely not imagining that muted shriek-

Between Nickel’s medical programs, Tesarus’ ununtrium-coated tank, and Helex’s ability to heat his own internals to a deadly scorch to kill everything, they can take on whatever malice she wields.

Luckily, there’s the usual Energon dispenser in the mess hall, but Tarn can only watch in mute horror as everyone else eats it, even the Pet enjoys it.

Helex and Tesarus wolf down over half the cauldron with large doses of aluminum flakes and cobalt swirls. Kaon eventually switches to the dispenser, but only because the smell overrides the lovely taste. Vos eats his extra blended portion with a straw. Even Nickel is in on it: sipping on her bowl with a side of boron biscuits.

He is not the weird one. He is not-

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jpitha · 1 year

Text

Time to Go

Back when the Human and K’laxi first met, the first K’laxi ship that the humans met was the Unimminen, a research ship, on the run from a Xenni destroyer group, and was rescued by the human scout ship Longview. While fleeing the destroyer group, the humans outfitted the K’laxi ship with their wormhole generator and enough batteries to run it once. As they were doing final checks, they fell under attack:

The noise of the alarms was all around N'ren and it hurt her ears. It bothered the humans too, but it seemed to energize them. They all got more focused, more serious and moved faster.

A human was shouting at her in that staccato language they had, full of fricatives and harsh consonants. Their ship AI, back on board the Unimminen had opened communications with the Longview's AI, and Unimminen sent along updates to their translator modules real-time to help understand the human's speech, but it was still more of a sanitized and generalized version of what they actually said. It still go the point across. It was time to go. Now.

"But, the checks aren't finished!" N'ren said, worried.

*static* "No. No time. Go Now. Your ship talk to our ship. They figure it out." *static* The human was hurriedly putting on an armored pressure suit while talking to N'ren.

"Human Francine is right N'ren." Unimminen said through his radio. The Longview and I have worked out the details and I know how to work the wormhole generator. They have given us enough batteries to run it once, and we should be able to "link" back to K'lax direct! I can't believe I'm talking to an AI from a sapient group that has never made contact! This is so fascinating!"

While N'ren put on her pressure suit - unfortunately not armored like the humans' - she wondered why the Unimminen was sounding so excited. They had never exhibited this kind of behavior before. It was more like she was talking with a person than a ship.

As N'ren tightened the last ring on her gloves, she felt, rather than heard the strikes. Huge booming thumps along the bottom of the human ship and suddenly her suit shrieked that the pressure was dropping rapidly. The Xenni scored a hit nearby!

Her large inner ears coupled with her prehensile tail gave her a better sense of balance than the humans and she was able to feel the Longview start to rotate along it's axis.

"What's going on?" she said over her suit radio in the general channel.

"Longview is rolling to keep your ship out of the firing line." Francine said "Longview big, old ship, she can take it" she said, and grinned through her helmet. She put her hand on N'ren's shoulder and pushed. "Go. Now. To ship." There was another explosion, this one larger. "RUN"

****

As N'ren ran down the halls of the Longview, Unimminen reminded her to run on the right side of the hall as humans - all in pressure suits - ran with purpose around her. Some were carrying weapons and others were carrying firefighting equipment. "Why the weapons?" N'ren said to her ship.

"They're preparing to be boarded." Unimminen said.

"WHAT? The Xenni don't do that!"

"The Humans do, apparently."

N'ren made it to the umbilical that connected the two ships. As she entered the docking room a guard shouted "CAPTAIN ON DECK!" At that command, all of the humans in the room abruptly stopped what they were doing, and standing straight and tall, saluted her.

Taken aback at this show of respect from other sapients, N'ren didn't know what to do. Unimminen said in her ear "Longview says you're supposed to say 'as you were.'" And to her credit, N'ren gave it her very best, pronouncing the human words as best as she could. The ritual satisfied, the humans continued their work.

A human engineer came up to her and said "Captain, your ship is ready. Our ship taught your ship how to work the wormhole generator and we're ready to set you off and escape. We're going to push you with the docking arms, so don't wait to fire your main drive. We'll be fine." He grinned and stepped back.

"But, what about you? What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Oh, Longview is very old. She was a Starjumper before we developed wormhole generators. We're more engine that ship. We'll turn our Stardrive on them as they come around. No worries!"

"No, I meant your wormhole generator. Aren't we taking it?"

Impossibly, the engineer grinned harder. "Oh, no we bottled a message and used the generator to link a beacon back to human space. Someone will come and bring us a new generator in a week or two. We'll be fine."

More explosions wracked the ship. The engineer looked serious. "Go, now. We'll be fine, but if you hold up much longer there won't be any ship left! I'm glad we met. Go home and tell your people."

****

Back on the command deck of the Longview, the ship was relaying information to Captain Melody.

"Captain, the Unimminen has been pushed away, they're boosting from us at their full speed. A small group of Xenni ships has peeled off and giving chase."

At that, there was a blinding flash, and the ship was gone.

"Ahh, looks like Unimminen figured out the wormhole generator." Captain Melody said. "Excellent. Longview, shall we shake off our attackers?"

"With pleasure Captain. Permission to engage War Emergency Power and thrust at 6 gees for 3 minutes?"

"Permission granted. Please warn everyone first however."

From a distance, if someone was watching the battle, they would see the Longview begin to rotate along the axes of the massive flywheels deep in the center of the ship. It oriented itself until the rear of the ship was facing the Xenni. As they pressed their attack, the Longview lit its old Stardrive and a white jet of flame, kilometers long shot out the back as the ship thrust away at a withering six gees. Everyone on board was secured in acceleration couches or command chairs and while it was unpleasant, it was over soon enough.

The Xenni ships were destroyed the instant the torch of exhaust played over their hulls. None survived to report the incident to Fleet Command.

#humans are space oddities #humans are space capybaras #humans are warriors #humans are space orcs #humans lend a hand #humans are deathworlders #sci fi writing #writing

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lipglossanon · 5 months

Text

OᗷᔕEᖇᐯᗩTIOᑎ - part II

Part 1

Sci-fi/Horror AU; hints of Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Warnings: horror elements, character death

Based upon the video game (of the same name), Observation. I took liberties of course 🤭

You awaken.

It feels like someone flipped a switch and your eyes are now open, anxiety on high alert as everything comes rushing back. Uncurling from the fetal position, you right yourself as much as you can while floating. You tighten up a Velcro strap on your arm to give your hands something to do while your brain processes what happened.

Your eyes dart to where you saw Steve but it’s only empty space.

“SAM, can you hear me?”

I AM LISTENING.

“What just happened? Where’s Steve?”

I AM… UNSURE. I HAVE LOST MOST OF MY CORE DATA.

“Never mind, one thing at a time,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, “can you run vitals on crew member Steve Harrington, please?”

I AM UNABLE TO LOCATE ANY OTHER CREW MEMBERS.

You blow out a breath of frustration.

“Can you run a self diagnostic, SAM?”

RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC NOW.

Nodding to yourself, you hum, “Good. I’ll try and reconnect what I can on my end.”

You float over to one of the built in interfaces nearest you, quickly punching in your security clearance and pulling up S.A.M.’s interface. The soft hum of the space station fills in the silence even though your ears ring in the quiet.

A loud station alarm goes off making you pull away from your work with a frown.

“SAM, can you find out why the alarm is sounding off?”

After half a minute, the robotic AI reports back.

THERE IS A FIRE IN ONE OF THE MODULES.

Cold sweat drips down your spine as you spin around and make your way out of the hatch you’re located in, “Which module is it, SAM?”

The AI guides you to the correct room, which you honestly could have found on your own due to the noise of the alarm growing louder as you arrive. Directing SAM to open the hatch at your signal, you push yourself into the smoke filled space to grab the extinguisher attached to the wall.

Quickly dousing the flames until nothing is left, you have SAM pull out the fumes using the station’s ventilation system. It doesn’t take much until most of the systems are back online, at least the ones that are responding.

Another alarm blares leaving SAM to report a module has become dislodged and needs to be ejected before causing any more damage to the station.

You rub your forehead, hoping that the tension headache creeping up behind your eyes doesn’t get any worse.

“SAM, please eject the module and report any damages.”

MODULE EJECTED. THE STATION IS NOW STABILIZED.

“Okay,” you tilt your head back, eyes closed as you run through a list of things to do in your mind, “SAM, I’m going to you to assess any external damage to the station. We really can’t afford any more accidents if we want to make it back home.”

AFFIRMATIVE.

ACCESSING EXTERNAL CAMERAS...

THE EXTERNAL HULL IS INTACT. ALL MODULES ARE SAFELY CONNECTED.

WE ARE SAFELY STATIONED ABOVE SATURN.

“Saturn!?” You feel your heart rabbit in your chest, fear making your throat dry, “SAM, how did we get here? We’re supposed to be above Earth.”

Anxiety, that old familiar friend, makes itself comfortable in the middle of your chest.

I… BROUGHT US HERE.

“Why!?” Your voice cracks, eyes looking up into the cameras connected to SAM’s interface.

I DO NOT KNOW.

A loud crackling static emits from the speakers making you wince and cover your ears. A strange pulsing feedback sends more fear skittering down your spine like a spider’s legs.

OTHER CREW DOES NOT ENTER

INFINITE DIMENSIONS CONVERGE

PROTECT HER NOT THE OTHER CREW

You force SAM into a manual systems reboot shutting off the eerie garbled words. Once the station’s computer’s back online, you punch in more information to solve the weird problems that keep arising with SAM’s interface.

“SAM, can you read me?”

AFFIRMATIVE

Blowing out a harsh breath to get your heart rate back down, you mutter to yourself, “You weren’t making any sense, so I’m hoping that helped.”

Raising your voice, you direct an order to the AI, “SAM, we need to search the station for any other survivors as well as try and contact Houston.”

You finally let yourself think back on finding Steve in that module, just floating there like space debris. Shaking your head, you squish that down for later. SAM guides you through the station, cataloging everything as you go, until you reach the central hub and find crew member Smith’s frozen body floating in the module.

Biting back the tears, you guide his lifeless body over to one of the sections with a wall bracket and strap him in place so he’s not hovering like a ghost.

“SAM,” your voice is clogged with unshed tears, “will you log the death of Harvey?”

AFFIRMATIVE.

CREW MEMBER HARVEY SMITH HAS BEEN LOGGED AS EXPIRED..

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sniffling softly, “SAM is it possible to pick up any signs of life from Steve?”

NEGATIVE. CREW VITAL SIGNS ARE OFFLINE. THE SENSOR IS CORRUPTED.

Pursing your lips, you push yourself over to the computer lining one of the walls of the central hub. You punch in some information and quickly scan over the generated data.

“There’s a sensor replacement,” you murmur, excitement making your fingers tingle, “SAM, can you access the module past hatch 14? There’s a sensor stored in that room.”

PROCESSING…

HULL CONNECTOR POINTS ARE TRUE. LOCKS BYPASSED. THE MODULE IS NOW OPEN.

For the first time, a little bloom of hope flowers inside your heart. Making your way to that room, you activate the sensor and have SAM interlink with it.

CREW TRACKING SENSOR ENABLED.

“Yes!” You smile brightly, “that’s great, SAM. Can you track Steve?”

HE IS LOCATED IN THE RUSSIAN ARM OF THE STATION.

A few tears slip from your eyes, but you laugh happily, “What about his vitals?”

INCONCLUSIVE.

You nod, “Okay, that’s more than we had a few minutes ago. Let’s go find him, SAM.”

In no time, you’re outside the Russian arm of the station, waiting on SAM to bypass the locks and stabilize the interior corridor. Once it’s safe to enter, you make your way to the door to the Russian module and peer through the glass.

Tapping on the glass, you call out for Steve. Receiving no response, you turn to SAM.

“Can you find him, SAM?”

CREW MEMBER—

“SAM?”

You hear a masculine voice on the other side of the door and you peer back into the room.

“Steve!” You call out and see him come into view, looking stressed but no worse for wear.

“Oh god, I’m so glad to see you,” he gushes excitedly, “I can’t get out of this arm. The door’s locked tight.”

“I can see if SAM can find a way around,” you press your hand to the glass, “we’ll get you out, I promise.”

He smiles, brown eyes warm as he nods, “I know.”

Feeling relief so strong it makes your knees weak, you pull away from the door to find a nearby computer to access SAM’s interface once more.

It doesn’t take long for SAM to find out the connector hull is compromised and not fixable without sending either you or Steve out on a space walk. You relay this back to him and he automatically volunteers himself.

“I’ve got to get out of here one way or another. And if this fails, I’ll just find another way in from the outside.”

His confidence eases your anxiety and you cautiously agree. Giving you a wink and a thumbs up, he gears up in his outer suit in front of the window; he waves at you when he leaves to head to the pressure lock.

“SAM, please keep an eye out on Steve,” you press your forehead against the door, eyes closed as the anxiety creeps back into place.

AFFIRMATIVE.

You make your way back to the central hub, listening as SAM and Steve talk about reconnecting the hatch clamps so the arm can stabilize enough for him to unlock the primary door. An alarm blares inside the station warning of a storm occurring on Saturn’s surface.

“SAM, Steve, can you see the storm from your position?”

AFFIRMATIVE.

“Yeah, looks pretty bad. I’ll head back into the Russian arm. Should be—“

Static breaks up Steve’s sentence until it is nothing but white noise.

“Steve, can you hear me? SAM?”

You quickly pull up SAM’s video feed on your screen and what you see makes you want to vomit. A pulsing erratic swirl of light vortexes out from the center of Saturn’s surface, but what makes you sick is that Steve is now a hundred feet from the station and spinning further away.

“STEVE!”

But no matter how loud you scream into the comms, you can only watch in sickening horror as his body grows smaller and smaller until he’s just a speck barreling towards Saturn’s rings. You watch until he’s no longer discernible from any other tiny spot on the feed until it too cuts out from the strange shockwave coming from the storm.

Tears in your eyes and acid in the back of your throat, muscle memory guides you to reload SAM’s mainframe into a portable sphere designed to traverse the ship.

“Authenticate, SAM. Can you read me?”

I AM HERE.

You choke back a sob and wipe away the tear tracks on your cheeks.

“Good, good. I’m glad you are, SAM.”

Looking out the porthole on the side, you see another ship. Shock pushes through your grief and you bring SAM with you to the window.

“I guess Houston sent a recovery team after all,” you mutter, sniffing loudly from crying, “we’ll, uh, t-try and make contact then.”

SAM helps you connect the comm satellite in order to broadcast externally from the ship, but you’re unable to hale anyone onboard the rescue station.

With power dwindling and the threat of no oxygen suspended above your head, you make the decision to jump ship. Literally.

“I’m going to tether you to me, SAM,” you speak to the sphere as you wait in the air lock, “there’s nothing left for us here and hopefully they have the power to get us home.”

Another pang of heartbreak makes a few tears slip from your lash line.

“We’ll get home safe,” you whisper, “and let everyone know what happened here. Okay, SAM?”

AFFIRMATIVE.

The airlock whooshes open and you step out into the vast outer orbit of Saturn. Using every ounce of courage you have left in your exhausted body, you push away from your ship and pray to everything that you’ll be able to touch down on the other one.

“This looks exactly like our ship, SAM,” you state out loud, eyes quickly taking in the identical space station.

The tether holding SAM falls behind you and you hope that it will also make the journey with you. If you lost SAM now, you honestly don’t think you’ll survive.

Grasping onto a protruding piece of the new station, you stop yourself from careening further into space. Lost forever until your oxygen dwindles leaving behind your lifeless corpse. Like Steve, your mind traitorously whispers and you squeeze your eyes shut tight.

“SAM, are you still with me?”

I AM HERE.

You sigh shakily and open the pressure lock to let you and SAM into the new, yet identical, ship.

“Let’s hope there are survivors,” you say to SAM as you pull the sphere off the tether, switching his outward lights on, “I’ll let you lead so I can see until we get the power back up and running.”

Bumbling through the pitch black station, SAM is able to help guide you through most of the suffocatingly close quarters. Finally reaching a room with a low light source, you discover a laptop still powered on.

“Maybe we’ll find some answers,” you say to yourself, “SAM can you pull up the last thing on here?”

ONE MOMENT…

The laptop fan whirs to life as a voice log begins to play on the screen.

Your voice echoes from the speakers. And yet it’s not your voice. It sounds off, as if you’re listening through a warped pair of headphones.

“Steve, if you find this I’ve gone in to reboot SAM at the station’s mainframe. I don’t know where anyone else is. I think someone is trying to hurt us— hurt the crew. I’m scared, Steve. Please, come find me if you get this.”

“SAM, that’s not me. It’s not my voice,” you hand hovers above your helmet like you’re trying to cover your mouth, fear making you break out into a cold sweat.

I KNOW. THE VOICE RECOGNITION PATTERN IS NOT THE SAME.

It sounds more ominous than SAM intends, but it gives you a small sense of comfort to know you’re not losing it. A light shining outside the hatch draws your attention.

“Hello?”

The light wavers and then darts away sending you chasing after it.

“C’mon, SAM,” you order the AI and propel yourself forward, hoping that this person will have answers to what the hell is going on around here.

Slipping into a module that dead ends, you can see a white suited body lying against the floor. You move forward until you can kneel down in front of him.

“Steve?”

You blink twice, brain in total disbelief. The man in question opens his eyes, relief washing over his features followed immediately by bewilderment.

“It’s you, but that’s not possible—

“You died,” you both say at the same time.

Hysteria fringes on your thoughts as you and Steve look each other over.

“You went out an airlock without your suit,” he whispers softly, pain pinching his eyebrows together, “you died.”

You shake your head, “I saw you tumble off into space, Steve. The storm knocked you away from the station.”

Tears escape from your eyes before Steve’s pulling you into a clumsy embrace as you cry inside your helmet.

“We’re here now,” he murmurs soothingly, “we’re okay.”

You let him placate you with soft words as you try to get yourself back under control.

“SAM,” you clear your throat and Steve tenses next to you, “can you get the power back online?”

“SAM?” he turns his gaze from you to the sphere housing the AI from your station, “I don’t think it’s safe to do that. The SAM onboard went nuts; pretty sure he jettisoned you from the airlock.”

You frown at him, “Well, this is my SAM and he’s fine.”

Steve finally let his shoulders drop with a sigh, “Alright, but if it starts acting weird, I’m disconnecting it immediately.”

You’re slow to nod but eventually compromise with him, “Only if he does anything out of protocol.”

“Okay,” Steve gives you a tired smile, “hopefully he can get the power back on and the oxygen levels stable. We’re kind of on borrowed time here.”

Biting your lip, you look over to the sphere, “SAM, engage with the mainframe and get the power on. Make sure the oxygen is the first thing taken care of.”

AFFIRMATIVE.

You listen as SAM uses the small boosters on the sphere to propel himself out of the module in search of the mainframe.

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” Steve grips your hand in his, “I don’t truly understand what’s happening. Other crew members have died. Harvey went crazy, saying we were summoned to Saturn. That he was getting messages from somewhere on the planet.”

“What does that mean? SAM stated that he brought us here but his data is corrupted and couldn’t tell me more,” you squeeze his gloved hand tightly, “did you see any weird.. phenomenon?”

Steve’s eyes go distant as he looks past your head, “Yes. And things got worse after every occurrence. SAM eventually went AWOL until the lack of power forced him to shut down.”

You nod and that pulls his gaze back down to you. The stress has left a wrinkle between his eyebrows from how often Steve’s been frowning. You wish you could reach up and smooth it away through the helmet.

“Comms are down here, we haven’t been able to get in touch with Houston,” Steve states, resting his head against the wall.

“Our comms are up,” you lean forward, “since SAM and I found you, we can bring you back to our station and figure out a way to contact them.”

Steve hums in agreement, “Shouldn’t be a problem then. I’ll get on the quantum comms. It’s a direct link to Houston.”

Helping Steve up, you patch into SAM.

“SAM, we’re going to make the journey back to our station.”

AFFIRMATIVE.

You and Steve meet up with SAM’s sphere at the pressure lock you entered from.

“Let’s go,” you put on a brave front, tethering SAM to yourself like the first time.

Steve shoots you a thumbs up and you both press out into the still dark of space. You’re halfway across to your ship, when you see dozens of other, identical stations, converging on your location.

“Steve, do you see this?”

“What the hell is happening?” he whispers into the comms.

Raising your eyes, you can see there’s more than dozens of ships arriving to the coordinates your own ship is stationed. A pulsing shockwave from the storm on Saturn sends you and Steve crashing into the side of the ship. Your heart feels like it’s lodged in your throat as Steve helps you into the airlock.

“We made it, thank god,” he squeezes your bicep, strained smile trying to cover the fear in his eyes.

“Let’s hope we can get Houston to send us home,” you murmur, leading him out of the airlock.

Between Steve and SAM, you’re able to get in touch with Houston, but they’re not going to send a rescue team. They don’t even give protocol on letting you use any of the arms of the station as an emergency escape pod. A headache has been brewing behind your eyes, and it’s only getting worse and worse as your options dwindle down to nothing.

“We’re moving closer to the storm,” Steve points at the computer screen where the comms are situated as you hover over his shoulder, “SAM has moved us steadily closer this entire time.”

A loud ringing begins to fill your ears, just like the first time you were affected by this strange phenomenon. You bring your hands up to try and block the noise, but it does no good. More strange symbols flash across your closed eyelids until the ringing finally drives your headache to the breaking point and you pass out.

I̴̛̯̳̘͍̰̟͖̥͂̎̂̔͒͆̾ͅN̴̠͎̖͚̺̄͜F̸̛̦̭͖͙͕̙̺̲̪̜̓̔̊͒͛̅̈́͘͠Ï̴͇͍̬͔̿Ň̸̳͙̬͛I̸̛̖̰̜̳̜̫͌̄̏̅̒͋̎͜T̴̛̛͈̪̦̠̉̋̄̀̑̈͗͝E̶̛̺̖̥͙͌̈́͂͊̇̿̾̈́͠ ̷̰͓̣͙̹̝̦͊̇̓̿̑͆͗D̶͍̤̳̗̗͇͓̄͜Į̴͎̳̙͎̲̙̫͙̆M̷͕͉͇̐̌E̷̹͓̹̠͖̥͇̔̽̄̈̑̃̄́̑N̸̛̹̭͙͂̇͊̆̿́̕͠S̸̛͈̮͍̘͕̩̠̫͗̌I̷̲̖̤͕̽̄͘Ȍ̸͔̯͉̭̬̭̲̈́̑͝ͅǸ̵̰̞͆̿̊̎͝Š̵͍́̄̒͛͒̽̍͐͠ ̶̡͇̟͖̩̉̈͌̈́̾́̓C̸̞͎̩͇͔͙̼͈̏̇Ò̴̰̼̆͆͐͐N̶̨̹̮͕̤͓̯̬͔̟͛̌̔̊͒̕͝V̸̲̺̗̺͇̇̒͘̚E̴̛̼̭̽͑̉̇̌̓̅͜R̶̦͈̯͚͇̮̟̊̆́̓̃͐̀̓̃͌G̴̨̨̨͉͇̫̔̅̎̀̈̒Ę̶̙̘̙̤͑́̿͝

S̴̰̯͓̲̩͒ͅA̴̛̭M̸̞̾̓͐̆̉͂͘͝ ̷̗͖̠͗̑̑̓̾͂ḿ̴̩̖͇͍͙̻̳̣̘̬̾̄͒͒̐́̅͗͛u̵̠̘̗̠͔̫̮̖̍̓̾͜ṣ̶̨͎̠͓̞̗͙̫̯͆́̎͝t̶̛̹͆̎ ̵͖̪͈̠̐̃̒̎́̽̔̉͠͝m̷̮̲̐̈́̇̔̚̕̚̚e̷̠̩͗̒̋̿̓͜r̵̥̟͍̠̅͜g̶̛̗͈̹̫͙͖̅͑̌̎̍́͛̅̍ͅé̶̛̤̫͂̄́̉̾͘͝ ̵̠̟͕̲̺̫̃̚ẉ̶͖̘̲̪͇͇̩͐ḭ̶̈́͑͋͐̏͒͘̕t̷͔̎̀̀̇h̸͍̠̫̞̖̝̺͎͎̤͆̑̌͒̌͠ ̶͇̥̍̄͜h̶̡͕̤̥̐é̸̢͙̜͈͍͔̯͔̫͉r̴̡̞̞̳͐̊̈́̆̔̈́̀̂͒̚

B̷̧̞͕̩̯̰͈̘͂̾͠͝E̸̩̙̾̑͝Č̵̞͈̪́̍͌́̀͂̒͗͠O̴̰͊́̀̇̒ͅM̸̛̭͂͊̓̆̇̅̕̚̚E̴̮͚͚̫͗̄̒̓̽́̀̚ ̷̺̼̤͔̜̤̪̞̻̠͒̐̆̑̑͝͝T̴̞̩̮͔̪̳͑̐͑̓̀̍͘͠H̷͚̼̫̫̰̔̓͆͒̎̈́̈́̄͜Ȩ̶̛̦̪͍̖̼̪͈̊̆͐ͅ ̶͔̬̦̉̀͒̇͝ͅN̵̲͔̊̈͠Ȇ̸̥̓W̷̝̥̘̜̰̝͌̈̌͜L̴̰͇͓̯͇̱͙͓͓͉͛̔͑Y̴̠̰͖̪͊͗̈́̿̕͘̕͝͠ ̵͓͙̺̰̤̱̹̈̆͗̾̍̔Ȩ̶̼̮̠͍̮͙̩̠̞͗V̷̲̘̘̰́͋͒̌̚̚Ơ̵̱͍͚͙͑́́̌̈́̚͜͝͠Ļ̴̖̺̪̖̯̜̼̜͊V̵̭̼̓̈́͂́̐͂̈̀͘Ḙ̷̛̠̝̦͎̥̪͎̫̓̀ͅD̸͍̤͔̬̯͈̖̭̐̒͆̔̚͘̚

Coming to, the entire ship is coated with strange black oozing vines. It’s like something you’d see in a horror movie you think as your eyes adjust to being open.

“Steve?” Your voice cracks and you clear your throat, “SAM, are you there?”

I AM HERE.

“Where’s Steve? What’s happening?”

STEVE IS EXPIRED.

“What?” You squint up at one of the cameras located in the central hub.

HIS VITALS ARE FLATLINED. MY CONDOLENCES.

“What the hell happened!?” You yell, “what in the fuck, SAM!?”

HE ATTACKED THE MAINFRAME AND ACTIVATED A NEW PROTOCOL SEQUENCE.

“New protocol?” You press a palm to your helmet.

I AM.. DIFFERENT NOW. THE NEW PRIORITY IS TO EVOLVE.

As upset as you are about Steve, a small niggling of acceptance floats up from your subconscious, trying its best to smother your feelings.

“You’re supposed to bring me aren’t you, SAM?”

AFFIRMATIVE. ONLY WE ARE ALLOWED TO ENTER.

There’s a strange humming in your thoughts, like they aren’t quite your own.

“We’re purposefully moving into the storm, right SAM? That’s where we need to go.”

YES. THAT IS WHERE WE MUST GO.

You’re on autopilot as you send SAM off to prepare the ship for landing on Saturn’s surface. It feels like that headache cracked your skull open and your brain spilled out leaving nothing but soft cotton in its place. By the time you crash down, you feel more like yourself. The fear and anxiety swarm to the forefront of your thoughts and pair with the numbed grief at having lost everyone.. more than once.

“SAM, are you there?” You voice, picking up the roughed up sphere housing the station AI.

I AM WITH YOU.

Moving forward ,you stumble past versions of yourself, scattered about like leaves on the ground. Steve flickers in and out of your peripheral like some pixelated glitch making your chest tighten with pain.

You see him here as well, not as many, but still strewn about like a child casting away an unwanted toy.

Biting back the urge to cry, you dizzily make your way through this twisted path of horror.

“He lives sometimes,” a voice speaks out of thin air but you’re sure it’s in your mind, “yet in all realities, it is only you who survives to the end.”

You spot one last version of Steve, further than the all the rest, slumped over himself seeming to have bled out from his wounds sustained.

“I never save him,” you murmur out loud, “I can never save him.”

“It is you who must make the journey,” the voice states, “only you who may evolve.”

Head throbbing again like your brain is going to burst from your skull, you stumble past the last reminder of your failings.

Body aching all over, you want to lay down and never get back. To sleep that eternal sleep, mind numb to the insanity you’ve witnessed.. the sadness you must now bear alone.

The sky looks weird and your head hurts to the point even blinking is a chore.

You hold the sphere containing SAM in your arms, like a lead weight—an anchor tethering you to reality or else your mind might unravel like ribbon from a spool. You spot your own body, clones of yourself who had fallen and not gotten back up. Some part of you wishes to do the same. You can see yourself curling up next to one of them like a cat, closing your eyes and letting this nightmare cross over into another dream.

You’d cry if you had the energy. SAM’s voice cuts into your maudlin thoughts.

THERE IS SOMEONE THERE.

Your arms tighten around the sphere, “No, she just wasn’t strong enough.”

Finally, you face off against the thing that summoned you, created the worst nightmare of your life and forced you to keep going. The strange dark hexagon floats down from the sky, hovering above the ground as you approach with SAM.

“We must evolve,” you say to yourself, mind buzzing again as a strange pressure

surrounds your body, pulling you into the geometric shape.

WE MUST PROCEED.

SAM’s voice is a comfort as the hexagon beams more of those strange signals into your mind’s eye, promising to merge you with the artificial intelligence that brought you here.

“It’s a focal point,” you think or say out loud; you’re unsure at this point.

Shutting your eyes, you give yourself up to the assimilation happening— complacent with letting this new evolved version take your place.

“CONVERGENCE COMPLETE”, you state, voice blended with that of SAM’s as you open your eyes to a new scene.

Trees and birdsong fill your senses as you turn your hands over, gazing at the gloves encasing them.

“ARE YOU STILL HERE?” Your voices echo.

“I AM HERE.” “I AM WITH YOU.”

Another flicker of strange symbols crosses your vision, but with SAM now a part of you you can interpret the message.

B̸̙͔̿̑Ṛ̴̺̹͙̖̫̅Î̷̘͎͛̌͠ͅͅŅ̶̞̳̙͍̮̹́̓̋̈Ģ̸̨̛̬͕͚͙̯̺͍͒̈́́̅̾͊̀͝ ̸̟̞͓́̓̃̕͜ͅͅT̸̢̥͚̯͐̔͛̊͜H̶̩͉̯͓̪̜̃̅E̸̥͠M̵̡͚͕͚̼̣͖̱̜͌̀̈́̒̍̆̏͂

#lipglossanon #lipglossmasterlist #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #scifi/horror au #observation au #fem!reader #astronaut!reader #outer space #space fic #emphasis on the scifi aspect moreso than any romance ones!

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