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pennamesmith · 1 year

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Romeo and Entrapdak

Yet another G1 Entrapdak story. The first one. The second one.

It was a fine Etherian day, and the sunlight made Corporal Romeo beam.

Things had only gotten better for the young soldier in the months since he’d renounced the Evil Horde and joined up with the noble Great Rebellion. He was happier here, and he knew that his work helped the world instead of harming it. He owed it all to Glimmer, the tall, calm, long-haired princess who always thought things through and never rushed to violence.

In fact, Glimmer was the very reason Romeo was spending his day off here on Flower Mountain. They had only grown closer since their first meeting, and Romeo was hoping to find some small token he could offer as a gift when he finally asked the princess on a proper date.

At the foot of one bluff, Romeo spotted a particularly radiant rose. He reached out to pluck it and tucked it carefully into one pocket, but the moment he turned to leave the ground opened up and swallowed him. He tumbled down in darkness, realizing too late that he had triggered a devious trap. Metal walls closed around him and the hidden trap door snapped shut.

At the bottom of his fall, robotic clamps snatched his arms and legs and held them fast. He tried to pull free, but it was no use. Somewhere a switch flipped and the dark chamber was filled with a blinding spotlight. A leggy silhouette appeared and approached him, resolving into a severe woman with shining armor, a short pleated skirt, and long red braids the size of starships.

“Entrapta!” Romeo cried. He had been captured by the Evil Horde’s very own Evil Engineer.

“That’s right!” Entrapta said with a laugh that was very sophisticated, but also evil. “You fell right into my trap! I know a traitor such as yourself is probably terrified right now, but try not to faint yet, please.” She withdrew a scalpel and pointed it at the prisoner’s neck, flashing her teeth as she did so. “I need information first.”

Corporal Romeo struggled against his restraints. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, a tremulous note entering his voice even as he tried to sound bold. “Whatever you’re planning, you won’t get away with it!”

Entrapta held the scalpel closer. “You will answer my questions or be destroyed! Where… is… the best place in the Fright Zone for a first date?”

“What?”

“You heard me!” Entrapta remained resolute. “I’ve read your file. You were a hopeless romantic even before you defected. I have need of your unique knowledge. Which dungeons have the best mood lighting? What derelict towers offer superior views of the sunset? You will tell me!”

Romeo sighed and slouched. “This is about Hordak, isn’t it?”

“What? No! Whyever would you think that?”

“Everybody in the Fright Zone knows about you two. At least they did while I was there,” Romeo said.

“No they don’t!” Entrapta steamed. “What do they know about it?” she asked after a moment.

“Only that you’re all over each other all the time.”

Entrapta bent a metal rod with her braids in frustration. “It’s perfectly professional!” she insisted.

“And yet, you’ve kidnapped me to ask for dating tips.”

Entrapta narrowed her eyes and glared at the soldier with a petulant frown. “You’re not completely stupid,” she conceded. “I’ll give you that. Very well, you have deduced my incredibly well-hidden secret: I harbor an insatiable lust for the mighty Lord Hordak! The fire in his eyes when he crushes enemies underfoot makes me burn with desire. The genius of his technological terrors makes me shiver with delight. And oh, that body! It can transform into so many things. I could study him for ages!”

“How romantic.”

“However, the fact remains that I still have you captive and I have a knife and I’m not afraid to get messy.” Entrapta flashed the scalpel again to make her point. “Now, give me the information I require!”

And so Corporal Romeo told her everything he knew about wooing. When he was done, Entrapta, only a little disappointed she hadn’t gotten an excuse to dissect her prisoner, let him go. As Romeo prepared to climb back out of the hidden hideout, Entrapta threatened him with a ray device that greatly resembled a .357 magnum revolver.

“I’m in a good mood, so I’m going to be exceptionally nice and set you free. Don’t tell anyone about this meeting, or I’ll trap you again and send you to another dimension!” she declared.

“Is that all?”

“Another dimension where you’ll be dead!”

Romeo hurried back out. When he was on the surface again, he smoothed out his tunic and took a deep breath. At least his day couldn’t get any more unusual than this, he thought.

It was a foolish thing to think. Several seconds later a massive metal claw descended from the sky above and seized Romeo, reeling him up into the clouds along a thin metal cable. At the other end of the line a priapic helicopter hovered menacingly. It drew Romeo into a hatch in the bottom and then turned to fly away, buzzing as it went.

Chained for a second time, Romeo found himself in a large room filled with blinking switches and dials and all manner of scientific technology. Light flashed as a door opened and a hulking blue figure stepped into view. He had bulging muscles, a bone collar, and extremely short shorts made of thick black fur. There was no mistaking the ruthless leader of the Evil Horde.

“Hordak!” Romeo gasped.

“That’s right!” Hordak’s fanged white face twisted into an evil grin as he laughed and snorted. “Hello again, traitor!”

“I won’t go back!” Romeo said defiantly. “I know the truth now! Despite all your propaganda, I’ve realized that the Evil Horde is, in fact, not very nice!”

“You foolish whippersnapper!” Hordak snorted. “Normally I would just throw a deserter like you into the slime pit. But today I need something else! I have a problem that only you can solve. Follow my orders and you will be unharmed! If you resist or speak of this to anyone, I’ll send you to the mining camps in Dryl! Now, I want —”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Hordak grumbled. “I said, if you tell anyone about this meeting I’ll send you to the —”

“The mining camps, yes, I got that,” Corporal Romeo interrupted. “I mean, where did you say they were?”

“Dry-ill,” Hordak replied, clearly enunciating both syllables.

“That’s… is that how you say that?”

“That’s how everyone says that!”

Romeo rolled his eyes. “This really is a strange planet. Sometimes I still feel homesick for Horde World.”

“Oh, no!” Hordak interrupted. “You won't distract me with your nostalgic charms! You are still my prisoner, and I will get the information I require, by hook or by crook!”

“Fine!” Romeo clanked his chains impatiently. “What do you want? Honestly, all this kidnapping is getting tiresome.”

He jumped in surprise when he found Hordak kneeling at his side, hands clasped together in a pleading gesture. “I need to know if Entrapta likes me!” Hordak wailed.

“Seriously? Aren’t you two practically having an affair already?”

“Yes, but I need to know if she likes me. I thought for certain an emotional fool like you would understand the difference! This is why I need your perspective on the situation.”

Hordak walked to a large pile of equipment and brandished a round helmet with electrodes poking out of the top. “I’m feeling generous, so do what I say and I won’t just suck the knowledge straight out of your brain!” He laughed and snorted evilly, again.

“Calm down, I’ll cooperate,” Romeo sighed. “Also, that’s broken.”

Hordak dropped the helmet with a huff. “There was an incident. With a Trollan. Not my fault. Never mind.” He pulled up a chair and transformed his hands into a comically oversized pencil and notepad. “So, what does Entrapta think about me?”

Romeo considered the question. “She thinks that you’re… passionate. And dedicated. And that there’s more to you than people realize.”

“That’s not a bad assessment!” Hordak mused. “Perhaps Entrapta has me pegged after all.”

Corporal Romeo spent several long seconds trying not to choke.

“May I make a suggestion?” he finally managed. “Just tell her you’d like to, ah, get to know her better. Be honest. I have a feeling the ensuing conversation will go quite well for both of you.”

“That doesn’t sound right!” Hordak groused. “Shouldn’t I do something overwrought and complicated to win her over on false pretenses?”

“Give her flowers?” Romeo suggested. Wriggling against his cuffs, he clumsily extracted the rose he’d picked earlier from his pocket. It was somehow still intact and healthy. “You can have this one if you want.”

“But I hate flowers!” Hordak whined, pressing his face into his hands. “I can’t stand how pretty they are!”

Romeo shrugged. “Maybe so. But do you hate them more than you like Entrapta?” A wistful look crossed his face. “I mean, you don’t have to change for somebody, but part of falling in love is making room for a whole other person in your life. Is Entrapta the one you want to make that room for?”

Slowly, a thoughtful expression crept across Hordak’s face. Then he shook his head and regained his usual scowl. “Bold words! You really are a true bleeding heart!”

He approached Romeo darkly while one hand became a whirling buzz saw. But he used it to cut through the young man’s chains, and took the offered rose from his hand. Hordak sniffed it and made a face.

“Your emotional maturity disgusts me, but you have met my demands! I’ll be dropping you off now. Here, you’ll need this.”

He thrust a parachute into Romeo’s arms.

“Wait,” Romeo said, “Aren’t you going to —”

Before he could finish his question, Hordak pulled a lever and a trap door opened under the helpless corporal’s feet. He plummeted, his dismayed yell fading cartoonishly for several long seconds before it was muted by the loud whumph of the parachute opening. Hordak laughed, snorted, and dusted his hands.

He turned his attention back to the offending flower. “Do I hate beauty more than I like Entrapta?” he wondered aloud. “What a stupid question! I don’t understand the point of it.”

But he kept thinking about it.

That night, as Hordak stalked along the shadowy hallway to his quarters, he was met by an arresting sight. Entrapta stood before him in the low light, hands on her hips, hair lazily reaching out. Hordak gulped.

They approached each other. Entrapta’s lips were pressed together in a wide smirk. She tilted her neck coquettishly and traced one finger along her clavicle as one of her braids curled around Hordak’s shoulder.

“Entrapta!” Hordak stammered. “Um, I was just looking for you.”

“What a coincidence,” Entrapta purred. “You’re just what I was looking for too, O Mighty One.” She put her other hand on his chest and teased at his ankle with her boot. “I’ve been thinking. Since we’re both clearly the only ones with any brains around here, it might behoove us to… spend more time together.”

She traced her fingers lower. “Would you care to join me for dinner, Lord Hordak?”

Hordak could feel his knees weakening. “Yes! I mean, uh, yes. That sounds quite strategically sound.” His hand went to his thigh and he withdrew the rose, which still bloomed invitingly. “In fact, I was about to make a similar proposition. Would you accept this aesthetically pleasing plant as a token of our arrangement?”

Entrapta’s eyes widened as she took in the sight. “Oh! A Bitter Rose,” she gasped. “These are quite rare, you know. I’ve been told the ground shakes when you pluck one. How very delicious.”

Their eyes met.

Hordak’s hands gripped Entrapta’s waist at the same moment she wrapped her arms around his broad back. Their lips came together in a searing kiss. They pressed their bodies closer and continued feverishly, devouring each other with urgent intensity as their arms and legs and hair intertwined. They teetered off-balance and stumbled backwards through the door to Hordak’s room.

They made it to the edge of the bed before tripping over each other and falling across the plush mattress. They broke, gasping for air, hearts thudding. Laughing, they looked at each other and tried to talk at the same time, their words overlapping.

“I always thought…”

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted…”

“Are you…”

“Do you want to…”

“Oh, yes!”

Their hands roamed across each other’s bodies, fumbling with all the silly little straps and clasps that held their meager clothing in place, stroking softly across smooth skin. Entrapta’s skirt and breastplate fell to the floor alongside Hordak’s halter and fur shorts. They kissed again, drinking in the rising heat.

Entrapta reached between Hordak’s legs and grabbed his

She

He put his P pen penzz

his peen0r

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hhhhh hhhhhHHHH

He put the pee|

Hordak stared at the flickering screen and its blinking cursor, his long fingers poised over the keyboard.

“This is impossible,” he groaned.

“Nothing is impossible with science!” Entrapta cried, bursting through the door in a ball of purple. “Uh, sorry. I was eavesdropping. How’s the story coming?”

Hordak took the violet explosion in stride. “I seem to be having some difficulties describing the more… explicit aspects of intimacy,” he admitted.

“Really? But we do that all the time!”

“Doing it and writing it are two very different tasks, my dear.”

Entrapta thumbed the straps on her overalls and sidled up to her lover. “Maybe I could help?” she suggested demurely, running a finger along Hordak’s shoulders.

He shivered and purred in response to her touch. Leaning over the back of his chair, Entrapta wrapped her arms around his chest and softly kissed the nape of his neck. Her hair curled around his ankles, gently binding him to the legs of the chair.

“Is that all right?”

Hordak nodded in assent, his eyes filled with the radiant sparkle from hers. She grinned and kissed him on the mouth. More of her hair wrapped around his legs and waist, but she left his arms free. A stray strand nudged his hands back toward the keyboard.

“Write that,” Entrapta breathed into Hordak’s ear.

He obeyed with trembling fingers. Entrapta surveyed his work approvingly as she slowly peeled her work gloves off.

“Oh, that’s good! Now write this,” she continued, moving her hands lovingly down his abdomen.

Hordak’s breathing hitched. He kept typing.

“Hmm. Your syntax is getting a little messy, but we can clean it up later. You’re doing amazing.” Entrapta giggled.

She nibbled softly on Hordak’s ear and reached under the skirt of his robe. She placed a warm palm on the inside of his thigh and traced it upwards. Hordak gasped and stiffened. He made a noise.

They took a little break from writing after that.

#the spiciest thing i've ever written #not quite all the way but pretty close #spop #she ra #motu #entrapdak #entrapta #hordak #80s she ra #corporal romeo #he's canon google it #also they really do say dryl like that in the 80s show #fan fiction #smith stuff #silly stuff

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mechanicalinertia · 2 years

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STMPD Recommends Bubblegum Crisis Fanfiction - Resources: The Licensed Bubblegum Crisis RPG Books

No. Not my own RPG. That's... in a state of transition. I broke a bunch of stuff in it and will probably need to get back to it someday to fix it. Not high on my priority list.

And no, not the Shadowrun Second Edition Partial Conversion drafted up by Neo No Armor Against Fate's Shawn Hagen. Apparently Shawn maintains that his RPG conversion is better, said he was able to dissect the combat easily on Usenet back in the day. And he might very well be right in terms of mechanics, except, oh, wait, probably not, because it's Shadowrun, amirite folks?

Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week.

No, I don't claim to make any defenses for the BGC RPG as an RPG book, and I'll explain what I mean in a bit. I will, however, argue that these sterling little books, published in the two years before R. Talsorian went dormant for nearly two decades (cyberpunk 3.0 notwithstanding), are hands-down the best 'guides' to Crisis 2032 you could ever want. If you're writing fiction in 2032, and maybe you're pressed for ideas, I say give these three books, each shorter than the last, a read...

Which you can do electronically, for free, right here.

This is going to take awhile, isn't it? Well, yeah, we're talking a few hundred pages of small-font text and some really good settei (concept art) serving as the pictures, some of which saw no reproduction outside Japan at all. So, like the multi-part epic rant I've had brewing in my drafts folder for the past half a year, let's break it down into sections. We'll start with

DON'T ACTUALLY PLAY BUBBLEGUM CRISIS: MEGATOKYO 2033 THE ROLEPLAYING GAME: ARU PEE GEE NO DENSETSU

For context, and this is kind of an interesting story: R.Talsorian Games, the primary publisher behind the OGBGCRPG (OG for short) made its fame on two big product lines.

First there was wargame / RPG hybrid Mekton, pioneered by Mike Pondsmith back in the eighties as a mecha fighting game, in the halycon days when most anime watchers got fansubbed tapes from conventions or were watching rebranded Voltronesques on Saturday mornings. Anime fandom as we know it, or even knew it in the nineties, just did not exist, and here's Pondsmith drawing up a whole fucking wargame to do it. The most recent edition circa the nineties was Mekton Zeta, which also had the mecha-building sourcebook Mekton Zeta Plus.

The other was Cyberpunk 2013, released in 1988, which was essentially a street level adaptation of Mekton's mechanics (called 'Interlock' 'cause all the systems could, e-hem, interlock), that got a cool sourcebook or two (including one inspired by cyberpunk classic Hardwired that was written by the novel's author) before getting a second edition in like '89 or '90. That's Cyberpunk 2020 - that's what put R.TAL on the map, that's what I wrote a shitty fanfic crossing with BGC about (It wasn't hard to do), that's what became Cyberpunk 2077, and that's also what became Cyberpunk RED once R.Tal got money from CDPR to make a new edition.

With me so far? I bet you're thinking, Kyle, "gosh and golly gee wilikers so they put their anime system together with their cyberpunk system, because all those parts interlocked just like you said, and they made Bubblegum Crisis!"

And oh, my sweet summer child, how your eyes are shut.

Yeah... So, the OG is actually run on a system called Fuzion, which blends R.Tal's loose network of systems with that of the HERO System, which is... one of those really complicated universal systems that they say can build anything and everything, was designed with a variety of advantages and disadvantages for characters to use to represent their character, and isn't GURPS. No, it was made more for a superhero RPG, I guess?

Anyway, somehow the two companies met, decided to make a joint universal system for all their work going forward, and called it Fuzion. Many other licensed games used it for awhile, people made universal themed supplements for it, but it's not in wide use anymore as far as I know.

Why? Let me see if I can explain by way of picture.

Champions used 3d6. Interlock used a d10. The devs argued and argued and argued over which type the game should be balanced around, then gave the fuck up. Does that fill you with confidence, readers?

So there's this sort of... highly elaborate mishing and mashing of various elements of two very different systems such that neither comes out the better for wear. Here's R.Talsorian's Lifepath, a character-backstory generator where you roll dice to build a character (setting-agnostic, because they were trying to sell a universal system); then here's Champions's Perks and Complications, bought using those same precious campaign points you're using to buy civilian gear (but aren't your players playing as Knight Sabers? Who needs real shit to be marked when you're building hardsuits with separate points entirely?), and complications must be activated x amount of times a session even if it diverts from the fun of playing the game. And so on and so forth. Shit, even crossing Cyberpunk with Mekton doesn't always work, since blocks of damage from Mekton (Kills) scale unsteadily with the more dice-driven combat of CP. Worse still is that the mecha system and the hacking system are off in MZ+ and CP2020 respectively, so if you want to custom-build hardsuits beyond the small pool of tools you're given on the last fucking page of the book, or you want your Nene equivalent to do something useful, nyah-nyah, go buy more books.

And then I'm sure Shawn Hagen has plenty of reasons why the combat doesn't work, but we're not paying attention to him. Whatever. Let's talk about what does work, which is a mix of worldbuilding lore, stuff the R.Tal writers seemed to just sort of come up with, and a great gallery across all three books of Fucking Cool Mecha (especially BGC EX).

LORE IS SERIOUS BUSINESS FOLKS

I mean that earnestly. It's hard to get right, especially when said lore reflects upon the tone of the actual content, the plot, the franchise, whatever. But when telling stories with a licensed game, some degree of lore is, to my mind at least, incredibly mandatory. Maybe not so much for games where the story ought to be made up as one goes along (see RPG's like The Sprawl), but in the case of BGCrisis, an anime which at the time had a pretty loyal fanbase chomping at the bit for answers for their questions about the wider universe the Sabers operated in, R.TAL had to do a mix of cribbing from untranslated material, the B-Club special and all that, and making their own shit up without looking like they'd cribbed from their own work (CP2020) overmuch. The result is very uneven, but charmingly so. I almost want to say it feels more grounded than CP2020 or Shadowrun, but is that just because it's comparatively light on the ground? Perhaps. The mandatory universe timeline is one page, and focuses more on putting years to events that were already canon instead of adding extraneous stuff in.

Likewise with what the politics look like worldwide. We get a few paragraphs about how the U.S. is recovering (not collapsed as in CP2020), Japan is doing pretty good for itself as GENOM's puppet-state, Russia successfully integrated into the EU even if Eastern Europe didn't (See? Wacky shit like that can only be called charming), and China's one big North Korea (which I think is a holdover from the CP2020 Pacific Rim Sourcebook, where Deng was assassinated by Maoist radicals.) We get another dry bit about the idea of a zaibatsu lifted straight from CP2020's Corpbook 1, where Arasaka is discussed... newspapers are now faxed (look it was in BGC OVA 1 what do you want me to tell you)... on and on it goes.

I suppose I like the lore independent of the actual characters because of a few clever predictions. One is using all the cybernetics-gone-bad in AD Police Files to explain why nobody has them in the 2032 OVA, a link I sense wasn't really made concrete until this RPG. It's one of the most interesting interpretations of the source material and of cyberpunk tropes I've seen, you know, where all the splicing and dicing of the body turns out to be a fad and a failure, leaving those who bought into the trend left with butchered and failing bodies - in light of the crypto crash that seems to be dragging the stock market down back into recession / stagflation, that seems pretty classic capitalism.

The other is tied to Before And After, covering the impact of the cheap and now even more ubiquitous Boomers of Crash:

I mean, what can I say? I like predictions of the future that actually consider the effects of hyper-futuristic technology in that sort of way.

That's what a lot of the RPG's lore is at its best, basically working overtime to paper in the gaps left ignored by the series' creators. So we get a nuanced look into how ADAMA is different than similarly-sentient Boomers from the ADPF OVA; we get the Largo = Mason + Boomer Messiah explanation theory that the internet came up with just a year or two prior to the RPG's publishing; we get conspiracy theory proposals about whether or not GENOM undermined the cybernetics market to replace the enhanced with Boomers; we get to see the ADP go from hotshot riot suppression force able to slaughter undesirables en masse to actively disdained by GENOM; a weird consideration of how recognizing Boomer rights could still serve GENOM's agenda... on and on and on. It's such a mishmash of ideas, beautiful because of it.

Obviously no sane RPG player would ever give a rat's ass about any of this, but again, this was a product also marketed towards fans who just wanted a good worldbuilding book. I'm not saying you should take every part of the RPG's world into your own fanfiction, but you can take a great deal of it in and things will hold up.

POWER CREEP? YEAH, I'VE GOT THE POWER, CREEP!

The actual sourcebook sections of the sourcebooks are a) the characters, and b) the mecha. That's it, that's all. Civilian gear is almost an afterthought shoved into the front of the book like it didn't need to be there, cybernetics don't show up until Before and After. For although there is a section in the corebook proposing non-Saber campaigns players can run, they're essentially permutations of the already-existing types from CP2020: Corporates, mercenaries, medias, etc. And why, I ask you, would you run anything else but your own fanmade Saber team in your home city, overgrown and under threat? Shit, RTAL even went out of their way to put a few pages in EX, the last book in the series, highlighting player campaigns with online presences (Geocities, email addresses, etc.) and describing them in brief. Oh, to be a fly on the wall for the play sessions of the guys who did Mega-Gotham...

Anyway, back on topic. Both character pages and mecha pages get a great deal of settei transposed onto these pages, concept art ripped straight from Artmic's design docs and provided, again, more as a nerd resource than anything super useful. This especially comes into play in BGC: EX, where all the concept art and mecha are instead from everything that wasn't animated. Rejected concepts for hardsuits with wheels for feet; Boomer sketches only found in old hobby magazines; scribbles one of the Crash! mecha designers tried to get in that were apparently labeled 'problematic' (I guess he was a toy designer before all this?). I unironically love all this shit, even the beam cannons mounted on a hardsuit right where the boobplates are. Shit, my Discord profile pic is a non-Boomer mecha supposedly used by the JSDF, a 'Battlemover' whose origin I have no idea about, but which looks cool as hell. That's the kind of weirdo fan I am.

My point is that if you need to spice up your fiction, throwing 'new Boomer X' at the Sabers is one thing, giving the Sabers some power-up parts you dreamed up is another, but using the designs Artmic came up with before you did is more galaxy-brained than either. Shit, I should know, it was what Craig Reed did for the fanfics that I continued off of back in the day. And it's the same with these extraneous lore details that some rando RTAL staffer dreamed up a quarter-century ago, because they beg to have an entire fanfic made about any one of them. What happened to Jeena, folks? Inquiring minds want to know.

Anyway, that's it. That's all. Read through these and be a better fan because of it.

#stmpd reviews bgc fanfic #bubblegum crisis #fanfiction #fanfic rec

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sciencestyled · 17 days

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The Quirky Quarks of Wizardry Physics: How Your Favorite Spell Slingers Are Secret Science Nerds

Let’s dive right into the rabbit hole—no, scratch that—let’s cannonball into the pool of wizardry physics, where the laws of reality get a glitter-bomb makeover and your average classroom turns into a circus of floating elephants and wand-waving weirdos. Welcome to the only lecture where you’ll calculate the velocity of a flying broomstick faster than you can say "Snapchat filter gone rogue."

Now, strap on your seat belts—or should I say, your wizard hats—because we’re about to dissect the physics of magic like it's the latest celebrity scandal. Trust me, even TMZ doesn’t dig this deep.

First off, let’s talk energy. No, not the kind you need after a TikTok all-nighter, but the sort that powers a good old-fashioned Leviosa spell. You see, in the magical manuscripts and mega-movie franchises, lifting a feather is child’s play. But back here in the land of the physics-literate (or those who just really paid attention during science class), we're crunching numbers. Ever wonder how much juice you’d need to levitate a feather? Spoiler: it’s less than lifting a car, but more than your Wi-Fi lifting your spirits on a slow internet day.

Now, zooming on our broomsticks to flying—because who doesn’t want to dodge traffic with aerial finesse? The physics of broomstick aerodynamics is less “elegant flight” and more “controlled falling with style.” To keep our beloved witches and wizards airborne without invoking the name of every aerodynamics professor in a ten-mile radius, we calculate lift, drag, and—let's face it—a hefty dose of magical mumbo-jumbo. It's the kind of math that would make Newton drop his apple and grab a quill.

But let’s not forget the time-turners, those nifty gadgets that laugh in the face of Einstein’s space-time continuum. Time travel in literature makes skipping backwards smoother than a retro vinyl revival. In reality? Let's just say you'd need a power source beefier than the plot armor in a superhero flick. We’re talking about bending time like it's a twisty straw, and the energy required? It's like trying to power your entire house with a single AA battery—good luck with that.

And for the pièce de résistance: the Patronus charm. Oh, the shimmering, animal-shaped guardian that’s all sparkle and no sprinkle. In the wizard world, it’s your spirit animal unleashed with a flick. In our world? We’d be furiously calculating lumens, photon emissions, and the existential crisis of producing a corporeal animal out of sheer willpower and a dash of existential dread.

While we're at it, let's not forget the educational side of this pandemonium. Yes, amidst the chaos, there's a silver lining of science education. Each absurd calculation, each bizarre theory tested against the unyielding wall of scientific principles, serves a noble purpose: to meld minds with the mortar of knowledge and curiosity. It’s a wild ride through the cosmos of "What if?" and "Why not?" where every spell cast is a lesson in disguise, teaching us the limits of our understanding and the boundless potential of asking, "But can I make it explode?"

As we wrap up this madcap exploration, remember that wizardry physics isn't just about turning your brain into a pretzel with paradoxes. It’s about squinting at the line between the impossible and the improbable and deciding to erase it with a neon marker. It’s about understanding that sometimes, the most enlightening discoveries come from asking the silliest questions.

So, the next time you see a movie mage defying gravity or conjuring storms, chuckle at the audacity, then whip out your calculator. Because, who knows? That ridiculous bit of cinema might just inspire the next big scientific breakthrough. Or at the very least, make for some killer class discussions.

In conclusion, if you've ever pondered the energy expenditure of a fireball or the aerodynamics of an enchanted carpet, congratulations—you're doing wizardry physics. You're not just passively absorbing pop culture; you're engaging with it, turning every "Abracadabra!" into a potential "Eureka!" So, keep those wands and calculators ready, folks. Because in this class, the only thing more explosive than the experiments is the potential for mind-blowing enlightenment. And isn't that just magically marvelous?

#wizard #science #science education #education #physics #science art

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yostresswritinggirl · 3 years

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Modern Scenarios with Genshin Boys

Brainrot time - be glad, today was supposed to be angst but I had a change of heart.

"Hey, pick on someone your own size!" The first time you met Childe was when you were being bullied by some annoying bullies that had nothing to do but want to pick a fight. It was something you can handle really, and you were about to disperse the commotion when this big guy suddenly appeared as if you were his knight in shining armor. "It's the duty of the strong to protect the weak!" Did he just-?! THE AUDACITY!

Spurred on by your annoyance and your want to prove your strength, you joined the Karate club in your school where you heard he is part of. And in under a month you reached the second tier of the yellow belt. But you needed to become stronger, to reach that guy's black belt status so you can spar with him. He was too high to be directly involved with your training after all.

Finally when the fateful day comes, he looks at you with admiration at the other side of the mat, your determination and fast rank up had him enamored. But you had different plans. When the spar session started, you maneuvered around his kicks and finally did what you've always wanted to do— you wiped your dirty, uncovered foot against his face in a kick. Somehow he fell in love more.

You've been his lover for a while now, and restaurant dates are nothing uncommon in your relationship. And you know his habit of leaving behind his wallet even if he offered that tonight's date would be taken care of. After your lovely dinner session, lo and behold, he DID forget his wallet. But as the considerate lover, you took the liberty to bring your wallet with you even if he said you shouldn't-

Only to realize you brought the wrong wallet, only counting spare change for chicken nuggets. As compensation, you two spent the rest of the night forced to pay off your late bill by doing the restaurant dishes. It was not at all part of your itinerary, but as you start singing to alleviate the boredom and with Zhongli singing along, you had the most fun dancing around the kitchen with soapy arms and loose aprons.

You didn't even know that Zhongli could sing and dance that well! Plates were cleaned faster than any of you expected, and after the IOU contract that you're for sure fixing the next day, the two of your walk home hand in hand with the brightest smile you two had ever shared.

Oh, god, more frogs. Welcome to Biology class! You are partnered to be laboratory buddies with the ever enigmatic, science genius Albedo. He was so epic during Chemistry class, and you were praising the gods for finally bringing this ray of hope to raise up your grades effortlessly. You would think this class would flow by ever so nicely as you finish the plant studies, that is until zoology started and the professor starts talking about dissecting kits.

Your first project was to bring a frog to school to prep up for dissection. Okay, very wack, you thought as you turned to Albedo to ask how you two would even get a frog for the project. Until you saw a curious glint in his beautiful, teal eyes. Next thing you know he was over your house and as you two go around the fields in casual wear.

The fact that stores exist for buying frogs SPECIFICALLY for Biology and dissections was something Albedo held back from you, opting to wish to experience the class firsthand and beyond. It was in all honesty to get to know you better, even if most of the time you tripped on your ass over the mud of the fields trying to chase or run away from a frog. In the end he finally suggested to just buy one, to which you were furious, thankful and elated that you at least got to know the genius more.

Heavily inspired by Driver's License. You've just recently broken up with your boyfriend a day before you got your license to drive, something you were so proud of and excited to exercise together with your lover. But yet here you are crying your eyes out as you drove on the long and winding road of... somewhere. A deserted area with the next stop over or town miles and miles away, so when you happened upon a dejected voyager who clearly needs a lift, you offered him to be a hitchhiker. Xiao was thankful, really, but the ride was ever so awkward with the obvious puffy eyes and tear stains on your cheeks.

At one point, you remembered your ex once again and had to pull over before you end up killing the both of you through tear-stained vision. With sympathy, your hitchhiker offers to drive and a listening ear to your burdens, and it indeed lifted your spirits as he offers helpful advice on your pain. You part when you reached his home with a huge thank you for the lift, and you realized that you were just a town away from him.

The next time you saw him was an embarrassing moment you didn't expect to happen or come by so fast. Awkwardly standing by the roadside where your car was supposed to be, towed away because you didn't realize it was illegal to park there, an motorcyclist with a neon decorated bike suddenly pulled over in front of you. And when he takes off his helmet to offer you a ride, the smirk on Xiao's face doubles the embarrassment. You accepted the offer.

You are a secret agent tasked to assassinate a target you've been following and gathering data on for weeks now, the perfect opportunity happens to be a gathering of high class people, a party or ball even. You thought it would be a quick and easy operation until you realized a man named Kaeya seem to be hovering around your target too closely for your taste and ease. It seems the guy has a body guard in hand. Now your focus was on swaying this bluenette, who was thankfully very, very receptive and welcoming to your advances.

When you finally FINALLY managed to let him off your case and successfully separated him from your target, you hurried over to finish the assassination as you realized you've been lingering for far too long— only to see Kaeya about to stab your target before your interruption. It seems that instead of his body guard, Kaeya was actually a hitman hired to kill your target too, and had been dancing around together with you because he thought YOU were the body guard.

"Woah, this your target too?" "Hell yeah." "Yoooooo!" How ironic, you two laughed the coincidence out nonchalantly as your target bleeds to death besides you both. After escaping your almost jail time when the true body guards came to check on their boss, which made a very awesome action sequence as you exchanged bullets next to Kaeya, you learned that your agency had recruited a new fellow under its ranks. You didn't need a name and face to know who the sly bastard was.

You're not really the type of person to be into parties, not since high-school, and still no in college. Things were already a pain to deal with as the midterm examinations rolling in, but your roommate somehow managed to drag you into a popular college organization's midyear party before unceremoniously dipping to drink with the org members. As you cradle your alibi cup in a corner, staring into the raucous party, you realized someone else who's solo is accompanying you in silent brooding.

The two of you awkwardly introduce yourselves to each other before realizing that you've already met once or twice in campus grounds. "I don't really wanna be here." "Me neither." "Wanna dip?" Your relief didn't even need words to confirm your wants as you two slipped away from the mess, growing in intensity that you wouldn't even be suprised if the local authorities were to be called later on.

A little food date in the local 24/7 fast food restaurant nearby and exchange of numbers made your night a little bit better. So when you two found each other in another party you were dragged in again, your hand was held warm and tight within his as you two snickered, skipping out of the venue to have your own little party.

Hello there, welcome to the start of the fluffy days. Figured you're all sad and broken enough to finally enjoy some good ol' flutters.

@sk1nnyangelic @kookieyachi @bunniesrorange @anormalguyreader @scarletroseneko @albaedhoe @xiaophilia @heisenwurst @moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @nonniechan @creation-magician @hanniejji @gojos-baby @just-some-stars @volleybloop

#genshin impact x reader #exile.Flower #Albedo x Reader #xiao x reader #Zhongli x reader #Diluc x reader #Kaeya x reader #Childe x Reader #imagines #modern au #fluff #gender neutral #Be happy now fuckers #sojourner special

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happytroopers · 3 years

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Sick days // Hunter x reader

My google history search after this: what do they call toilets in Star Wars? Star Wars rabies?

Summary: I would do anything for Hunter, even take care of him when he has food poisoning. I saw a sick day prompt list and didn't end up using anything but it inspired this cluster fuck

TW: throwing up, alcohol mention but no use, bad writing I just love him ok

"Hey, have you seen Hunter? I need him to sign off on some damage reports." You announced as you entered the cockpit of the ship as it barreled through hyperspace, throwing a pointed look at Wrecker who was the main reason for most of aforementioned damage reports.The other members of Clone Force 99 made some sort of acknowledgment of your existence. Wrecker grinned obliviously at you as continued doing bicep curls with a GONK droid while Tech made brief eye contact with you before going back to some sort of machinery he’d dissected. Crosshair was the only one to actually somewhat answer your question, giving you a sassily quirked eyebrow and motioning down with his toothpick. "I’m assuming that super vague motion would mean he’s in the cargo hold?" You pressed but you had already turned around to go find the sergeant. "Should we tell ‘er?" You heard Wrecker ask but when no one answered him, you assumed things would be fine. Besides after almost a year with the Bad Batch, you’d walked in on them in all sorts of compromising moments. Nothing would surprise you anymore.

After popping down the ladder into the cargo bay, you did a cursory sweep. Crosshairs rifle was disassembled on a crate for cleaning, more of Tech’s mechanical experiments in a heap by the bay doors, your own trunk of belonging… but no sign of Hunter. "Hunter? Are you down here?" You poked a little further into the sleeping quarters, like any room that housed four soldiers who didn’t know how to mop, the smell chased you right back out. Shaking your head you thought to yourself, That should be considered a hazard zone. You paused by the fresher to listen for water running but heard nothing, which officially meant Hunter hadn’t been anywhere you checked, Hell, did he jump out of an airlock? Just as you were about to give up, you heard an awful noise come from the fresher. Like a bantha dying in a fire. Did some animal stow away? Absentmindedly you considered getting Wrecker to handle it- the last thing you needed was contracting some planet-specific strain of rabies. But then you considered that in the process, Wrecker would probably destroy the entire bathroom. And then everyone would be without a bathroom for the next two days… and that could get ugly. Then the noise came again, bringing you out of your mental debate. With a heavy sigh, you decided you’d have to check it out yourself. So, after pulling a random tool off your belt, you let the door slide open. To your surprise, Hunter was the first thing you saw, bent at the waist over the vac tube, bracing himself with one shaking arm against the durasteel wall. His helmet was discarded carelessly two feet closer to the entrance, and the enhanced trooper was heaving breaths, looking rather haggard. Almost stupidly the first thing that came out of your mouth was, "Oh my God, did the animal do this to you?" Hunter actually startled, which had never happened before. He was impossible to sneak up on, it was his whole thing. When he did look up at you, he looked confused, among other things. His skin pallor was four shades lighter than it was supposed to be, slightly greenish gray, and dew dropped with sweat. "Animal? What animal?" "The animal that made that-" You cut yourself off suddenly feeling dumb, now lamely dropping your defense tool. Then the disbelief, "Oh my- that noise was you?" He didn’t get the chance to answer again, instead turning his head back towards the vac tube to wretch again. Now with that information, the haggard appearance made more sense. "Hunter… you look like shit." You scolded, hesitantly moving closer, “Like, legitimately corpse like.” The sergeant coughed a bit before throwing you glare, “Thank you, (Y/L/N), that’s very helpful. Did you need something?” Damage reports long forgotten, you ignored the question instead more concerned with the trooper in front of you, “Why the hell are you standing like that? What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”

Hunter was confused with this sudden line of questioning, turning his head to gag a little bit but this time he kept it under control to answer you, “Clones don’t get sick.”

“So this is normal for you?” You snarked right back, “Here, try kneeling, it won’t take as much of a toll on your body like that.”

At first he didn’t listen to you, just when the ship hit a patch of turbulence it triggered another wave which forced him to a knee. Then it hit you, clones don’t get sick, they’re engineered with near perfect immune systems.

“You’ve never been sick before have you?” You whispered sympathetically, he legitimately didn’t know how to handle being sick. Frowning, worried welled up in your stomach. It was almost painful to watch the man be so sick, after all how many times had he saved you or helped you out of a tight spot, so you looked away until he quieted again. This time he took a minute to catch his breath so you took some liberties.

“First, let’s get your hair off your neck and face. You’ll feel less gross.” You promised, going behind him to gently scrape his long hair into a makeshift bun and tie it off with a spare hair tie.

“What are you doing?” He croaked, but didn’t pull away from your hands.

“Taking care of you, now shut up and let me.” While your voice was still kind, you were just stern enough not to argue with you, “Now, lean up.”

You didn’t wait for him to follow the orders, instead you started unfastening pieces of armor on his arms before moving on to the chest and torso pieces. Moments later he was able to move a little freer and his armor from the waist up was neatly stacked to you right.

“There, that should help with the overheating.” You announced, not mentioned how he couldn’t bend over properly with a piece of plastoid against his abdomen. You gave him another once over, he was taking deep breaths with his eyes closed, little baby hairs already escaping your rather pitiful man bun situation. You’d never seen him so vulnerable.

“So clones don’t get sick, why are you throwing up like my roommate after her twenty first birthday?” You asked quietly, gently moving the stray bits of his forehead.

“Would you believe that I ate an expired meal ration?” He asked with enough doubt in your voice that you immediately shook your head.

“You’re not that stupid Hunter.”

“I lost a bet with Crosshair and had to eat part of the Yalbec stinger. Tech did say it was a delicacy on some planets.” He sighed, dry heaving again.

“I also remember him saying it was mildly poisonous to humans.” You reminded him, going past him to the shelves that held shower things. Reaching into your own caddy, you produced a rag before wetting it in the sink.

“Yeah, I lost the bet before he enlightened us.” Hunter admitted, visibly relaxing when you put the cold rag on his neck before sliding into a sitting position next to him, “How do you know all this stuff?”

“Well, us normies get sick a lot.” You teased, laughing when you caught the disgusted look on his face, “But, I learned most of this stuff taking care of my hungover friends.”

“Oh, just your friends?” It was Hunter’s turn to sass you, but you just rolled your eyes. The two of you fell into a halfway comfortable silence, so you took your data pad to do a little research on Yalbec poisoning.

“You don’t have to stay for this?” Hunter reminded you, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat off his forehead. When you looked back over to him, he was staring at you. Even when puking, his eyes could stare straight through you. Hurriedly, you dropped your gaze back to your data pad.

“Well, you spend all your time taking care of them,” you motioned up towards the cockpit, “And me. So someone has to look out for you when you need it, you don’t have to suffer alone.”

His eyes softened as he relaxed slightly, you were glad to see his coloring was already getting better. But after a few moments, even the softness of his stare brought a flush to your cheeks so you just cleared your throat, “Well, the good news is that the holonet says someone of your size and weight will be fine. Symptoms should pass within twelve hours at the most, and it’s already been five.”

“Thank you, (Y/N).”

Your head snapped back up, he rarely ever called you by your first name. Somehow it almost felt intimate.

“Of course, Hunter.”

You scooted a little closer so that your knees would touch. Closer than you had ever been to him, but he didn’t scoot away. You smiled at the small contact, shaking your head.

“Can I impart on you a bit of civilian wisdom?” You asked teasingly, not even waiting him to nod. You took the rag off his neck and used it to dab sweat off his forehead, “Don’t eat random things on a dare, especially things you cut off foreign animals.”

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

#hunter x reader #bad batch x reader #bad batch hunter x reader

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sondepoch · 3 years

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Want | Scaramouche x Reader

Scaramouche + “You make me want things I can’t have.”

You don’t need Scaramouche at all—don’t need him, don’t need his men, don’t need any of his diplomatic connections to achieve the goal the Tsaritsa presented before you with. Still, you can’t help but want him.

MASTERLIST

Request a character or a ship and I’ll write a drabble for you ^^

The worst part is that Scaramouche actually respects you.

It’s something everyone in the Fatui knows by now: that you’re the only Harbinger he can tolerate, the only Harbinger he’s willing to work with, the only Harbinger he respects enough to invite to these little strategy missions.

It’s the highest honor one can receive from a man like Scaramouche, who’s known best for his averseness to all encounters that don’t directly benefit him. And yet, it’s nothing more than that: a distinction in his mind between the incompetent and the competent, useless and the useful.

You simply happen to fall into the latter category.

You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

“And I was also thinking that as soon as we’ve set up enough microfinancing loans, we could start to move into the city. Get the towns on the outskirts used to Fatui presence, and then hit the Inazuman capital with our people just as they’ve begun to hear of us. The only problem there is that we’d need to combine our forces if we want to effectively disperse our agents, which would leave us open to attack…”

You tune the man out, barely paying attention as he continues on about infiltration tactics.

After all, it’s not the Fatui you care about.

It’s him.

“But I suppose getting a third Harbinger involved would only complicate the situation, since we’re the only diplomats who’ve ever been sent to Inazuma. Which would mean…”

“A third Harbinger wouldn’t need to be involved in our diplomatic operations,” you say, interrupting the man. “Assume that your and my forces completely focus on intelligence within the city. If we bring a third Harbinger in, we can keep them excluded from the operation and tell them to solely focus on keeping guard to protect us from attacks.”

Scaramouche hesitates when he hears your idea, and then his face breaks out into the rare, thankful smile that you joined the Fatui to see.

“Of course,” he says, bringing a glass of wine to his lips as he leans further back in the chair. “As expected of someone as strategically inclined as you.”

You can only smile, grateful that the man you adore is giving you a compliment. The fact that he only likes you for your brain is a thought you refuse to entertain.

“You’re too kind, Balladeer.”

“Only because you deserve it,” the man says, something flashing in his eyes that could be counted as less-than-innocent, though you know by now that it’s nothing you can pay attention to.

“Well, my efforts would be useless without your men,” you respond, bringing your own glass to your lips as you lean back in your armor, letting the thick metal clink against the chair when your back hits it.

“Nonsense. Your mind is sharp enough that a loss in resources wouldn’t hinder you.”

“That’s…” true.

And that’s probably the worst part of all.

You don’t need Scaramouche at all—don’t need him, don’t need his men, don’t need any of his diplomatic connections to achieve the goal the Tsaritsa presented before you with. It’s a painfully obvious fact given your track record: near-perfect except for the single blemish that forced you to join the Fatui in the first place—but the Tsaritsa has always known that your blunder was intentional, that there was never any flaw in your plan, that you consciously outed yourself as Snezhnaya’s most wanted thief so you could get closer to the mysterious enigma that was the Sixth Harbinger.

Yet, as you sit in his room, drinking his wine at his table to concoct a battle plan to work around his men, you’re no closer to the man than when you first joined.

Or—perhaps that’s a lie. Perhaps you know more about him now than you did before.

After all, back when you didn’t know him, you believed him to be a pretty man with a penchant for draconian punishment. Both true, except that now, you know that he’s already been promised to another—and that Scaramouche, the Balladeer, Sixth of the Eleven Harbingers, is someone who would never stoop so low as to cheat.

Yet, he respects you.

Or rather—he respects your mind.

“Something wrong?” Scaramouche leans forward with a hint of vague concern in his eyes, and you hate how you know that it’s that: vague concern, distant and hazy because your relationship doesn’t warrant any actual care.

“Nothing, Balladeer. Just thinking about a plan I’m going to present to the Tsaritsa tomorrow.”

“Ah,” he hums, not bothering to ask because he knows it’s likely confidential. “Well, you should relax. I doubt that your plan has any flaws, and even if it does, the Tsaritsa will trust you enough to allow you to execute.”

“Right.”

“No, I mean it.” Scaramouche offers you another rare smile, pushing the glass of wine closer. “People need to indulge every now and then. Even Harbingers. You’ll be better off if you give in to what you want.”

It’s out of character for him to look out for you like this, but you accept the glass regardless.

“There’s no point,” you mutter, gazing at your wavy reflection in the deep red liquid. “I want too much. Can’t have it all. There’s a reason I got caught for stealing.”

Not quite the reason he must be thinking, but yeah, the reason does exist.

“I’m sure you can steal whatever you want if you try hard enough.”

“Easy to think,” you mutter, taking a long sip. “But some things aren’t a matter of strategy.”

“Oh? Pray tell, who could be standing between you and what you want?”

Your expression turns bitter, turning into what has to be a sharp glare as you let out all the resentment that has been festering from years of being nothing more than a distant friend to Scaramouche.

“You. You make me want things I can’t have.”

Scaramouche’s smile doesn’t change at that, and your heart sinks when you see how he doesn’t even think to ask what you mean.

He knows, you realize, staring hopelessly into his violet, unchanging eyes. He’s known.

God, that’s embarrassing. That the man you’ve been obsessed with since you joined this wretched organization knows you like him, knows you think about him day and night, knows you’d do anything for him—and he never bothered to say anything.

How humiliating.

This is rejection, isn’t it? This is his way of telling you to crush your hopes and move on because this is as far as you go: being an aid to his strategy, nothing more than a tool to advance his success.

You stand abruptly, not even sure what you’ll say in your shame when you head out—but, then you remember what he said earlier—and things begin to feel different.

I’m sure you can steal whatever you want if you try hard enough.

Your devastation turns incredulous, and you suddenly think about how you first learned that Scaramouche was engaged through some table talk among the low-level recruits. You’d believed it at the time, but Scaramouche is the kind of ass to spread those rumors so suitors won’t approach him, right? He’s the kind of man to consciously put up a distant facade to keep everyone he doesn’t like away, right? And he’s been inviting you every other night to talk about bullshit strategy you couldn’t care less about, keeping you close, if anything, and—

Ah, fuck.

Your face changes as you continue to stare at Scaramouche, trying to dissect his expression for a hint of what he’s thinking. Alas, it’s useless: he wears the perfect poker face, lips curled as he waits for you to make the next move.

Hesitant, you take a seat.

He does nothing in response, though you swear his grin widens the slightest.

And so with no encouragement but the unbridled courage of adrenaline running through your veins, you open your mouth and say things you should have said long ago.

#Word Count: 1.4k #gender neutral reader #fluff #genshin impact #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact balladeer #sixth harbinger #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche x reader #scarymouche #angst with a happy ending??#i think #idk if this even qualifies as angst lmao #it's fluff imo #idk i just imagine scaramouche's relationships to be very cat-and-mouse in the early phase #as demonstrated by this #hope you like it ^^

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

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Death and an Angel part 14.5

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: And it’s unbelievable, truly, that he’s found someone who makes him feel as though he’s flying and falling simultaneously.

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,701

Warnings: angst, dialogue heavy, language, angst, Violence, plot plot plot, did I mention angst? Cuz it’s here

Author Note: Texas weather is no laughing matter and never have I hated snow more than these last few days. This is definitely more of a transition segment so I wrote shorter snippets as a result, but there is some serious plot development nevertheless. The response to last chapter was so amazing I can’t thank everyone enough for all the love and support 💖💖💖

Links to Part 1 and Part 14 and Part 15

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

Ahsoka hijacks the Razor Crest as soon as Din teleports her aboard the ship. She pushes Din out of the cockpit, refusing to let him so much as glimpse the coordinates of the destination she inputs into the nav computer. The Oracle hadn’t been kidding when she said she didn’t trust him going alone to rescue his soulmate.

Bo-Katan hadn’t been phased by Ahsoka’s arrival, adapting to her presence with the same ease as a duck to water. However, Din couldn’t help noticing the moment her mask of cool indifference slipped when Ahsoka asked the reaper to stay in the cockpit with her, claiming they had important matters to discuss.

Din climbs down the ladder into the hull, recognizing that the conversation about to ensue is not one he needs to be involved in. Fingers twitching restlessly, he commits himself to checking each of the weapons in his armory, sharpening his vibroblades and loading a set of whistling birds into his vambrace. He’d made a promise to Ahsoka against killing Moff Gideon, but he’d made no vow against scarring the Seraph beyond recognition.

When Din’s finished with him, Gideon will be a warning to the rest of the galaxy what happens if you steal from Death.

He stills at the thrum of satisfaction that runs through his body at the thought of pressing Gideon’s eyeballs out with his thumbs. The darkness within him has grown stronger since he killed Hess and it’s becoming an increasingly harder challenge denying its craving for bloodshed. If not for Ahsoka’s intervention, he would have reaped Xi’an’s soul, breaking another sacred rule. He should feel grateful, but the darkness expresses annoyance instead, upset to have been denied its kill.

There is a thought that has been plaguing the back of his mind, shackled in the same corner as his other doubts and regrets. He once had iron control over his powers and emotions, but now he’s holding onto his human façade by a mere thread. So slowly he hadn’t even been aware it was happening, his darkness has usurped his morality.

He’s meant to be a neutral entity, but when he looks at his reflection in the fresher mirror all he sees is a weapon.

Obsidian orbs have replaced brown eyes. Flawless tan skin has become dissected by lines of ink that once were blue veins.

Darkness is corrupting him from the inside out, making him a slave to the power he once mastered.

And he doesn’t have a fucking clue how to stop it.

Bo-Katan joins him in the hull an hour later. She doesn’t say anything , just leans against the wall across from him, and Din continues cleaning the barrel of his amban rifle as if he doesn’t see her.

The silence isn’t tense or uncomfortable, but he feels her gaze trying to penetrate his helmet. He knows the reaper well-enough to tell there is a question on her mind, but her hesitance to voice it unsettles him. Bo-Katan rarely holds her tongue around him, preferring blunt honesty over sugarcoating, which means whatever is on her mind must be serious.

He bites back a sigh when she starts restlessly shifting in place and pauses his task. “Ahsoka told you,” he says at last.

“That Moff Gideon fucked with our lives?” Bo-Katan snorts humorlessly. “Yeah, she showed me everything.”

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

“Me too. But it’s...good not being in the dark anymore. I needed to hear the truth,” she replies stoically, but the pointless adjustment of her headband betrays her internal strife. There is a moment of pause before she looks at him again. “I heard about your promise,” she says, and it’s not really a question, except that it is.

Din’s fingers tighten around the rifle. “Did she make you swear the same one?”

“No.” Bo-Katan shakes her head. “No, she didn’t.”

He’s not surprised by the answer. He actually thinks he should have expected it, considering the universe has always held him to a stricter standard than other entities.

“Ahsoka made it clear to me that this is something between you, Gideon, and your angel alone. I cannot interfere just like you cannot kill him.”

There is bitter resignation in her tone. He recognizes it because he felt the same when he made his promise to Ahsoka. No one likes being told no when they want something. But this—knowing with absolute certainty Gideon is the one responsible for hurting their loved ones and being told you can’t do anything to avenge them? This is the kind of pain that will linger for years to come as an ache in their bones and a scar over their hearts.

It isn’t fair. But Din’s lived long enough to know the universe never intended life to be that way.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Bo-Katan asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He blinks at her, realizing this is the question she’d been withholding since she came down the ladder. Never has she asked him a request before. “What is it?”

“You must separate Gideon from the Darksaber,” she answers, expression one of absolute seriousness. “The Armorer warned my people if the Lightsaber was ever mishandled, it would turn against the wielder by transforming into the Darksaber. Instead of empowering you, it deceives you. Fills your head with delusions until you lose your grip on reality entirely.”

“And you want to spare Gideon’s sanity?” Din asks slowly.

“Of course not. The son of a bitch deserves to be punished for his crimes. Even if I did want to,” her lips curl into a snarl at the thought, “there’s no way of undoing the damage done to his mind. What I want is for the weapon to be returned to the Armorer. She’s the only one who can properly dispose of it.”

“Right,” he agrees quietly. Anything that comes out of the Armorer’s forge is built to last the length of eternity. He could toss the Darksaber into the center of a sun and it’d remain whole and unaffected, waiting to twist the mind of the next wielder. Nodding his head, he assures her, “I’ll take care of it, even if I have to cut off his hands.”

“Good.”

Din paces the length of the hull, each thud of his boots making contact with the metal floor blends with the low hum of the engines. Usually he’d ignore the creaks and groans of his home, but the metallic symphony is the only thing capable of drowning out the thoughts in his head urging him to storm the cockpit and retake control from Ahsoka.

“Pacing isn’t going to make us arrive any quicker,” Bo-Katan tells him, not even bothering to open her eyes as she lounges atop one of his storage crates. “Ahsoka said it will be another hour at least.”

He has a retort ready on his tongue when a voice calls out his name from somewhere beyond the Razor Crest.

“Din!”

Din freezes in place as unexpected, heart-wrenching hope slices through his chest. He knows that voice. It’s his favorite in all the galaxy.

“Death?” Bo-Katan asks, concerned by his stillness. “What’s wrong?”

He tentatively reaches out towards the bond, giving it the slightest of tugs. When he feels the distant flicker of a reaction on the other end from his angel he nearly forgets how to breathe.

“The bond,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe and relief. “I can feel it again.”

Longing fills his chest where the hollowness used to reside now that the invisible block separating them is gone. It wraps around his heart, squeezing so tightly he nearly falls to his knees. Din pulls at the bond again on impulse, possessed by the all-consuming need to see her, to have her at his side where she’ll be safe.

The bond protests the harsh treatment, too weak to physically bring them together across the vast distance separating them. He snarls a curse under his breath, hating being helpless to protect her. It’s unfair, he finds himself thinking for a second time. Unfair how it hurts more now being able to feel her presence compared to when he couldn’t at all.

A paper airplane flickers into existence on the horizon of his mind, flying straight into his hand when he reaches out for it. I can’t leave this place. Not yet, the note says. The words themselves are unsettling, but it’s the strength of the emotions she’s attached that has him reeling with shock. For one crazy, electrifying moment he thinks he’s passed onto the afterlife.

Another note arrives. I miss you, Din. I want to see you so much it hurts. And it’s unbelievable, truly, that he’s found someone who makes him feel as though he’s flying and falling simultaneously.

As he sends a message of his own, never has he been more certain that if anyone can put an end to the darkness inside of him—it’s her.

“The Moff is an expert when it comes to defensive warding,” Ahsoka says as the three of them stand looking up at a canyon wall that extends in either direction as far as their eyes can see. “But even he can’t hide from my sight.”

Din scuffs at the salt-covered ground with his boot, still coming to terms with the fact all this time Gideon’s been hiding out on Crait of all planets. As much as he wants to believe Ahsoka’s right, his powers can’t detect even the barest hint of the Seraph’s presence.

Bo-Katan’s eyebrows arch with skepticism. “You’re sure this is the right place? It’s kind of remote.”

“Perfect for building an army,” Ahsoka replies without missing a beat.

Din exchanges a look with his reaper, realizing this is the first time either of them are hearing about this.

“Gideon has an army?” he asks. “Who—”

“Mercenaries,” she interrupts, turning around to face them. Her blue eyes are distant and cloudy, entranced by a vision. “When I break the warding, all but one will meet the end of their mortal lives attempting to overpower us.”

“All but one? I don’t think so.” Bo-Katan rests her hands deliberately on her blaster pistols. “Anyone who works for Gideon is an enemy in my book.”

“Migs Mayfeld is not to be harmed.” There is steel in Ahsoka’s voice as she blinks back into the present moment.

Din nudges Bo-Katan with his arm when it looks like she wants to continue arguing. The reaper huffs a quiet breath of annoyance, but eventually jerks her head in the tiniest nod of compliance.

Ahsoka grabs her twin sabers from her belt and ignites their blue blades. She handles her weapons with deadly grace, altering her appearance from peaceful Oracle to fierce and cunning warrior. Turning back to the canyon wall, her gaze trails over the red-brown rocks only to pause and narrow at seemingly random points.

Bo-Katan tries and fails to follow her line of vision. “What are you—”

The Oracle leaps into the air with surprising agility, lashing out with her sabers against the rock. Blinding light bursts forth from the point of collision followed by a flickering glimpse of a gigantic metal door.

“—looking at,” Bo-Katan finishes quietly, watching Ahsoka swing herself higher to attack another portion of the canyon wall where the next segment of warding is hidden.

There is something undeniably satisfying about seeing the door materialize as the wardings cloaking it are destroyed. Every precise strike of Ahsoka’s sabers brings Din one step closer to reuniting with his soulmate.

As if spurred by the mere thought of her, fear ripples across the bond like a gust of icy wind, stopping his heart cold. His angel is terrified. Din reaches out as far as the bond will allow in its fragile state, trying to get her attention by pulling at it and shouting her name, but none of his attempts breach the storm of panic.

“She needs me,” he mutters to himself, stepping forward with clenched fists. His vision narrows until all he can see is the door in front of him, an obstacle that must be dealt with. “She needs my help.”

“Wait,” Bo-Katan calls out, but her voice sounds as if it’s coming from thousands of miles away. “Ahsoka isn’t finished with the warding yet!”

If he were capable of rational thought in that moment, he would have heeded her warning. As it is, he summons his power into the palm of his hand, the darkness inside of him crowing in wicked delight. He winds his arm back, preparing to slam his fist against the door, only for a whipcord to wrap around his wrist with an audible zip.

He’s pulled backwards onto the ground, breath knocked from his lungs as he lands with a heavy thud. Bo-Katan appears not a second later and pins him in place by straddling his waist. The darkness is demanding he push her aside, knowing with absolute certainty the reaper is no match against him, and it takes all his strength to wrestle the urge under control.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” She glares at him, eyes resembling green flames eager to incinerate him.

“I—” he rasps, breathing heavily. His hand starts trembling, a burning itch under his skin. “I can feel her fear. She needs me.”

Bo-Katan blows out a long, frustrated breath. “Well, shit.” She jostles him then, forcing his head to momentarily clear as his helmet smacks the ground. “Look, soulmates are soulmates for a reason, right? I heard it’s like being two halves of the same whole. So if your soulmate is anything like you, she’s not going to give up without a fight. You have to trust she can take care of herself right now. That she’ll be fine.”

Din bristles. Trust is not the issue here. There is no one he trusts more than his angel—not Bo-Katan, not Ahsoka, not even Kuiil. The issue is he’s being asked to deny the instinct to shield her from danger which is woven into every cell of his being.

“She’ll be fine.” The words come out sounding sharp around the edges, cutting his tongue like shrapnel. “Everything will be fine.”

Bo-Katan disconnects the whipcord and rises to full height, apparently satisfied by his agreement. Din pushes himself onto his feet at a slower pace, his hand still shaking as if it's electric. He looks down at it, noticing for the first time the flesh is gone, replaced entirely by shadow. His expression tightens as he observes the change, realizing the black tendrils are slowly creeping up towards his wrist.

An alarm rings out, reverberating off the canyon walls like an explosion. Din’s gaze snaps up just as Ahsoka lands on the ground in a defensive crouch. Now that it's been fully unveiled, the door bears a striking resemblance to ones he’s seen at military fortresses across the galaxy, ridiculously massive to intimidate enemies and impenetrable from outside attacks. It makes sense, he thinks with a scoff, someone as power-hungry as Gideon claiming an abandoned base as their lair. Without the wardings, Din is able to detect the massive number of souls gathering on the other side, resembling vermin crawling over one another in their haste to arm themselves.

He searches for his angel’s soul, even just a glimpse of her bright light, only for his powers to instead encounter a massive cloud of dark, negatively-charged energy within a distant corner of the underground tunnel system. It fills an entire room, prohibiting him from sensing if anyone is inside. There is something strangely familiar about the energy, like he’s encountered its essence before, but he can’t recall the specifics of when or where.

“It’s time.”

Ahsoka’s voice reels his focus back to his physical surroundings. He notices the way her grip on her sabers tightens in anticipation and out of the corner of his eye Bo-Katan withdraws her blasters from their holsters.

The bottom of the door begins to raise with an earsplitting groan, but the mercenaries only wait the minimum amount of time it takes to pass under without hitting their heads to start charging forward.

Every mortal has a beginning and an end just like everything else in the galaxy. These mercenaries are no exceptions, having long sealed their fates when they agreed to accept Gideon’s payment. So when Din’s shadowy hand phases through a man’s chest and tears his heart out of its cavity, staining the white salt under their feet crimson as blood bursts from the vacant hole, Din tells himself he’s simply fulfilling destiny.

He repeats it when he discharges an assault of whistling birds, each one puncturing the throats of each target they encounter with a shrill warcry. And also when he rips a devaronian’s horn out of his head, a fragment of skull and bits of brain matter still gruesomely attached.

Again and again, with each permanently silenced voice and every shattered fragile bone, destiny is fulfilled.

Din would be lying if he said he’s never wondered what it would be like to die. To pass on from this world into a new realm for him to explore. He’s imagined the idyllic afterlife mortals have written poems and novels about, describing it as a blissful safe haven where sorrow and tragedy have no definition because they do not exist. He’s familiar with their opinions of damnation’s appearance, too, as an infernal place of fire and brimstone and screaming.

They were wrong about that.

Damnation is not a distant hell. It is found in an underground lair on Crait.

Instead of flames and sulfur, a Cupid’s blood is split and a soulmate bond is snapped in half.

Instead of screaming, a madman laughs.

“I’ve waited so long for this moment,” Gideon says through his chuckles, hauling himself onto his feet. His voice is an abrasive rasp, as if he’s shredded his vocal cords by screaming. “I’ve had to be patient, wait to find your weakness so I could catch your attention. It’s a shame, really, she had to be the one you fell for. She was quite the little spitfire.”

Din stares at his soulmate’s motionless body, frozen in place. Please, he pulls at his severed half of the bond, resolutely ignoring how cold it feels. Open your eyes, angel. Don’t leave me. Please.

There is no response. Just heartbreaking silence.

“I sense your anger, your hurt, and grief. Those are mortal emotions.” The Seraph grimaces in disgust, then lets out a low hiss when he agitates the wounds on his face. “By living amongst their kind you’ve forgotten your true potential. You are not their equal, Death. You are their superior. Immortals are meant to be better than them. To rule over every aspect of their pitiful lives.”

“I don’t want to rule anyone,” Din says, dragging his eyes away from his angel to glare at Gideon. Both his hands begin to shake as his mind plunges into a gaping abyss of remorse and despair. “I just want a life with her.”

“Even dead, she continues to blind you.”

Din snarls viciously in response. His control is pushed closer to the brink, holding on by mere fingertips, and darkness engulfs the entire room as a result.

The glow of the Darksaber persists, reflecting off his beskar and Gideon’s armor. It reminds him of moonlight, and he thinks for all that Bo-Katan warned him about the weapon’s sinful qualities, she did not mention its beauty. Even Ahsoka’s vision had failed to truly capture its radiance, just as a holovid can never compete with a face-to-face conversation.

His powers are drawn to the Darksaber. The energy it emits matches the one encountered earlier when searching the tunnels for his angel’s aura. This close, there is no ignoring its familiarity, not when his brain feels seconds away from exploding.

“I used to believe love conquers all,” Gideon prattles on, seemingly oblivious to Din’s torment. “I chose it as the Cupid motto because I thought there was nothing mortals cared more about than the health and happiness of their loved ones. Only after our fateful encounter did the Lightsaber reveal to me the truth.”

Lightsaber? Din’s head jerks up to stare at him, biting back a wince when the throbbing in the back of his mind intensifies at the movement. Does Gideon not realize the weapon has transformed?

By connecting Ahsoka’s claim that Gideon didn’t fully understand the consequence of corrupting the Lightsaber with Bo-Katan’s explanation that the Darksaber deceives its wielder, the answer is an obvious one: he doesn’t.

Gideon mistakes Din’s confusion for interest and his lips slowly curl into a smile. “Mors aeterna. It means—”

“Death is eternal.” The translation slips unbiddenly from Din’s lips before he even realizes his mouth has opened.

“There is no one more feared or respected than you. But for what reason? What have you done to earn your reputation?” Gideon demands, spit flying as his anger flares. “You are no more than the universe’s favorite puppet. Mindlessly obedient to its every demand.”

Hearing the truth always hurts, but hearing it from Gideon is especially torturous. Din’s creed to the universe has dictated his actions the entirety of his existence. He never fought against its orders, never thought of his own desires as more important than what it wanted.

Until he matched with his soulmate. She changed his priorities and shifted the center of his entire world by revealing to him even Death could experience love.

There had been no hesitation when he broke his creed for her.

And he doesn’t hesitate breaking Ahsoka’s promise now.

“I just murdered your soulmate right in front of you and you do nothing. Did you ever love her at all?”

“I do.”

Din summons every trace of power and darkness he possesses and combines them together within his core—a volatile, pulsating mass of pure chaos. His beskar armor starts to crack and chip away, unable to withstand the increasing pressure.

He thinks of his angel’s smiling face, the sound of her laughter, how bright her soul shines, and he thinks all those things are gone now. Not even a chance to say goodbye.

“More than anything.”

And Death lets go.

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#death and an angel #my fic #Din Djarin #din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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scorpia-is-babey · 3 years

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Schrodinger’s Scorpion Kingdom

ALT Title:

An Essay Detailing Why I Don’t Believe in Either Theory of Hordak Wiping out the Scorpioni, or that the Former Scorpioni Gave Up the Kingdom Willingly

I often jokingly say that Scorpia’s backstory has to be the most convoluted, jumbled mess of a character I have ever had the misfortune of simping... Uh, I mean, analyzing for. I’m not the type of nerd to get spoon fed information without chewing on it first. Whenever I try to chew on the idea that Hordak miraculously brought the Scorpioni to their knees, or if he was simply given the Runestone and kingdom, I can’t really come to any agreement. Both are equally ridiculous if we sit down and dissect them.

Firstly, we are shown very clear evidence that the Horde (and by extension Hordak) had overthrown the kingdom (that popular screenshot of a few Scorpioni laying face down on the ground, the Black Garnet looming in the center). But there’s never any further explanation about that. How he might have rallied these brand new troops and given them armor; the early bits of technology he used; how he could have possibly discovered that the Black Garnet was a noteworthy piece of power; what the previous relationship between the Horde and Scorpioni was...

Scorpia’s takes or explanations on any of this doesn’t and will never count. She is not only a heavily biased party, but she isn’t a primary source of information. Force Captain Orientation, and therefore, Hordak, is the easiest answer to look towards regarding how she knows the things she knows. Scorpia is always a secondary source of information and it is impossible to take her word for whatever happened before she was born.

The main, primary source we do have is Light Spinner.

Light Spinner was watching the attack in real time and showed young King Micah. Her actions in “Light Spinner” (S2, E6) are desperate and urgent for that reason; there’s no time to be wasted. Through her and the narrative, we have a little bit of information on the Scorpioni, and we can conclude a few things about them:

1) They were doing well for themselves at some point. The entirety of the Fright Zone belonged to them, and there are even larger areas that the audience only gets to see once (Horror Hall) that would suggest opulence. Runestones are the deciding factor of a Princess of Power as well (these being the Elemental Princesses, the fact that there’s canonically only a handful of them). All of the Princesses of Power have very large kingdoms (i.e. Kingdom of Snows, Salineas, Bright Moon, and Plumeria).

2) Nobody gave up anything. If the aforementioned screenshot of the Scorpioni people laying face down on the ground and the looming Black Garnet being tied up wasn’t enough incentive to not believe that this was a peaceful treaty, I bring your attention to the fact that Light Spinner was keen on joining the Horde. She was accepted on the basis that she would be able to use the Black Garnet.

This random Mystacor sorceress, and not, say, the Black Garnet’s actual Princess.

3) They were not an obscure kingdom. Hordak’s arrival was common knowledge. Narrative wise, we don’t get to know this until Catra knows this. Just because Catra doesn’t know it, doesn’t mean that it isn’t a general fact. If there are only six elemental princesses in their entire known world, it would be jarring if the Black Garnet’s Princess was forgotten only after a few years since Hordak’s arrival.

We also don’t have extra confirmation from Light Spinner this time, but from the fact that Scorpia gets a Princess Prom invitation in the Fright Zone. They know where to mail it. They know where Princess Scorpia resides.

Who is “they”?

Canon doesn’t give us an answer to that. For the sake of continuing this point, we’re going to put a pin in it. Leave it for another day.

With all of these inferences of the former Scorpioni Kingdom, this leaves us with the idea that Hordak’s rule over them was, unsurprisingly forceful...

Somehow.

This character spends the majority of his time pursuing his own personal goals. He wants to rejoin Horde Prime by opening a portal and taking the entire Horde army into Etheria to conquer it. When he does end up doing this, it’s with the help of Catra, Entrapta, and indirectly, Scorpia.

He needs repairs to his armor eventually, which Entrapta helps him with; he needs Shadow Weaver to keep the soldiers in line as his second in command; he needs Catra after Shadow Weaver to take that second in command position which she absolutely succeeds in more than either of them could ever have...

How does Hordak overtake the Black Garnet without these characters and resources all of those years ago? Where does he get these soldiers from? Why are these soldiers strong enough to conquer a fully capable, thriving kingdom?

One idea floating around in the fandom space is that the Scorpioni were as non-confrontational, jovial and charismatic as Scorpia is shown to be, therefore allowing themselves to be conquered. That idea is not only unlikely, but it is admitting that somehow Scorpia would have met her people and known them well enough to pick up those traits. If not anything else, that claim is entirely ridiculous.

Although we see Scorpia in a picture with her mothers as an infant, it’s unlikely that she got to know them either and pick up on their traits. There is never any mention of them verbally and no confirmation if they are dead or alive. Scorpia’s mothers not making an appearance or even being mentioned implies that they are dead, but, again, that’s never confirmed... Instead we can conclude that the mother with the Black Garnet connection is, at the very least, disconnected from it. When Glimmer is crowned as Queen and she no longer has to share the Moonstone with Angella, she gets all of its power. When Scorpia connects with the Black Garnet, she gets all of its power. She is not sharing any of its power with anyone at that point.

...

This leaves me, annoyingly, left with more questions than answers. With Scorpia being my favorite character, I am constantly writing, drawing, and discussing her. This makes me acutely aware that she’s got one of the most plot hole-inclined, nonsensical backstories of the entire cast. It spills over into Hordak and the Scorpioni plotline, too.

Fortunately, since I don’t believe in either “Hordak conquered the Scorpioni”, or “the Scorpioni gave up the Black Garnet willingly”, this does nothing to affect how I perceive canon, Hordak, or the Scorpioni.

After thinking about and writing it all down, I genuinely do not care about Scorpia’s background anymore. I will make decisions based on her background when the opportunities arise in discussion or fanfiction writing. Both Scorpion Kingdom theories are ridiculous, leaving us with this paradoxical theory:

“Schrodinger’s Scorpion Kingdom Theory”, is realizing that this plotline doesn’t make sense, and then deciding to fill in your own spaces where it best suits your own understanding of the narrative —because the original explanations are both plausible and implausible, given what we know from the canonical facts.

#LMAOAOOAAOAO #I DEADASS WROTE THIS FOR FUN?#Schrodinger's Scorpion Kingdom Theory #i wrote this ... for fun #I'm going to go sit in my nerd corner now #i hope whoever reads this is having a great day #this is actually not a shitpost #scorpia #hordak #the scorpion kingdom #i'm deathly serious #but it's still funny to me #im willing to discuss further if yall are up for it

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eyayah-oya · 3 years

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To Hold You Close Again

Clone Ship Week | Day 5 | Reunion | @cloneshipweek

Fives/Echo

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Ao3 link

Fives wasn’t sure what to think when Healer Knight Eerin (as she demanded she be called instead of General since he refused to call her Bant) told him that he was needed in the hangar by mid-morning. When he’d asked about it, Knight Eerin just shrugged her shoulders and blinked her big, luminous eyes at him.

“It’s the will of the Force,” she’d said, much to Fives’s annoyance.

“Karking Force osik,” he grumbled as he made his way through the mess and clutter of the hangar. Far too many ships needed repairs after the toll the war had taken on the Temple’s fleet. He swore extra loud when he stubbed his toe on a stray metal part, only stuttering to a halt when he noticed the youngling (Initiate?? Small child.) standing nearby, staring at him with wide eyes. He apologized and shuffled awkwardly over to the landing pad. Maybe this was where he was supposed to go?

Fives was still on light duty, otherwise he would gladly be out there helping his brothers clean up after the war. But he’d taken a blaster bolt to his chest and actually died on the warehouse floor before General Skywalker had done something with the Force and restarted his heart. He’d been taken to the Halls of Healing and placed in a healing trance for two weeks in the same room as Tup. But Tup had been discharged two days ago, free from the fear of the Kaminoans trying to dissect him, leaving Fives alone in his recuperation. Fives had only been released from constant bed-rest last week, and he was not going to push his luck with the Jedi Healers by pushing himself past his limits.

Still, Fives had absolutely no idea why Knight Eerin had decided to send him on a wild-wampa chase in the hangar of all places. Maybe some brothers wanted to talk to him? Or a group of padawans or younglings? Or maybe he needed to brief a commander from the far fronts of the war on the chips and help them implement a schedule to remove all of them from his troopers’ heads.

A ship swooped down dangerously and landed on the pad it was directed to. If Fives wasn’t absolutely positive that General Skywalker wasn’t off playing house with Senator Amidala all day, he’d say that the ship was some hunk of junk the General had found and decided to fly to the Temple. When a team of Healers practically flew past him towards the incoming ship, only then did Fives wander over to observe. He was curious who had returned and what kind of injuries would require the presence of half the Temple’s Healers.

Knight Eerin waved at him as she readied a stretcher. Her smile was tight with worry, but no less genuine towards Fives. She was nice like that. (And she told the best stories about Generals Kenobi, Vos, Unduli, Fisto, and a few other Jedi.)

Making sure to stay out of the way, Fives leaned against the wall as the ramp lowered. Rex, Jesse, and another vod Fives didn’t know (at least, he assumed they were vod’e since they wore clone armor) rushed out with Commander Cody laid out on a stretcher between them. Rex talked quietly with Master Che, likely explaining what injured Cody to the point that he’d need to stay in the Jedi Temple to heal.

Fives pushed off from the wall and walked towards the group, ready to ask how he could help. He was nearly to Rex, when Kix started walking down the ramp, his arm around a vod who had three missing limbs and far too much metal attached to their body. Fives froze mid-stride, eyes wide and unbelieving as he stared at the vod.

It had been nearly a year since he’d last seen Echo, but he knew his riduur’s body better than his own. The old scar slashed across their ribs was from Kamino when Cutup fell off his pod and took Echo down with him. The blaster wound on their hip bone was from their first mission with the 501st on Felucia. More than the scars, however, Fives recognized Echo’s eyes, a warm brown that always seemed to be glinting with joy or love or mischief.

“Echo?”

The name tore from Fives’s lips like a prayer to the Force. It was barely loud enough for Fives to hear, let alone anyone else in the loud hangar, but something must have alerted the vod, because their head jerked up to look directly at Fives.

“Wha—Echo! What are you—oh,” Kix stuttered when Echo pushed away from him to hobble down the ramp towards Fives.

Oh Ka’ra, it really was them. Fives stumbled forward until he stood at the bottom of the ramp, staring as his riduur stumbled awkwardly towards him. As desperately as Fives wanted to tackle Echo in a hug right there, the pale skin, sunken stomach, prostheses, and other bits of metal stopped him. Instead, he waited for Echo to come to him.

“Fives!” Echo sobbed and threw themself at Fives, who gladly caught them and pulled them close.

Every thought and worry about Echo’s condition flew out of Fives’s mind and was replaced by the euphoria of being able to actually hold them in his arms again. He’d never expected to see his riduur, his sweet cyare, again in this life, but they were alive! Echo was alive!

“Echo!” Fives sobbed, pressing his face tight against his riduur’s shoulder. “I thought you were gone! I thought you died! How are you here?”

Echo only gave a shuddering cry against Fives’s shoulder. Their legs crumpled beneath them, and Fives carefully lowered them to the floor, terrified that he’d somehow hurt his riduur more by moving too fast or gripping too hard. It was only once he was seated on the cold hangar floor with Echo in his lap, did Five realize that he was crying too.

“Echo—Echo—Echo—Echo!” He chanted his cyare’s name, unable to fully express everything he was feeling. Fives was horrified to realize that he’d left his riduur—his living riduur—on Lola Sayu to the mercy of the Separatists. They’d been captured, Fives had no doubt, and forced to endure unimaginable horrors. And he hadn’t even thought to look for Echo. He just assumed they were dead. But Echo was alive! Fives actually got to hold his riduur in his arms again, could feel the way their chest expanded with every breath and the beat of their heart. Echo was alive and Fives didn’t have to live without them again.

He was thoroughly content enough to just sit on the floor of the hangar and never let Echo go, but Echo had different plans. They pulled back just enough to slot their lips together in a wet, desperate kiss. Their tears mingled, and Fives could taste the salt with every shift of his lips against theirs. His nose was running—it always did when he cried—and Echo’s metal implants were digging into some very uncomfortable bits, which was sure to leave some interesting bruises. Echo’s skin was cold to the touch, and he could feel every bone in their body instead of the gorgeous expanse of muscle they used to have. Fives was struggling to breath steadily, still not entirely healed from his run-in with the Coruscant Guard and he kept having to break away to breathe deeply.

He wouldn’t change a single thing about it.

It was the perfect kiss. It said “hello” and “I missed you” and “I love you, never leave me again”. Every desperate press of their lips and hitched sob told tales of heartache and aching loneliness they’d both suffered while apart. Every caress and tight squeeze spoke volumes of how they needed each other, how happy they were to see each other again.

Eventually, the kisses shifted from open-mouthed, desperation to soft brushes of their lips. Fives held Echo close, their foreheads pressing together and their noses brushing with ever minute shift of their bodies.

“I’m so sorry,” Fives whispered. “I should have gone back for you. I should have looked for you.”

Echo shook their head. “No, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known I was still alive. I didn’t even think I was still alive when they took me. You are not allowed to blame yourself for what happened to me, just like I can’t blame myself for not being there to protect you.”

Fives laughed quietly and desperately, though there wasn’t anything funny about what Echo said. The pure relief, the horrors of the last year of the war, his own close brush with death all bubbled out of him in the only way it could since he’d already sobbed most of his tears onto Echo’s shoulder. It took far too long for him to compose himself, helped by Echo’s soothing promises and words of comfort. They carded their fingers through his hair while their other limb pulled Fives closer. The laughter turned to hitching dry sobs, and then tiny whimpers.

With a sniff, Fives drew back and looked Echo in the eye, holding their hand and prosthetic gently.

“I love you,” Fives said with the same kind of unshakeable certainty he’d had the very first time he’d admitted his feelings for Echo. “I love you so much, Eyayah. Don’t leave me ever again. You’re not allowed to leave me ever again.”

Echo chuckled wetly and leaned against Fives’s shoulder again. They looked exhausted and pained. They also looked content for the first time since they’d been pulled out of the cryogenic chamber. Echo pressed a kiss to Fives’s collarbone and vowed, “I’m not planning on it. Darasuum.”

“Darasuum,” Fives echoed.

A throat cleared, and Fives jerked his head up to see Rex standing in front of them, smiling fondly down at the two (Two! Not one!) Dominos. “We need to take Echo to the Halls of Healing, and Knight Eerin says you need to get back to your bed, too. Master Che also wanted me to inform you that Echo will be put in your room, since you “won’t realize he has karking limits now and will injure himself by being an idiot and trying to sneak into the other one’s room”. That’s a direct quote, if you’re wondering.”

Fives laughed. “Sounds about right,” he readily admitted. Rex and Kix helped Fives and Echo climb to their feet and walk over to a hoverchair that would take Echo to the Halls of Healing. Fives refused to let go of his riduur’s hand for one second (which might have made things a little more difficult for Kix since Echo only had one hand ((What the hell happened to Echo?)) and half an arm).

Before Kix could start herding them off to get checked over, Rex pulled both Fives and Echo into a soft keldabe each. “I’m really happy for you both,” he murmured, clapped them both on their shoulders, and then went back to talk to those strange vod’e.

Master Che and Knight Eerin figured that Echo would need several surgeries to remove all the apparatuses in their body, as well as new prostheses. It would be a long recovery, but Fives didn’t mind in the slightest. He would support Echo in every way he could, through rough physical therapy, countless surgeries, and awful PTSD. He would gladly help them with it all with a simple joy that Echo was alive.

Over the coming months, the Separatists officially surrendered and the treaties all signed, the clones were given their rights, and they now had a planet they could colonize themselves. As amazing as each of those things were, none of them filled Fives with the exquisite joy of being able to hold his riduur again. They’d get to live a happy life together and that was all that truly mattered.

#clone/clone #clone shipping #fives/echo #echo5 #they all live #no one dies #arc trooper echo #arc trooper fives #clone trooper echo #clone trooper fives #cloneshipweek2021 #day 5 | reunion

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thedeadpanblade · 3 years

Text

c!techno does not have a victim complex

before you get out the pitchforks and torches, hear me out. nah, mans does not have a victim complex. there's something that fits a lot better and even matches up with shit the chat/the voices have said to him.

c!techno has a pretty intense god complex if you look at how his character behaves.

now, let me explain.

i'd like to preface this with saying c!techno? favorite dsmp character. absolutely hands down. c!ramboo is a close second along with c!wilbur. and i love c!techno and c!philza's dynamic to death. i just like picking characters apart and trying to understand them. so this might come off as critical, but it's more so me picking apart c!technoblade, getting inside his head, and understanding what makes him tic.

now that that's out of the way. c!techno's massive god complex.

the origin of him developing a god complex isn't far fetched. i mean, chat constantly spams blood for the blood god. after hearing that for years and years on end, especially on repeat for hours, there's no way in hell it wouldn't get to your head. and it might've had a slight brainwashing effect but i'll pin that analysis for another day

but, regardless, let's look at what a god complex is to see if the symptoms match up.

"A person having a God complex will always believe that he is perfection personified, and will expect to be treated that way, too. According to him, he will be forever incapable of ever making a mistake, and will never accept responsibility for anything that goes wrong. The rules embedded in society’s mindset will never be important for a person with this complex, as he’ll deem himself to be above these “petty” things of the mortal world." — Psychologenie

this already sounding familiar? sounds pretty similar to shit c!techno has said himself or actions he's taken during events in the smp.

let's dissect some of the character traits of a god complex.

"People having this complex are arrogant to the point that it becomes very annoying for others. These people believe they are the best at everything, and everyone else is très inferior to them." — Psychologenie

hmmmm. gee, this sounds an awful lot like how c!techno talks to c!tommy. if you took a shot for every single time c!techno called tommy useless you'd probably be dead. (please tumblr i'm begging you don't actually do that)

"This complex makes people very judgmental. They constantly scrutinize others’ actions, and label them as bad, or not up to the mark. They cannot stand from not judging everyone and everything apart from themselves, and this judgment is almost always negative." — Psychologenie

hmmmm. again, sounds an awful lot how c!techno talks to c!tommy.

"Similar to narcissists, people with a God complex are absolutely allergic to criticism. They cannot tolerate anything that even mildly contradicts their beliefs or actions." — Psychologenie

i've seen it brought up that c!techno doesn't really take responsibility for his actions. i agree, mans really does not and always excuses the shitty things he's done. he denies taking any responsibility when tommy confronts him about shooting tubbo and in the classic doomsday argument.

but the bit about not tolerating anything that even mildly contradicts their beliefs or actions matches up a lot more with how c!techno obliterates anyone who does not agree with his version of anarchy.

c!techno also does not have the fixed helpless attitude that comes with a victim complex (e.g. "i can't do anything about the bad things happening to me, so why bother trying?"). mans grinded enough wither skeletons to obliterate an entire server and still has some. he does not consider himself to be helpless in the slightest and is very hard working. he's also set a bunch of withers loose on the server multiple times when people didn't agree with him to get his way.

"These people feel the uncontrollable need to influence people, and any given situation. As a result, they are shrewd and manipulative, and feel free to “use” people as and when they please." — Psychologenie

now, this will make a lot of people think of dream. which, duh, mans obviously has a god complex. most of these traits easily apply to him.

c!techno equally shows this trait in my opinion. except instead of emotional manipulation, he uses physical violence to maintain his influence over people and any given situation. he uses his reputation to instill fear in people. think of him merely putting on his armor and tommy changing his mind about trying to attack him.

"More than often, people with this complex are those with a lot of power over others. They feel the ever-increasing need for more power, and to exercise that power in every way possible. They cannot bear to relinquish control, in any situation." — Psychologenie

again, look at c!techno's use of withers. look at the absolutely absurd amount of withers he has. look at the absurd amount of anything combat related he has. look at his reputation as one of the best fighters on the server. despite being an anarchist, c!techno very much relies on power and violence to communicate. one of his most iconic quotes from the dsmp highlights this.

"Tommy, the thing is, you're using words... but the thing about this world, Tommy, is that the only universal language is violence, and we've had that conversation. We've spoken that language in the pit. It's over, Tommy." — c!technoblade

another point i would like to bring up in my argument that techno has a god complex. take a look at this.

"Though people with the God complex seem so sure, and so in love with themselves, some experts suggests that they actually suffer from a low self-esteem, and are insecure about almost everything, which is why they constantly require attention and admiration from others around them." — Psychologenie

c!techno? low self esteem? abso-fucking-lutely. people typically get angry to cover up more sensitive and painful emotions, and to make them feel less weak. anger is used to cover up a weakness. so, if you look at what makes someone angry, you know where their sensitive spots are.

looking at the dsmp, what has made c!techno the most angry?

you can narrow it down to two things really.

people taking his stuff or showing little regard for his gifts/acts of service (i'd assume those are his love languages, fair enough)

people dehumanizing him

a post by @simplepotatofarmer covers this in depth, which i would highly recommend checking out, but for the sake of keeping this part brief.

the best example of c!techno getting angry at being dehumanized is this line from the doomsday argument: "I'M A PERSON, TOMMY!"

c!techno does not shout often. the fact he shouts this line at tommy speaks volumes about how deep the wound goes.

the reason c!techno gets so angry at being dehumanized is likely because he has been repeatedly dehumanized by others.

and as a result, deep down, he likely no longer views himself as worthy of being treated like a person. that's rock bottom in hell levels of low self esteem.

how would he go from low self esteem to developing a god complex when they seem to be polar opposites?

well, if you don't view yourself as being treated like a human, believing you deserve to be treated like a god is a far better alternative than accepting you feel like you should be treated like nothing.

#c!techno critical #c!technoblade critical #dsmp techno #c!technoblade #c!techno #c!techno analysis #dsmp analysis #my posts #this is essentially lazy essay writing because i don't have the braincells to cite #i'll probably put it in my actual essay on techno though #i'm tired #i'm fully ready for people to disagree but i also want to polish up my essay argument #be civil but bring it on #i wanna english nerd out with other english nerds watching the smp #this is 1243 words long i rambled way too damn much #technoblade #c!technoblade analysis

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erricdraven · 3 years

Text

Blood and Bone Didn't Make Our Home

Chapter 1 of 3

Pairings: Tara Maclay & Spike, Spike/Buffy Summers

Rating: Teen & Up

Death indeed does not distinguish between the sinners and the saints, and who knows that better than Spike, the master vampire formerly known as Slayer of Slayers and Tara Maclay, the witch who finds death at the end of many paths traveled for love? After meeting for the first time at a generic Sunnydale-apocalypse Scooby gathering, the beginnings of an unspoken comradery flowers, and through a myriad of catastrophes of varying sizes, lucky happenstances, and potential world-endages, the two find that sometimes family is found in the most unlikely places.

Usually, Spike thrived on chaos and awkward scenarios that he was only tangentially part of, but for some reason, he wasn’t getting the same joy in this one.

It was the stupid bloody chip in his head, finding new ways to ruin his fun every day, it seemed.

Being all but useless and tied up in a way he couldn’t even enjoy left him without any leverage, literally and figuratively, and it made him squirm uncomfortably. He’d spent over a century cultivating the power of first impressions into armor, but now…this was the first time since getting fangs that he couldn’t. He dug his nails into his palm, and reveled in the slow ooze of blood that it lifted. The only draw he’d been able to make in so long that he ached.

“Will, are you sure about this?” Buffy murmured softly into Willow’s ear, her hand resting in a comforting gesture on her wrist. “Bringing Tara into our circle means major baggage. I know she’s important to you, and we’ll all look after her as best we can, of course, but it’s a risk.”

Willow glanced over at where the rest of the Scoobies were lounging in forced casual positions as they waited for the sound of the doorbell. “Buffy, you’re my best friend, so my place is always with you, and if I want Tara to be able to actually get to know me, I think that means she needs the chance to be here too.”

Begrudgingly, Spike had to admit she had nerve.

Buffy gave her a nod and a small smile of understanding. “Then we’ll make her feel welcome.” Abruptly turning on her heel to face Spike with her hands on her hips petulantly, she snapped “Won’t we?”

“Oi, I didn’t ask to be here as your little pet, Slayer. Feel free to let me slip into something more comfortable.”

Her eyes turned steely and her frown turned into a cold smirk. “Oh, by all means! I figure you’ll be dust in, oh…” Buffy glanced theatrically down at her watch, “two minutes?”

He didn’t dignify that with a response. She knew she’d called his bluff, and he wasn’t going to give her any more satisfaction than that.

“You need us way more than we need you, Spike, so shut up, or else we’ll be throwing you out in an ashtray.”

If he were still a fledge, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from sticking his tongue out at Buffy. As it were, he rolled his eyes and looked away. “Please. I don’t give two shits about your little club. New girl’s nothing to me.”

At that, Willow turned a glare on him too.

“Oh, for fuck’s—I’m sayin’ she’s got nothing to worry about from me.” Looking over at Giles who had turned in his chair to watch as their altercation unfolded, Spike jerked his chin up towards the row of cabinets. “I need a sodding drink. You got anything stronger than a nice Chardonnay in there?”

In lieu of a response, Giles acquiesced by disappearing into the kitchen to return with two clean glasses and a bottle of something exceptionally dark that smelled old. “I suppose I’ll join,” he muttered under his breath, likely not meant for Spike at all, and poured. With the edge of his glass, Giles pushed Spike’s across the coffee table in his direction.

Spike couldn’t help the little scoff that slipped out. “Unless someone wants to play nursemaid, I’ll need a little wiggle room.”

It wasn’t lost on him that Buffy looked sidelong at Giles and only moved to untie him after she received a small assenting nod. She roughly loosened the knots enough that he could free himself the rest of the way then shoved his drink into his hand. “Here. Now drink your juice and be quiet while the grownups are talking.”

Snapping his teeth at her in an empty gesture, Spike suddenly became aware of a new heartbeat nearby, fluttering anxiously as it grew closer. “Time to make like a good hostess and straighten your pearls, Donna Reed,” he sing-songed just before there was a gentle knock on the front door.

Willow’s eyes went wide and she started fidgeting with the edges of her sweater. “Holy crap. She’s here. Okayokayokay, okay this is going to be fine.” Looking pointedly at the others, she implored them, “Please be nice, in a non-weird way. Ease her into the whole Hellmouth thing, but…don’t exclude her. Maybe—��

“Answer the door, Will,” Xander interrupted, not unkindly. “She’s waiting for you.”

“Right!”

As soon as the young woman stepped inside, Spike carefully scented the change in the air and dissected the new and unfamiliar fragrance from the others he was becoming infuriatingly accustomed to. Already he caught something unusual—it was sharp like ozone and made his nose tingle similarly to the liquor in his hand.

Bollocks. No one had told him that she was a witch.

Braced for unpleasant, he was caught off guard immediately when his gaze met hers; there was a soft, fragile vulnerability in her eyes that reinforced her youthfulness. In the broadest sense, everything about her that Spike was privy to with his adaptive senses was tinged with what he could only describe as pure like light. Just as darkness had a weight to it, light had a tangible feel of its own, and oddly, he wasn’t afraid to be near it like he would usually. It was warm like the sun but…welcoming and hopeful as it hadn’t been in so long.

Fucking weird, he thought to himself, returning to his drink with a shrug.

“Um, hi. I’m Tara. It’s r-really nice to meet you all.” Her smile was guarded but authentic.

CONTINUE ON AO3

#btvs #btvs fic #buffy the vampire slayer #tara maclay #spike #buffy summers #spuffy #mywriting #otp: he is in my heart

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geodax · 3 years

Text

Luminous Beings, Pt. 5

This is the beginning of the next arc of the story. I’ve had a busy month, but I’m hoping to get more of the story done this month.

(Part 4, 3, 2, 1)

----

Cody hits the ground with an audible oomph, one that earns him winces of pain from those brothers that had gathered to watch. He could roll to his feet and keep the spar going but fighting a Jedi in hand-to-hand combat is exhausting. It would have been an even match with Kenobi neglecting to boost himself with the Force, if not for the numerous tricks up he had up his sleeve.

More than once, Cody had gotten Kenobi into what was supposed to be a finishing hold, only for the Jedi to wiggle his way out. Kenobi is a fencer, flexible and lean in ways his brothers are not, and has picked up techniques from across the galaxy, more than could ever be taught on Kamino. It is by far the most useful spar he’s ever been a part of. Even though it meant getting his ass kicked.

“Another round?” Kenobi asks, hair mussed and dripping with sweat. He has a blooming bruise on his cheekbone that Cody is rather proud to have inflicted, considering how many Kenobi had scored against him.

“Not today,” Cody says with a shake of his head. He needs the night to dissect Kenobi’s moves and discover some way to counteract them. He will not be so easily beaten tomorrow.

And there will be a tomorrow, he’ll make sure of that.

Kenobi offers him a hand up and a smile. It’s still odd seeing him with short hair and somehow sharper eyes. Reforming had given Kenobi a body more suited to war and armor to match. He isn’t wearing it now, but Cody can almost see the weight of it on his shoulders, clinging to him the way a clone’s armor does.

“Lunch?” Cody asks before Kenobi can disappear to meditate as he usually does at this hour. He and Kenobi had spent much of the past few days together, talking about their strategies and their strengths, learning each other’s habits. The sparring had been a recent suggestion by Cody, one that Kenobi seemed to have delighted in.

“Alright,” Kenobi says as he combs his hair back from his face. The two of them leave the rec room and his gawking brothers behind, but Kenobi grabs his shoulder before they make the turn towards the mess hall.

“Sir?” Cody asks. Kenobi’s eyes are soft when they meet his, almost hesitant.

“This isn’t a reflection on your abilities,” Kenobi says. “But I’d very much like to take on a student.”

“A Jedi commander?” Cody asks. He swallows down the immediate sense of rejection that comes with it. He isn’t being replaced. Jedi students have their place in the command structure, just like him. And it makes sense Kenobi wants another Jedi around. Cody would want the same if his brothers weren’t here.

“They’d be equal in rank to you, though of course I wouldn’t give them the same responsibilities or command,” Kenobi says.

“Are you sure? Jedi commanders can be very young,” Cody says, rather than inexperienced. He doesn’t know enough about them to know if they would be an asset or a stumbling block on the battlefield. Having to divert resources to protect them wouldn’t be very efficient. Then again, more firepower could be useful. And yet part of him still protests the presence of kids on the battlefield, even Jedi ones that have some experience in light combat.

“There’s an ability Jedi have,” Kenobi says. “That allows us to become far more powerful than we could ever be alone. It’s called Fusion.”

There had been no mention of it in his training, but Cody is beginning to believe the Kaminoans knew nothing about the lesser known abilities of the Jedi, especially the ones they didn’t need the wider public knowing about. It’s odd. Surely the Jedi would have told their army about all of their abilities.

Kenobi searches Cody’s face for a reaction but Cody has kept it blank. The Jedi knows Cody wants him to share everything, relevant or not, despite Kenobi’s (and the Jedi Order’s) private nature. Privacy is a privilege and not one often granted in wartime. Still, Cody can be patient. For now.

“You know our physical forms are somewhat flexible, I suppose you could say. Like when we dissipate, we can break our bodies down, then combine ourselves together with two or more Jedi into a single being,” Kenobi says. “It’s a sort of union, I suppose, where the individual disappears entirely when fused with another.”

Cody ignores the goosebumps crawling up his arms at the thought of losing himself like that, of becoming someone else entirely. It seems so wrong. “It sounds… uncomfortable,” Cody says carefully. Kenobi had welcomed his input and opinions before, but this isn’t simple commentary on a story Kenobi is telling.

“Oh, not at all. Fusion is the outwards expression of our connections with others. Some, like Masters Tiplee and Tiplar, have chosen to live as a sort of perma-fusion, like Masters Yoda and Yaddle do,” Kenobi says. “But most of the time, a fusion is delicate and difficult to hold together. Most Jedi can only fuse with their closest friends and usually for no longer than a few minutes.”

“Then you would be able to fuse with a Jedi commander?”

“Quite possibly, though it would take some time to achieve a stable fusion.”

Kenobi desperately wants a student, Cody can see it in his eyes, but he would deny himself if Cody asked. Cody won’t ask him to sacrifice this. Besides, he finds he’s rather curious to see how fusion works, especially if it would make Kenobi even stronger than he already is. He would be able to practically lay waste to entire armies of droids. And his brothers would be safe.

“I’ll let the men know,” Cody says. “I think they’d love a little commander.”

“Thank you, Cody,” Kenobi says.

“Wait a moment,” Cody says, an image of a four-armed, giant-eared, twenty-foot tall being coming to mind. He had never seen a being like them in all of his studies. The Kaminoans had wanted to prepare them for anything, and that meant introducing them to every known species and their weaknesses. General Yoddle had been unlike anyone he had ever seen. And the names are just a little too similar to be a coincidence. “General Yoddle is a fusion?”

Kenobi smiles. “The most stable fusion of the Jedi Order. Unfortunately, they can be rather mischievous when the mood hits them, but the younglings love them.”

“That explains all of Gree’s complaining then.”

“Really? I would have thought the two of them would have gotten along very well. Gree has such a fun personality.”

Cody snorts. “Oh, yes, how could I forget?”

Kenobi opens his mouth to respond, but it interrupted by his comm. “General Kenobi! We’ve received orders to assist Senator Organa on Christophsis,” the ship’s admiral says. “We’ll be joined by General Skywalker and the 501st on a mission to retake the planet. We need you on the bridge.”

“Acknowledged, Admiral, I’m on my way,” Kenobi says, then turns to Cody. “It seems we’ll have to get lunch another time. Ready the men for an urban battle and prepare for the arrival of the 501st.”

“Understood, sir,” Cody says. He pulls on his helmet and turns away as his blood begins to race. It’s been barely a week since Malastare, but he itches to return to the action, despite how much he has enjoyed the past few days. His brothers are fighting and dying all across the galaxy. He will not let them carry that responsibility alone. And hopefully, when Kenobi’s new commander arrives, the responsibility of keeping them alive will be a little easier.

----

It takes all of two seconds for Cody to decide he does not like Anakin Skywalker once they finally meet in person. Most of the decision had already been made by what Kenobi and Rex had told him about Skywalker, even though Kenobi and Rex had been nothing but complimentary. Kenobi never talked about his own past, but he had loved sharing about Skywalker’s adventures and all the times he had saved Kenobi’s life despite impossible odds whenever Cody had asked. Rex didn’t have as many stories, but his were still just as incredible.

Cody had not been convinced. No one could be so perfect, so skilled, without some serious draw backs, but Cody had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt right up until the point he had disobeyed orders. Skywalker wasn’t supposed to engage the blockade, not until they arrived with reinforcements.

Seeing Skywalker in person only cements his opinion. There is an arrogance in his walk, in his stance, that grates on Cody’s nerves to no end, as the young Jedi steps off his dropship onto Kenobi’s flagship. Skywalker is nineteen, powerful and intelligent, but without the humility or respect of a soldier. He’ll never learn to follow orders.

But the smile that lights up Kenobi’s face almost makes Cody’s irritation worth it. In the week since Kenobi’s reforming, Cody has never seen him smile like that, not even when he had beaten Cody for the third time in a row when sparring.

“You reformed!” Skywalker says before Kenobi can speak. His gaze snaps to Cody, something almost accusatory lingering in his eyes before Kenobi draws his attention away.

“I had a run-in with General Grievous, but I’m quite alright. You know I’ve been itching to reform,” Kenobi says, easily downplaying the severity, then pointedly looks Skywalker over. The other Jedi is wearing similar armor to Kenobi’s, though his robes are darker and longer. It doesn’t match the images he had seen of Skywalker before. “Though I hadn’t heard the same about you. Something finally slip past your guard?”

“Nah, Rex said the boys would like it if I wore some armor. They weren’t totally convinced by the whole dissipation thing,” Skywalker says. “So, what’s this new toy you have for me?”

Kenobi raps his knuckles on the hull of the cloaked ship they’d been sent to help with the Separatist forces on Christophsis. It’s the perfect ship for blockades, though it’s hardly the first of its kind. Cody hadn’t liked the idea of taking a prototype into the field, especially one enduring its first real test against Separatist scanners, but time isn’t on their side.

“Then I’ll be taking their ships out from behind,” Skywalker says as the ship ripples into view, courtesy of the reflective panels on its surface. The panels actively absorb all light and electromagnetic waves before reflecting what would be expected of empty space. The exact technical explanation went over Cody’s head, and over Kenobi’s as well, though he had nodded along as if he understood.

“No, you’ll be running a mercy mission. Senator Organa can’t wait for our help any longer.”

Cody doesn’t need to be a Jedi to sense Skywalker’s displeasure with the order, even if he doesn’t verbally protest. It worries him though. It wouldn’t take much for Skywalker to decide that his way was the only way.

Though Cody could admit to himself that he agrees with Skywalker in this case. A mercy mission isn’t his first choice either, but even an invisible ship can’t take out an entire blockade.

“Alright, then,” Skywalker says. “Looks like we’ll be putting off the fun until later.”

“As soon as you return from the surface, we can begin our attack on the blockade,” Kenobi says. “Don’t worry, you’ll have your fun.”

“With a sneak attack?” Anakin says with a smile.

“Yes, Anakin,” Kenobi says, exasperated. “With a sneak attack.”

#Obi-Wan Kenobi #Commander Cody #Anakin Skywalker #Luminous Beings #my writing

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clareguilty · 3 years

Text

The Strongest Metal

This is a commission fic! Junkrat/Roadhog Rated: M | No warnings, injury recovery Word Count ~2400

“There’s nothing for you to worry about with me, Mr. Rutledge. To many, I am just as much of a criminal as you are. Turning you in would also result in a sentence for myself.” The voice was unfamiliar. Heavily accented. Stern but soothing. The words floated around, barely making sense.

“I can’t thank you enough. If I had been in your position, I don’t think I would have done the same.” That was Mako. He sounded tired, anguished. Jamison hated that.

He couldn’t remember what happened. He felt terrible, like he’d been on one hell of a bender.

But they had been fighting. He remembered that much. Those guys with the dark armor and the red helmets. Didn’t they know that the outback belonged to the junkers? There may have been no official law in the land, but that didn’t mean they were just going to roll over for any band of soldiers that showed up. They had been fighting to protect their natural resources since before the crisis.

And then those other blokes had showed up. He’d heard about them before. Overwatch. The pride and joy of humanity’s defenders. They’d been shut down last he heard, but he recognized them when they showed up on the battlefield.

Oh. Jamison remembered now. He had died. Been blown to smithereens. Exactly the way he’d always thought he’d go.

Was this heaven? Not where he thought he’d end up, really. But Mako was there, and whoever this lady was. An angel?

Jamison cracked one eye open, wincing at the bright fluorescent lights overhead. Oh yeah. That was definitely an angel.

Wispy blonde hair, piercing eyes, literal fucking wings. She was in all white armor and glowing gold. She looked exhausted.

And Mako was there, looking just as tired. He always looked tired, really, but not like this. He sat slumped in a chair, unmasked and hair down. Jamison had never seen him so miserable. Some sort of afterlife this was.

“Hello, Roadie,” he croaked. His voice sounded terrible. His throat was dry and scratchy. He was starting to think he wasn’t dead.

Both Mako and the angel snapped their heads towards him. “You’re awake!” the angel gasped. She immediately reached for a biotic scanner. “How do you feel?”

Jamison hadn’t really thought about it until she asked. He hadn’t really felt anything if he was being honest, and he told her as much. He was sore, disoriented, but he couldn’t really feel anything.

She frowned. “I guess that’s not the worst thing. Can you move at all?”

He raised his arm, wiggling his fingers with a grin. Then he saw his hand.

“What the hell?! What happened to my arm?” Last he’d checked, only his right hand was cybernetic, and it certainly didn’t look like that. He looked at both of his hands, except these weren’t his hands. They were sleek, polished metal with tiny spindly joints. But they moved when he wanted them too, and he could feel them, even if they weren’t flesh and bone.

He flexed and curled the fingers in front of him. His frown only deepened as he inspected the high quality engineering. It wasn’t scrap, that was for sure. Much too fancy to be a part of him.

“Who did this to me?” He demanded. “Give me my old arm back!” He had made that arm. That arm was a part of him.

“Jamie,” Mako reached out, but he pulled his hand away before he could touch the horrible mechanical monstrosity. “You’re arm is gone. You were in an explosion. Dr. Zeigler saved you.”

“Saved me?” Junkrat looked down at his body. Where there was once flesh and blood and scar tissue, there was nothing but metal and wires and -- still quite a lot of scar tissue. “I look like a fucking omnic!” The angel winced.

“You’re alive,” Mako said. “You owe these people your life.”

“What life?” Jamison spat. “What am I now? Did you give me a fancy new leg too?” He sneered at the doctor, throwing the sheet aside to look at his legs. Thankfully, his peg was still there. And aside from some bandages, his flesh leg was still intact.

The doctor fumbled over her words. “We wanted to wait until you were fully rehabilitated, but there is the option to change your prosthesis, or even try to integrate some cybernetics.”

“I don’t want any of your corpo bullshit tech.”

“Jamie,” Mako scolded him. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Angela. She did the best she could to save you.”

Jamison glowered, but kept his mouth shut. Mako really did look like shit, and he probably hadn’t left his bedside in days.

“We’re at an old Overwatch outpost,” Mako continued. He knew Jamison would listen to him over the doctor. “Quite a few former agents have come back. They helped us in that fight against the black-suited soldiers. Apparently they come from an organization called Talon.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Jamison waved his hand. He hated how the motion felt. “I don’t want anything to do with them.”

Mako sighed. “We don’t have a choice. It’s going to be some time before you’re healed. Angela has explained to me what you’re going to need. She has experience with cybernetics, but there isn’t a lot here.”

Jamison said nothing.

Why should he care about Overwatch? Or Talon? Or any of that shit? He wanted his body back. He wanted to be as far away from doctors and agents and civilization as possible.

But he had never seen Mako like this, not even after the worst job.

So he sat through the doctor’s check up, begrudgingly answering her questions and letting her poke and prod at his new body.

“How long have I been out?” he finally asked.

“It’s been nearly a week.” She was gentle, hesitant as she redressed his wounds. “The biotics have helped to heal the most severe of your injuries. But, I have limited resources, so I have to make them count. I know you aren’t… happy with your cybernetics. They’re rudimentary and certainly not where I’d like them to be. If you so choose, we can always modify or upgrade anything once we have access to proper engineering. This outpost has been out of operation since the crisis and-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jamison cut her off. “Roadie trusts you, and that’s enough for me. But I want nothing to do with your Overwatch.” He wanted to be gone as soon as possible. Back to Junkertown, back the the safety of the outback.

It was another day before they told Jamison the full extent of his condition. He slept fitfully, a combination of biotics and medication and paralyzed numbness. He hated moving in the hours he was able to. It wasn’t his body. It wasn’t him.

He had been caught in an explosion in the fight against Talon. The blast had ignited the gunpowder on his own gear. He hadn't been in very good shape when Mercy -- Doctor Ziegler -- had found him. It was through sheer luck that he had been saved by the one doctor who pioneered full body cybernetics.

The hospital at the Australian Overwatch outpost had been… lacking, but between the doctors and engineers on hand they had managed to stabilize Jamison and fit him with rudimentary cybernetics.

Jamison knew he should be grateful. He was alive because of their generosity. But he couldn’t tamp down the resentment. He didn’t ask for this. Why would they go through all that trouble just to save some lowlife junker?

But he couldn’t leave Mako. If any of the two of them was going to be left alone it was going to be Jamison, he had resigned himself to that. Maybe he would have to pull through just for the old bastard.

The doctor -- he had taken to calling her blondie just to see how much it annoyed her -- fixed the nerve receptors and recalibrated the movement on his cybernetics. He knew how tedious the process was, he had done it all himself when he lost his arm the first time.

But that had been on his terms. He had gotten himself blown up and he had fixed it. None of these battles or fancy hospitals or strange people practically dissecting him every damn day.

Every time he tried to throw a fit, Mako would shoot him a look that would guilt him into playing nice. Mako would say thank you when the doctors finished up for the day. Mako would help clean him and dress him and feed him. He felt like a damn baby.

They finally let him out of the hospital after a few days. He wasn’t perfect -- not that he was anything special before this whole shitshow. But he doubted he would ever feel right again.

He staggered down the halls to the room Mako had been staying in. The Overwatch base was nice, but it felt too sterile, too civilized. Jamison and Mako were used to their little shack in the outback, they had never needed any fancy bells and whistles.

“Roadie,” Jamison whispered, “Maybe we could slip out of here tonight. Steal one of them fancy all-terrains and head back home.” He had seen the vehicles they came in one. They would scrap for some nice parts or sell for a good bit of money.

“No,” Mako didn’t even blink. “You’re still not well. The doctors here will look after you. We’re not leaving until you’re better.”

Jamison scowled. “Fuck them. I don’t need them. I can build everything I need out of scrap at home. I’ll just need your help.”

Mako was unfazed. “It’s too dangerous. You barely survived as it is, and the stuff they pieced you back together with isn’t going to last very long.”

He knew that. He knew he was on a timer. Without access to any real, up to date medical equipment he was just wasting away on the temporary machinery. He wanted to say it didn’t matter, that he’d rather go out on his own terms than be strung along from one set of parts to another, but he couldn’t do that to Mako.

“I hate it here,” he said.

“That’s fine,” was all he got in response.

The room was cozy, dusty, impersonal. It had been decades since Overwatch had any real presence on the continent, something that showed in every part of the base. The dorm was small and empty, a little run down, but the bed was big enough for both of them.

There was a small pile of gear on the desk, Mako’s gun and mask, some biotic canisters. None of Jamison’s gear had survived the explosion.

“I’m going to have to build a new gun, aren’t I?” Jamison asked. He was going to have to start over on everything. There was nothing left.

Then he caught his reflection in the mirror. It was jarring, to see his own face on an unfamiliar body. The wires and the plates and the joints. He was staring at the stranger in the glass when something soft smacked him in the face. One of Mako’s shirts.

Jamison unfolded the soft, faded material. He couldn’t even feel the texture of the cotton. “I’m pretty hideous now, ain’t I, Roadie? Uglier than ever.” He pulled the shirt over his head, wincing at the ache and pull of his healing muscles.

“I don’t care how you look, Jamie,” Mako said quietly. “As long as I have you here with me.”

Frowning, Jamison washed his face in the sink. He liked being away from the constant supervision of the hospital room. All he wanted was to be left to his misery. He didn’t care about calibration or pulmonary function or anything like that.

He flopped onto the bed, glowering at the ceiling. Mako lay beside him, sighing and resting his hands on his stomach. “You don’t have to like this,” he said.

“Good. ‘cause I don’t.”

“You should be nicer to Doctor Ziegler.”

Jamison snorted. “Why?”

“For me.”

That wasn’t fair. Jamison would have continued being an asshole with no regrets if it weren’t for those two words. Because he would do anything for Mako, even if it meant letting some doctor make him miserable every damn day.

He would survive. Just for Mako. Even if he hated what he had become. It’s not like when he lost his leg, lost his arm. That had been before he had Roadie, and he had fixed himself up on his own. On his own terms. He had still felt whole, even with a peg leg and a scrap arm.

Now he was premium alloys and advanced sensors, and he had never felt more broken. Even Mako wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t touch him. They treated him as though he was fragile, made of glass and not the strongest metal his body could carry.

He woke in the night panting and sweating. The same nightmares that had followed him for years. Metal fingers scrabbling at the plates on his chest, the wire channels running to his neck. He needed it off.

Two massive hands closed around the thin metal joints of his wrists. Calloused fingers, chipped nail enamel. Mako.

“Jamie,” he said.

“Roadie,” Jamison croaked. They had done this before. Countless times.

He was surprised when Mako threw his arms around Jamison, pulling him close. It was the first time he had truly touched him since he woke up in that damned hospital.

“I’ve got you,” Mako whispered. He didn’t even wince at the feeling of metal against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jamison huffed in disbelief, but nuzzled into Mako’s chest. The familiar sound of Mako’s raspy breathing helped to ground him. “I’m the one who almost croaked. I just didn’t want to leave you with all these Overwatch weirdos.”

“They’ve been good to us.” Mako murmured. “We owe them.”

“You’re too nice. We don’t owe them shit, and the first chance I get im going to rob them.”

Mako chuckled. “They could help get rid of those soldiers.”

“I’m done with soldiers,” Jamison groaned. “I’m done with everything. I just wanna go back to the shack and drink my weight in beer.”

“We will.”

#roadrat #junkrat #roadhog #junkrat/roadhog #mako rutledge #jamison fawkes #roadhog/junkrat

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